Spellbound (27 page)

“It doesn't have to be over,” I bargained, my pleas getting more creative as he closed the gap between us. “Imagine, you'll look like a hero, finally vindicated. I'll even transfer schools. I can go back home. I don't need to stay here.”

“Everyone knows already,” he shouted, and I noticed the blood-crusted cut above his eyebrow. I guess I had better aim with that lock than I thought I did.

I tried another tactic. “I think they'll just be impressed with how you stood up for yourself. I mean, I am,” I said, trying
to make my voice sound flirtatious. Instead, I just warbled shakily.

“Who cares? Everything's over for me—because of you!” Anthony's face turned red with fury—the same look he had when he'd confronted me in the quad. Only Brendan wasn't here to save me.

“I can fix it, I promise!” I begged, letting the tears flow down my cheeks. I didn't have the power to stop them. “Please—”

This time, no one was there to step in. My hands shot up to protect my face, but I was too late. At first, everything went dark—just for a second, a calming, dead blackness. Then the pain exploded across my left cheek like a flashbulb, popping and leaving spots in my vision. The taste of my own blood filled my mouth as my teeth cut into my own cheek.

I pressed my palm against my cheek, but it only made the throbbing worse. And then there was more pain—a familiar agony as Anthony's hands closed around my neck, his fingers twisting the chain that held my pendant. The thin silver links cut into my skin like wire, more effectively choking me than he could do with his hands alone.

I wheezed, my fingers feeble as they searched my throat, trying to pull the chain off me. I could feel my eyes straining as my fingers felt numb against my own skin. Then sudden relief—the chain snapped, my medallion dropping to the floor with a metal plink before rolling away.

My knees crumpled and I fell over on the stone ground, choking for air as the panic began to shake me.

Angelique had said we'd know the threat, the danger, because I'd somehow lose my pendant. The danger was here. The medallion had snapped off, rolling away to wait for my soul when it came to reside in a new body.

Because I was about to be killed.

I screamed as loudly as I could with my rough voice, trying to call anyone's attention.

I pushed myself off the floor, but Anthony grabbed my upper arm, flinging me against the wrought-iron bars effortlessly. My right shoulder took the brunt of the blow, throbbing until it was eclipsed by another strike, a sickening ball of pain in my stomach as Anthony smashed his fist into my torso. I blindly aimed for his throat, throwing all my weight into a punch that only connected with his shoulder. He barely felt it. I fought back, hitting, pulling his hair, scratching his face, punching his nose, his throat—anything I could get—but my weak efforts seemed to just fuel Anthony's rage.

Then another flashbulb blow—everything was dark a little longer this time, and when the explosion flashed before my eyes, it was sharper, more painful. Louder as it reverberated within my head.

“Emma!” I heard the voice, through the bright flashes of pain. It was dim but it was there. And then the bursts of pain stopped as I grabbed onto the metal bars, keeping myself standing.

I forced my eyes to focus. Brendan and Anthony were twisted on the ground, Brendan on top of Anthony, pinning him down like he had in the quad. Only this time, Brendan wasn't hesitating—his knuckles connected to Anthony's face with a quick motion, the brute force behind it evident when I heard a sickening crunch. Blood flowed from Anthony's broken nose as he screamed in pain.

Brendan didn't stop his assault, landing another powerful punch right in Anthony's face. Fueled by his own agony and bloodlust, Anthony kicked wildly, causing Brendan to lose his balance and his grip. The monster's oversize fist sliced through the air, striking Brendan on the right side of his chin. Brendan pitched forward, and Anthony took advantage of his
distraction, leaping up and kicking Brendan in the stomach. He groaned, and Anthony raised his leg, ready to stomp on Brendan's head. From his prone position on the floor, Brendan kicked Anthony in the back of the knee, knocking him off balance so he stumbled forward. Brendan heaved himself off the stone floor, this time landing a fast punch in Anthony's stomach. But Anthony took the hit well, slamming his beefy fist into Brendan's chest and causing him to falter.

