The Paladins (25 page)

Gideon stumbles, nearly knocking us over as the other two attack him.

I twist round, grappling with the creature clawing my neck, biting my shoulder. She lets go only to sink her teeth into the shell of my ear. I shout, and double over, letting loose with a string of obscenities.

The eyeball is plucked from my hand. Victorious cackling echoes off the shimmering cave walls.

When my fingers slide over my damaged ear, the top half is missing.

This isn’t remotely how the story happened with Perseus.

And that bitch is going down.

My body hums with energy as Gideon and I face the snarling threesome.

His head tilts, keeping watch on our enemies. “Forget the eye. I’m thinking barbeque, southern style.”

I smile. Though we didn’t have good old-fashioned pig roasts in the UK, I’d spent enough time in the south to get his meaning.

While the Weird Sisters are laughing it up over their win, Gideon pulls fire from the dwindling pit. He molds the ball of flame in his hands like Play Dough. His lids lower to slits. Jaw clenched, back ramrod straight.

I don’t know where he learned that trick, but I’m glad he’s on my side.

Boom!
Gideon slams the fireball to the floor.

The witches recoil in a chorus of shrieks.

The three separate in an attempt to flee, but fire races around the sisters creating an inescapable prison.

Except for me.

I concentrate on a spot in the middle of the fire ring. Muscles shake and then I’m there. The blond growls as I relieve her of the eye. Sharp teeth protrude from sickly, white gums—the same teeth that took my ear, and yeah, I’m vain enough to hold a grudge. I teleport to the space behind her. One good shove on her bony spine, and she topples face first into the blaze.

Her rags catch fire. The fabric blackens as the flames lick higher, igniting her long, knotted hair. The spectacle is terrible and (I’m sorry) fascinating. I can’t look away. Apparently, the woman was never taught to stop, drop, and roll in school, because she sprints around the circle, knee action higher than an Olympian.

Her sisters plead for mercy. They aren’t talking to me but to Gideon, who stands as stony faced as an Egyptian sphinx. In either desperation or a gleaming moment of stupidity, the burning blond leaps onto her dark-haired sister who will share her fire and her fate.

“Gideon! Hold up. We need one alive.” I teleport from the ring to my partner’s side and finish my thought unbroken. “She may know something about Pan.”

The redhead kneels. Bony hands clasped together, she begs for her life even as the blond falls to the ground in a smoking heap. The brunette staggers about, a wheeling inferno. Gideon waves a hand and the fire dies allowing the last witch her freedom.

The survivor creeps nearer, clothes blackened by the fire that incinerated her sisters. I’m ready for anything, but she doesn’t rise from her knees. Her face lifts, the hole in her forehead a filthy, dark void. “Mighty paladin, spare me.”

I don’t know what a paladin is, and right now, I don’t care. “Tell us about Pan.”

Her head retracts into her shoulders. “Very well.” She coughs and spits farther than any fútbol player I’ve ever seen. “He is not indestructible.” Thankful the woman needs no more persuasion to give up her secrets, she spills like a broken dam. “I know not how to kill him—my oath on the eye. Yet, he may be weakened. His power to see you lies in the ability to see himself. Destroy his sight to earn your freedom.”

“Bloody munter, you want us to dig his eyes out?” Nerves tweak my spine all the way to the end.

She cackles. “Fool. That simple, it is not.”

“Explain! Destroy it how?” Veins bulge in Gideon’s neck as he shouts. A ball of flame leaps from the fire into his hand.

The witch cowers with a cry. “Your weakness makes him strong. Grow stronger yourselves. Destroy his way to see!” Her fingers splay in the dust as she dissolves into tears. “I speak true, I speak true, oh great paladins … ”

Gideon’s eyes roll with typical impatience.

I lift a shoulder. It’s clear the witch is terrified. I sense no lie, but he’s right, her blathering doesn’t help us.

I kneel before the witch, and pull the manky eye from my pocket. “Hag.” The gray head wobbles on her flabby neck. Her breath holds the stench of a thousand dumpsters as she whimpers, and I wonder if she senses the eye is near. “I will give you your sight, if you tell me how to take his.”

