Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(100)

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as its head fell to the side, wings sagging as I let it drop lifelessly to the ground.

I hoped no more found me.

One, I could choke. Two hundred and I would be a goner. I already knew I wouldn’t be lucky enough for that scream to go unheard.

I needed to hide. Not that it would make any difference with Vil?s, but I wasn’t going to go out into the middle of the street and start waving my arms, either.

Dragging my feet against the garbage-strewn floor of the alley, I moved away, clinging to broken bits of mattresses, chairs, and the wall as I made my way to a large dumpster, the massive thing taking up most of the space of the dingy thoroughfare and providing me with the perfect cover.

Or so I hoped.

Hissing in pain, I slid down the wall, pressing myself against the vile metal box that smelled faintly of fruit. I tried to focus on my surroundings, focus on any noise coming my way—be it hissing or wings or blue-eyed men. There was nothing, nothing except dead air and the faint red glow of Edmund’s barrier.

It was something that should have been relaxing, but I didn’t think anything could be at that point, because right then, sitting behind the dumpster, the panic that had gripped me for the past few minutes became more of a frightening reality. Everything that had happened in the last who knew how long washed over me: attacking my best friend, Sain, and Sain standing beside Edmund, and Rosy and Cail, and Thom …

“Thom,” I said aloud, the frightening memory swimming through my mind—that moment as I fought against Edmund’s control in a desperate attempt to stop myself from killing him.

No, to stop Edmund from killing him.

I had thought I was strong enough to face the demons the blade awakened, to save my daughter. But Edmund was stronger. No, the blade was stronger. This dangerous thing had better not end in Thom’s death.

I needed to get there in order to make sure he was okay, to give this dratted thing to Ilyan before something worse happened. I hoped he could destroy it.

My arm exploded in a jolt of pain as I looked down at my hand, at the blade and the dried blood that clung to it like some kind of scab. I had to take it out before he found me, before he tracked it and found me, before he took control again. For all I knew, it was this thing that was blocking my magic, and I wasn’t conceited enough to think I could make it through the city without so much of a spark, that I could make it through the city without Edmund taking control again. I didn’t have another option. It was too dangerous to wait.

Closing my eyes, I wrapped my other hand firmly around the end, the rock slick with dried blood, warm and uncomfortable to the touch.

I tried not to think about what I was about to do. I breathed, part of me praying I didn’t go into cardiac arrest. It would be like a band-aid, or so I said in my head. I guessed the analogy would be correct if the band-aid was made of massive leeches, barbed wire, and duct tape.

“Five, four, three…” I didn’t wait, just pulled, the action rough and quick as the thing dislodged from my hand with a loud, wet smack.

It took all my willpower to keep the scream inside my throat, keep the agonizing pain hidden, and keep me safe from any other magical flying rats that were about. Every muscle stiffened in mind-numbing pain. My body seized and flailed in a need to stay quiet.

One swift move and my head slammed into the stone wall I sat against, a new pain erupting through my skull at the impact, but even that pain was not enough to compete with what now ripped through me.

Stomach spinning, I heaved, the smell of blood and vomit so strong I could barely breathe through it.

Balling up the hem of my shirt as best I could, I pressed it against my hand in an effort to stop the massive bleeding that was now flooding from the golf ball-sized hole in the center of my hand. I already knew it was pointless. The pain continued, blood flowing in rivers over my skin, pooling against my legs and the garbage I sat on.

Still, I could not feel my magic. I couldn’t feel the warmth. Nothing rushed to my hand in a mad attempt to stop the blood flow, to heal the ragged wound I had created.

If I stayed here much longer, I would bleed out.

I had to move.

I had to find Ilyan before it was too late.

Shaking, I attempted to place the shard of blade in my pocket, trying to focus on a world that was spinning and shifting before me. Everything shook. I shook as my body moved into what I was convinced was shock.

Pressing my weight against the wall, I leaned against it as I forced myself to stand, my eyes wide as I looked down the alley, part of me praying Ilyan would magically be standing there.

It remained empty.

At least there weren’t any rabid Vil?s, I supposed.

Using the wall as support, I moved back down the alley, my eyes darting every direction as I tried to get my bearings, praying I was on the right side of the river, praying I was close to the cathedral.

I couldn’t be that far away after what had happened, not that I remembered much. I remembered running, and if I was running then as well as I was walking now, I had to be close.

I was.

I was on Latenska, the long street that moved over the river and stretched into Old Town, which was less than half a mile from where I needed to be, from someone who could save me. I hoped I could get there in time, or Jos would probably find me in a few days, face down in a pool of my own blood, surrounded by Styx lyrics.

I ran, leaning against the wall, my hands clawing at corners and windowsills as I stumbled forward, keeping my pace as fast as I could, given that my legs still weren’t working right, and the added pain in my hand was making it hard to see straight, hard to think.