How to Kill Yourself in a Small Town (33 page)

“I
told you, nerd,” Tempie said. “If you even imply something about Kathan again,
I’ll hit you for real.”

“I
wasn’t implying anything,” Desty snapped. “I just wanted to ask you about being
his familiar and not have to wonder whether he was controlling your answers!”

“Oh,
that’s great!” Tempie laughed like a bitch and threw her hands up. “The girl whose
man-whore boyfriend is screwing that blond jailbait tramp doesn’t trust my
completely faithful lover.”

Desty
flinched.

I
grabbed her hand. I wanted her to understand that I’d been going to tell her
and that I didn’t fuck around on her on purpose. That I loved her and that
everything and everyone else could go to Hell—even me—as long as she didn’t
leave me.

But
when Desty looked me in the eyes, it was like seeing something beautiful choke
down poison and die.

Then
we heard the explosion. The concussion shook the room.

Kathan
ran to the door and leaned out into the hall. Grabbed a foot soldier as he
sprinted past.

“What
the fuck was that?”

“The
barracks,” the foot soldier said.

Kathan’s
mouth opened, stunned. You could tell he couldn’t imagine who might have the
balls to attack his compound outright. I wished I could’ve laughed in his
fucking face. There was only one crazy-ass Soldier of Heaven in Halo with a
shitload of plastic explosive.

Kathan
started to run after the foot soldier. Tempie took a step to follow him, but he
yelled back over his shoulder, “No. Stay here.”

“But—”

“You’ll
be safe here. Sit down and don’t move until I come back. Do not argue with me!”

Tempie
glared at him, but she followed the orders like a good little familiar. Kathan
disappeared down the hall.

“Okay.
I’ll be back,” Desty told Tempie. Then she looked at me. “We have to go, now.
I’m pretty sure Colt said there would be two explosions.”

Colt

I
set the last charges around the barn and hauled ass for the east wing of the
Dark Mansion.

Somebody
should’ve been on guard—that’s what I kept thinking. Then Ryder said something
about the Armistice Celebration this weekend and I remembered that Tough was with
Kathan and everyone thought I was dead. With no Whitneys to worry about, who
would they need to watch out for?

A
van with the graphic for Bub’s Diner was backed up to the east wing of the
mansion and a waiter was leaned against the bumper. He was lighting up a
cigarette when he saw me.

“You’re
not one of our—” Then he recognized me. His eyes got big. “Son of a bitch. Colt
Whitney?”

I
pulled the .45 out of my jeans and aimed it at his chest, trying not to feel
like shit because it seemed like I knew someone who smoked Marlboros, too.

He
put up his hands and backed away, half-sliding along the side of the van.
“Wait, no, wait! It’s none of my business! I—”

“Go,”
I said. As a last second thought I added, “Warn anybody and you’re dead.”

The
waiter took off running for the parking lot in front of the barn.

“Probably
could’ve been handled better,” Ryder said, leaning against the side of the van.

I
shrugged.

“I’m
rusty,” I said. “You coming?”

“You’re
on your own, Sunshine,” he said. “I can’t go in there.”

“Pussy.
I knew you weren’t really Ryder.”

“Bullshit
you did.”

I
could still hear him laughing as I jogged up the back steps and into the
mansion.

Down
the hall of the east wing, past the kitchen and dining rooms. The place was
deserted. I didn’t see another soul until I made it to the front hall where the
mansion’s wings connected.

People
and NPs were coming in from the guest wing on the west side and the big south
entrance doors. Everyone was dressed up like they were going to some high-class
soiree, even the foot soldiers.

Mikal
was in the middle of it all, talking and directing traffic into the parlor. She
looked deadly in that red evening dress, cut away to show her stomach and the
small of her back. I knew I was supposed to be there to save Tough—Grace was distracting
Kathan and her sister and we didn’t have much time before the first
explosion—but Mikal, my Mikal, was so beautiful and so intense. Something else
took over when I saw her.

Rian
came out of Kathan’s residence wing. He spotted me and started to reach for his
pistol, so I shot him twice, center mass, to slow him down. Blood sprayed.
People screamed and Rian cussed and grabbed his chest.

“Stand
down, Rian,” Mikal ordered. She smiled at me as if I’d just handed her a dozen
roses. “Colter?”

