By a Thread (27 page)

The gator stared at me, and I glared right back at it. Sometime during the long night, the pain pounding through my body had turned to rage—rage at Dekes and what he'd done to me, what the vamp had done to Vanessa, Victoria, and who knew how many other women over the years, what he still might do to Bria and maybe even Callie if I didn't stop him. The rage coated my heart much like my Ice magic had earlier tonight. The cold, dark emotion and even uglier, blacker thoughts of revenge were the only things that were keeping me upright at this point.

“Fuck off, sugar, or I'll make a pair of shoes out of you,” I growled.

Yeah, I knew it was nothing but talk. All of my silverstone knives were back on Dekes's mantel, and I didn't see so much as a sturdy stick
I could use to fend off the gator—much less stab it to death. Besides, it wasn't like I had the strength to do that anyway. But Dekes had already sunk his teeth into me tonight, and I'd be damned if anything else would.

Maybe the gator had already eaten. Maybe it realized that I wouldn't go down without a fight. Or maybe it recognized the dangerous predator in me just as I did in it, but the creature stared at me another second—and then it slipped into the water and swam off in the other direction.

Well, well, well. It looked like luck, that capricious bitch, wasn't quite done with me yet. I didn't know whether to smile or cry.

I kept walking, with only the soft, silvery glimmer of the moon and stars to light my way. Eventually, I stepped out from behind a tree—and walked right into a low rock wall.

Surprised, I staggered back, wondering what I was imagining now, but after a moment, I realized that the wall was as real as I was. No, that wasn't quite right. It wasn't a man-made wall but a natural stone formation. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar, although I was too exhausted to figure out exactly what it was. I was too weak to try to climb over the rocks, so I put one hand on the rough wall and hurried along it as fast as I could. It didn't take me long to reach the other side of the rocks and stumble forward, determined to keep on going no matter what.

But instead of more muck, my muddy, battered boots sank into a thin crust of sand. That was enough to rouse me out of the dazed, dreamlike
state that I'd fallen into and make my heart quicken with excitement. Sand meant that I wasn't too far away from the beach. Which beach and on what side of the island, I didn't know, but at least the sand would make the walking easier. I kept going and realized that there was a darker shadow up ahead, pooling on the ground like black ink. I looked up, searching for the source of it.

The moonlight outlined the lighthouse perched on the rocks above my head.

I blinked again, and the rest of the landscape snapped into focus. Sandy beach, frothing water, a few seagulls and terns circling overhead in the night sky.

Somehow, I'd made it from Dekes's estate through the marsh, across the island, and into the cove where Owen and I had made love yesterday. Now that I knew where the hell I was, all that was left to do was walk the short distance to the beach house. Finn, Bria, and Owen were sure to be waiting there for me by now. I didn't want to think about what might have happened to them if they weren't there, if they hadn't been able to get away from Dekes's men after all.

But there was only one way to find out and to let them know what had happened to me, so I drew in a breath and started the final leg of my journey.

18

It took me far longer than it should
have to walk through the cove, trudge down to the shore, and reach the beach house, but eventually I stumbled up the steps onto the back patio. I leaned against the side of the house for a moment, resting; then I raised my hand and banged as loudly as I could on the sliding glass door.

I don't know how long I stood there, but the world went fuzzy again. Suddenly, a face loomed up on the other side of the glass—a pale face framed by black hair.

I blinked, wondering if I was imagining things for the third time. “Sophia?” I mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

The dwarf's black eyes widened at the sight of me, and she hurried away from the door.

“Wait,” I said in an even weaker voice, my legs already slipping out from under me. “Come back.”

I landed hard on my ass
on the deck and flopped over onto my side, like a fish tossed into the bottom of a boat. The wood still felt warm from the day's sun under my cold, aching cheek, and I felt myself relaxing. I was going to lie here just for a second, I promised myself. Just for a second and then I'd get back up and pound on the glass until somebody let me into the house.

But the weariness crept up on me before I knew it, and my eyes slid shut.

The blackness wasn't as soothing as it should have been. For one thing, I kept hearing people talk, men and women chattering on and on like a flock of seagulls, each one crying out, one right after another.

“She just walked up to the house?”

“Look at her neck.”

“Her collarbone's broken, and she's lost a lot of blood.”

“This is all my fault. Callie's my friend. I should have found another way to help her.”

“I'm going to kill that bastard Dekes for this.”

Not if I get to him first,
I thought, but I didn't have the strength to voice my dark, violent promise.
Not if I get to him first
.

Eventually the voices quieted down, but that's when the needles started. Thousands and thousands of them pricking my skin like tiny, invisible red-hot pokers. For a moment I thought that Dekes had somehow found me, that the vampire had bitten me again, but this pain felt different. Duller, calmer, soothing even. In fact, the needles almost seemed to make me feel . . . better.

“There you go, darling,” a low, sweet voice whispered
in my ear. “Just relax, and I'll take care of you, just the way that I always do.”

Something about that voice soothed me, made me feel I was safe, at least for the moment. So I let go and spiraled down into the darkness once more.

