Fractured (10 page)

I had a choice. I could try to get the boy out now, or I could go all the way back to the shelter and try to round up my Guards, who seemed unable to operate their cell phones. I could also call the police, but all that would do was clear out the Mazikin, who would be free to find a new home. We couldn’t exactly mow them down in front of the authorities. What we needed was for the Mazikin to stay put so that we could burn this place to the ground with them inside. The last people we wanted paying attention were the cops.

The boy screamed again, and my decision was made.

The Mazikin had said his brothers and sisters were sleeping “up there.” Since he was on the first floor, he must have meant they were on the upper floors. Maybe I could get in there and free the boy without alerting them to my presence. Maybe by the time I had, Malachi would have arrived.

I texted Tegan:
Tell Malachi to check his phone.
Then I wiggled through a broken window at the rear of the house and let myself into the basement, my knife out and ready. The stale air reeked of mildew. I went over to the basement door and unlocked it, giving myself a quick escape route.

The stairs to the first floor were rickety but passable, and my boots made no sound as I inched my way up. The door at the top of the steps was hanging open, and I kept low as I poked my head out, taking in the dim hallway, lit only by fingers of light from the few windows not covered with boards. The silence was broken only by the muffled sobs of the boy, and I stayed close to the wall as I passed by a living room jam-packed with ugly couches and ripped cushions, their fluffy guts exposed. Discarded clothes lay in piles along the edges of the room. Someone had barfed all over the carpet, and the stench almost overpowered the scent of incense and mildew.

I froze when I heard clonking footsteps on the stairs to the second floor. The ceiling above me creaked, and then came soft, hooting laughter. Maybe the Mazikin had gone upstairs to join his brothers and sisters. Luckily for me—it meant I wouldn’t have to find a way to kill him quietly before I rescued the boy. After a few moments, the laughter quieted and the creaking stopped. I continued my slow progression toward the front of the house.

I tiptoed my way up the hall, careful not to touch the walls, some of which dripped with what I was pretty sure were various bodily fluids, viscous and cloudy, drying in raised beads and thin smears. A row of holes had been punched in the plaster, and at the end of the hall lay a clump of brown, curly hair, held together by a black-crusted, shriveled hunk of flesh. I swallowed my disgust and turned the corner to the parlor.

My stomach dropped.

There, illuminated by the light filtering in through tattered lacy curtains from one of the unboarded windows, sat a low, heavy table.

Four pots full of ashy, smoking incense surrounded it. To each of its legs was tied a length of rope. The frayed ends of each rope were stained reddish brown. This was their altar, the place where they tied their victims to perform their possession ritual. “My God,” I muttered.

“Who are you?” someone whispered.

He was close. I blinked, venturing past the stairs that led to the second floor. My knife at the ready, I glanced up to see nothing but darkness at the top of the steps, and so I returned my attention to the parlor. Crouched by the window, his hands tied to the radiator, was the boy, maybe a year or so younger than me. He was trembling, stripped to a filthy, formerly white T-shirt in the cold air of the unheated house. His arms were covered in claw marks, nasty, oozing red gashes. His bright-green eyes, round with terror, peeked out from under matted dark-blond hair. Tears streamed down his cheeks and cut narrow paths through the grime on his face.

A voice from my past echoed in my ears: Ana, a Guard in the dark city, telling me how she knew Nadia hadn’t been possessed by the Mazikin yet: Nadia had been crying.

“I won’t hurt you,” I mouthed, and then put my finger to my lips. I slowly moved forward, conscious of the tiniest groan in the floorboards that would alert the Mazikin upstairs to my presence. Squatting next to the boy, who reeked of piss and sweat, I used my knife to carefully cut through the ropes binding his wrists, which were bloody from his frantic attempts to free himself. The boy fixed his attention on the stairs. We both knew that was where the threat would come from if we were discovered. While I worked, I noticed his arms were covered in more than claw marks … they were covered in track marks, too. Recent bruises and scabs in the crooks of his elbows and down his inner arms. This kid was so young, but he was already an addict.

“They told me they had some good stuff here,” he whispered when he saw me looking at them.

