The Gift (31 page)

Pained laughter dissolved to a gurgle. "You … will … fail."

Anton rolled his eyes and gave a good twist to the handle buried in her chest, imagining himself slicing Morana's heart in two. "God damn you woman, shut up and die."

She opened her mouth, drew a breath, and the shine slipped away from her eyes.

"Finally." Anton stood, thumbed a single drop of blood from his face with a grimace and squatted to the ground to use Morana's skirt to wipe the tip of the digit clean. As an afterthought he drew the blade through the fabric as well, nodded, and gripped the handle once again. Then he turned towards the hallway.

"Oh, August," he called. "Where are you, gorgeous?"

"This way, hurry!" Dawson led them out into the darkness. In the stillness of falling night they could hear the crowd mingling not too far away, waiting to catch a glimpse of the star that could be, at that very moment, fading into oblivion. Dawson stopped and waited.

"Daws!" Geoff frowned at the sudden pause. "What are you waiting for? We need to find August and Doren before Anton does."

"Too late for that," Cooper confirmed what the rest of them already knew. "But we still need to find them. How we gonna do that?"

"I'm not sure." Curtis shook his head. "But if Dawson says we need to stop for a minute we're going to stop. So just stop and wait." Like lost puppies they waited against the wall, shifting their stances, listening to the emptying lot, and watching the disappearing people while they tried not to appear like lurkers.

When the silence of their empty corner was disrupted by the sound of an approaching engine and a long black limo began touring the edges of the building—slowing, moving forward again, hesitating at each door—they all looked at each other in panic.

It was Geoff that offered the: "Let's get out of here. We have no idea who that fuck is. He could be part of Anton's group."

"Yes," Dawson agreed, not moving. "Yes, I believe he is." The car pulled up beside them and the passenger window lowered slowly.

"Gentleman," the driver said with perfect calm. "I believe you need a lift?"

Curtis stepped forward, Geoff close behind. "No. Our plans have changed. We're not going back to the hotel."

The driver leaned into the light. It wasn't their previous driver after all—someone different—someone that none of them had ever seen before. "Of that, I am quite certain. But if you want to find your friends you need to come with me. I can take you to where they are. Or, in the case of the assistant, where he will soon be."

Curtis eyed the driver carefully. "Thanks for the offer, but we're good just the same. We'll work it out on our own. Nothing personal, buddy, but I 'm just not sure we can trust you."

"No," the driver said, checking his rear-view, "you can't be sure you can trust me. But you have to trust someone. Otherwise you're just four guys standing in the dark. What can I, one little man, do to harm the four of you? Especially," he nodded at Geoff, "with him around?"

Four faces hardened into frowns. Curtis' eyes narrowed. What did this driver know? And how did he know it? Worse, by knowing it, did that make him dangerous?

He glanced at Dawson. "Well? Have a look. Do we get in the car or take our chances?"

Dawson nodded. "Been there. Done that. And I don't think we have a choice. Cooper, what's your take? Can you get a read?"

Cooper concentrated. Flashes of a night not too long past filled his mind as he read the driver's memory: driving August to a huge house in the middle of nowhere; watching the house, waiting for a sign; August stumbling out of the front door and running down a driveway; pulling up beside an iron gate and pushing a button. "He's helped once before somehow. With August. He works for Anton, but he doesn't. I think he's here to help."

The driver slid over the seat until he was perched by the passenger window. He leaned out of the car. "You don't have a lot of time. I promise you that I don't mean any of you harm. And while I realize that my promise means nothing to you, it's all that I can give. We may not be able to change destiny, my friends, but we can do our best to make sure that both sides get their fair share of time on the field." He paused, sizing up the group of them. "So that when it comes time to make the choice, all the options are there. August needs to find Doren. Which means you guys need to find August. So, please. Just get in the damn car."

Curtis looked at Dawson. Dawson looked at Cooper. Cooper looked at Geoff.

"Come on guys," Curtis said, reaching for the door. "Let's get in the damn car then."