Slowly, the needles faded away, and the still, quiet blackness returned. But before long, colors and sounds began to flicker in my mind, and I started dreaming. At least, I thought that I was dreaming . . .

I'd been in the woods for an hour—what seemed like the longest hour of my life. After I'd read Fletcher's note, I'd curled up at the base of a maple tree, hugged my knees to my chest, and tried to hold back the hot, scalding tears and deep, aching hurt I felt at the fact that the old man had abandoned me. That he'd brought me out here on a ruse and dumped me in the middle of the forest instead of at least having the decency to face me at the Pork Pit and tell me to get the hell out of his restaurant and life—forever.

I would have gone quietly, if only he'd asked me to. I would have done anything Fletcher had wanted me to—that's how important he'd become to me over these last few months. I'd thought Fletcher had cared about me, that maybe he'd even started to love me, just a little bit, like I had him. But instead, he'd left me here miles from anyone or anything. And why? I just didn't understand
why.

More tears slid down my cheeks, and Fletcher's voice whispered in my mind, despite my efforts to block him out.
Tears are a waste of time, energy, and resources.
That was one of the very first things that Fletcher had ever said to me.

I let out a cold, bitter laugh, startling
the mockingbirds that had gathered in the limbs above my head and making them fly away. I'd thought that saying was so clever, that Fletcher was so smart and wise, but now I knew the truth—and just how mistaken about him I'd been.

The more I sat there and thought about Fletcher, the more my hurt and bewilderment turned to bitterness—and determination too. So the old man had left me out here in the middle of nowhere. So what? I'd find my way off this mountain. We'd driven up here in a car, which meant that there was a road somewhere within walking distance. It might take me a while, but I'd find it, and I'd hitchhike back to Ashland and live on the streets again. No matter what, I'd survive, just like I had when my family was murdered. I'd done it once, I could do it again.

Furious now, I swiped away the last of my tears and unzipped the backpack that Fletcher had so casually given me this morning. A compass, a bottle of water, a pack of matches. There wasn't much in the backpack, but then again, Fletcher never brought much with him when we came out into the woods. He actually enjoyed
living off the land,
as he called it, and he'd taught me how to do the same. So I wasn't too worried about the lack of supplies.

I might have just been tossed aside like trash, but I wasn't going to give up. I didn't need Fletcher, and I didn't need him to care about me—not anymore. That's what I told myself over and over, even if the little voice in the back of my head whispered that it wasn't true.

I took a long swig from the bottle of water, then stuffed it and the matches back inside the pack and zipped up the whole thing. I got to my feet and slung the straps over my shoulders, adjusting the pack so that
it rested comfortably on my back. Then, with the compass in one hand, I started walking.

Since I was so close to the top of the mountain, I decided to walk the rest of the way up to get my bearings. Maybe I'd even be able to spot the road from the summit. It was worth a shot.

It took me an hour to break free of the last of the trees and reach the peak of Bone Mountain. I stepped out onto the rocky ridge and stared at the sweeping vista before me. Trees in various shades of brown and green stretched out as far as I could see, the new buds on their blossoming branches soaring up like they were growing into the clouds overhead. The wind whipped my brown hair into a tangled mess, and I could smell the cool scent of rain in it.

Just below me, the earth fell away in a series of jagged gray ridges that arched and curved like a person's spine. I wondered if that was how the mountain had gotten its name. Fletcher would have known but of course he wasn't around for me to ask. Still, it was a beautiful scene, despite the hurt I'd experienced to get here.

I stood there for a long time, my eyes scanning the horizon. I couldn't see any sort of road from up here, but I thought I recognized some of the ridges and rock formations across the way—places that Fletcher had taken me to on other hikes—and I knew I could get back to Ashland. It might take a while, but I'd make it back there eventually.

I felt better now, calmer, and more in control. Fletcher might have abandoned me, but I still had myself to rely on. Genevieve Snow and Gin Blanco rolled into one. Maybe I'd even invent a new name for myself, instead of using the one Fletcher had given me. The thought made me laugh again but without as much bitterness as before.

We'd left Ashland and driven
north this morning, so I made sure to use my compass and orient myself south before walking back into the forest and starting the long trek down the mountain. An hour into my journey, the sky darkened, lightning flashed, and rain started to fall down in sheets. I found a small cave to hole up in. It reminded me of the crack in the wall behind the Pork Pit that I slipped into whenever I wanted some time to myself. The cave was dark and damp, but not unpleasantly so, especially given the soft murmur of the rocks around me. The stones whispered of the rain and wind and all the other spring storms that had swept down the mountain this year. The sound soothed me.

I wasn't afraid. There was nothing out here but me and the weather and the animals. It was people that you had to watch out for, anyway—people like Fletcher who could really hurt you, deep down in your heart where it mattered most. But even he was gone now, which meant that there was nothing to fear. Not anymore.

I went to sleep, and by the time I woke up, the rain had stopped. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, maybe an hour or two, but I got to my feet, left the cave, and started walking down the mountain again, using my compass as a guide.