A flash of fear arrowed through me like heated quicksilver, stronger than any physical pain so far, mightier than the Tulpa’s walls or Joaquin’s fists or even my long-held hatred, and my vision blurred-from lack of oxygen or Joaquin’s words, I didn’t know-but inside my head the images were clear as polished glass.
A baby squalling as it was lifted from my body.
A photo of a family I didn’t know, now complete, and a card sent to me in thanks.
Ben’s curls on a child’s head.
All this mingled together in a collage of color and action and sound, and then…nothing. Not even light. Just a blank canvas in my mind where clarity and intention finally found a resting place, and I saw what Tekla had really been trying to teach me.
That, I thought, and a way to write my own future.
“How about that?” I managed, voice strangled. “Tekla was right.”
“That loony bat?” Curiosity had Joaquin’s grip loosening. “I thought she stopped making predictions the night I tore her son’s head from his neck.”
I shook my head, my skull rubbing against the pavement beneath me, but Joaquin yanked my hair back to still the motion, though he did allow me to speak. “No…she saw this. You and me, here.” I gasped out a strangled laugh, amazed I hadn’t seen it all along. “God, how could I be so blind? I was going to get what I wanted all along. I just had to be patient and not fight it.”
Joaquin, unhappy with my digression, slapped me hard. Strangely enough, that restored my vision. “And what did batty ol’ Tekla say? That we’d meet again in the warehouse where I murdered her only child, both of us trapped until one of us dies? That you’d end up victorious? Because it doesn’t look that way to me. Did she also see you unarmed, sprawled beneath me, unable to move?”
I looked up, blinked. “Yes.”
Joaquin looked as if he couldn’t decide whether I was joking or not. Then he laughed, the sandpaper sound coarser and sharper than his nails at my neck, harder than the thighs pinning me in place. It was such a strange thing to behold, a wide, delighted grin on a face I’d only ever seen hooked in a sneer, and the thought of joy penetrating the wasteland of this man’s life was so startling I nearly froze. Nearly.
“It’s not you on the outside,” I continued speaking, almost conversationally, as the printless pad of my thumb aligned with the smooth gem sitting on my ring finger. “It’s you on the inside that I want gone.”
I said it like I was making a wish, and depressed the stone into its setting.
Joaquin, kneeling in front of me, sneered like he didn’t already know he was dead.
“Don’t give me that psychological mumbo-jumbo, or act like you’re made entirely of Light. If that were true, I wouldn’t have been able to string you along, using your thirst for vengeance against you.”
“I know. Which is why I’m letting it go.” And I pinky-swore that to the Universe. “I have better things to do with the rest of my life.”
He leaned down, chest touching mine, and I stared into his eyes, startled by the sudden realization that they were actually a dark moss color, almost pretty. Crazy the things you realized when you were no longer afraid for your life. “With the next five minutes, you mean? And what’s that?”
I ignored the heat of his breath, the pungent sulfur rising from his soul, and tried to read his mind, wondering when he’d realize he couldn’t touch me anymore. “Helping others. Fighting for those who can’t fight for themselves. Giving voice to those who can’t speak.”
He saw how earnest and honest I was, and doubt flickered across his face. It was fleeting, contradicted by the facts as he knew them, which he spelled out, though for my benefit or his, I didn’t know. “You’re pinned beneath me like a butterfly to a board. You’ll never do any of that.”
Too bad he didn’t know all the facts.
“I already have,” I said simply, and let my gaze slip past his shoulder. Joaquin turned.
She stood, solitary and small, just outside the maze, half obscured by the shadows of the warehouse. She didn’t look like an agent of Light, I thought, as Joaquin’s weight eased off me. In fact, right now Tekla looked like the least heroic agent I’d ever seen. I didn’t know how much Joaquin could really see of her-the aura that was usually a steady soft lavender was now crackling around her in sharp violet snaps-but he couldn’t take his eyes off her, and he didn’t move as she stepped into a moonbeam, the light making her look ghostly and one dimensional.
So it’s true, I thought, eyes flicking to the unwavering Joaquin. She really could trap you in her gaze.
She was wearing a robe of crimson red, a weapon like a crossbow with a chain attached to it, held at her side. Her son’s. On her chest was a pulsing glyph, and with every steady beat of the Scorpio sign, the hollows of her face lit up; unsmiling, severe. Vengeful.
I spread my palm flat, moving my fingers away from the ring that had called her to me, and she acknowledged me with a flick of her gaze as I propped myself back on my elbows, pulling my legs in tight. Joaquin shifted into a fighting stance. I’d have stood myself except I wasn’t sure what Tekla was going to do. But if there’d been a bunker to disappear into, I’d have ducked into it at that moment.
“Well, well.” Joaquin lengthened the words, his head coming up and fists tightening at his side, like he didn’t know he was moving because she allowed it. “If it isn’t the Scorpio figurehead. Come to save the Kairos? Or just happen to be in the neighborhood?”
Tekla didn’t even blink, and for the first time, even with two hundred yards between us, I could feel the combination of control and power that made her so revered among the troop. Swallowing hard, I wished again for that bunker. “Don’t mess with her, Joaquin. You’ll just make it worse.”
He spared me a glance, a kind of half-amused, half-annoyed sneer that turned to confusion when he scented my own rising nervousness. It wasn’t an act. The ring hadn’t just brought Tekla to me. The energy used to call her was like a taut rope linking us together. The room suddenly held the stillness of a vacuum, or the eerie abandonment of a coastline right before a monsoon. What was it Tekla had once told me? About the destructive power of vengeance?
Revenge is an A-bomb that will flatten everything around you.
I curled up tighter into myself.
Joaquin frowned, then expelled the scent from his nose, nostrils flaring as he turned back to Tekla. She still hadn’t moved. “I take it you’ve come to play, then. Two against one? Not good odds, but it’s not as if I haven’t raped and killed two women in one night before.”
When Tekla still didn’t speak, Joaquin’s own nervousness mounted, though it wasn’t nearly as high as it should’ve been. If he could feel what I felt-the raw rage gathering behind the fragile shell of that diminutive frame-he’d be on his knees already, begging for forgiveness. Instead his nerves heightened his arrogance…though the maze between them probably also had something to do with it.
“Or maybe you come here often…eh Tekla, old girl? Could this be a pilgrimage of some sort? Coming to pay your respects at the site where your son took his last cursed, gurgling breath?” He snickered, and I felt my chest tighten as the air grew thin around me. I gasped for breath, but Joaquin kept talking. “No offense to the Archer over here for the attempts I’ve made on her life, for the one I’ll make as soon as I take care of you, but I have to admit…Stryker was my favorite kill.”