I put my finger to my lips again and shook my head. He could tell me all about it
after
we were safe. But my insides knotted with anger. So that’s how these Mazikin were recruiting. They were luring messed-up kids into this house … and sending their souls straight to hell.

With one final slice of my knife, the ropes fell away from the boy’s wrists. I caught him as he collapsed onto the spongy, damp carpet. He cradled his raw, torn wrists and sank into me, his shoulders shaking and his face twisted with pain. I wrapped my arms around him, whispering as quietly as I could, “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

As much as I didn’t like being close to most people, I wanted to comfort this kid. I knew how he felt, and I wanted to make him promises. I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t disposable, that better things were ahead, that he wasn’t alone. I could have been just like him if not for Diane. So I held him like the mother he needed in that moment and silently fought my own memories of being broken and having
no one
to do this for me.

He finally pulled himself together and swiped his hands across his face, smearing tears across his dirty cheeks. He looked up at me from underneath his mop of greasy blond hair, cautious and shy. “My name’s Nick,” he said.

I shook my head, pinched his lips together, and then tried to smile in a reassuring way. He nodded, smiling back even though I was holding his mouth closed. It was the sweetest, most hopeful little smile, and I was determined to earn it. I put my face close to his dirt-rimmed ear. “Can you walk? We need to get you out of this place.”

He nodded, and I pulled him up and held him by the arm as he steadied himself. I pointed toward the hallway that led to the basement. Together, we inched past the staircase, through a few beams of light piercing through the cracks in the boards, revealing the swirling dust in the entryway.

The floor over our heads squeaked. Nick trembled against me. I took his hand, holding it firmly as I tugged him into the hallway. We tiptoed past the kitchen. Past the living room. From above came a growl, followed by a series of grunts. Someone was awake. Another series of snarls and coughs followed. “What are they doing up there?” Nick breathed in my ear.

I was pretty sure the Mazikin were talking to each other, but I was afraid that would scare him, so I shrugged and pulled him to the basement door as the ceiling began to groan and squeak. Someone was moving. Fast. They’d heard us.

We’d just made it onto the rickety basement steps when Nick cried, “Oh, God!” His panic nearly drowned out the sound of heavy footfalls nearby. A harsh curse from the parlor told me we had only seconds before we were caught. Before I could get him in front of me to protect him, Nick shoved me hard, trying to get past. I crashed down the steps, off balance and out of control, smashing my elbow and knee. The side of my head collided with the handrail, and I landed on my stomach on the cold cement floor. Nick was right behind me, so I pushed myself up and lunged for the basement door.

It flew open. A form stood silhouetted in the light, and I recognized the shape immediately. “Malachi,” I gasped.

The next few seconds split apart into disconnected sounds and sights, a moment torn at the seams. Malachi’s dark eyes narrowed. A roar from the top of the steps jolted my heart. The tips of Nick’s fingers brushed my back as we ran toward my Lieutenant.

Malachi’s knives flashed as he drew them from beneath his shirt. His face was fierce as he cocked his arms and let the blades fly. The knives spun past me, lifting a few strands of my hair as they flashed within inches of my temples.

They hit home with the solid
thunk
of metal penetrating flesh.

I spun around to see Nick fall back, Malachi’s blades buried to the hilt in his chest. Nick’s gaze met mine, pleading, questioning. His fingers spread wide, reaching for me as he sank to the floor. His mouth opened, but he never made a sound.

NINE

BY THE TIME NICK
landed, his glazed eyes told me his soul was already headed to its next stop … wherever that was. I stared into them, willing him to come back, to be okay. I had promised him he’d be okay. Without thinking of the danger, I dove for him, disbelief making me stupid and slow.

Malachi jumped forward and wrenched the knives from Nick’s body in time to bury them both in the stomach of an oncoming Mazikin—the guy I’d followed to this house. With a groan, the Mazikin dropped to the ground, curled in on himself. Malachi sheathed the bloody weapons, grabbed my arm, and wrenched me away from Nick. “Go. Henry’s out front with the car.”

I was still glued to Nick’s empty eyes. “But he was—”

“Go!” Malachi shouted in my face, spinning me around and shoving me toward the door.

