Rock Star (Dream Weaver #2) (24 page)

             
“Killing them?”

             
“Never. Every one of them has deserved death for the kind of horrors they’ve wrought on both man and Caphar,” Nick explained. But it still plagued me, the thought of destroying any life. “For all intents and purposes, Em, they aren’t alive.”

             
“Do they bleed?” I asked and took the gun and ammo out of Nick’s hands and loaded the five chambers and flipped the gun closed like a pro.

             
“Yes.”

             
“Then, what constitutes not being alive?” The thought of killing was repugnant.

             
Nick’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed my arms. “Emari, this line of thinking will get you killed.”

             
“Fine. For now, I’ll take your word for it. You might want to back up.”

             
Nick stepped away as I took aim at the target on the tree and slid back the hammer with solid click. A wickedly patriotic smile twisted my mouth, as I realized the target was a picture of Osama Bin Laden. Despite already being dead, it still felt like justification blasting at his likeness.
But I was only, like, five when the Twin Towers were destroyed. Why would I feel such a passionate patriotism for something I don’t even remember?
I flinched away the questions.

             
The gun’s imbedded memories lit up synapses and neurons in my brain and uploaded all functions of the weapon and how to site in the target. Dead center. I slid my finger from its safety position parallel to the barrel and to the trigger. Then, took a deep breath and held it.
Squeeze, don’t pull, Daddy said.
And firmly but gently squeezed the trigger. The buck didn’t scare me as it had when I’d practiced with Dad, only because the memoryprint prepared me beforehand. My aim was slightly high and to the left so I lowered the sites and shifted a tiny degree to my right. My next shot was dead on and I emptied the rest of the chambers into Osama’s forehead.

             
“Impressive,” Nick purred, as I stuffed the emptied weapon into my pocket where spare ammo tinkled against the barrel. His arms wrapped around me, less crushing this time.

             
“So, what is it about a chick shooting a gun that gets guys all hot and bothered?” I asked.

             
“It’s hot!” Nick’s breath seared against my neck.

             
“You are such a guy.” I shoved off from his chest and headed back to the garage. Nick followed with a puerile grin. “Sabre, which are the practice grenades?” I asked.

             
“The ones in the bucket,” he mumbled, eyes still glued to his project.

             
I clunked the pistol down on the table. “Alright,” I said, then picked up a dummy grenade and hefted it in my hand. “Show me how this baby works.”

             
Nick took my hand and with a tiny smile on his lips, he led me back out to the range. “Em?” he finally asked.

             
“Yeah?”

             
“Aren’t you even a little bit scared?”

             
I laughed. “Hell yeah. More than a little bit.”

             
“Then how can you be so brave?”

             
“It’s all an act. Inside? Still a hapless puddle,” I reminded him. “I guess it all comes back to choice. I can choose to sit by idly and wait for what I know is coming, and when it does, be destroyed. Or I can choose to learn how to defend myself and maybe survive the attack.”

             
Nick brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “Such sage advice.” He was quiet a moment, contemplative. “You know, it isn’t a push to remember the girl I met not so long ago, who would have cowered in fear.”

             
My lips pulled into a smile. “Yeah. Guess I’m not that girl anymore. My mom used to say ‘I’ve been a lot of different people in my life.’ People change. Become someone they weren’t before.” Maybe, now, I was choosing not to be the hapless puddle I’d once been.

             
Something thoughtful ghosted in Nick’s eyes and evaporated. He took the grenade from my hand. explained the parts and how it worked. The plan was to keep the Wraith distracted enough to keep them from phasing, so the lye could weaken them further and we, well, they could finish them off. He showed me how to hold it, how to pull the pin, how long to count before I lobbed the grenade. And then, it was my turn. My fingers trembled across the pin.

             
“Uh, see?” I pointed it out, but pulled the pin anyway. I counted the three seconds and tossed the grenade at Osama. The shell exploded on impact and drenched the target with neon yellow sludge. “Nice,” I said approvingly.

             
“I’m glad…” Nick began but an explosion from the garage rocked us apart. With cursory glances at each other, we bolted for the door. Nick reached the garage first and screeched to a halt. I scrambled to keep from crashing into him. The garage was filled with dense blue smoke that roiled from the workbench where Sabre had been sitting. My stomach plummeted in fear.

             
“Stay here,” Nick ordered.

             
I clutched the doorpost to stabilize my trembling legs and squinted through the haze trying to locate Sabre.

             
“Sabre?!” Nick’s voice boomed through the rafters. A faint cough answered him and he continued to call.

             
Smoke billowed in cloying masses and raced to evacuate from any open space. My nerves raged, fired with anxiety, then amped up another level.
Wouldn’t it just be like a Wraith to show up now?
I batted the thought away like the tendrils of smoke that swirled around me. But the anxious needles continued to prick my insides. Wasn’t I trying
not
to disregard potential prescient moments? What if this was my gift at work? But, what if I was being paranoid? How foolish would I feel if this was a false alarm? And how bad would I feel if I didn’t act, and the sense of foreboding was true? Discomfited, I eased over to the weapons table and began arming myself; combat knife, grenade, revolver—I flipped it open and loaded five rounds—and my trusty Pinky. I cupped my hand over Ari on my chest. Reassurance warmed my veins. My fingers hovered over a garrote, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pick one up and couldn’t imagine myself using one, if I did. To my surprise, I discovered three twelve-inch steel stakes. Apparently, Sabre really did like my idea of killing vampires.

             
I backed against a wall, a habit I’d learned just a few months ago.
Never leave your back side open.
If Thomas or William showed up, it wouldn’t be a sneak attack. They’d have to face me head on.
Ha! I’d have to face
them
head on.

