Blood & Honey
Black threatened the edges of my vision. My panic intensified. I had to get out, had to stop this—
Staggering backward, I faintly registered Bernadette and Lyle’s alarm. “What’s the matter wif you, eh?” Bernadette asked. When I didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—she moved slowly to her bag. My eyes struggled to focus on her, to remain open. I dropped to my knees, fighting desperately to repress this growing thing inside me—this monster clawing through my skin. Inexplicable light flickered around us.
He approaches, child. He is coming. The voice turned hungry now. Anticipatory. The pressure in my head built with each word. Blinding me. Tormenting me. My nightmares made flesh. I clutched my head against the pain, a scream rising in my throat. He will burn us if you let him.
“What’s happenin’ wif yer head?”
No. My mind warred against itself. The pain cleaved me in two. This isn’t right. This isn’t—
“I’m talkin’ to you, imp!”
He will burn Louise.
No—
“Oi!” A whistle cut through the air, and fresh pain exploded behind my ear. I crumpled to the wagon floor. Groaning softly, I could just distinguish Bernadette’s blurred form above me. She lifted her frying pan to strike again. “Bleedin’ mad, aren’t yeh? I knew it. And today o’ all days—”
“Wait.” I held up a weak hand. The peculiar light shone brighter now. “Please.”
She lurched backward, face twisting in alarm. “What’s this happenin’ with yer skin, then, eh? What’s goin’ on?”
“I don’t—” My vision sharpened on my hand. On the soft light emanating from it. Hideous despair swept through me. Hideous relief.
Seek us seek us seek us.
“P-Put down the frying pan, madame.”
She shook her head frantically, struggling to keep her arm raised. “Wha’ witchcraft is this?”
I tried again, louder now. A strange humming filled my ears, and the inexplicable desire to soothe her overwhelmed me—to soothe and be soothed. “It’s going to be all right.” My voice sounded strange, even to my own ears. Layered. Resonant. Part of me still raged against it, but that part was useless now. I left it behind. “Put down the frying pan.”
The frying pan fell to the floor.
“Lyle!” Her eyes boggled from her head, and her nostrils flared. “Lyle, help—!”
The wagon flap burst open in response. We turned as one to see Philippe standing in the entrance, his Balisarda drawn. Despite the bandage—the wig, the cosmetics—he recognized me immediately. Hatred burned in his eyes. “Reid Diggory.”
Kill him.
This time, I heeded the voice without hesitation.
With lethal speed, I charged, seizing his wrist and dragging him into the wagon. His eyes widened—shocked—for a split second. Then he attacked. I laughed, evading his blade easily. When the sound reverberated through the wagon, infectious and strange, he recoiled.
“It can’t be,” he breathed. “You can’t be a—a—”
He lunged, but again, I moved too quick, sidestepping at the last moment. He barreled into Bernadette instead, and the two careened into the wall of the wagon. My skin erupted with light at her shrieks.
Silence her!
“Be quiet!” The words tore through me of their own volition, and she slumped—mercifully quiet—with her mouth closed and her eyes glazed. Philippe launched to his feet just as Lyle entered the wagon, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
“Bernadette! Bernadette!”
I struggled to look at him, prying Philippe’s fingers from my throat with one hand and holding his Balisarda off with the other. My wig tumbled to the floor. “Qui—et—” I said, voice strangled, as Philippe and I crashed through the wagon. But Lyle didn’t quiet. He continued shouting, lunging forward to grab Bernadette beneath the arms and drag her from the wagon.
“Wait!” I flung a hand out blindly to stop him, but no patterns emerged. Not even a flicker. Anger erupted at my own ineptitude, and the light emanating from my skin vanished abruptly. “Stop!”
“Help us!” Lyle dove from the wagon. “It’s Reid Diggory! He’s a witch! HELP!”
New voices sounded outside as Chasseurs converged. Blood roaring in my ears—the voices in my mind damnably silent—I wrenched away from Philippe, flinging the blanket in his face. A quiet entrance into the city was no longer possible. I had to flee. To run. Disentangling himself from the blanket, he slipped on the food satchel and flailed backward. I dove for the frying pan.
