Twenty-nine

Quinn’s eyelids fluttered open to a cool, winter night sky with fading stars, the horizon lightened to the dull gray of almost dawn. She hurt everywhere, like the nightmare demon battles had actually happened.

“That was the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.” Gwen sat on top of a headstone, swinging her legs. With her sharp smile and off-kilter eyes, she looked like some otherworldly imp, at home in a graveyard. “It was like watching one of those Freddy movies, where stuff is happening in the dream and in real life at the same time, but you never moved.” She hopped to the ground, her eyes gleaming with an animal’s night vision. “The bruises and cuts and blood just appeared. It was awesome.”

Groaning, Quinn sat up and instantly regretted it. Her head swam, and her stomach burned from the demon prince’s well-timed kick. Three rips slashed her coat, one from each claw. She didn’t have to look to know that her abdomen still bore the gashes. She lifted her shaking hands. Black blood still stained her palms and forearms, but not her clothes. Maybe that was because she hadn’t been wearing these clothes in her nightmare. She had a lot more to learn about dreamcasting.

“At least the Crows will think twice before messing with me once they see my face.” She tried to smile, struggling to stay sitting up. “I might need a minute before we go.”

Gwen snatched a protein bar from her Ewok backpack and tossed it Quinn’s way with a fresh bottled water. “My expectations that you’d come out of it alive were minimal, but I came prepared.” She shrugged. “Sometimes, the underdog wins.”

Quinn trembled, too fatigued to spark much fury. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She ripped open the package and threw the scrap at Gwen. It fluttered weakly, failing in her effort to be dramatic. “What’s your prognosis for the next step? Fifty-fifty chance of death and misery?”

“Nah, more like a ninety-eight percent success rate.” Gwen gave her a wicked smile. “I’m going with you. You represent the other two-percent, creampuff.”

“I think I liked you better this morning,” Quinn mumbled around her mouthful, “when I knew you less.”

“I’m an acquired taste.” Gwen blew her a kiss. “So, did the Demon Master freak?”

“That’s a mild way of putting it.” She shivered at the memory of her last moments with Zaire. When this was all over and everyone was safe and sound, she planned to lock them both in a room for a week, no escape, no distractions, only her and her V’alkara. “He’s doing his part, staying put. He didn’t like it.”

“Demon Master or not, he’s still a V’alkara.” Gwen flicked her fingers in a dismissive gesture. “They never trust any plans that they don’t make themselves.”

Gwen had that part right, at least. And even though her attitude was a bit callous when it came to life and death, particularly Quinn’s, she’d been right about getting Zaire back.

Quinn chugged the water and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, leaving a streak of black demon blood. “Thanks for tracking me down, and for helping us.”

Humming the same lilting, minor-key tune, Gwen hopped off the headstone and stretched out on the grass beside Quinn. She folded her hands beneath her head and crossed her ankles. “Like I told you earlier, studying the V’alkara is what I do—that includes your V’alkara—and I don’t mind having the Demon Master or his dreamcaster owing me one.” She turned her head and flashed her teeth. “Or two.”

“Great. I made a deal with the devil without knowing it.”

Gwen’s eyebrows rose. “Are you saying you would have done otherwise with your V’alkara’s life at stake?”

Quinn swallowed the last of the protein bar and faced the approaching dawn. “My soul’s spoken for, but I’m not above using whatever’s at my disposal to save the man who owns my heart.”

“Spoken like a true dreamcaster.” Gwen giggled, which didn’t make her any less creepy. “Ready for phase two?”

Pushing to her feet made the world spin for a moment before settling into place. She felt like a ninety-year-old woman, every muscle stiff and aching. Acting fast might pose a problem. “Just to confirm, you’re distracting all the Crows in the area while I get Braden out, right?”

“If you mean distract as in kill, then yep.” Her green eyes sparkled, sharp and deadly. “We’re on the same page.”

A shudder strolled down Quinn’s back. She’d killed lots of times, but it had always been in her dreams, and taking out demons never seemed wrong. Ending the lives of men, even if they weren’t precisely men, was another story. The corpse in the well still haunted her. “Why kill them? Why not knock them unconscious or something?”

“So they can recover to reconnoiter another day?” Gwen snorted and rolled her eyes. “You’re new to the V’alkara underworld, so I’ll let you off the hook this time, but never, ever do you let the enemy live to knife you in the back later.” She sat up and folded her arms over her knees. “The Crows can’t be reformed because they don’t want to be. Most of them have been given the choice of a different path with White’s new community, but they prefer a society where only their needs matter. They had their chance, and they blew it. They won’t blink an eyelash to take any of us down, so don’t feel any pity for them.”

“Zaire was technically part of the Crows.” Quinn kept her tone calm since Gwen looked like she might explode at the wrong word. “What if there are others like him?”