Ants
prickled in my veins and electricity buzzed through my teeth. My gun arm went
slack. The screaming in my head stopped, waiting for her to say more. She took
a step closer and I felt the change in distance all over my skin.

“I
knew there was a reason you were my favorite,” she said.

People
were talking or maybe yelling. Saying things about a psycho gunman and getting
the hell out without getting shot.

All
I could do was pay attention to Mikal. Let the sight and sound of her heal the emptiness
I’d felt since I lost her. She walked up to me, legs flashing through the
high-cut slits on either side of her dress. She stopped less than an arm’s
length away. I could’ve touched her. She had to know I was dying to, but she
didn’t give me permission—punishment for all those times I’d fought her when
all she wanted was a kiss.

“Take
me back.” My voice sounded like it used to back when I was alone. Hoarse, as if
I hadn’t said anything in a couple of weeks.

The
first explosion rattled the mansion on its foundations. People were definitely
screaming now. Pieces of the barracks fell on the roof like hail.

“Rian—take
a unit, evacuate the civilians,” Mikal ordered. “Everyone else is on fire
containment.”

The
foot soldiers ran toward the back of the mansion. Rian started yelling and
hustling people out the south doors. Mikal turned back to me.

“Sometimes
I forget how young you are, Colt,” she said. “A diversion? Maybe from Ryder. I
expected better from you.”

She
was right. I could’ve done better than this pathetic, thrown-together excuse
for an attack. I would’ve done better if it had been for her.

“I’m
sorry,” I said.

“I
forgive you,” she said. “But if you want to come back, you’re going to have to
beg like a good dog.”

“Please,
Mikal.”

“Give
me your gun.”

I
took it by the barrel and handed it to her.

She
checked the chamber for a round. “Get on your knees.”

I
did.

“You
love me,” she said.

“Yes,”
I said.

“You
want me to hurt you again.”

“Yes.”
Anything to have her back.

I
felt her hand on my hair and it was all I could do not to push into her touch.
She ran her fingers across my scalp, down the back of my neck, then up around
my jaw to cup my cheek.

The
black noise filled my brain, but this time I didn’t try to fight it. The
glowing, red web stretched out around Mikal, a network of lines that only I was
crazy enough to see. Spheres hung from the lines like drops of blood.

Broken
minds can see the lines.

The
second explosion. This time the hail was barn. Car alarms were going crazy.
Like I was somewhere outside my body, I heard myself laughing.

Mikal
smiled.

“You
are exactly as insane as everyone always thought, Colter. A rabid dog they all
wanted put down—everyone but me.” She bent down close to my face and licked her
bottom lip with her forked tongue. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

I
nodded, praying she’d let me. Tried to swallow, but she jammed the .45 up under
my jaw.

“Look
me in the eyes,” Mikal said.

They
were high-voltage black, too hot for fire, and even more beautiful than I
remembered.

“Good
dog,” she said. She pressed her lips to mine.

The
barrel shifted downward and dug into my throat as Mikal squeezed the trigger.

I
lunged forward, wrapped my arm around her neck. My forehead banged against hers.
I felt her nose snap. She was too stunned to stop me.

The
red lines twisted and followed Mikal’s body as I threw her off-balance. The
bloody sphere by her hip—that was where she kept the Sword of Judgment, I
remembered. I reached inside. The flames licked up my hand and wrist. It
should’ve been too painful, but fire was one of the first things Mikal’s
constant torture had desensitized me to. I felt around inside the sphere.

My
fingertips grazed metal.

I
wrapped my fingers around the blade and jerked the Sword of Judgment out of
Hell.

It
was awkward, off-balance, and still burning, but I shoved it up through Mikal’s
ribcage until my fist was flush with her stomach.

For
a split-second it all connected—hearing Brandt and Raelyn talking about the
Whitney Death Prophecy on their way to the bakery, knowing I couldn’t kill
Tough, and realizing what I’d have to do to push him into killing me. Somewhere
along the way I’d heard that castoff talking about the lines of power and
remembered Ryder telling me where he’d gotten that first bottle of Southern
Comfort. Then it had just been a matter of getting Mikal to come after me.

From
the beginning, it should’ve been hopeless. One more failed plan, one more dead
Whitney. I never should’ve made it this far. I wished to God I hadn’t.