Frantically, I looked around for a weapon. I wiped the blood out of my eyes as I searched for something, anything, to hit Anthony with, to incapacitate him. He wouldn't be able to hurt Brendan. He
can't
hurt him.

I saw something shiny glisten in the distance—my cell phone. I ran for it, falling on my knees and dialing 911.

“Help, we're up at Belvedere Castle in Central Park, we're being attacked! The guard's unconscious, help us!” I screamed into the phone before dropping it, leaving the call still connected as I grabbed a splintered-off piece of a fallen tree branch. It was no more than a stick, but I raised it like a knife as I approached Anthony from behind.

His shirt was a thick black thermal, so I put all my force into it, plunging the sharpest end of the stick between his shoulder blades. It pierced the fabric, ripping into his skin and twisting itself into his flesh as the rest of the stick broke off in my hand.

Anthony fell forward onto his knees with a bellow, his hand flailing behind him as he tried to remove my crude weapon.

Finally, in the distance, we heard the sirens. Brendan's green eyes found me, and for a minute we thought it was over.

Then Anthony's head snapped up at the sound of the sirens—and a manic look took over his face. He lunged forward, shoving Brendan back and using his massive arms, hoisted
himself over the stone wall, around the fence and onto the rocks.

“Emma, just get out of here,” Brendan ordered. “I'll take care of him. He's not getting away.” Brendan ran after Anthony, pulling himself up over the wall and around the fence.

“No, Brendan, please!” I screamed, trying to follow them and not quite able to get my footing.

They were just a few feet away but they may have as well been wrestling on the other side of the world. I gripped the bars, trying to scale the fence and watching in agony as Brendan and Anthony had a bare-knuckled brawl on the rocks, more than a hundred feet above the Turtle Pond.

Brendan was fast—but Anthony was desperate. He didn't have the precise aim Brendan boasted, but he had an almost feral strength, blindly landing punches with his grapefruit-size fists.

I jumped up again, and this time, I was able to get a grip on the stone wall. I hauled myself over it, and landed on my ankle with a thud.

I gasped at the pain, and Brendan jerked his head my way. Anthony took advantage of the distraction, launching an uppercut that connected right underneath Brendan's chin. He stumbled backward, losing his footing and falling backward mere feet from the edge of the rocks. Anthony towered before him, his fists curled at his side, panting. His silhouette looked more otherworldly, more demonic than I could have ever imagined—this hulking, dark figure that had come straight from Hell for me.

One kick and Anthony could send Brendan over the edge, more than a hundred feet down.

I dashed behind Anthony, farther out on the rocks.

“Emma, no! What are you doing?” Brendan yelled, scrambling to his feet.

“Over here,” I screamed. “Hey, jackass! Over here.”

Anthony whipped around, his massive chest heaving as he faced me, wiping the blood from his nose.

“Ant, I'm the one you want to fight. Not her. What, can't you fight a man? You have to fight a
girl?
” Brendan taunted, approaching Anthony.

But the monster just moved closer to me, twisting his body to keep us both in his line of sight. Anthony began walking back and forth in between us. Panicked, I looked around me—I was at the end of the rocks—the very end. All he had to do was race toward me and push me.

Anthony coiled, then relaxed his body. Beyond him, I saw Brendan's face twist with a thousand different emotions. Panic. Fear. Fury. Rage. Vengeance.

Anthony's toying with you. He's got you trapped. It's like he's playing with his food.

The lights, the dreams, the belief that I could be the one to break the curse, it was all a lie. All just a game. A game I was going to lose. I wasn't going to survive this. I had all the warning signs—and yet I'd just run into danger's welcoming arms and given it a kiss.

Anthony's blood-soaked blond hair whipped around in the wind as he turned toward me, his eyes gleaming as he picked his target.

He began running straight for me. I tried to get out of the way, but my feet wouldn't move as quickly as I wanted them to. I felt like I was in a dream, where you're trapped in slow motion.

And then I was shoved aside, my ankle collapsing as Brendan pushed me onto the frigid rocks. The tumbling mass of
limbs rolled past me, disappearing into the blackness of the drop below.