Before he could regain his footing—before I could reconsider—I swung it at his head.
The crack reverberated through my bones, and he toppled to the wagon floor, unconscious. I dropped to make sure his chest moved. Up and down. Up and down. The other Chasseurs tore aside the wagon’s flap just as I leapt through the front, vaulting over the box to the horse’s back. It reared, braying indignantly, and the wagon’s front wheels lifted from the ground, tipping the structure precariously. Inside, the Chasseurs shouted in alarm. Their bodies thudded into the canvas.
I fumbled with the horse’s harness, cursing as more Chasseurs sprinted toward me. Slick with sweat, my fingers slipped over the buckles. I cursed and tried again.
“It’s Reid Diggory!” someone shouted. More voices took up the call. Blood roared in my ears.
“Murderer!”
“Witch!”
“Arrest him!”
“ARREST HIM!”
Losing any semblance of control, I tore at the last buckle with frantic fingers. A Chasseur I didn’t recognize reached me first. I kicked him in the face—finally, finally loosening the clasp—and urged the horse forward with a violent squeeze of my legs. It bolted, and I held on for dear life.
“Out of the way!” I roared. People dove sideways, dragging children with them, as the horse careened toward the city. One man was too slow, and a hoof caught his leg, breaking it. The Chasseurs on horseback pounded after me. They gained ground quickly. Theirs were stallions, bred for speed and strength, and mine was an emaciated mare on her last leg. I urged her on anyway.
If I could clear the city limits, perhaps I could lose them in the streets—
The crowd thickened as the road narrowed, transitioning from dirt to cobblestone. The first buildings rose up to swallow me. Above, a shadow leapt lithely from rooftop to rooftop, following the shouts that chased me. It pointed frantically to the dormer looming ahead.
I nearly wept with relief.
Lou.
Then I realized what she wanted me to do.
No. No, I couldn’t—
“Got you!” A Chasseur’s hand snaked out and caught the back of my coat. The others closed in behind him. Legs cinching the mare like a vise, I twisted to break his grip, but the mare had had enough.
Braying wildly, she reared once more, and I saw my opportunity.
Climbing up her neck—praying to whoever might be listening—I caught the metal sign overhead with the tips of my fingers. It splintered under my weight, but I kicked hard, leveraging myself against the mare’s back and leaping onto the dormer. The mare and Chasseurs’ stallions cantered past below.
“STOP HIM!”
Gasping for air, I scrabbled for purchase against the rooftop. My vision pitched and rolled.
“Just keep climbing!” Lou’s voice rang out above me, and my head snapped up. She leaned over the roof’s edge, fingers splayed and straining to reach me. But her hand was so small. So far away. “Don’t look down! Just look at me, Reid! Keep looking at me!”
Below, the Chasseurs roared orders, urging the crowd to part as they turned their horses around.
“AT ME, REID!”
Right. Swallowing hard, I set to finding pockmarks in the stone wall. I inched higher. My head spun.
Higher.
My breath caught.
Higher.
My muscles seized.
Higher.
The Chasseurs had maneuvered back to me. I heard them dismounting. Heard them starting to climb.
Lou’s hand caught my wrist and heaved. I focused on her face, on her freckles. Through sheer willpower alone, I clambered over the eave and collapsed. But we didn’t have time to relax. She pulled me to my feet, already sprinting for the next rooftop. “What happened?”
I followed her. Concentrated on my breathing. It was easier now, with her here. “Your plan was shit.”
She had the gall to laugh, but quickly stopped when an arrow whizzed past her face. “C’mon. I’ll lose these jackasses within three blocks.”
I didn’t reply. It was best I kept my mouth closed.
The Drowning
Lou
Always aiming to please, I lost them in two.
Their voices faded as we ran, dipping into shadowy alcoves and dropping behind ramshackle dormers. The key was breaking their line of sight. Once that happened, it was too easy to slip into the boundlessness of the city.
No one could disappear like I could.
No one had the practice.