Gwen’s stare turned on her, the inhuman pupils lengthened to black slits. “When you see Braden,” she said, her voice changing to a raspy hiss, “ask him if his guards deserve mercy.”

Quinn’s stomach churned as she recalled the bloody finger in a box, the bruises on Braden’s face in the dream. What else had they done to him, a boy innocent of everything besides being Zaire’s nephew? She sucked in a breath and let it out. “Yeah, we’re on the same page.”

Sharp teeth flashed an approval in the gathering light, and she faced the cemetery stretching out before them. “See that mausoleum in the center of the graveyard?”

A tomb large enough to house several generations rose beyond the gravestones, a castle surrounded by huts. She didn’t want to know how many spiders and bats made it their home. “What about it?”

“That’s the entrance to the hole where the Crows are keeping Braden.”

“Get out.” A flutter of nervous anticipation rolled through Quinn. “This feels like an episode of Buffy. Do any of the Crows take the form of vampires?”

“Alas, not the ones who are guarding here.” Gwen curled her lip. “These guys can only Change into gooey blobs and a variety of fish and monster frogs, probably why they were assigned to watch a boy. Not much the Crows can do with a living blob.”

Quinn tried to imagine what she would’ve done if Zaire’s forms only included a human-eating marshmallow or a frog with monster teeth. She couldn’t picture it. Zaire was too present, all dark menace and coiled power. He’d never fit the mold. Ha. Mold. Gah. She needed some real sleep.

Gwen cocked a hip and leaned near. “We infiltrate the crypt through a tunnel.”

Tunnel? A shiver stole through Quinn. She could handle demons in her dreams, hallucinations in her daytime, but small spaces were a no-go. She swallowed down her fear. A tunnel wasn’t the same as a well. She wasn’t alone. For Braden and Zaire, she could do it.

“Once we’re in, silence is our friend.” Gwen nearly vibrated with excitement. “I’ll go right, which leads to where the scumbags stuff their faces. While I’m taking them out, you’ll go left, take another left at the cross-section, and another left at the end of that hallway. They’re keeping Braden there. Door’s not locked, so it shouldn’t be a problem, and no one else will be there if we play our cards right. Should be a snap, even for a creampuff.”

“How do you know this?”

Gwen gave her a frightening grin and twirled a golden curl around her finger. “Because I’m awesome. Ready?”

“I’ve been ready for years.” Quinn straightened her shoulders, ignoring the aches radiating through her body and the flash of doubt. Gwen had been right about Zaire’s demons. Without her guidance, Quinn wouldn’t know where to go. She released a breath. An hour and this would be all over. Braden would be safe, and she’d have Zaire back, their future to figure out together. “Your promise still stands.” She used her special voice, no regret. Braden’s safety was important. “If anything happens to me, you’ll get Braden out.”

“I said I would.” Gwen snapped her teeth. “You don’t need to compel me a second time, dreamcaster.” She flicked her fingers and turned, impatient. “Let’s go.”

She followed Gwen through the grass. They circled headstones and marble crosses in a stealthy path of hide and seek. Fingers of mist drifted in the cool morning air, lending the cemetery an otherworldly sheen. There was no sign of the Crows, and she prayed for the hundredth time that she wasn’t making a mistake by trusting Gwen.

Fifty yards from the mausoleum, Gwen crouched behind a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary and held a finger to her lips as Quinn joined her. She cocked her head, clearly listening for something only she could hear. The wait went on long enough that dawn limned the grass and stone in dull silver.

At last, Gwen nodded and crept from behind the statue toward the tomb in a half-crouch. Her steps made zero noise, while every move Quinn made seemed to scream for attention. Later, she’d ask Gwen how she managed to be so quiet. After a brief pause, while pressing their backs to the side of the building, they cut the corner and entered the dark mouth of the mausoleum.

Dust and mold laced the air. The chill deepened with the shadows, and Quinn resisted grabbing Gwen’s sleeve or belt to keep up in the darkness. Gwen must possess night vision because she avoided obstacles with ease.

Keeping her gaze on Gwen’s slightly darker silhouette, Quinn bumped her shin into a coffin and hissed in pain. The pale moon of Gwen’s face turned her way for only a second. Finally, Gwen stopped before a wall of coffin-holding drawers. Without hesitating, she slipped a key into one lock and pulled an empty slab completely out. Quinn didn’t want to know how Gwen got the key.

Warmer air drifted from the empty space beyond, and Gwen wriggled her eyebrows, nearly indecipherable in the gloom. She kept her voice to a hardly-there murmur. “Stay close, stay quiet. Once we’re inside, I’ll point you in the right direction.”

