Marked by Passion (34 page)

I heard Wu say,
There is no division between you and the scroll. You are a delicate balance that creates one.
Rhys's voice chimed in with an insistent,
Stop fighting it.

Taking a deep breath, I relaxed all my muscles, from my eyebrows to my toes. In my mind, I put my hand on the latch again. Instead of forcing anything, I simply accepted that it'd open. On an exhale, I yanked it again.

It opened.

I was patting myself on my back when
tu ch’i
slammed into me.

The power overwhelmed me, rushing to fill me to the brim. Pain, like my cells were going to explode, wracked every inch of my body.

"Gabe!" Jesse called out, his voice sounding faint as if he was miles away. "Are you okay?"

No, I wasn't. I whimpered, feeling the ground open, wanting to swallow me whole, suffocating me with its pressure.

Stop fighting it.

Only I felt if I didn't fight it, it'd take me over. At the same time, I realized my way hadn't worked so far. What did I have to lose?

Opening my arms, I let go of my control and let
tu ch’i
take over. For a moment, it shot through me. I flattened my palms on the floor to keep myself upright and felt it burst out of my hands into the earth.

Everything began to quake, a deep, bowel-wrenching rumble. Distantly, I heard both Jesse and Paul cry out, followed by the metallic crash of tools hitting the cement floor.

Balance—giving myself up to
tu ch’i
wasn't balance. I tried again, reaching to pull the energy back into me. I didn't force it—I didn't wrestle it. Accepting that it had a place inside me, I let it nestle in me.

Shockingly, it did just that. I could still feel it—its pulse still echoed through me—but I didn't feel dominated.

Exhaling in relief, I tuned in to what was going on in the garage. Silence. No shots being fired. I checked around the corner of the cabinet. Nothing. Paul must be reloading.

Now was the time to strike. Gathering
tu ch’i
, I looked at the shelf I wanted to collapse onto Paul.

It wasn't there.

Craning my neck, I saw its contents scattered on the floor. My earthquake must have shaken it loose. Was Paul knocked out?

As if answering me, a volley of shots burst out from that side of the room.

"Gabe!" Jesse yelled.

"I'm fine," I answered, retreating behind my cover. But this had to stop.

I should have taken up Rhys on his lessons sooner. Maybe then I'd know what to do with my power. Because even while it was at my fingertips, I had no idea how to use it. Other than sparking earthquakes, I had no idea what I could do.

But I
could
go back to basics and disarm Paul with my hands. Yeah, it'd been a long time since I'd practiced disarming someone with a gun (I'd never make fun of Wu for teaching me that
ever
again), but I still remembered the essential principles. Of course, it involved getting really close to the gun, but Paul wouldn't shoot me before he got the scroll. Probably.

I calculated the distance and picked a path. I could do it. "Jesse, cover me."

"
Gabe
. Hell."

I heard him open fire as I duckwalked behind my metal shield to the outside of the garage. A moment later Paul started shooting back. I ignored the vicious cracking—God, gunfire was loud—and moved steadily toward my goal.

I got behind him.

There were a table and a couple other obstacles between us, but I could make out his form kneeling behind the car he used as cover. I debated throwing my knife at him, but it was dark and I hadn't practiced throwing knives in years—the chances that I'd miss him were too big.

Creep up on him
. Nodding, I silently darted out from the cabinet to the table.

Jesse let loose a yell, followed by an empty click. I froze. Did that mean he was out of bullets?

Paul stood up, hands bracing his handgun directly in front of him, shooting indiscriminately toward the spot where Jesse hid.

I had to do something. I looked down at the knife. Here went nothing.

I rushed out from behind the table as quietly as I could. I was behind Paul before he realized. I sliced upward under his raised right arm.

He screamed, pressing his arm to his side. But as I hesitated, he swung his uninjured arm around. His flapping hand caught my cheek. Dropping the knife, T gasped and rocked back, seeing stars for a second before my vision cleared.

In time to feel him press the gun against my forehead.

N
o," Jesse yelled.

Damn.

Double damn as I remembered Rhys telling me my moment of hesitation would give my opponent the advantage. I hoped I stayed alive to tell him he was right.

