What had the rocklike one promised the solemn one if he did everything he asked?
The solemn one must want whatever it was very badly.
He lunged. The brother kicked him in his broken ribs. The solemn one’s breath rushed from him. There wasn’t even enough left for him to scream.
He was launched backward. He landed against the ground. Somehow, he was still conscious. The wind skipped over his fluttering pulse. It shoved air into his one struggling lung.
Across the river, there was another muted roar.
The brother stalked toward the solemn one. At the roar, he stopped and turned.
“The Smith,” one of the cousins said.
The battle-hardened brother’s eyes flickered with worry. His jaw hardened. He stood over the solemn one and held up his sword. The solemn one’s eyes were closed. It looked like he wasn’t breathing.
The monster roared again.
The brother flinched. “Finn. Hang on.”
The solemn one opened his eyes and lunged.
He was slower than usual—that was the only thing that saved the brother. On instinct, he kicked out, slamming his boot into the solemn one’s gut. He flew across the street and hit a car window. It shattered. He rolled to the ground.
The wind cushioned his fall, keeping the shards of glass from slicing his veins and his arteries.
The battle-hardened brother began to sprint down the street. “Make sure he’s dead!” he shouted over his shoulder.
All the Smith cousins followed but one. A square-shouldered woman in black crouched over the solemn one. She pressed her fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Then, after a breath-held moment, she nodded.
She jumped up and ran after the battle-hardened brother.
The wind’s tendril hid underneath the car, tinkling the bits of broken glass. After a moment, slipshots slipped out of the shadows.
They stole the solemn one’s last two knives. They rifled through his pockets. The only thing they found was a small glass vial with a dried flower inside. Worthless. They dropped it on the ground, and it rolled across the pavement, falling into the sewer.
Then, shouting and shoving, they ran off to see what they could steal from the Smith fortress.
96
I dove across the pavement, ducking under a barrage of boulders. Last stood on top of a concrete hill, blindly throwing giant rocks into the horror. She laughed when one hit the legs of Luvic’s horse and it stumbled, falling to its knees. The horror swarmed, its larvae nipping at the horse’s white light.
The horse screamed, and Luvic leaped from its back, joining Celia and Ragnor to block the horror’s advance. They stood shoulder to shoulder, weaving water and song. Every wave of illusion they conjured was swallowed by the darkness.
It was expanding so quickly it would soon stretch an entire city block. The terror of it nipped at me and dug into my chest, trying to crush the flickering light in my heart. It joined Jagger’s blood and tried to suffocate me from the inside out.
There is no good, it said.
There is no light.
There is no love.
The agony and the anguish smothered the city in darkness.
“Keep them vulnerable,” Primus shouted, thrusting me behind him.
I yanked at Finn’s illusion. Every time either one of them conjured, I pulled their knots free before they had a chance to form.
The air was so hot it felt like breathing in flame. It burned with an acrid, greasy, horrifying smell. My eyes stung, and my body ached. I’d never untied so many knots in my life. Millions to free the horror, and a million more to leave Finn vulnerable.
