The Wilds (Reign and Ruin 1) (20 page)

Crack!
Crack!

Lucan let out a
strangled cry and stiffened against his binds. None of them noticed
me raise the pistol. Until I cocked it backwards with an ominous
hammer click.

I had never
held a gun before. My mother was strictly anti-gun, but my uncle
had one in the house. It was stashed underneath the sink and every
time I got a glass of water, I faintly remembered it was there,
wrapped in a piece of greasy dish towel and loaded. At least, I
think it was loaded. Marty once got so high he convinced my uncle
to get it out. They ended up trying to shoot the rats in the street
below, but they couldn't see straight and left the gun beneath the
window. I kicked it under the rug because I couldn't stand to touch
it. And now here I was, shooting my own kind of rats out the
window.

The
Ringmaster's arm froze and when he turned around, his face was a
mask of fury. The blood had rushed to his face and sweat dripped
down onto his collar. He no longer looked terrifying, only ugly and
cruel and out of control.

But I was the
one with the gun.

"And when she
was good, she was very, very good," he breathed.

"And when she
was bad, she was horrid," I finished, regarding him evenly down the
nose of Leof's pistol. I was remarkably calm and centered. Or at
least I think I felt calm; perhaps it was just incredibly similar
to bat-shit crazy.

"This is not
how you gain followers here," he said.

"You know what
I've realized?" I laughed, "I've realized that unless I have one of
these –" My gun hand shook and the Ringmaster took a cautious step
back. "– no one is going to follow me anywhere. I'm better off
alone."

"You will never
be alone in Palet," he said.

"I am always
alone." My voice came out in a grim whisper like the rustling of
dry leaves. I straightened my arm and looked down the barrel of the
gun. It was surprisingly easy to envision myself pulling the
trigger and releasing the burning, gray bullet into the air. It
didn't scare me at the time. But it should have. I didn't think
what it meant for my soul. What it was doing to my heart . . .

"You will let
Lucan go and you will allow us to leave," I said. "There will be no
marriage today." The Ringmaster's mouth twisted up over his sharp
teeth, emitting a low growl, and I saw his fingers tighten around
his whip. "And if you want a bullet in your skull, keep
grinning."

Timothy was
staring at the gun like it was the one thing he could understand;
there was no help coming from him.

"You have so
much courage now," the Ringmaster purred. "But I remember how you
quailed at the sound of my boots. Will you have the courage now to
kill a man?"

"Want to find
out?" I took a step forward to illustrate my point, but the
Ringmaster only shook his head pityingly.

"He's not worth
it, you know. A coward through and through. He wouldn't kill for
you." He smiled. "It's the real measure of a man, that. The
ultimate sacrifice."

Those words
would forever follow me. I did not know it then, but they would,
like an ancient, gypsy curse. And I am truly sorry for that, but
how was I to know? If I had, perhaps I could have said something,
something that would make the declaration untrue. But it hung in
the air like perfume, clinging to my clothes and seeping into my
skin . . .

The Ringmaster
made to walk away and my arm relaxed, but with the sound of a cat
he turned on his heel and reared forwards towards me. His arm
flashed and I reeled back from the whip approaching my face like in
slow motion. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and saw fireworks, red
and blue stars exploding in the black.

And my body was
suddenly thrust backwards, shaking with a force like a locomotive
and sending vibrations down my limbs that made my teeth rattle. My
ass hit the ground and the air burst out of my body from the
impact. My hand was suddenly extremely hot and I dropped the pistol
to the ground with a cry.

My ears rang
with a loud, pulsating hum. The light swirled the images around my
vision like a kaleidoscope but as my eyes adjusted, I saw the small
wisps of smoke rising from the mouth of my dropped pistol. Raising
my hand to my face, my fingers felt along my unmarred cheek. The
whip must have missed.

I numbly lolled
my head around and saw the Ringmaster standing where I had left
him. His whip hung limp in his hands.