She stared at the crumpled body on the floor; the gaping wound in Morana's chest now stilled of its heaving, mouth open and eyes fixed. Medea dropped to her knees, red hair falling like a drape over her shoulder, and picked up Morana's lifeless hand. The same hand that had, on so many occasions, been the one placed against her; the one that repaired her and fixed her after his hands had been too harsh. How many times had he ripped and tore at her, to walk away and leave her bleeding and broken? And every time it had been Morana who would come to stroke away the pain and murmur soothing sound to the demons that raged in her mind. It had been Morana who told her, no more than a child then, not to scream, to never cry. Morana had been so wise—so very, very wise. For it had been Medea's refusal to stay broken that made her interesting. Otherwise, she would have been dead long ago, like so many others along the way.

Morana had been the closest thing to a mother that Medea could remember, as wrong as the concept might be used on one who'd shared so many intimate moments.

And who now? Who would put her back together again? Who would stop the bleeding and smooth away the devil's marks? Who would reach for her with kindness?

Medea dropped the dead woman's hand and reached up to close Morana's eyes and jaw.

Fury burned in her, raced in her, and it brought a calm focus that she rarely experienced. Medea stood and turned towards the door. His reign had gone on long enough. Anton would die for what he'd done.

"And that," Medea whispered to the empty room, "is a promise."

He leaned against the wall, willing his breath to return and his heart to calm its erratic beating. "Where the hell are you?" he asked the empty corridor. "Why can't you hear me?"

Every corridor looked the same. Every passage and door seemed to lead to nowhere. Not a single exit sign shined from above; there were no posted directions. He couldn't even find a fire alarm or he would have pulled it. How the building had ever passed a fire inspection, August couldn't imagine.

Soft light caught the corner of his eye; through the frosted window of a heavy door it flicked and twisted; beckoning him. An exit? Just beyond? Someone working? Surely light had to be a good sign, somehow? He moved towards the door like an animal sniffing food from a stranger's hand. He'd give just about anything to have the ability to see around this corner like Dawson could. He wished he could just bust through the walls like Geoff might. But he wasn't that cool. Without someone else's ability, without someone else to feed from, he was nothing. Really, he thought, at the end of the day he was no more than a parasite. A thief. A user.

With a huff of frustration and a shake of his head, August firmed his shoulders. He was being stupid. Self-pity and doubt wouldn't do him a damn bit of good at the moment. Save it for tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow would be the time for consideration, questions, angst and planning. Today he had to act.

August steeled himself and yanked open the door.

With a chuckle and an elaborate slide forward, Anton grabbed August the second he walked through the doorway, catching August's neck in a chokehold and securing his arm, twisting it behind his back. The way August's growl sharpened into a cry of pain when August was shoved up against the wall was breathtaking.

"Like a moth to a flame," Anton whispered in August's ear. "You make it too easy, boy."

He caught his own giggle the moment it started, the sound too loud and too maniacal even to his own ears. "Oh, my," he teased as August struggled in his grip, "that almost feels nice, August. If I wasn't so damn busy right now I could probably let you keep squirming up against me for hours."

August's fingers scrabbled to Anton's forearm as Anton increased the pressure on his throat. "Maybe a game for another time, hmm? Right now though, August? I need you to sleep."

August began to wheeze and Anton hummed in time to the sound. "Sleep tight, boy," Anton said, rubbing his cheek against August's hair, smelling shampoo and cologne, sweat and fear. The struggling weakened, August slackened against him, and Anton smiled. "Sweet dreams."

He turned August in his arms and checked August's eyes and chest. Still breathing. Shallow. But that was fine. August's eyes were rolled back into his head. Also good. He needed August alive but he could afford no further delays. Whistling, Anton hoisted August in his arms and headed through the office towards the interior door.

As an afterthought he stopped, stepped back into the room, leaned over the table, and blew out the flickering candle.

"Wake up, Doren."

The voice was as soft and gentle as summer rain but Doren turned his head away from it. Sleep was the only solace; sleep softened the darkness and quieted the noises his imagination made real. He had felt the vehicle travel, felt it rumble and roll and jostle him to God only knew where. At the moment, however, it was still and silent, and the comfort of sleep had provided him peace and calm.