Quinn hid a shiver as Gwen wriggled into the narrow space, disappearing inch by inch as if being eaten by a boa constrictor. She hesitated as the soles of Gwen’s boots vanished. She could face a dozen demons with only a few sparks of fear. Defeating her own personal kryptonite was another matter entirely.

She took a few long, calming breaths and closed her eyes. The hard part was over. Zaire was free of his demons. All they had to do was get Braden to safety, and she could finally get to the future she’d waited so long for. She could do this, for Braden. For Zaire. For them.

Her heart taking turns bouncing between her boobs and her back, she forced herself to squeeze into the tiny space. Skin-numbing marble brushed against her hips, shoulders, and the back of her head, the space so tight she had to drag herself along by fingertips and toes. Sweat pooled on the small of her back. With each inch, the air thinned, strangling her, and only darkness lay ahead. If Gwen were still there, she didn’t make a single noise.

Something snagged her jeans, stopping her painfully slow progress. Quinn wriggled, twisted her legs as much as possible, but the confining space was like handcuffs on her limbs. She couldn’t move ahead. Or back. She was stuck in this death box.

Her breath lodged in her throat. There wasn’t enough room to reach down and dislodge her pants. There wasn’t anything she could grab for extra leverage. The oxygen disappeared, and blood roared in her ears, deafening. Nothing but rock on every side, slowly crushing. She couldn’t breathe.

She was going to die here.

Something or someone grabbed her coat collar—and more than a few hairs—and yanked. The rip of material followed, and another hard jerk dislodged her. She landed hard on unforgiving stone, feeling like she’d just been birthed. Or regurgitated. Either one was better than being trapped.

Lying on her back, she gulped for air, shaking as the panic released her bit by bit.

Gwen’s green eyes glowed in the darkness above her, and she hissed. “What are you doing?”

“Claustrophobic,” Quinn managed to gasp. She couldn’t tell for sure, but she suspected Gwen rolled her eyes.

“We don’t have time for this,” Gwen murmured harshly. “It’s shift change. Either we act now or wait until tomorrow.”

No way had she made it through that coffin chute only to immediately go back. Her breathing somewhat normal again, her hands still shaking, Quinn lurched to her feet, a sign she was good to go.

Gwen pointed at an irregular-shaped crevice ahead, the only source of gray light, and hooked her thumb left, indicating Quinn’s route. Gwen would take care of the Crows while Quinn freed Braden.

Showtime.

Quinn nodded, and Gwen melted into the shadows. Later, she’d find out how the strange little woman did that, too.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and murky shapes emerged from the greater darkness. They were behind a crumbling concrete wall, and nothing more than a foot of space separated her from a crevice in the rock. She focused on her breathing. Having enough room to stretch helped curb the panic. She didn’t have time to flip out. When they were free and safe, she’d have a full-fledged meltdown.

Tiptoeing to where Gwen had disappeared, Quinn poked her head out into what looked like an abandoned bunker hallway. A single lightbulb at the very end of the left arm was all that kept the suffocating gloom at bay. A cold sweat broke out on her palms, and she wiped them on her jeans. She could stand straight, spread her arms, and move, no reason to freak out. This wasn’t the same as the crypt. Sucking in a breath, she headed for the light.

The weight of being underground pushed on her. She’d never make it as a dwarf. Her boots and her breaths were the only noises in the hallway as she made it to the corner and peeked around. Empty, just as Gwen had said it would be.

Quinn forced her shoulders to relax and made her way left. No wonder Braden hadn’t been rescued. Who would ever think to search a rural cemetery for a kidnapped boy, let alone beneath a centuries-old crypt? Next time she hunted for someone in her dreams, she’d focus harder on surrounding details. Knowing there was a mausoleum nearby would’ve been a huge help.

She took the next turn, and a man’s voice ahead sent her scurrying back around the corner, her heart hammering. Minus one point for Gwen. Quinn strained her ears, but she was too far away to decipher any words. There was no waiting around, no going back. If she had to take down a Crow herself, she could handle it.

Probably.

Removing her cross but never breaking contact, she wrapped the chain around her hand. She crept closer and held her breath, hoping her steps were silent. The man’s voice grew louder, enough to detect an underlying sneer. Her back to the wall, she sidled up to the ajar door at the end of the hall and eased to the edge.

The room…her breath caught. It was as she’d dreamed, a wannabe kitchen with a sink and counter. A crude wooden shelf held plates and cups. A man wearing a coat and jeans had his back to her, mostly blocking the person trapped between him and the counter, but she didn’t need to see the boy’s face to know.

Braden.

Before she could plot her next move, the man punched Braden in the stomach, and he crumpled to the floor with a cry, curling in on himself.