A guttural shout, then a splash. And then, it was quiet. Nothing but the distant sirens getting louder and the sound of my own ragged breathing as I lay motionless on the frozen rocks where I had fallen. Where I was now alone.

I felt the ripping in my heart, like whatever stitches had tenuously held it together were slowly being picked apart, one by one, as it dawned on me what had just happened.

Brendan had saved me.

He pushed me out of the way.

And now he was gone.

He
was gone. Not me.

Before the final stitch came loose I heard it. The muffled groaning, the strangulated breathing. With raw fingers, I dragged myself to the edge of the cold rocks and saw the hand, the bloodied knuckles clutching frantically to a jagged triangle of rock that jutted out from the cliff.

“Brendan?” I whimpered hopefully, stretching my hands as far down as they could go.

“Take my hand,” I yelled, hoping against hope that I was about to help pull Brendan, my savior, to safety—and not the monster.

His other hand clawed at the cliff wall, grabbing hold of a small ridge.

And then I saw them: the glimmering green eyes that peered up from underneath a tangled shock of black hair.

“Brendan,” I breathed, relieved.

He only grunted in reply, his feet scraping against the cliff wall as he tried to find some purchase against the rocks. I grabbed for his left hand, while his right still clutched to the triangle of stone that stuck out like a knife.

With my left hand in his and my right hand curled around his wrist, I pulled up as hard as I could. My muscles burned. My arms felt like they were being ripped out of their sockets. But I didn't have the strength to pull him up. I tried to brace myself against the rocks, but my ankle screamed in protest, crumbling when I tried to put any pressure on it.

“Just hold on,” I groaned, wincing through the pain. “Help is coming, just hold on.”

And then Brendan's hand started to slip.

“No!” I cried, wrapping my hands around his more tightly. I clawed at his sleeve, which just ripped underneath my fingers.

“Emma…” The tone of his voice sounded final as he continued kicking against the cliff, the smooth soles of his dress shoes skidding off the rough surface of the rocks.

“No, Brendan! No! I won't lose you! Help me!” I shouted. I couldn't lose him now. What was the point?

“What good was it to warn me?” I screamed, my voice shaking as I jerked closer to the end, Brendan pulling me down instead of me pulling him up. “Don't warn me if you're not going to help me! Ethan, help me! Where are you? Help me now!”

Brendan's hand slipped another half an inch as his right hand grabbed at the rocks.

“Give me your hand,” a youngish male voice next to me commanded. I hadn't even heard the officer arrive. I didn't even look up, I just felt the warmth next to me as another hand shot out, grabbing Brendan's left hand.

We both pulled, hoisting Brendan out of the abyss. I fell back as Brendan lunged forward onto the wintry rocks, his legs still dangling off the edge of the cliff.

Brendan eclipsed everything else. I saw nothing but him, my breathing still heavy as I gazed at the face I loved—cut and bruised, but flush with color, as he braced his palms against the frigid rocks, panting with exertion. He was still alive. He had saved my life.

I wrapped my arms around him, kissing Brendan's face as he pulled his legs under him on the frosty rocks. He slid his arms around my waist, stroking my back as I buried my face into his neck, dampening his collar with tears.

“Thank you, sir,” Brendan said over my shoulder, his voice rough as he regarded the officer. And then he pulled back, blinking a few times.

“You— You're— I know you?” Brendan said, his statement coming out like a question. The officer stood up, placing his hand on my shoulder and giving me a squeeze.

“It was my pleasure,” the officer said. I turned around to see him but I couldn't make out his face—he was backlit by the flashlights bathing the plaza in swaths of light. A little late, but the cavalry had finally come.

“We're over here,” Brendan called, his voice rough with exhaustion. Keeping his arms around me, he rose to a standing position, lifting me with him and helping me limp across the uneven rocks.

“Walk this way and put your hands where we can see them,” came a stern voice from behind the glaring light that flooded our faces.

“There's an officer here with us,” Brendan said gesturing to his right. But when I looked, there was no one there.

“Hello?” I croaked out, my voice hoarse. “Sir, where did you go?”

