Landing (19 page)

Chapter 29

I’m thrown into the opposite wall
and hit the ground so hard that I actually bounce. I lay stunned while the pain
catches up to me and parades up and down my spine. Before I can find my
feet—hell, before I can find my lungs and reteach them to breathe—Grand’s
powerful telekinesis lifts me up, slams me into the wall, and pins me there
like a living butterfly.

I stare at my dirty feet dangling
above the floor and give a little push against the force. I might as well be
bolted to the wall for all that I can move.

It’s over. I’ve failed.

I understand this. Expected it,
actually. Only now that I’m here, I realize that some crazy part of me actually
thought that I could pull it off. Avenge Ryan. Save my brothers. Offer peace to
the restless souls of Canton, Diana and Tammy Fox.

Dumb little Pixie Girl thought that
all her suffering had earned her a glorious revenge. Tears scrawl down my nose
and take kamikaze plunges to the floor below.

I lift up my head and watch Grand’s
intentionally slow progress across the room. His feet don’t touch the ground.
Blood seeps around the knife embedded in his chest. He stops in front of me,
and those empty eyes consider my face.

Finally, he says, “I could have
made you nearly invincible.”

He still has the needle in his
hand. He presses the stopper, and his bone marrow drips to the floor. Grand
drops the needle, and it lands with a ring that seems too loud for so small an
object.

I try not to be afraid, but my
entire body is quaking.

“Did you think they were your only
family? Your only brothers?” Grand’s voice never rises, but I feel his anger in
the increasing pressure of his telekinesis, which grinds my bones against the
wall. I cry out in pain and struggle against the invisible net. For a moment it
seems to give just a little.

“Did you not know that another
greater family opened up its arms to embrace you?” Grand’s long, fine fingers
wrap around the hilt of my dagger, and he pulls the blade out of his body.

The blood quickly slackens from his
wound. He takes short, pain-laced breaths, and I realize that the blade must
have punctured his lung. A dim little hope lights up in my mind. People die of
punctured lungs all the time. Maybe…

The color gradually returns to
Grand’s face, and his breaths become slower, deeper. I can feel the strength
pulsing out of him, healing his wound.

“Ah,” he says at last, his voice
steady. He takes a full, deep breath. “That was unpleasant.” Grand holds out
his hand, and the stained dagger floats, tip down, just above his palm. It
rotates slowly.

“Gem is on his way.” Grand’s calm
voice continues. “I had hoped that he might be your Guide after your Ascension.
Instead, you shall serve as his lesson in disobedience.”

I push against the force, and it
gives a little farther before snapping back in place.

Grand’s eyes are bleak. “Because
you are my daughter I will kill you quickly,” he says, “but I will not show the
same regard to those whom you sacrificed yourself to protect.”

Grand doesn’t take his eyes off my
face. The dagger jerks up and soars through the air towards Tarren.

“No!” I cry out.

The blade is a blur as it plunges
toward Tarren’s head. It hits the concrete pillar with a dull
thud
that
echoes through the room.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t,” I huff, even
though the blade has landed. It’s so close I can’t tell if it hit Tarren or
not. Then, Tarren turns his head, revealing only a light gash across his cheek
trickling blood.

“A taste of what’s to come,” Grand
says to him.

Tarren stares at the wall. His
shoulders shift slightly. He never even cried out.

I hear Grand’s voice next to my
ear. “I will show you how the weak ought to be treated.”

He floats toward Tarren. No, his
eyes are on Gabe.

Oh no. God, no. Not Gabe.

I push harder against the force
holding me to the wall. The invisible mesh of power is letting up, bit by bit.
My shoulders are coming loose and so are my ankles. If I can turn my hands
palms to the wall, I could use them for leverage.

Grand pauses by Gabe’s motionless
form. The blood is drying on my brother’s pale face. His shoe, the one with the
word
excelsior
scribbled on the side in red Sharpie, is still untied. I
search for the pulse of an aura around his frame—any of that perfect blue left,
but there is nothing.

And this brings me a whisper of
relief. If I have done nothing else tonight, at least I have put Gabe beyond
Grand’s reach.

But Tarren…I gaze at him, at his
black aura and twitching shoulders. More kamikaze tears. Grand will flay us
both; lay open our skin and watch our blood dance on the outsides of our bodies
unless I pull off a miracle.

“I see now,” Grand murmurs, and his
lips twitch. “A clumsy rouse, but I wanted to believe.” He nudges Gabe with his
foot.

I push, push, push, turn my hands
around and get my elbows bent just a little. I gather my energy, Gabe’s energy,
and prepare for a single desperate plunge.