"Stay back or I'll shoot her." Paul's lips twisted as if he were in pain, but he shoved the gun harder into my temple. "Don't make me hurt her."

The hard metal triggered a memory of Wu holding a rubber gun to my head.
Fight your opponent—the gun is not the enemy. Pretend to cower. This will disarm your opponent, making him feel he has won. Then strike to a vital area.

My gut spasmed with nerves. Right. I could do that. Even though I hadn't practiced it in forever. And even though it was totally different having your brother press a real loaded gun to your head.

But I wouldn't think about that.

With a shaky breath, I hunched my shoulders and brought my hands up to my face, just like Wu had instructed. I even whimpered for good measure.

"Hurt her and I won't give you the scroll," Jesse yelled.

Something metallic slid across the paved floor, and I knew he was moving. I wanted to tell him to stay put, but I knew he wouldn't listen.

Had to act.
Now.

Whirling into Paul, I did a right up-windmill. The moment I struck,
tu ch’i
rose, strengthening my block to knock his gun arm wide. Not letting the sharp crack of broken bone distract me, I stuck my thumb in his eye and held on, hoping it'd force him to drop the gun.

"Son of a bitch." Paul screamed, clawing my hand with his good one. Then he surprised me by kicking my knee.

My hands lost their grip, and he jerked his head back, his eye streaming and red but not popped. He shoved me back and pointed the gun at my face with his unhurt hand.

"Shit," I muttered.

"I'm sorry, Gabby, but you wouldn't cooperate." He pulled the trigger.

No.
Picturing the shield that had protected me from Chivo, I focused
tu ch’i
in front of me.

The bullet hit the amorphous air and ricocheted right. Before he could react, I pushed the energy out to hit him in the chest.

He staggered, hitting the car behind him. The gun clattered to the ground, and he slid down the driver's-side panel, wheezing on his knees like the air had been knocked out of him.

The image of my mom lying dead in my arms flashed in my head, and anger forced
tu ch’i
to rise again. I stepped forward, knowing I could take him, knowing I could make him pay for everything he'd done.

But the sadness I remembered in Mom's eyes, even after her death, stopped me. My shoulders slumped, and the energy withdrew inside me. As angry as I was, as much as I thought Paul deserved to hurt, this wasn't the way. "This has to stop, Paul."

He lifted his head, and the dark emotion that poured from his eyes made me take a step back. "I couldn't agree more."

Lunging, he grabbed the knife off the floor and scrambled to his feet to charge me.

Tu ch’i
spilled forward, deflecting the blade as he stabbed. Acting on instinct, I grabbed his wrist, held it up, twirled under his arm, and twisted it back toward him. We both gasped in surprise when it sank high in his abdomen.

I looked into my brother's eyes—Wu's eyes—and sank into a black hole of hatred and anger. His lips twisted, and he jerked back from me. I felt the knife slurp out of him, and I pressed my lips shut so I wouldn't give in to the urge to retch.

Paul stumbled backward and collapsed against the side of the car. His arms hugged his wound, but I could see blood seeping through his clothes around the edges.

His smirk became a pain-ridden grimace. "You'd think this was the worst day of my life. But it's not. It was the day you were born."

His hatred choked me. I backed away, horrified by the flecks of frothy pink spit that gathered at the corner of his mouth as he coughed. I wouldn't think about him. I wouldn't feel guilty that my brother was dying.

Damn it—this was his fault. He'd engineered both Mom and Wu's deaths. This was how fate repaid him.

If only that bit of logic lessened the guilt I felt. I was death on people I cared for. No wonder I had no family and so few friends.

Jesse.

Tucking the knife back into my pocket, I turned around and scanned the garage.

Kicking the gun out of Paul's reach—just in case—I wove through the trashed bay toward the car where Jesse had been hiding. I skirted around some kind of rolling tool cart when I tripped on something. Looking down, I gasped when I saw Jesse lying there, eyes closed.

Covered in blood.

"Jesse." I dropped to the floor next to him.

His eyes cracked open. "Did you take care of him?"

"Yeah." Did shoulder wounds bleed a lot? I didn't think so—not unless an artery was nicked. I pushed his hands aside and froze when I saw not just the one wound but a second bullet hole directly over his chest.