“I don't know,” Brendan said, his black eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“I said, put your hands where we can see them!” the officer in the plaza called.

“She hurt her ankle, I have to help her walk,” Brendan called.

“Hands in the air
now,
” the voice demanded.

After a short kiss to my temple, Brendan put his hands in the air. I followed suit.

“Miss, are you okay?” the voice continued.

I nodded, my throat too raw and clogged with emotion to talk.

We shuffled closer and I noticed the officer had his gun drawn—and kept it trained on Brendan.

“
He's
not the one who attacked me!” I coughed out, throwing my arm in front of Brendan frantically. “The guy—Anthony—I think he's— He went over the edge of the cliff.”

We got to the fence and a burly officer with a moustache helped me climb over. I noticed the security guard, Mr. Yanek, sitting off to the side while a paramedic tended to his head wound.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked the officer nearest me, who put away his gun. His shiny badge read Lynott.

“He'll have one hell of a headache and need stitches, but he'll be okay,” he said briskly, eyeing the two of us. “Why don't we have the medics look the two of you over also? It looks like you've had a rough night.”

“That's an understatement,” I mumbled, moving my jaw from side to side and feeling the searing pain shoot across my face as another officer led me and Brendan to separate collapsible stretchers. We were examined by medics and interviewed by the officers, but even though he was several
yards away, I could hear Brendan asking—okay, demanding might be a better word—when he could see me and make sure I was okay.

I had just finished giving my account of Anthony's assault to a different cop when Officer Lynott approached me after talking to Brendan.

“Sounds like you're quite the strong girl.” He looked at me with a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Your boyfriend says you helped lift him up when he was dangling off those rocks.”

“There was another officer out there—he's really the one who pulled Brendan up,” I said, shaking my head and then wincing when the movement hurt. “Where did he go? I didn't get the chance to thank him.”

“Miss, there were no officers on the rocks with you,” Officer Lynott said gently.

“No, there was,” I protested hoarsely. “But I didn't get to see his face.”

“Emma hit her head a few times tonight,” Brendan said, hurriedly limping over while clutching his side. His black shirt still bore a dirty footprint from Anthony kicking him. “I think she might be a little confused.”

“No, he was there,” I insisted as Brendan stood before me, gently tilting my face from side to side, his frown deepening as he surveyed the damage.

Then he brushed my tangled, bloodied hair back off my neck and stared at me in horror.

“Did you see this?” He showed the medic my throbbing neck. “Emma's going to the hospital, right? Is she going to be okay? Can you look at this again?”

“I don't think any permanent damage is done, but I've recommended that she go to the hospital,” the medic mused,
indulging Brendan with another exam of my aching throat even though she had already thoroughly checked it out. “You both should. We'll know after an X-ray, but I'd say you've definitely got a cracked rib. And, miss, you've got some serious bruising and cuts. I think you may have a concussion.”

Then the medic noticed the scar on my arm.

“Whoa, what's that from?” Officer Lynott asked.

“Car accident a few months ago,” I mumbled, staring down the ripped tulle of my dress.

“Miss Connor, you have nine lives,” he said seriously. “Good for you.”

I tried to shrug, but it was too painful. Sitting there, finally safe—the adrenaline rush was over and I felt
everything.
Every cut, every bruise, every last ache reverberated through me, intensifying each time it ricocheted around my body before settling in my increasingly throbbing head.

“Miss, is this yours? I noticed something shiny by the stairs and found this.” I looked up to find a female officer jogging over with something in her hand. I couldn't make it out—my vision was getting a little hazy.

It felt like an ice-cold claw was squeezing my heart.
No. Please don't be my necklace.
It wasn't going to end. It would never end. The curse was going to come for me, keep coming, until it killed me. Until it killed us.

Terrified, I looked at Brendan, who just kissed my forehead gently.

“We'll get through this,” he promised.

“Is this yours?” the officer asked again. I looked down at her hand to see her holding my badly scratched cell phone.

“Um, yeah,” I breathed, my voice and my body trembling with relief. “That's my phone.”