Quinn didn’t know how she got right behind the man, didn’t pause to wonder how he didn’t hear her, what she’d do next. Her kick landed in his ribs, and when he spun halfway with a surprised shout, her cross nailed him at the base of his throat and stuck. As his eyes went wide, his gurgles became strangled, his face purple. She held his venomous gaze. Gwen was right. This man wasn’t any different than the demons she destroyed in her nightmares.

The V’alkara stumbled into the wall and slid to the floor. He died with his eyes open.

Quinn jerked on the chain, freed her cross, and faced Braden.

He didn’t look much different from the image on the coffee mug she’d taken from Jenny’s house, a few years older, and exactly like when she’d met him in her dream. His eyes were dark saucers as he scrambled to his feet. “Are you real?”

“Totally.” She tried for a smile.

His gaze flicked to the dead V’alkara a few feet away and back to her. Doubt warred with hope in his eyes. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

“No, Braden.” Quinn shook her head and hastily wiped the blood from her cross. Giving off a killer vibe had never been so inconvenient. “I’m here to help you.”

He pressed against the counter, his face uncertain as if he expected a trick, and her throat tightened. The Crows had probably taken great joy in toying with him, both physically and mentally. Despicable monsters.

“Remember our dream?” She kept her voice soft. “Sorry it took me so long to track you down. Your uncle Zaire has been searching for you nonstop.”

His face crumpled, and the next thing she knew, his arms were around her waist, his face pressed to her shoulder. “I knew you were real.” His words were sobs as he shook. “I tried to find you again, but every time I tried to sleep, they woke me up.”

Quinn wrapped him in her arms and rested her cheek on his hair, fighting her own tears. How could someone she’d only met once in dreams tangle up her emotions so fast? She wanted to protect him the same as she would her own family. “We have to go.” Her voice was rough, and she pushed her tears back. Now wasn’t the time. She disentangled herself from his monkey hold and lifted his chin. “Are you okay to break outta this joint?”

His smile was wobbly, his dark eyes bright with tears, which made the bruises on his cheek, neck, and arms fade at the edges. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his bandaged hand, his missing finger, or consider what other injuries hid beneath his clothes. Her jaw clenched. Zaire was going to demolish whatever Gwen left of the Crows.

Holding his uninjured hand in hers, Quinn guided him to the doorway and tried not to think about how hard he held onto her as if she were his last lifeline. She never understood how people could hurt other innocents and be okay with it.

The hallway was empty, nothing but silence. They tiptoed anyway and made it to the flickering lightbulb marking the exit. No sign of Gwen. As they reached the crevice leading to the crypt, running footsteps echoed from the other way. Quinn towed Braden through the gap, and they crouched behind the wall, waiting as the pounding grew closer. She gripped her cross, ready.

Gwen dove inside, dodging Quinn’s instinctive stab with a scowl. “Hurry!” she hissed, her eyes glowing as she pulled Braden up and hustled him toward the crypt chute. “There were more of them than I expected, too many for me to take on all at once on my own.” She scrambled into the opening. “I’ll go first, in case there’s any trouble waiting.”

Merde. Gwen had disappeared. Quinn gave Braden a quick smile and hoped it looked encouraging. “Your turn.”

Braden blinked rapidly, hesitating, his fear almost palpable.

“It’ll be all right, I promise.” Quinn squeezed his shoulder, attune to any noise outside the crevice, any sign of the Crows. “You can trust Gwen, and if anything happens to me,” she forced her voice to be steady, “stay with her. She’ll find Zaire, okay? I’ll be the caboose, right behind you.”

As though mentioning his uncle flipped his bravery switch, Braden straightened. Without a word, he scrambled into the tunnel, and the darkness soon swallowed his soles.

Her hands shook. One last belly crawl through a squeezing marble tube. Just one. Never again. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. You can do this. Opening her eyes, she stooped toward the opening and froze.

A centipede at least a foot long dropped from the wall, right into the tunnel entrance. An Amazonian centipede. It clacked its pincers at her, poison gleaming.

Quinn took an instinctive step back.

“He doesn’t eat much,” an amused voice said behind her.

She whirled. A man blocked the way out. Centipede or not, the tunnel was her only escape. He couldn’t follow her. He wouldn’t fit. Quinn dove for the chute and plowed into another man’s stomach, a man who hadn’t been there a second ago. Not a centipede—another Crow.

Smiling, he grabbed her arms, nothing she couldn’t break. A hard stomp, twist, and punch to his throat later, she was free.

Quinn threw herself into the opening, her pulse pounding. If she could get beyond their reach—

Fingers wrapped around her ankles and jerked. There was nothing for her to hold onto, no way to keep them from pulling her back. The confinement didn’t even offer the option of kicking.

Something sharp pierced her calf. Hauled from the tunnel into the clutches of the Crows, she clung to one thought as darkness claimed her senses.

At least Braden was free.