“He seeks the living, only the living, so you must pollute the silver circles of sight. The dead may not enter there, no, no. It is forbidden. Therefore, use the dead. Only then will you be free. Blind Pan with the dead and he can seek you no more.”

Gideon curses. “Leave her, Wynter. It’s useless.”

Barking? Yes. Useless? I’m not so sure. I rise and toss the eye to the other side of the cave. The old bat scampers after it, faster than what makes me comfortable.

Gideon and I beat a hasty retreat to the mouth of the cave. Out of the den, down the hillside, to the valley, heading the opposite way we came through the swamp. We walk in silence for the first twenty minutes. I drag my weary feet, so it’s no surprise when my toe catches the edge of a rock, and I stumble. Gideon shoulders me up, and we press on. Minutes, hours, it’s easy to lose track of time here. And all the while, my mind’s fixated on the witch’s puzzling words … and Rose.

Maddox glances over and frowns. “We need to do something with that ear soon. It’s still bleeding.”

Hurts too. I glance at the white sun hanging just past noon in the sky. I know its position is merely a suggestion of time. “Thanks. You can have a look when we stop, if you like.”

We round the next bend, then another. I chew on the inside of my cheek, sizing up our journey so far. Rae’s missing, no sign of Rose, zombies, poisoned flowers, and then I go and make a bloody fool of myself when the sisters hexed us, espousing all of Maddox’s fine qualities. I need to clear that up right now. “Listen, mate, the other day, I said things … ”

Gideon gives his standard expression for get to the damn point. Or better still, don’t, and just shut up.

Right. “I was under a spell, talking rubbish the way a person might if he’d gotten rat-arsed at the pub, or gone completely mental. So—”

“Stop. I’m begging you.”

I do—both my feet and my mouth.

“Look.” Gideon’s fingers snag in his matted curls. “This place is cursed, so nothing makes sense. As far as I’m concerned, we worked well as a team today. There’s no need to discuss what either of us said back there.
Ever
.”

I nod, but my grin is hard to suppress. Not surprisingly, Maddox can’t deal with bromance. “Suits me, mate,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. And for the first time since I’ve known him, he doesn’t shrug me off.

Raven

My eyes won’t open. I panic that I’ve gone blind, until I realize I’m face down on the ground, and my lids are crusted shut. I rub them clean and roll onto my back. Leaves crunch beneath my weight, or maybe it’s my spine snapping.

Every bone in my body aches like I’ve been beaten with a shovel, run over by a car, and then dragged by a horse. I think that about covers it.

I pry my lids apart. The scene above focuses into gray sky pierced with naked tree limbs. As I force myself to sit, my teeth clench against the strain of sore muscles. My filthy hair falls across my face, and that strikes me as odd, since I remember Pan shaving my head. His strange, faceless men torturing me until I passed out, it all comes rushing back.

My battered skin is black and blue. I’m covered in deep cuts and scrapes, proving at least part of the nightmare was real. A gash on my calf peeks through the tear in my pants. I wonder if there is any part of me left untouched.

My trembling fingers thread my hair. I pull at the roots hard enough to know it’s still attached, not clogging the drain of Pan’s operating room. I search along my forehead for the wounds he inflicted while I was bound. The blood that I expect to coat my fingertips doesn’t materialize. Confusion mixes with hope as I hunt amidst my hairline and find nothing wrong.

Was it real? I blow out a breath. It
felt
real enough.

A bird cries, and I survey the sickly trees surrounding me. The boggy soil turns their roots white with decay. Black flowers dot the landscape; those at my feet are open and withered. Poison?

That explains a lot. All of a sudden, I’m Dorothy and the Wicked Witch has sent orchids instead of poppies to keep me from the Emerald City.

No sooner do I murmur of my beloved children’s story, than a shriek echoes somewhere deep in the swamp that sounds eerily like a monkey’s scream.