It didn't take
long for it to register. As his eyes rolled into his head and his
tall body made the long fall to the ground, I realized that the
bullet had left the pistol and hit his stomach. Or chest. I hadn't
had a chance to look closely before he fell, but I was definitely
the one who put it there. My hand had pulled the trigger and I had
killed him.

I killed
him.

I must have sat
there for a full minute, maybe more, just watching the sand soak up
the blood. A bit had splattered across my white top and I thought I
felt a wetness on my neck, but I wasn't going to touch it in case
my fingers came away red.

"I hate to ask
this, because it sounds so damn insensitive, but it would be real
useful to have you untie my hands from this pole."

I stood up
clumsily and staggered over to Lucan. Timothy was still rocking
back and forth, his hands covering his ears from the gun blast. As
the ties fell from his wrists, Lucan rose and surveyed the
ring.

"Seems like
you're always untying me from compromising positions," he murmured
under his breath. I nodded blankly. Lucan walked quickly over to
the where I had fallen and picked up the discarded pistol. He eyed
me as his fingers counted the shots. "You ok?"

Again, I nodded
but my face jerked into life when I remembered his back. "What
about you? Aren't you bleeding?"

Lucan grimaced.
"I'll live." He shut the barrel of the gun with a click and walked
over to where I was watching. "We need to finish this. If you've
had enough, go outside."

"No, I'm fine,"
I said, but I couldn't stop the tremor in my voice.

"Because
they'll only come after us," he continued. I knew what that
meant.

"Right, no, I'm
not fine. I'll go outside." I pushed away his hands and walked as
quickly as I could back out into the desert. I continued a little
ways into the sand, but not far enough to miss the two distinct gun
shots. I could just imagine Timothy, with his fingers in his ears,
and Leof unconscious on the floor.

And that makes
four.

Four people
dead; killed because I showed up. And one of them by me. How many
girls shoot their first man at 22? I breathed in as hard I could,
letting the oxygen rush to my brain and feeling the world spin as I
got dizzier and dizzier.

Before I hit
the sand I vaguely sensed two large hands catch me. They held me
tightly and lowered me to the ground in a cradle. I kept my eyes
closed. I knew it was Lucan. And I knew he had just militantly
murdered two people. But his embrace was soft and comforting and
for now, with my eyes closed, I could forget where I was.

And that shit
had just gotten very real.

Chapter
18

Cirrus was on a ship. The ship was painted
blue, like the water rising and falling below the deck, and the
wind snapped the white sails across the clear sky. He was in the
middle of the ocean, with no land in sight, and yet he could detect
the distinct scent of lilacs in the air. The air lifted the scent
into his nose and blew through his hair, making his blond bangs
flutter delightfully across his forehead.

He wasn't
alone. Maggie stood a little ways off. She was leaning over one
side of the ship trying to trail her fingers in the water as the
wind caused the ship to skim across the sapphire ocean waves. She
laughed as a spray of water leapt up and caught her in the face.
She jumped back and brushed her arm across her cheek to wipe the
sea salt spray from her eyes.

Maggie looked
at Cirrus and smiled.

"What are you
doing, Maggie?" Cirrus asked.

"I was trying
to catch the sunlight," she replied. And smiled again.

"There is no
sunlight in the sea," Cirrus said softly. The smell of lilacs was
stronger as she moved towards him. "There is only darkness and
depth and a crushing pressure."

"No there
isn't; there is sunlight. I can see it in the waves."

"There is no
sunlight. There is only darkness. And silence."

Maggie was
suddenly in front of Cirrus. She held out a hand and through the
cracks in her fingers Cirrus could see the small glimmers of light
breaking through.

"There is
sunlight. I caught some of it." She held it to her breast like a
delicate baby bird. "It is my sunlight."

"Show me
where," Cirrus whispered. Maggie led him to the side of the ship
and pointed down. The water was far below, lapping gently at the
blue painted wood. Cirrus could see the sunlight glinting off the
edge of the waves. It looked like a light dusting of shimmer that
stretched across the sea to the edge of the horizon. The entire
surface of the ocean was bathed in a perfect golden glow.