“I admire your restraint,” Grand
says without looking up, “but you held on too long. Took too much from him.”
The mask of disinterest slips away from Grand’s features. When he drops to the
ground and crouches over Gabe, I see his eyes alight with a maniacal gleam. He
wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. “A living autopsy might be an
interesting diversion, but…” Grand pauses and studies me.

“You still retain the vestiges of
an aura. I wonder, can you see it?”

I don’t respond. A young angel
named Amber once told me that my aura was gray like smoke. I’ve stared at my
naked body in the mirror many times since then, searching in vain for that
gray, that remaining trace of my humanity.

“It taints you,” Grand says, “and
it shows me that you are especially protective of this one.” The gleam of crazy
in his eyes get brighter as he considers this new information and makes a
decision. “I’ll leave him be so you can watch him die by your own hand.”

His eyes won’t let me go. They
follow the tears dripping off my chin.

“You’ll listen as his heart gives
out. As he struggles for his last breath, you’ll know that you took away his
life. It may take a few hours, but we can find an acceptable way to pass the
time.” His gaze settles on Tarren.

I throw myself against the force,
pushing with everything that I have. It feels like every single cell, every
particle of my being joins in the effort. Grand may be a full angel—the most
powerful angel—but I’ve got everything on the line. Can’t desperation and love
grant me strength I never believed possible?

The invisible bind gives way
against me. I feel it stretching, breaking as my body moves through it. The
strain is almost unbearable, but I won’t give up, can’t give up. The barrier is
thin as a thread. It breaks. I am free.

Just before my feet hit the ground,
Grand smiles.

His telekinesis wraps itself around
my body and slams me so hard into the wall that for a moment I don’t know where
I am, who I am, why my eyelids are so sticky.

“Open your eyes Maya.”

Heavy head. Hammer pounding behind
my eyes. Glue sticking my thoughts together. I look at Grand. I know he is bad.
I know he wants to hurt me. Then I remember that I have ruined everything. That
we’re all going to die because of me.

I try to give the force a little
nudge, but I can’t move it. I never really could. Everything hurts.

“That was a lesson,” Grand informs
me. “You need to know that you cannot escape. Everything that happens from now
until I kill you is completely out of your control.”

I stare at him, at his pressed
shirt and perfectly tailored pants. There is absolutely no sloppiness about
him; not a single blond hair dares to bend. I manage a loopy smile.

“I made you bleed,” I say nodding
toward the ruby stain across his starched white shirt.

The pressure squeezes so tight that
I can feel my ribs creaking.

“Bereft of your tricks,” Grand says
in that unbothered voice, “you are utterly helpless.”

“And you’re a monster,” I manage,
though the words are just air with no voice behind them.

“Yes,” Grand responds. That gleam
is in his eyes again.

I realize that whether or not Grand
truly believes himself to be the messiah of a superior race, I know him for
what he truly is; a sociopath, a bully of the lowest order, a mad king.

Grand turns to Tarren. “This time
I’ll start with your face, and I’ll take both your hands before I’m done.”

I have to stop this. Think of
something. Anything.

Tarren stares at the wall.

“Look at me.”

Tarren’s head twists roughly toward
Grand, caught in the same grip of power that holds me aloft. Tarren gazes up at
his captor. If he’s aware of Grand’s words he shows no concern for their
implication.

“You have your mother’s eyes,”
Grand says to him.

I scan the floor in front of me.
There
.
Lying under the table holding Jane’s body are the weapons I pulled off of Gabe
and slid across the floor: his blades, the ax, and his prized Beretta Px4
semi-automatic with the safety off and a bullet waiting in the chamber.

I stare at that gun. Monster Maya
has a plan. I fill up my lungs to capacity and then expel the air slowly, as I
explore my mind, searching for a miracle.

Grand floats over to his table of
implements and studies the winking blades. “Humans are the most successful
incarnation of death,” he says to no one in particular. “They have warred and
rutted throughout their entire miserable history. They have trampled across their
planet from pole to pole, reshaped it, and cast almost every other species onto
the fringes of existence or into extinction. They have learned the lessons of
evolution and meddled with their own DNA.”

I find something that has lain
dormant for a very long time, something that tingles at the touch of my
thoughts. I press deeper, feed it energy, and it grudgingly wakes and unfurls
ethereal fingers that extend outside of my mind.

Grand picks up a scalpel and spins
it between his fingers. The reflection of light dances across his face. “The
angels are growing in numbers and in strength. The species is undisciplined,
but that will change. I will remake the formula, reassert control, and then the
scales of power will tip. Humans will take their rightful place below us on the
food chain, and only the worthy will be elevated.”