My eyes stinging, my chest aching, I stumbled out of the house. “We have to—”

“We have to get out of here,” said Malachi as he dragged me toward the street.

I forced myself not to look back as we climbed into the back of the gray sedan. Henry took off immediately, steering competently through the maze of the run-down neighborhood. “That was the nest,” I said between breaths.

“And you went in without waiting for me. For us,” said Malachi in a hard voice. “You failed to follow your own protocol.”

“Those Mazikin will know someone was there,” said Henry. “They might clear out.”

“We can go back tonight and burn it out,” Malachi replied, looking me over. “A daytime assault is inadvisable now, considering we’re one Guard short and our Captain is wounded.”

The injuries from my fall down the steps jabbed splinters of pain up my arm and down my leg. The side of my head throbbed. I buried it in my hands, wishing I could erase Nick’s face from my mind. “We have to be more careful,” I murmured to no one in particular.

“We?” snapped Malachi. He pulled me to him, clearly past caring whether Henry noticed that we were a little more than Captain and Lieutenant. He tipped my chin up and made me look at him. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I fell down the steps. I’ll be okay.” Honestly, I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem to matter right now.

“You shouldn’t have gone in alone.” His words barely made it out from between his clenched teeth. “That was reckless.”

A tiny whisper of anger coiled in my belly, but I tried to keep my voice calm. “I texted you. Then called you.”

His cheeks darkened. “I didn’t hear the ring. The shelter was too loud. Tegan felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and she alerted me. That was my mistake. But it doesn’t excuse yours.”

I swallowed, but it did nothing to remove the lump in my throat. “There was a kid in there, Malachi. They were hurting him.”

Malachi shook his head. “They don’t hurt their recruits. Not unless—”

“This isn’t like the dark city where their prisoners are passive and cooperative! The kid wouldn’t be quiet, and he was trying to escape. They’d scratched him.” Tears burned my eyes. “I saw a chance to get him out. I couldn’t leave him there.”

Confusion softened Malachi’s steely glare as Henry called out, “You freed a prisoner? Where is he now?”

I have no idea
. I bit my lip as a tear leaked from the corner of my eye. Malachi cupped my face in his hands, and I shuddered as I noticed a smear of blood on his fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Is he still trapped in there?”

I shook my head, the dread suffocating me. Malachi searched my expression for clues. “Did he escape before I arrived?”

I shook my head again. “He was right behind me.”

Malachi went utterly still as the color drained from his face. “No. No, that was a Mazikin,” he stammered. “He was chasing you—trying—he was trying to grab you. I had to … to protect you.”

“You did,” I choked out. “The other man
was
a Mazikin.”

“But the boy—”

“Wasn’t.”

Malachi’s hands shook as they fell away from me. He stared down at them and finally seemed to notice the blood on his fingers. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

Before I had a chance to respond, he was already wiping his bloody hands on his pants with desperate movements. But the smears had dried, so he started to rub them fiercely and scrape at them with his short, blunt fingernails. In seconds, his skin was red from the friction, and I reached over to stop him. He ripped his hands away from me and folded them beneath his arms. I sat back, completely at a loss. He looked like he was about to explode, and I had no idea how to defuse this kind of bomb. We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

As Henry got onto the highway, I realized I’d forgotten all about Tegan. I reached for my phone so that I could text her. But it wasn’t in my pocket. I patted myself down and realized that, somewhere along the line, I’d dropped not only the phone, but also my knife. Sucking in a breath, I touched Malachi’s arm. “Can I borrow your phone?”

He dropped it into my hand without looking at me. Pretending to be Malachi, I texted Tegan, telling her he’d found me and asking her if she could get a ride home from Ian. I got an answer immediately:

Where the hell did Lela go?!

So I responded:
Had to deal with something

Tell her shes on my shitlist

I sighed.
If you insist

I nudged Malachi’s arm. He quietly took the phone back and tucked it into his pocket; then he returned to rubbing at his skin. The blood had fallen away in dry flecks, but his hands were raw. I sat very still and watched my Lieutenant, who I ached for … who’d just killed a boy. An innocent one. One I’d promised to save.