His lips twisted—with humor or pain, I couldn't tell. "Got in the way of that last bullet. Ironic."

Panic surged through me. I gripped his clothes and tried to yank him up. "Come on, we've got to get you to the hospital."

"Too late, babe." He covered my hands with his. "No regrets. My fault. But you're worth it."

Tears blurred my vision. No—I couldn't break down now. I had to save him. I blinked them away and applied pressure on his wound. The blood bubbled through my fingers with each breath he took. "Don't give up, damn it."

Rhys healed me—maybe I could heal Jesse. As angry as I was for his part in all this, I didn't want him dead.

My cheeks burned remembering how Rhys did it. Knowing Rhys, he'd probably just taken advantage of the situation to kiss me. I doubted anything that intimate was required.

Pushing his clothing aside, I placed my hands directly on his wounds. Trying not to panic at the amount of blood, I pictured him healing.

Tu ch’i
didn't stir.

Another thin gush of wetness seeped through my fingers.

"Heal, damn it." I opened my eyes and concentrated everything on healing the gaping hole.

Nothing.

I went inward and touched it in its resting place. Still there. Why wouldn't it do anything?

He lifted a bloodied hand and shakily pushed my hair behind my ear. "Love you."

I opened my mouth to tell him I loved him, too. I did love him. Maybe. I thought. In a friendly way.

But I couldn't say a word.

Regret lined his face. Then his eyelids lowered and he went limp.

"Jesse." I was about to try one more time, but I felt him leave. It wasn't violent; it wasn't more than a feeling that he'd passed on and I was alone.

I bit my lips to hold in my sadness. Maybe if I had better control of
tu ch’i
, this would have turned out differently. Maybe if I loved him, I could have saved him.

So many maybes.

Righting his clothing, I placed a kiss on his forehead. I still had to take care of Paul. Pulling out my cell phone, I started to redial 911, but it occurred to me to use the garage's phone instead. I slipped mine back in my pocket and stumbled to the office. After placing the quick call, I went back out to where I left Paul in the garage.

I rounded the car he'd propped himself on and blinked. He was gone.

C
overed in blood, I couldn't call a cab. So I ran home, careful to take the more deserted routes through SoMa to the Mission.

Rhys was leaning against my front door when I got home. He looked immaculate, untainted, and I felt a stab of need mixed with jealousy. I didn't think I'd ever feel untainted again.

It took me a moment to catch my breath—from running but also from seeing him. Then I walked up the porch steps, keys in hand. "This is becoming a bad habit."

His gaze sharpened, and he pushed away from the house. "Gabrielle, what—"

Holding a hand out, I shook my head. "Don't touch me. Your clothes will get messed up."

"I don't bloody care about my clothes. Are you hurt?" He carefully took me in his arms, running his hands over me as if checking for injury. "You're shaking."

"It's not my blood." I tried to squirm out of his hold, but he held me, gently but without question. "Let go."

"You're the one who needs to let go, love."

As if his words flipped a switch, tears flooded my eyes and overflowed down my cheeks. I tried to hold it in, but a sob escaped. Then another. And then I was enfolded in the comfort of Rhys's arms.

Holding me close, he stroked my hair gently, soothingly. "What happened, Gabrielle?"

"Jesse died. I couldn't save him," I whispered hoarsely.

"Jesse? Your friend?" Rhys stilled. I held my breath, wondering if he was going to launch into a jealous tirade. He surprised me by simply saying, "I'm sorry."

I put my hand over the calming beat of his heart— over his mark—and burrowed closer. "I managed to unlock
tu ch’i
and tried so hard to heal him. Why didn't it work? I put my hands over his wound and thought healing thoughts."

"Each scroll has different properties, lending different powers," he said into my hair. "I'm not sure thinking healing thoughts are the way to approach it with yours. Only you'll know for sure how it works."

No, Wu would know, too. "But you still think you can coach me into learning?"

"I'm positive." The confidence in his voice reassured me. "The person who taught me didn't have practical knowledge of my scroll, either."

Frowning, I looked up at him. "Who taught you?"

"A monk at the monastery where the scrolls originated."