"Doren," it came again. "You must be strong."

Such a familiar voice, yet so far away. So quiet, yet so deep inside his mind. Doren searched it out, reached for it, and the spark of familiarity brought a face to him. "Diana," he mumbled, scrambling to find purchase and right himself. "I'm lost, Diana; I'm scared."

"Be still, Doren." The voice faded and brightened, brightened then faded. "Be still and find your power."

"I can't," he hollered. Sound echoed and blasted in his tiny metal tomb and he squeezed his eyelids closed until it faded. "It's gone. Everything's gone." He swallowed back a rush of pain. "August's gone."

Diana's thoughts brushed past him like a breeze. "No, Doren. He can't be gone. He is your light. Sometimes you can't see it, sometimes the clouds get in the way, but it's still there. It's always there. Find your light."

"It's so dark," he whispered, "and the locks … I can't do it."

"If you want to find it then you will. Open your eyes and look for it."

Stillness settled once again into the empty space.

Shaking, Doren felt for the wall and stood. With his eyes still closed Doren raised his face to the roof of the van. Be there, he thought. Please, Auggie, please be alive.

He felt it in his stomach first; then his chest and his throat. He hummed to it, barely there at all, but as he added his own voice to the notes, as it rebounded over metallic surfaces to find him again, the sound filled the van and took it over.

Doren opened his eyes. What had once been darkness shimmered with an uncanny, impossible glow. All around him, every corner and every surface shone with a luminance of clarity. And it was empty. Completely empty. No rats sat ready to pounce, no mice. Not even the smallest spider stood sentry over his shaking body. This was what had frightened him? This had brought the fear? He would have laughed at himself if he had been willing to risk losing the sound in his mind. But that was a sound he would not give up. It was a sound he needed to hear, to keep hearing, very dearly.

His steps were confident as Doren moved to end of the vehicle. He rested his hands where he imagined the locks to be. Anton had said he couldn't open a padlock. But who was Anton? What kind of a fool had he been to believe a single word Anton said? After all, did a padlock not open and close? And how, then, did that make it any different than a lock?

Doren didn't even speak the word. He drew the sound into him, balled it all together, and sent it down his arms. He heard each padlock release with fury, then fall, one and the next, shattering on impact.

"Oh Anton," he whispered. "You are in such trouble now."

Their ride would be short. Too bad. The unconscious man at his feet looked so tiny and done. Truly a sight for sore eyes. "Fun to play with," Anton mumbled, catching himself with a quick glance towards the driver and a hand at his throat when he heard his own voice. "Have to stop doing that," he continued quietly, reaching for the button and watching the divisor slide, blocking the driver's vision and keeping his ranting for his ears alone. He was slipping. Just a little—the talking aloud and the unreasonable laughing—but that was just stress. Nothing a bit of a holiday wouldn't cure. Once all this was over. Once he had Doren in chains. Figuratively or literally.

He nudged August with his left foot, using his toes to move August's face into proper view. Pretty. Boys like Doren liked them like that, he assumed. Be it with snatch or cock, it had to be so pretty. It had to be so sweet. And no doubt the virginal aspect of things had been such a turn-on. Such a tease. Everyone wants to be able to break something. Even if it's just a spirit. And oh, August, Anton thought, my Doren did so well with that. Tell the boy no a million times and he will ask a million and one. A million and two. A million and three. Until one finally caves and gives in.

"I bet you felt so fine," Anton whispered, tracing August's jaw with his shoe. "So fucking tight and hot. I bet you made him shake like a goddamn leaf, didn't you?"

In a sudden burst of energy, Anton spread both legs and yanked August up by his shoulders. He dragged August closer, shifting himself lower on the seat to lean August's weight against his body. Then he began sliding his hands over August's back and ass, arms and shoulders. "Small, small, small," he chuckled. "But not like my Medea though. No, you are very different aren't you, August? Small but hard." He wrapped one palm over August's ass cheek and squeezed it as hard as he could.