Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(103)

“Teo, what is it?” A wave of dread made me dizzy.

“It’s his hand,” said Vivian cheerfully. “But good luck trying to convince him of that.”

Rivenholt used the opportunity of my slackened grip to wrench free. At the same moment, Teo fell to his knees, brandishing his pocketknife and stabbing it into his left hand again and again.

“Get it off!” he screamed. “Get it off me!” Vivian burst into a cascade of delighted laughter.

I started toward Teo, but that bastard Rivenholt delivered a swift kick to my AK from behind as soon as I’d turned, making me fall back into the dust. I felt my suspension slip as my ass hit the ground.

Claybriar cried out my name but was quickly muffled by, from the sound of it, a punch in the mouth.

I twisted around just in time to see Rivenholt push Claybriar over the side of the well. I let out a growl and rolled over onto my good knee, dragging myself over to Rivenholt intending to—I don’t know—bite his ankles? He saw me coming, snatched up my pricey prosthetic by the socket, and swung it in a wide arc, smashing it against my cheekbone. I saw a white flash, and my ear started ringing. I fell over onto my back with a moan.

The sky was so bright. David’s white Stetson looked dark against it as he loomed over me, his face shaded from view.

Rivenholt appeared beside him. “I promised to see this through. You know I can’t let her leave.”

“I know.”

“I’ll do it. You shouldn’t watch; I know you care for her.”

David laid both his hands on Rivenholt’s shoulders. “And you know how much I care for you, I hope,” he said.

“Of course.”

“Good.”

And then David started to push Rivenholt, hard. I rolled onto my side; everything looked dim and disjointed, like a silent film. Berenbaum kept pushing his wide-eyed Echo back and back, a clumsy tango, until he sent the poor bastard toppling over the side of the well after Claybriar.

I must have grayed out for a second, because suddenly Sheriff Berenbaum was kneeling next to me—he smelled like Christmas and coffee—and trying to pick me up in his arms.

“What the hell are you doing, David?” Vivian’s voice, sharp.

“The chapel,” I murmured, slinging an arm around David’s neck. “Vivian can’t go in there.”

“I’m sorry,” David whispered. “I’m so sorry for all this. I just wanted to make great movies again; I didn’t know they were people—”

“The chapel,” I repeated curtly.

He lifted me, and Vivian called out to him again. “David, what are you doing?”

David ran as fast as a near-septuagenarian can run carrying a grown woman. I guess without my left leg I was lighter than most; it was still lying where Rivenholt had dropped it.

“This isn’t a real chapel,” I mused as we crossed the threshold. “How is it supposed to keep her out?”

“She didn’t make the illusion,” said David. “Johnny did. So it feels real to her.”

Inside, a few beams of smoky sunlight from the decaying roof lanced downward to illuminate a dozen pews and a small altar. I didn’t see Caryl as we entered, but I could hear her labored breathing somewhere toward the front of the room. My heart thrilled; she was still alive. David quickly helped me sit on one of the back pews.

“Find Caryl,” I said. “Bring her to me.”

For a man not used to taking orders, he responded with impressive alacrity. He helped Caryl up off the floor where she’d collapsed, and half dragged, half carried her over to me. The strain apparently wasn’t good for her, because by the time he got her to the pew she’d stopped breathing altogether, and her face was turning corpse gray. I seized her hand and was rewarded with the sight of color rushing back to her cheeks, the sound of air flowing back to her lungs. She looked worn out, though; her eyes were at half-mast. David supported her with his arm, uncharacteristically silent.

“Well, that was a close one,” I said. “What possessed you to run off without me?”

“What possessed you not to follow?” she countered weakly.

“Stuff like my Echo being thrown down a well and Teo stabbing a knife into his own hand.”

“Oh.”

“Look, Caryl. Vivian is here. All we have to do is lop off her head or whatever it takes to kill a fey, and you’ll be fine.”

“You can’t kill her,” Caryl said.

“She’s immortal?”

“No, I mean, you may not kill her. Not until she has been interrogated.” As annoying as I found her argument, I was relieved to see her taking charge, returning to an adult state.

“I have some information that might help,” interjected David, “but not much.”

“Talk,” Caryl said.

“Vivian promised not to cause me harm—in return, Johnny had to promise that he would do everything in his power to see the project through. That’s why I had to, uh, take murder out of his power just now. Vivian was deadly serious about this project because she has some beef about the class system in Arcadia, and she said the studio was the first step in leveling the field.”

“How, exactly?”

“Honestly, that’s as much as she said to me. I assumed she just meant giving everyone equal access to inspiration. Is that such a bad thing?”