Fear covers me again with her dark cloak, and I’m so very tired of being afraid. My backpack is gone, lost or left with Pan in his creep show asylum. All my supplies were in that bag. Searching my boot, I find the knife I brought is missing as well.

Great.

My feet curl beneath me as I push to a shaky stand. My throat is dry, my head fogged with the aftereffects of Pan’s toxins, and I’d kill for a hot bath. Trees stretch out around me in a tangled maze, disappearing into shadow and the unknown.

Utterly alone, I think of Gideon, and I hate the need swamping my heart. The memory of old habits haunt me, routines and familiar patterns that make a couple unique, transforming two people into one. I miss the feel of his strong arms around me, ache for the sound of his voice. I close my eyes and listen, because I’m that pathetic. His tone is soft and low as he tells me everything will be all right. My chest rises as he says he loves me. Exhales as he vows he won’t ever let me go … but he did. Tears sting beneath my lids. I swallow both the longing and the salt in my throat.

Don’t even go there, Rae.

My eyes flash open, hands unfurling at my sides. There’s no time for jilted ex-girlfriends indulging in self-pity meltdowns.
Suck it up and find the guys
. If Pan tortured me with medieval visions, no telling what he’s done to them.

I trudge through the forest and away from freaky monkey noises. I’m not exactly the rock-climbing, fire-starting, outdoorsy type of girl, and I have no idea where I’m going. The best I can do is pick a direction and try to walk a straight path.

Nothing moves but the gentle rocking of tree limbs and an occasional startled squirrel. Hours pass without incident. Landscapes shift from sparse swamp to shady forest. The monotony is a welcome change and beats facing Pan, his games, or his zombie squad.

The problem is all this blank time keeps me focused on Gideon and Cole. And Gideon.

Attempts
not
to stress about them are useless. In fact, their possible wellbeing, or lack of it, utterly consumes me. I count my steps, sing, play
I Spy
with myself, and recite the words to my favorite Edgar Allen Poe poems.

In the end, nothing cures my anxious mind. A hundred scenarios play concerning what really happened last night: how long we’ve been in The Void, if the boys are together, if they’re hurt. Worry is poor company but effective motivation. What if they need me? My feet move faster.

Another hour, maybe two, passes. Eventually, my legs grow heavy, slowing with each step. The wound on my calf throbs. Fresh blood leaves a wet sheen on my pants.

A vine snags my boot, and I trip. My palms shoot out, smacking the earth, and my knees follow. Sharp spikes puncture my flesh. The vine is covered with thorns a half inch long.

I pivot and sit on my butt in the dust. Hot tears cut trails in the dirt on my face.
Oh, Gideon, why? Where are you?
My chest squeezes painfully. I should have known. I
did
know. And I ran. He followed me to Maggie’s house last fall. Practically tore the door off the hinges to explain that, though he couldn’t promise not to die, he’d never choose to leave. He meant what he said then, I’m sure. My reluctance probably pressured him into swearing his oath to stay.

Relationships don’t come with money-back guarantees. You aren’t given a warranty like you get on a car transmission or appliance. Life is messy, unpredictable. So you guard your heart and make peace with loneliness, or you take a chance and risk a broken heart. If I’m truthful, I wouldn’t take any of it back. I’m not sorry we tried.

After we broke up and Gideon asked to stay in my life, I think he was trying to keep his promise—but as my friend. I lean, draping my scratched elbows over scraped knees. Yeah, I’m angry, but I don’t hate him. I wish I did. Life would be easier. He still cares, and it obviously hurts him to hurt me, so he wouldn’t unless …
We really are over.

I lift my palm, study the throbbing holes in my skin. Nothing I’ve endured aches as much as Gideon’s admission that he doesn’t love me.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

The sun smears under a hazy swipe of cloud. The ground is hard and dry. Gone are the drowning, bald cypress trees, replaced by a dozen different species. The leaves are familiar. My mother used to point them out on our walks together in the park.

“Remember the Oak is your best friend, strong and faithful,” Mother said.