Seeing me shake, the medic had me lie down on the gurney
for a moment—but I sat upright again, ready to continue arguing about the officer who helped me pull Brendan up. But as soon as I sat up, I fell right back down with a searing headache and pain in my side. I felt every single injury acutely, as if my senses were hyperaware.

I didn't realize I was moaning until the medic spoke. “See, it's a good thing we're taking you to the hospital,” she said, and I was dimly aware that I was on the move; the stretcher was being pushed down the winding pathway toward the waiting ambulance. Brendan walked—or hobbled, rather—alongside me, holding my hand. He insisted on going in the ambulance with me.

“Officer Lynott, what's happening with Anthony?” Brendan asked.

“We have an APB out on him with your description but that's a pretty big drop. I don't think we'll find him. Well, we won't find him on land,” Officer Lynott said pointedly.

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, which actually hurt.

“We can give you something for the pain,” the medic offered, and I just nodded, keeping my eyes closed; the glare from the lampposts was like a searing burn into my head. Once we were loaded in the ambulance, I felt a needle jab at my arm—and everything went blissfully black.

 

Narrow slits of light stabbed at a throbbing pain in my head. That pain intensified as my eyes opened more.

Someone gripped my right hand. I squeezed back, ignoring the pain. The human contact felt too good.

I tried to force my eyes to adjust to the glaring light in the room. It was like the light was trying to stab me in the brain.

“The light…hurts,” I mumbled. The hand disappeared, and a moment later, the room was darker. The hand returned.

“Is that better?” It was rough with exhaustion, but I knew that voice. I opened my eyes more easily this time.

“Brendan?” I turned my head toward where the hand was—and he was there, relief and worry fighting for control of his handsome features. From what I could see of it, at least—I was having some trouble focusing.

“You're okay?” I wheezed, reaching out to touch his face, which I now noticed was pretty badly cut up. He had a split lip, the beginnings of a black eye and a few cuts on his cheekbone, chin and forehead. Brendan just turned his head to meet my hand, kissing my raw palm and holding my hand against his cheek.

“Aw, you're all banged up,” I said, stroking his face.

“Me?” He snorted, brushing my bangs back off my face. The gesture felt good—normal, even.

“Me? You,” I mumbled, a little woozy.

“You got the good painkillers, I see,” he observed, chuckling.

“Mmm.” I nodded in agreement. “Are you okay?”

“I'm okay, Em,” Brendan said gently. “Cracked rib, some cuts and bruises, but nothing permanent.”

“It looks like it hurts.”

“I've been in fistfights before,” Brendan said dismissively. “I'm just worried about you.”

“What's the damage?” I asked, vaguely remembering some kind of scan from a few hours ago. The last time I was in a hospital bed, I had a broken wrist and a line of stitches in my arm from Henry's version of driving.

“A concussion, a fractured ankle, and a ton of bruises and
cuts.” His dark eyebrows knotted together in worry as Brendan ticked off my maladies darkly, reaching over me to intertwine his fingers with my other hand, as well.

“Concussion,” I repeated. “Could that explain why I imagined an officer there? I don't understand….” I let my voice trail off, until I realized that Brendan had a peculiar look on his face.

“Did you see a cop?” I whispered.

Brendan nodded in agreement, his mouth set in a grimace.

“I don't understand,” I said again. “Where did he go? Maybe he wasn't a cop and was just a regular person?”

“Emma, honey, it's not important. Let's talk about this after you're feeling better,” he said, holding my hand and kissing it.

And then I realized that my ring was gone.

“Brendan, my ring,” I cried, then felt a stabbing pain in my head again. “Ow!”

“It's okay, sweetheart. It's just your concussion. It'll get better.”

“But my ring,” I whispered.

“I have it. The nurse gave it to me,” he reassured me. “They had to take it off for the CT scan. The ring—it's safe.” He laughed a quiet laugh to himself. “That ring.”

In spite of my glorious painkillers I recognized that loaded tone and knew there was no way I was leaving the hospital without the full story. Brendan definitely knew something he wasn't telling me.