When the woman had dived into the darkness, she’d expected to find her brother. She hadn’t thought she’d see the boy covered in blood and gore.
It had startled her so much she’d lost the purity of her song.
This was the woman’s greatest weakness. She was loyal to her own detriment. Once she gave her loyalty, nothing could make her withdraw it. She cared too much. The caring made her hesitate. It made her stumble. It distracted her.
As soon as her song faltered, the musician knew what had caused it. The boy.
The musician thrust a water spear at the horror, but it was swallowed before it fully formed.
“Lia!” The boy dove for her, springing across the shadowed concrete. He rammed into her, right before the horror’s mouth closed. The boy and the woman flipped through the air. He gathered darkness around them.
They slammed into the ground. The wind dragged across the rough pavement. It burned as the concrete peeled skin from the boy’s back. He wrapped himself around the woman and held her as they skidded wildly.
Outside the boy’s darkness, the musician sang his cosmic song. He shot geysers at the horror and danced out of its reach. He searched the darkness for his sister, but she was shielded in the boy’s night.
Across from him, the solange-eyed one spun in a whirlwind of fiery blades.
Once, the wind had traveled through a termite mound as tall as a house. It had heard a human say there were millions of termites inside. It didn’t know what “million” was. It wanted to find out. “Million” was like sand on a beach. “Million” was all the hair on a lion’s back. “Million” was the endless fall of larvae from the horror’s belly.
The solange-eyed one fought, but could he fight a million forevers? The larva wouldn’t stop.
Smiths didn’t grow tired. The wind had watched them through the millennia. When they reached physical exhaustion, their battle spirit took over. They fought with a berserker’s single-mindedness. They never flagged. Never fatigued. The more exhausted a man should be, the more dangerous they became.
The solange-eyed one was more Smith than any Smith the wind had ever seen.
Maybe he would fight forever.
Could a body continue fighting, or would it combust when the spirit had burned out?
The wind didn’t know.
It hiccupped as the boy tucked the woman against him. They skidded to a halt, thumping against a brick wall. The boy’s darkness hid them from the horror.
The woman shuddered. She pulled in great gasps of air. She was spread over the boy like the sea over the sand.
He looked up at her, his green eyes shining with laughter. “You brought the puppy?”
A tiny white head poked out of her shirt collar. It sniffed at the blood and gore covering him, then it ducked back under her shirt.
“Jacob . . . what’s your middle name?”
“Alvin,” he said, shrugging because he’d always hated it.
“Jacob Alvin Ward, don’t you lecture me. You’re covered in blood. Can’t you take care of yourself?—?”
He reached up, gripped her face, and pulled her down to him. He kissed her, tasting the sea-salt flavor of her lips and the promise of sunshine. His hands curled through her silky hair, dragging her against him as he kissed her. It was a fierce, ferocious, I-love-you kiss.
When the woman pulled away, she’d forgotten what she was about to say.
Outside the boy’s darkness, the horror shrieked, and the musician shouted, “Ha!” Then, “Lia! Need your help out here!”
She glanced over her shoulder. The boy’s arms tightened on her back. They were still sprawled on the ground, a tangle of legs and arms. The woman, her puppy, and the boy.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Don’t die.”
She snorted delicately. Then grinned.