I half expect a mad cackle to
follow. Then I let this thought go. My brain is heating up like hot coals as I
struggle to do…whatever it is I think I’m doing.

“You think that I am cruel, that
the humans need to be protected,” Grand says, “but humans are not good. They
are not righteous. They ruin all that they touch.” Grand approaches Tarren.

My consciousness drifts through the
air, toward the gun. It feels so tenuous, like a cloud of vapor that might
dissipate if I push too hard. I descend upon the gun, but am not sure what to
do. I have no hands to grip it, no muscles to lift. I concentrate harder; try
to shape the force around the gun…

“They have created weapons capable
of extincting themselves,” Grand continues. “Their greed and unchecked
consumption have decimated their planet beyond repair. This is what you seek to
protect from us.”

I glace up at Grand, sure that he
must feel the power coming out of me or sense what I’m planning. But no, the
crazy has him now. He wets his lips again, and his gaze, his entire focus, is
locked on Tarren.

I let go of everything else, put
all of my energy toward solidifying my grip on the gun. I think I have it.
Sweat drips down my neck and between my breasts even though I never sweat
anymore, not even when I run eight miles with Tarren in the morning. I clench
my teeth to keep from gasping.

Grand steps in front of Tarren. The
scalpel protrudes from his hand.

“You can’t know how much I enjoy it
when they try not to scream,” he whispers to Tarren.

I lift up the gun. Higher. Higher.
So heavy. Upon my mental command, the gun drifts through the air. I need to get
as close as possible so I don’t have to aim. I push harder. My brain seems to
be swelling, pressing against my skull until I think it’s going to crack. My
muscles spaz; I feel foam bubbling up in my throat.

“Left eye first,” Grand says.

My skull is breaking open. My
muscles are detaching from my bones. Every little synapses in my brain is
streaming outward.

Grand raises his arm to strike.
Stops. Turns and looks into the gun pointed at his face.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs. His own
mental energy eclipses mine, and with the gentlest of mental tugs, the gun is
pulled from my grip. “You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” my father
says, and there’s a faint hint of satisfaction in his words. “But not strong
enough.”

The gun turns and points at me.

In a whirl of motion Tarren’s arms
come from behind the pole. He snatches the dagger embedded in the concrete next
to his face and plunges it into Grand’s foot.

Grand roars with pain. The gun
falls from his mental grip. A scream tears out of my throat as I wrap my
telekinesis around the gun, turn it, and lay the last sputtering particles of
my consciousness against the trigger.

I don’t know if the explosion is
the gunshot or my skull breaking apart.

I fall into darkness.

Chapter 30

Light prods against my eyelids, and
when I crack them open, the room is blurry and listing from side to side. I
hear a little whimper, and I’m pretty sure it’s coming from me. My palms feel
the cool, smooth concrete of the floor, and this must be another trap. My whole
body tingles with the anticipation of the next blow.

“Thirty-two seconds, thirty-two
seconds,” a voice whispers somewhere close.

It takes some time before I can
lift up my head. It feels heavy like, well, like something really heavy and
fragile and about to explode. I can’t fucking think at all.

I see movement across the room and
assume it is Grand coming for me. But when I blink, the figure forms into
Tarren. He’s on his knees, and he rocks back and forth murmuring, “thirty-two
seconds, thirty-two seconds.” Gabe is cradled in his lap.

My gaze sweeps the room, and I see
Grand sprawled on the ground in front of the pole where Tarren was cuffed. His
left arm is canted at a weird angle behind his back.

A line of foam dribbles down my
chin. I scrub it away and push myself up to my hands and knees. When the room
settles again, I stand up, and this takes some doing.

Little, careful steps take me
across the room. This feels like a dream. My vision keeps shifting in and out
of focus. I crouch down over Grand’s body. The bullet went in just under his
left eye, making a small, dark hole in his flesh. I rummage in my heart for
some courage and find only desperation instead. Desperation works. It gets my
fingers on Grand’s neck in search of a pulse.

Nothing.

I sit back on my heels.

There are no trumpets. No
fireworks. The fabric of the universe doesn’t shift. The words that I have
practiced for this moment every night don’t come. I haven’t time for them
anyway, because there are no brothers rushing to embrace me, to give me a proud
nod and invite me, finally, into their hearts.

The metal cuffs that were holding
Tarren lie open on the floor, a pair of picks still standing in the lock of the
cuffs that were around his ankles. Tarren wasn’t carrying lock picks; I saw his
kit in his duffle bag.

But Gabe was
, I realize. I
didn’t take them off him when I stripped the rest of his weapons.

I turn and approach Tarren. His
energy is still a polluted sludge, and his eyes are glazed. “Thirty-two
seconds,” he whispers.