             
Nick continued to call for Sabre through the haze, and followed Sabre’s racking coughs. After a few minutes, the two exited the dissipating cloud. Panic blanched Nick’s face, when he checked for me at the door and didn’t find me.

             
“Here,” I said. “You guys better gear up. I think they’re coming.” Part of me hoped I was wrong, wanted to put off the confrontation as long as possible. But part of me hoped I was right, so I didn’t look like an idiot. The boys looked askance at me but only for a moment, then each grabbed a military-style weapons belt, and armed themselves to the teeth. Nick shot me a glance with such mixed emotions—pride mixed with fear mixed with anger—I could only stare blankly back at him..

             
“Are you sure?” Sabre asked.

             
I huffed a nervous laugh. “Ha. No. I kinda hope I’m wrong.”

             
“Emari…” Nick began.

             
“I know. I know. Willing non-participant.”

             
A fierce wind ripped through the doors and whirled around the garage, swirling the smoke away in its wake. Nick and Sabre crouched at the ready, back to back; and I slunk back farther against the wall. Thomas manifested in front of Nick, and William appeared beside Sabre. Thomas flashed Nick a scathing grin and lunged at him with his own knife, as William launched himself at Sabre.

             
I pressed myself against the wall and watched the four enemies fight. It all felt so medieval and barbaric. Slashing blades, hand to hand combat. And blood. I couldn’t follow the running verbal and mental dialogue between the pairs of combatants, but Thomas was as arrogant as always; and William was simply hell-bent on Sabre’s destruction. They all shifted from corporeal to ethereal and back so quickly, it was easy to lose track of them. Despite my promise, the urge to intercede tore at my heart…as if there was anything I could do.

             
I surveyed the cache of weapons beside me and calculated which might have the most benefit. The lye grenades were useless at this point. I risked damaging Nick and Sabre with their use. I snatched one of the stakes Sabre made, and clutched it religiously to my chest in one hand, and Pinky in the other. Pinky was my anchor in the chaos that whorled around me in a storm of savage memories and images. The Caphar, Weaver and Wraith alike, dodged and stabbed at one another, ripping at cloth and flesh with combat knives. Vicious snarls and roars of anger erupted when a strike hit home. The fray conjured images of pit bull and cock fights; feral growls, slavering mouths, dripping blood. I thumbed the stake, wondered if I really could thrust its point into the heart of another being, no matter how evil.

             
Nick and Thomas slammed to halt at my feet, and I leapt out the way of slashing blades. Blood drained freely down Nick’s face, blinding his right eye. Thomas lashed his hand out of the melee and grabbed my ankle. With a vicious yank, he dragged me to the ground and into the skirmish. Images of Nick’s nightmares were shoved through my brain. Violence and blood spewed into my heart. In that moment, I understood that the brutality of the battle was not purely physical. The two were warring with memories as well; real, conjured and manipulated. Each flooded the other with images filled with loathing, designed to distract, intended to destroy from within.

             
The image of me with my throat slit, gaping and gushing poured through Nick’s mind. I felt his mind slam shut in defiance against the image, felt how the grief that the mere thought of my death ripped at his heart. My mind conjured pictures of happy puppies to assuage his churning emotions, and sent a soothing salve to his pain. With renewed vigor, he assailed Thomas with withering memory contortions of his own.

             
More of the same was going on with Sabre and William. More than two hundred years of pent up rage was seething from William. Sabre almost looked afraid. And more than anything—more than the blood, the violence, the rage—that frightened me. Fear and Sabre were not synonymous.

             
Nick launched Thomas’ corporeal form across the yard at William and the two piled up in a heap. William shoved Thomas off himself and roared in anger. The two disintegrated in a flurry of red hot sparks. The guys scurried back to back, their eyes dashing in every direction for the next onslaught. Despite their immortal strength, both were winded from the fight. Sabre flashed Nick a look that questioned their ability to win this duel, and my blood turned to ice in my veins. If Sabre doubted, where was our hope?

             
I slid a hesitant step forward. Nick raised a hand to me. “Stay!” he yelled. The command like a force field dropped over me. My body felt the physical restraint and I concussed against the hardness of his voice. In an instant, I understood the ferocity of his order. The Rephaim slashed viciously at Nick and Sabre from a frenetic cyclone of warped impressions. Once again, the four dissolved into thin air, leaving only the rush of wind churning around me.

             
Thomas faded in with his back to me at the entrance of the garage. He spun to face me and reveal Nick pinned in his arms. Thomas sneered and nodded a challenge my direction. Nick’s eyes pleaded with me to stay put. The flashing blade at Nick’s throat shot stark, cold fear through my body. Thomas twitched and a trickle of blood slid down the blade and dripped from the tang to the ground. Nick made me pledge to stay out of the fray. But could I stay, if he was about to die?

             
Emari, darling.
My father’s voice rang inside me like he was standing at my side.

             
“Daddy?”

             
No, Em. You know better.
Panic colored Nick’s thoughts.

             
Emari, my sweet. They need you. You need to help.

             
But I promised.

             
You didn’t promise me. Come, my darling girl and help your daddy.

             
As if by compulsion, I held Pinky out before me. Mesmerized, I scuffed forward, charmed by the words in my head. Charmed and obedient to my father’s voice. A tempest whorled inside me. Cold fear. Warm longing. Hot confusion. Stopping just beyond Thomas’ reach, I raised the taser, charged with ten million volts, and pressed the tip to Nick’s chest as Thomas grinned with glee behind him.