Evie's Knight (42 page)

An eerie silence loomed, and Evie wondered what would happen next.

Calvin looked at her lovingly, whispered her name, relief evident in his brown, tired eyes. Just as she stood, began walking to him, a bullet of a man sped toward her in a blur. 

She had no time to react. She’d barely realized he was coming when Calvin darted toward her as well, pained desperation on his face.

Time slowed, and Evie gasped as she recognized the boy–the smallest of the bunch–he was still alive. More shocking was the next realization that hit her as she saw the hollow look in the boy’s eyes. A look she’d seen only one other place, on an entirely different type of being: the muses. Only in The Loft had she’d seen a look to equal that soul-less state of human flesh.

With the forceful shove of his hand, the phony teen sent Calvin flying toward the rocky mountain wall. As he brought his fist toward her chest, Evie noticed the dagger, clenched within his fingers. Time sped into action as he thrust the bloodied spear deep into Evie’s heart. The shallow release of her own defeated breath echoed deep in the center of her head.

The pain hadn’t even begun to set in when she heard Calvin’s tortured cry. He was screaming her name. In the distance, she saw him crash against the rocky mountain mass, vaguely noting the way it silenced his voice. Parker overtook the boy Evie determined to be a mused being. Almost numbly, she watched Parker’s hands snap his neck; saw the immediate distortion of his form. But it was nothing to her.

There was a hurt–so potent, so deep that it made all else disappear. It wasn’t the pain from the blade that had her heart burning, scorched with a fever beyond any hell. It went further than physical capacity would allow, made her soul scream out in a wretched cry. It was for Calvin, for the fact that he’d suffer this loss, that all of his effort had been in vain. He had lost. He would suffer.

Her body crashed to the earth in what felt like fast motion. Yet through the speeding blur, she recalled the final images she’d seen. The look in that thing’s eyes. The way he’d sent Calvin crashing into the rocks with the deceiving swat of his frail-looking arm. The look of hurt and failure in Calvin’s eyes. The deep, agonizing sadness accompanied Evie into a thick slumber of black. 

Chapter Forty-two

Calvin teetered between dark and light. The light was a loathsome place; a place where the woman he loved lay dead, and he was to blame. A place where his failure would torment him, haunt him with the devastating images of Evie’s murder. Her small, fragile body helpless against the devil that took her. His mind’s voice chanted in fevered tones, two terrible words:
She’s gone.

So he pushed and dug, he crawled and groveled his way toward the dark, keeping a constant focus on it, determined to join Evie in the world beyond. Unwilling to go where she was not.

Once darkness enveloped him, an unworldly glow appeared in the distance and drew him to a promised peace. As he floated forward, weightless and free, a woman appeared in the center of the light.

“Calvin,” her angelic voice spoke to his mind.

He didn’t know if she was real or simply a delusion, yet the sound of her voice offered momentary solace to his soul. Perhaps, he realized then, the darkness that lured him was simply an unconscious state–a dream of sorts–and not the earthly release he’d imagined. But then he felt her warmth surge through him, saw the beauty of her face, and knew her in an instant.

“Mom,” he breathed in awe.

She wrapped her arms around him, and a concentrated force of energy burst through him. Love, pure God-given love radiated from her angel-like form and penetrated his very being.

She drew back and searched his eyes while he drank in the vision. The warm color of her honey skin was aglow with radiance, exuding warmth and love in bounds. He’d missed the simple beauty of her face and the dimple that flashed when she smiled. His eyes swept across the graceful flow of her chestnut hair. How he missed seeing her face; his paintings had not done her justice.

“Calvin, you can’t be here. Not yet,” she said softly.

“But Evie–” The words got stuck in his throat as a flood of pain overpowered him. His chest jerked as he tried to hold back the sobs. “Where is she? Can I at least see her?” He looked over his mother’s shoulder, desperate to catch one final glimpse of the woman he’d fallen so deeply in love with. Calvin had to replace the horrid image he’d seen of her last. He wanted to say goodbye, that he was sorry for failing her, and that he’d live his entire life waiting for the blessed day he would see her again.