I step up behind him, and he
hunches over his brother. His aura flares, black and ruby reds.

“I know that you want to hurt me,”
I tell him, “and I deserve it. But not now. Not until Gabe is safe, okay?
Please tell me you understand.”

Tarren looks at me. His skin is
pale and clammy with sweat. There’s a twig caught up in his hair from his fight
with Grand and dried mud splattered across his jacket. I notice deep, bloody
gashes at the top of both his wrists from fighting against the cuffs.

He nods.

“We have to go,” I say. “Let me
take Gabe to the car.”

“No.” Tarren’s voice is dry as
sand. “Don’t touch him.” His aura flickers again.

“Tarren, no matter what you feel
right now…” My voice suddenly deserts me, and I have to swallow and find it
again. “We have to work together so that we can save Gabe’s life. If you want
to kill me you can do that later.”

Tarren doesn’t move from his
protective crouch. He’s still panting and shivering and smearing blood on
Gabe’s coat. “Thirty-two seconds,” he says.

“I’ll get the car,” I say.

***

Surprisingly, the world still
exists outside the walls of that blood-splattered building. The air is cool and
sharp in my lungs, and the sun is halfway up over the horizon, peeling away the
night sky and bleaching out the stars. Somewhere, a lone bird calls, and its
voice is so clear, so loud that I swear it’s perched on my shoulder singing in
my ear.

My senses are all out of whack,
each magnified and overly sensitive, overloading my brain with so many sensory
insights that it makes me dizzy and nauseous.

I run, and the world blurs around
me. Such speed, even with my energy puttering on the last fumes of what I stole
from Gabe. When I return to building number twelve, Tarren and I pass each
other inside the main entrance. Tarren carries Gabe in his arms, and I the two
red five-gallon containers of gasoline that we always keep in the trunk. We
don’t stop. We don’t look at each other as we pass.

I wait until Tarren is outside, and
then I open the first container of gasoline and start pouring. When I reach the
back room, I open the second container and pour gasoline over the little trail
of blood drops that lead from the wall toward the nearest pillar. I splash the
crimson puddle from Gabe’s cracked skull and then douse the pillar, bloodied
and notched from Tarren’s struggles.

I go to Jane and dribble a circle
of gasoline around her body. I try not to get any on her.

“I’m sorry,” I say, because I am.

Last, I come to Grand. His face now
sports a gruesome wound—a deep gouge starting under his left ear, tracing his
jaw and coming up just under his bottom lip. My dagger stands straight up from
his chest, buried all the way up to the bloodied hilt.

I tip the container, and the
gasoline gushes over Grand. I don’t say anything. I don’t think anything. But I
do pour every last drop of the accelerant on my father’s body.

When I’m done, I push open the door
of the warehouse and step out of those dizzying fumes. Tarren stands in front
of the SUV, shivering and staring at me with hollow eyes. He holds out his
hand, and I don’t understand until I recognize the object lying on his palm.

I take the bloodied matchbook from
him and open it.

Love Me Tender, Veronica.

I stand in front of the building,
tease out a single match, and draw it against the phosphorous strip.

The match snaps in half. So does
the next one. The head of the third makes a single gouge on the strip and then
bends back. I’m pressing too hard, but I don’t know how to reign in my shaking
hands. I miss the matchbook altogether with my fourth strike attempt. I hold
the match in front of me and let out a loud sob.

The match lights. By itself. And I
most definitely did not do it.

I look up, distinguish the unknown
heartbeat from the churn of sounds assaulting my enhanced eardrums, and find
the stranger. He stands on the roof of a neighboring building.

An angel.

Our eyes meet, and his are a deep
blue, spaced far apart beneath a rounded forehead and unruly blond hair. I
can’t tell how old he is. Past his twenties, but not middle aged yet.

He smiles at me.

Pain. The match. It’s burned down
to my fingers. I quickly light the rest of the matchbook and toss it against
the building’s door. The flames consume the gasoline with an audible whoosh. I
can see the fire running beneath the door, picking up the trail of gasoline
inside and following it all the way to the back room where it will devour
everything but our memories of what happened there.

I glance up, searching for the
strange new angel who must be Gem. The roof is empty. He’s gone, and I don’t
have the time or energy to figure out his game or the meaning of that smile.

Tarren steps up next to me. I
wonder if he also saw the angel. No. He only has eyes for the fire. His aura
rises, and I can see a hint of blue in its depths. Tarren bows his head, and
his lips form silent words. I look away, let him have his moment.

We won’t stay long, but we both
need this. Tarren and I stand side by side, and we watch the flames feed.