Page 55 of Of Flame and Fury
The part about not all of us making it goes unsaid. I offer a gentle squeeze to her arm as I pass. The deeper I go into the foyer, the more the injuries worsen. It’s hard to look at all the suffering, yet watching the dead carried out is much worse. These were parents, siblings, and friends slaughtered by evil.
I shouldn’t expect less from Johnny. These Nytes of his weren’t engineered to leave survivors. They were meant to ravage and inflict punishment, and didn’t they manage their share? Still, there’s a part of me that’s surprised by it. Johnny isn’t evil. That’s not the first word I’d use to describe him. He’s a giant wimp, so selfish and obsessed with saving his ass that this is what’s he’s become.
Hundreds attended tonight’s event. Lethal creatures that have known bloodshed and pushed through it, emerging victorious. If we’re lucky, maybe a third of them will make it through this shitshow. And if we’re really lucky, Celia will be among them.
My lips purse as another stab of pain shoots up to my hip. I think I twisted my ankle, and my right knee took a pummeling. I lift my hands, my eyes widening when I realize I’m covered with nasty cuts. I’m more than a little beat-up. Still, I fared far better than the majority.
Shayna skips toward me, a giant bruise taking up the right side of her face. “Hey, T. Ceel is with Koda. She’s eating the food Aric found and seems okay, you know, considering.”
The spoils of battle stain Shayna’s clothes, and a deep gash on her shoulder pokes through her torn shirt, and here she is, still somewhat lively. I inspect her face carefully. “What happened?” I ask.
She shrugs. “There were a lot of baddies, T,” she reminds me, her jaw clicking as she speaks. “I jumped off Koda when we neared the door so he could get Ceel inside. Sometimes, the baddies are a lot stronger than me.”
And yet she fights them all the same. “Have Emme heal you,” I tell her.
“I will. Later. If she’s up for it.”
Her gaze cuts to the right. I almost jump. Several witches chant, holding down a pregnantwerewhose chest cavity is split open. The witches’ magic is the only thing keeping this female down, and alive. I can see thewere’sbeating heart, pounding weakly as it struggles to keep the youngwereand her baby alive. Her partner waits by her head, her long hair spilling in messy clumps as she weeps and speaks softly to the mother of her child.
The glow of Emme’s healing touch expands, casting excess light onto Bren, where he’s leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed, and he appears bored. I know better. Bren is taking everyone in and watching Emme closely. With tension as high as it is, thewere’spartner can easily turn on Emme in her grief. Even as frustrated and injured as Bren is, he stands guard over Emme.
Emme’s shoulders tremble with fatigue. Tired and likely hurt herself, tending to thewereis robbing the small bits of energy she clings to. But where there’s darkness, there’s Emme’s light.
Emme’s breathing is ragged, and she’s scrunching her face with how hard the intense healing demands her focus. Still, there she is, repairing thewere’sribs and knitting the skin closed. As she finishes, she meets thewere’spartner and smiles softly, her face bright red and soaked with sweat from her magical efforts.
“Your partner did an incredible job protecting your baby. Your little one is well,” Emme assures her. “I can feel it.”
The witches and the surroundingweresbreak down. We needed the baby to be okay. We needed hope, and that shining glimmer Emme offers is perfection.
Emme notices me with Shayna. She wipes her face on a towel a witch offers. “Let me heal you, Taran.”
I look at the abundance of supernaturals waiting to be seen, creatures and beings who should be in far better shape than they are. Some are being tended by healing witches. Emme’s line appears to be the longest.Damn it, Johnny, you could have used your power for so much better than this.
“I’m good,” I say. Comparatively, I am. There’s awereholding his severed limbs between his knees, and another older vamp with his head tucked under his arm.
“Are you certain?” she asks.
The glare the vamp’s head shoots me assures me there’s no cutting in line. “Oh, yeah. Besides, I need to see what’s up.”
Emme nods, brushing a strand of her dirty hair aside. She crinkles her nose at the smell. I don’t take a guess at what it might be. I’ll just bet that like everything else, it’s nasty.
With my head held semi-high and dress as pretty as Emme’s, I limp into the reception hall. Like the grand foyer, it’s partially destroyed and littered with wounded.
Uri stands close to the fireplace where that coal creature that bled lava forced its way through. He’s looking down at what appears to be a bare foot and not much else. The wretched smell of cooked flesh strikes my nostrils with a punch. I beat back a gag. Shayna isn’t so lucky.
She coughs into her hands, trying to muffle it. I can’t blame her reaction. The carnage around us suffocates our minds and spirits, embedding deep emotional scars we’ll never fully recover from, and with her heightened senses, she’s worse off than me.
Uri nudges the foot with the tip of his expensive shoes. The foot is stuck to the floor. He nudges it again, this time more forcibly. The skin strips away from the bone as the foot teeters and falls to the other side. Uri isn’t trying to be morbid, he’s visibly shaken, a side I never cared to see in this old vamp. His more overt emotion is frightening. Uri is angry, his rage simmering to a boil and warning everyone to mind their distance.
The foot belongs to what’s left of one of Uri’s dates. Oh, and look, there’s his other date, his skull crushed and the bowtie he wore bloody and lying a few feet away. The men were likely his favorites. They must have loved Uri. Humans don’t stand a chance against any preternatural. His adoring subjects knew it, and yet when the chaos broke, they likely wrapped their naked bodies around Uri and attempted to shield him.
It makes me sick that Uri allowed them to stay with him instead of ordering them to hide, to run,something. He obviously had feelings for them. Then again, Uri has always cared for Uri the most.
Uri’s lovers, those he most feeds from, usually come and go. He trades them away depending on his mood, his tastes, his pleasure. These two were something different. He’s not walking away from them, and heisfurious.
A shuffle of fabric and a limp that rivals mine has everyone looking up. Genevieve has returned from battle. What’s left of her dress hangs in shreds, and blood trickles from the claw marks on her back and throat. The guard to her right is missing part of her hand. The one on her left is covered with burns that limits her movements. They’re in pain and working hard not to show it.
As Uri’s livid features fix on Genevieve, the guards tighten the holds on their staffs, ready to protect Genevieve. Genevieve doesn’t blink, meeting Uri with a rock-steady “fuck you and the bat you flew in on” expression.