as long as you’re breathing.”
By that reasoning, I should stay here. But we both know that isn’t an option. If I do, Pearl will hurt Killian and Sloan.
“I’ll survive,” I vow. Whatever it takes.
He wraps his arms around me—but nothing happens.
I frown. “Are you sure this will work?”
“Of course. Shells were patterned after human bodies. I’m waiting for you to close your eyes.”
Please. I’m not missing a moment of this. I’ve been to Many Ends; I can handle anything. “Go!”
Bright, blinding light basically incinerates my corneas. The foundation is ripped out from under me, and I’m thrown like a baseball across a field, the world around me nothing but a blur. I’m—
“Here,” Deacon says.
I hear gasps of surprise, but it takes me a moment to focus. My stomach churns, erupts. I hunch over and spew out my guts. More gasps, only these are laced with disgust. There’s a patter of footsteps as people rush to get away from me and my gross.
As I straighten, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, the world comes into view. Deacon landed us right in front of the plateau, just a step below Pearl. His Oxi is already aimed. He fires.
Three Myriad Shells rush from the sidelines to form a wall in front of Pearl, the blast nailing the guy in the middle, the air around him suddenly smoky. He tries to wave away the fumes as his comrades jump away from him, leaving him to decay. Clumps of his hair fall from his head, and his skin begins to age rapidly, wrinkles appearing, spreading, digging deeper.
The guy on his right shoots him between the eyes and the Shell explodes into ash.
Click. Click. Click.
I don’t have to look to know that every Shell in the audience is now aiming a weapon at me. Are bullets in the chambers, or darts? Does she want to kill me right from the start, or try one more time to convince me Myriad is better than Troika?
I keep my attention on Killian. He’s shaking his head no, his golden eyes—those beautiful eyes—beseeching me. Leave. Don’t do this.
A part of me dies at seeing such a strong boy so helpless.
“I’m here to bargain,” I call and his head falls forward in defeat.
Four seconds pass before Pearl steps forward, her chin high. Four types of blood. Four horsemen of the apocalypse. Four stages in a human Firstlife: conception, birth, life and finally death.
I’m going to deliver her Second-death.
“The time for bargains has passed.” She nods at her men. “Hobble her.”
Hobble, not kill. She is confident she has the edge.
As a thousand explosions ring out, Deacon whisks me away on a beam of light. I’m blinded for a moment, and my stomach rebels the second we land—directly behind Pearl.
I retch all over Deacon’s boots, not that anyone notices. Or hears. Shells and humans are too busy toppling from the blasts. Without us there to take the blows, they end up shooting each other.
Deacon raises the Oxi, the barrel aimed at the back of Pearl’s head, but she didn’t earn the title of Leader by sitting behind a desk.
She senses him and ducks, spins, a Stag palmed from a pocket in her robe. As she fires off a shot of her own, Deacon shoves me out of the way and vanishes, and the dart embeds in the building behind me. I waste no time, unsheathing a dagger and tossing it. The tip slices through her wrist, her version of muscle clenching and unclenching, forcing her to drop the weapon.
A pop, pop sounds at my left. Sharp pain erupts in my neck, electric pulses shooting through me, making me jerk, rendering me useless. Pearl smiles as she pulls the blade from her wrist, then nods in thanks to the Shell who pegged me full of darts.
Can’t have failed so easily. So quickly.
She walks toward me, saunters really, pep in every step. She’s proud of herself, even a little giddy. My gaze scans... Deacon is fighting a crowd of Myriad soldiers. A split second after he disappears, they disappear. A split second after he reappears, they reappear, the battle never pausing. Someone is always punching, throwing elbows or knees.
“Help,” I manage to gasp.
“Yes, help her,” Pearl calls. How smug she sounds. “Anyone?”
Deacon glances my way and appears behind Pearl a second later, but that’s what she wanted him to do—draw out and conquer. She dives low when he swings at her and as she rolls, she nails him with a dart.
He drops,