Mikal
jerked away from my lips. Her black eyes were wide and terrified. She dropped
the gun and grabbed me. Her fingernails cut into my shoulders.

“I’m
sorry,” I said.

“Colt?”
Blood ran through her teeth.

The
howling of tortured souls. Hell coming for Mikal, my Mikal, my burning angel.

I
held her close. The sword hilt dug into my hip. Her cheek brushed against mine,
so soft. The heat of her skin felt like a blowtorch on my blistered hand, but I
didn’t let go.

“Mikal,
I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t
let them take me,” she begged. She was crying. “Please, Colt—”

But
I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t save her.

Tough

Desty
and I got to the entrance hall just in time to see Colt pull Mikal’s flaming sword
out of thin air and ram it through her stomach and out her back.

The
lights in the mansion exploded and greenish-blackness took over. Wind like a
tornado tore through the place, and louder than anything else, this sound like
a million fingernails scratching low and high E from every direction.

Desty
held her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. I hugged her against
me, hoping she couldn’t tell I was scared sick, too.

Then
they came. They ripped and tore and clawed at Mikal. Colt tried to fight them,
but they wouldn’t touch him. They dragged Mikal away from Colt and into the
blackness.

Hearing
Mikal scream was worse than knowing Desty was going to leave me, worse than watching
Mikal beat Mom to death, or getting stabbed through the Adam’s apple with a
stake. All those things would end, eventually. Mikal’s scream was going to go
on forever, even after time ended. My ears stopped hearing it when Hell closed
around her, but the sound kept playing back in my head.

Something
to look forward to.

The
wind died and the green-black darkness burned off like fog. Colt was on his
knees, face on the floor. One of his hands was burnt and blistered. He kept
whispering to himself, but the only thing I could make out was, “I’m sorry, I’m
so sorry.”

Desty
pulled away from me.

“We’ve
got to go before Kathan gets back,” she said. “Get Colt. I’ll get the truck.”

I
grabbed her hand. She was white and shaking so bad she was probably giving off
a hum on some frequency.

“Don’t
touch me.” She stepped back and hugged her arms around her stomach. “Just…get
Colt.”

Desty
ran for the door.

I
dodged the sunlight shining in and grabbed Colt by the shoulders to pull him
up. He took a swing at me, but I twisted both of his arms up behind his back. I
had to drag him to the door.

Come
on, dammit.
This wasn’t going to work if I had to fight
him all the way to the truck while I was on fire.
You got to help me, Colt.

“I
sent her to Hell,” Colt said.

You’re
even, then,
I told him.
Just haul ass when you see my
truck, all right?

“She’s
gone. That was the plan—get rid of Mikal. That was— No, if that was the plan,
then why— What the fuck did I do?”

Outside,
I heard Desty jam the gears and I winced, but she didn’t kill the engine. She
threw gravel on the steps stopping, then I heard the truck door closest to the
mansion open.

“Come
on,” she yelled.

As
soon as I jerked Colt out into the sunlight, I caught on fire.

Everybody
says it’s the primal crow magic that makes vamps freak out about fire, but I’d
like to see a human stay calm while their skin cracks and curls up and their
muscles drip off their bones like melting plastic bags.

I
hit the side of the truck. Someone grabbed the back of my neck and dragged me
into the floorboards. A second later, the sleeping bag from behind my seat
smothered the fire. Whoever invented flame-retardant material really ought to
get a medal or something.

The
driver’s side door slammed. Desty threw the truck in gear and we spun out. I
could hear Colt rocking on the seat beside her, talking to himself.

“Fuck.
Bad dog, bad dog, fucking bad dog. Mikal? Fuck!” He was hitting himself. I
could hear Desty trying to stop him and drive at the same time. I started to
move.

“Stay
still if you can, Tough,” Desty yelled over Colt. “If you’re not careful, the
sleeping bag might come off and you might ignite again.”

But
she couldn’t get him to stop and he started fighting harder.

Hell
with this.
I was about to push the sleeping bag off when Colt went still
and his heartbeat calmed down. Even the way he was breathing changed.

“It’s
okay, honey girl, I got Colt. You just worry about getting us the fuck out of
here.”

Frostbite
shot down my spine and something inside me tried to get small and hide. That was
Ryder. As sure as my soul was fucked for all eternity, that was Ryder talking.