His eyes welled up with tears when he saw nothing behind his mother, save the hazy glow of light.  The angelic being smiled at him. “She isn’t here. The amulet has preserved her, Calvin, frozen her form and stopped death’s progression. It’s not over. Go. Let Parker do his part. You take care of Evie.” She took hold of his shoulders and turned him around. “Go, Calvin.”

A powerful rush of wind heaved him through the darkness, chilling him from the outside in. The frigid blast sunk deep into his core, cruelly awaking every one of his senses in an instant.

A force of urgency gripped him, heightening his alarm at the strange noise as he woke–the heavy, ripping sound of Parker’s cry.

“Don’t die, Calvin!” he heard him plead. “Do not die, man. You can’t!”

The frantic sound of his brother’s voice had Calvin scrambling, grasping to connect to his physical body. He tried to open his mouth, tell Parker he was okay and that they needed to take care of Evie now. But his mouth wouldn’t open. He couldn’t open his eyes either, he realized, failing to complete the simple task. It was as if they’d been sealed shut. He tried to reach out and grab for Parker to assure him he was alive, but even that was impossible; his body failed to move as he commanded it.

With a painful sort of urgency, Calvin tried again to speak, focusing every shred of strength he could gather on the effort. He imagined moving his mouth as he tried forcing it open, but the muscles wouldn’t budge.

“Calvin,” Parker screamed hoarsely. “I’m so sorry. Come back, man.”

Parker pled some more, cursing the heavens above, begging for a way out, a second chance. He couldn’t accept this, he insisted. There was no way.

Strong blows thrust against Calvin’s chest. Once, twice. 

“Don’t die, Calvin,” Parker demanded. “I can’t lose you. I won’t!” His sobs were pained and fraught with terror. The hefty blows to his chest came again while Calvin fought to speak.

I’m here, Parker. I’m alive.

“Please God, please!” Parker’s voice cracked. “Please don’t let him die!”

What about Evie? 
Calvin wanted to scream.
We have to save her before Jocelyn comes.

Strong hands fell to his chest once more, but before the pressure came, they were gone.

Why had Parker stopped trying? Could his brother tell he was breathing? Or did he think it was simply too late?

A warm wind picked up, replaced the thoughts in Calvin’s mind. It was a soft breeze, one that belonged more on a tropical island than a brisk mountainside. Yet there was something appealing about the whirl of air, so much that it consumed him. He focused in on the sweet wind speeding past him, warm and alluring against his skin. With his eyes comfortably closed, Calvin welcomed the way it danced across his body, combed through his hair like fingers. The scent was heaven. And he drank it in, savoring the pleasing flavor that swept across his tongue, down the back of his throat. His chest swelled feverishly as he tried to take more. The source–whatever it was–he needed it. Needed to run to it. Be with it. Own it.

Anxiety seized him as he tried to get up, fight the paralyzed state of his form. He searched again for his voice but found only the inner workings of his mind turning to madness.
Mine! It’s mine!

He envisioned himself digging into the dirt, dragging the dead weight of his body across the ground to get to it–to the glorious source of the breeze–take it before someone else could. 
It’s mine,
his inner voice snarled in crazed tones. It was only his, and he had to have it–needed it more desperately than he’d needed anything. A line of curses spewed through his mind, pushed by the fear of losing the unknown source that beckoned him–there and ready for the taking.

Just then he heard something–footsteps across the dirt–a competitor. One that could move to it, steal it away from him.

How dare he take what’s mine.

Frustration turned to hate. And then to bloodlust. Whoever this person was, Calvin would kill him. This man deserved to die for merely
thinking
he could have what was rightfully his. Lustful thoughts of murdering this man flooded in like a torrential rain, relentlessly pounding, penetrating. This man would die. Calvin would find a way to move, execute the thief, and claim the prize. He had to. Somehow, he’d make it happen.

Chapter Forty-three

Calvin could feel it slipping away–the object of his consuming desire. Never had he wanted something so fiercely, so desperately that he’d imagined tearing himself apart from the inside out; crazed by his inability to seize it, make it his own.

Vengeance became his next focus. Revenge for the criminal who’d robbed him. He made an oath as he lay there–the tantalizing scent slipping further and further away–and chanted it repeatedly in his head:
I’ll kill him, take what’s mine. Kill him, take what’s mine...