"I want some,"
Cirrus said, putting his face in the warm curve of Maggie's neck.
Her amber eyes glowed bright and his chest swelled like a wave. It
was so delicious, he wished it would break and consume them both.
"Will you catch some for me?" The wind snapped the sails suddenly
and the smell of lilacs disappeared as her smile faded. All he
could smell was salt and, somewhere on the edge of the wind's
breath, the tension of an oncoming storm.

"I cannot catch
you sunlight," she protested softly.

"How can you
expect me to be happy without your sunlight?" Cirrus asked.

"You must catch
your own sunlight." She lowered her head to meet his lips and
brushed against them softly. The pressure in his chest intensified
to a painful ache.

"How do you
expect me to do that?" Cirrus could hardly breathe.

"Learn how to
swim," she replied.

The boat
suddenly crashed on a large wave and the deck pitched sideways.
Cirrus stumbled and fell backwards off the boat with a cry. He
crashed into a sea no longer bathed in gold but engulfed in the
gray, dark shadows that come with a storm. Lightening cracked
through the sky and the waves towered over Cirrus's head. Their
force pushed Cirrus under the water again and again as he
floundered to keep near the surface. He could see Maggie staring
down at him through the rain, her hand still cupped around the ball
of sunlight. Her skin glowed and pulsated the promise of warmth
beyond his reach; he could still see it as he sank deeper into the
ocean.

As the water
closed down on him he tried to scream, but the crushing pressure in
his lungs made his vision blur and fade and the light soon vanished
as Cirrus sank to the bottom of the ocean.

***

The clock in Cirrus's
manor struck 11 pm. Cirrus opened his eyes slowly. He was sitting
in the chair in his drawing room. The heat of the fire tucked
around his edges like a blanket. His whole body was surprisingly
steady as he raised a hand to wipe the sheen of sweat from his
brow. Despite all his efforts, he had fallen asleep. And he had
dreamt, like he always did when he fell asleep, of something
horrible and terrifying.

The doorbell
rang.

Cirrus stood up
and went to the window. He had been frightened to take to the air
since Maggie fell and as a result, the nightmares around his
grounds had multiplied. But for tonight, the darkness obscured the
forest line where the nightmares paced around the trees. This was
usually a blessing.

Cirrus hated
them. He hated the dreams he created, the skewed faces and the long
teeth, the slime that dripped from their limbs or the horrible
scent of the dead that radiated from their wings. And whatever form
they took he hated the sounds they made in the night. The sounds of
the hunt terrified him. The purple cloud was his escape.

But the night
was silent as Cirrus looked out onto the grounds. He could see and
hear nothing of the monsters or his purple cloud. But he wished
that the light would come back to banish the dark and illuminate
the horrors he had created in his laboratory. The dark reminded him
of his dream and the deep black abyss that had claimed and crushed
him.

He had tasted
the relief and rescue that the light had brought. And he was now
surer than ever before that it was his salvation. But there was
another feeling in his gut that he hadn't yet felt, a feeling that
replaced the horrible spasms and nausea.

He was
furious.

How dare anyone
withhold the one thing that would save him from the dark and the
nightmares? How could anyone even fathom not sharing the amazing
gift that they were capable of giving to this world?

Does she,
indeed, have any other purpose?
he disdainfully reasoned.
She is not noticed at home, not missed. She is a meaningless
waste of beauty in the lives of people who have better things to
do,
he fumed to himself.
I am giving her importance. I need
her like no one else does. I need her more than I've needed
anything else before in my life. And she is holding herself away
from me, cupped tightly in the palm of her hand.

He turned away
from the window and strode back to his desk where the papers lay
signed and stamped on the desk. The Moth was already out searching.
It would only be a matter of time before it flew back to Cirrus and
he got a chance to show her just exactly how serious he was.
Perhaps unleashing a small taste of the nightmares he lived with
would be the perfect wake up call . . . once he had twisted that
necklace away from her pretty neck.

The door
creaked open and Marty stuck his head in. He shuffled into the room
and stood by the door. He was no longer shaking, or sweating. His
hands were steady by his sides and his clear eyes spoke a mixture
of determination and recklessness.