Doomsday Can Wait (Phoenix Chronicles, #2)(92)

I could never have done it if I'd remained human. Not only the lack of strength but the yuck factor. However, in my present state, I found the spray of blood exquisite.

The temptation to let it wash over me, feel the heat and the life and the energy against my skin, was nearly overwhelming. I probably would have done it, except the body stood up and reached for me.

"Oh, come on!" I stumbled back, and what was left of the woman of smoke followed.

"Give me my head."

I glanced down. I still held the skull in one hand, and it was talking. My life was a Tim Burton movie.

The body kept coming; the hands weren't reaching for me but for the severed head. Once retrieved, would they then set it back on the gushing neck, and would the wound heal?

"How do I end her?" I muttered, my mind grasping for every detail I'd heard, everything that I'd learned.

She no longer possessed any magic; all she had left was the spirit of evil. There'd been something, somewhere about evil.

The truth hit me like a spotlight. The memory of what I'd seen in Sawyer's dream when I'd walked there—words the shade of fresh blood splayed across the pristine white ceiling.

"Toss evil to the four winds," I whispered.

"No!" shrieked the woman of smoke.

Which made tossing seem like a helluva good idea.

I threw the still screaming head to the north with all of my strength, then finished the job by sending the arms to the east, the legs to the west, and the rest down south.

Welcome silence settled over the mountain, but it didn't last. At first I thought she was coming back, because the shrieking that had faded to nothing as the woman of smoke was carried away on the four winds got louder and louder until it surrounded me. An ocean of sound blaring in my too sensitive ears, driving me to the ground with my hands pressed to my head.

Even though my eyes were closed, I felt the light-dark, light-dark flickers across my face and forced myself to look at the moon.

Ghostly shadows pranced across the surface too quickly for me to determine what they were.

'That can't be good," I murmured, even as something inside of me rejoiced and whispered: They are free.





CHAPTER 34


The sun shining across my face woke me. Or maybe it was the sensation of being watched. Because I opened my eyes to discover myself surrounded.

I snarled and did a backflip, landing in a crouch. A growl rumbled low in my throat. All that goodness made my head ache.

In the bright light of morning, the colors of the world seemed epic. The jewels on the collar in Sawyer's hand nearly blinded me.

"What's wrong with her?"

The kid—Luther, I remembered—appeared horrified. I lifted my top lip and gave him a good view of my fangs, then found myself distracted by the throbbing vein in his neck. I could hear every one of their hearts beating; the swish of blood through their veins was a seductive whisper. I took a step forward and Jimmy blocked my way.

"She's gone vamp," he said, his voice so full of pain I breathed in. I could almost taste his tears.

"You said we could fix her," Luther whispered.

Mmm. The tremble in his voice, the fear on the wind.

"Not fix," Sawyer murmured. "At least not yet."

"Put the collar on her," Summer ordered. "Otherwise she's going to do to us what she did to the woman of smoke."

I remembered the geyser of blood. I wanted to see that again. My gaze crept over the four of them.

"Eenie, meenie, minee, mo," I whispered, and lunged at the fairy.

Sawyer's hand flicked out and sent me flying backward so hard my head thunked against the ground.

"Oh, God," Jimmy murmured.

"Quit whining," Sawyer ordered. "What's done is done. We have to move forward. Give me a hand."

My legs were pinned, so were my arms. I shrieked my fury to the sky, and in the distance, something answered. Sawyer cursed softly.

I could have taken every one of them separately. But together they were stronger, which only made me snarl and slaver and buck against the restraints.

I snapped at Sawyer's hands as he slid the collar around my neck. He smacked me in the nose like a bad dog, and my eyes watered. As soon as the latch clicked shut, I stilled.

Sawyer's eyes met mine. "Better?"

I nodded, and they released me, then backed up so fast I winced. Both at their reactions and at the memory of what I'd said and done and been.

I needed a shower, a scrub brush, and about a pound of soap. The woman of smoke's blood was speckled all over me; my hands and forearms appeared painted sienna, and the crust under my nails was so thick it felt as if I'd been digging in a garden for days.

A pile of clothes lay at my feet. I donned them quickly, no longer comfortable with my nakedness, even though fifty percent of the people here had seen it all before.

The shirt—BLACK SABBATH REUNION TOUR, ha-ha—was obviously Sanducci's, but someone had gone through my bag and found my last pair of clean under-wear and shorts.

I glanced at Jimmy, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. Luther sensed as if he expected me to attack him at any second. Summer wanted to slug me. We still had that in common. Only Sawyer appeared the same as when I'd last seen him.

My fingers brushed the collar. "What's this?"