He pulled in another breath to find the alluring scent was gone completely–replaced by the musky smells of sage and pine. The mere separation from the fragrance caused a searing burn to spread through his chest.

A long, painful groan rumbled up his throat. His jaw stayed clenched until the agony faded, leaving a dull ache to settle in the back of his head.

Where am I? What’s going on?
Pain–intense pain–that’s all he remembered. Wanting something.
Yes.
But what?

He searched his muddled mind, frustrated by the way his memories lingered just beyond his grasp. How could he simply forget something he’d wanted so badly only moments ago? 

A sudden tug pulled on the tip of his fingers–a fast, reflexive movement. His fingertips met his palm and it startled him, made him flinch. The sound of his body shifting on the dirt startled him again.

He had moved.
Moved!

Blue sky revealed itself as his eyes opened. Without pausing for air, Calvin scurried to his feet and looked around, saw Frank’s body, lifeless and chalky white, sprawled across the altar.

Evie!

His head spun as he searched for her, panic threatening to immobilize him again. Her name fell from his lips when he saw her lying lifeless on the ground. Rushing to her side, Calvin surveyed her wounds.

Red, swollen scrapes covered her wrists. Crusted blood rested on gouges along her knuckles. Centered in a purple bruise over her cheekbone, was a large cut. He looked from one affliction to the next in a hurried daze, and lost breath at the devastating sight of the dagger, lodged in the center of her chest. Agony consumed him as he recalled those last moments.

“Evie.” He gasped for breath, nearly suffocated with grief, unwilling to accept the finality. He ran a hand along the side of her face, brushed a kiss along her cheek. Her skin was still warm.

He quickly pulled back to survey the color of her skin–a lovely pink tinted her cheeks. As he took hold of her wrist, felt for a pulse, a recollection skipped across his mind in a fleeting blink. It came back once more, flittered in the fray of his conscious mind–his mother–he’d seen her.

Hadn’t he?

She’d told him he could save Evie.

But how?

The fresh spark of hope sharpened the corners of his mind, brought him back to the present. “She’s frozen in time,” he muttered. It was obvious now. The amulet had done that. So now what?

He closed his eyes, trying to recall what else his mother had said. New images flashed through his mind, visions of healing Parker’s wounds in The Loft. That was it.

He slid his arms beneath Evie’s warm, lifeless body, cradling her against him, and stood. Only in that moment did he realize the other bodies were gone. He had vividly recalled, with unfailing precision, the position of each fallen corpse. But now they were gone, all but Frank. He spun in place, saw the woman there, too, lying next to the stump where Parker had snapped her neck. Calvin nodded as this detail fell into place; he only wished he’d have trusted his instincts during the battle.

While searching for the vortex, Calvin let the vision of Evie’s battered frame fuel him with thoughts of victory. He would heal Evie’s wounds. Make her whole again. Parker would conquer in his battle against Jocelyn. They’d be free from her demonic spell.

Once he found the familiar hints of his world in the sky, he burst toward it with Evie cradled against him. In the safe haven of The Loft, Calvin added swirls of gold to their world of white. He created a pillowed bed and lay Evie gently on top, studying the wound once more. A thin line of crimson stained the sheer fabric surrounding the blade. So thin, it gave him hope. She hadn’t lost much blood.

He pulled in a shallow breath. This would reveal his fate, and hers. This moment would tell him whether Evie would live or die. With a hesitant hand, he brushed over her cheek, bent down to kiss her, and uttered a fervent prayer.

As he wrapped his fingers around the dagger’s base, Calvin beckoned the forces of his universe, working, healing as he pulled. Slowly, cautiously, holding his breath, he removed the weapon from Evie’s chest and focused on the wound. His hand shook as he set down the blade.

He waited for the blood to pool. None came. But the wound was there, deep and dark. He nodded. She was still in a frozen state. Good.

“Please, God.
Please
,” he whispered. With both hands hovering just inches above her, Calvin pled for her to come back to him, then closed his eyes, and let his mind direct him.

Heat tingled through his palms, radiated from his fingers. He imagined himself having the highest degree of healing power, lent to him by his hidden universe, and hoped to make it so.