The Hearts We Sold(80)

At that center, something tore through. Another burrower. It pushed through the center of the void, found its equilibrium, and joined the fray. And then another followed. This was where the burrowers came from—from wherever that center led.

Her stomach caved in on itself; there were not enough homunculi to counter all of them. Even with their inhuman strength and determination, they would be overrun.

They weren’t going to make it out again. They might destroy this place, but there simply wouldn’t be time to get past all these creatures. Twenty seconds wasn’t nearly enough.

Something inside of her hardened.

Fine, then.

They would do this. They would save the world and all it would cost was two heartless teenagers.

“Come on,” said James, and they rushed ahead.

It was rough going—a headlong sprint into the chaos. Dee barely managed to avoid being stepped on by a homunculus, and then James was sliced by one of the burrower’s claws. A shallow cut opened up on his forearm before James kicked at the creature, and it scurried backward into the reach of a homunculus. The cobbled-together monster wrapped its fingers around it and squeezed. Dee looked away.

The center of the void was firmer beneath her feet, and suddenly the wind quieted. The eye of the storm, she thought. James set the duffel bag down, tore the zipper open. He fumbled for the remote, for the detonator and timer. Dee stood over, taking comfort in his nearness.

And then he went still.

His trembling fingers held something up and Dee drew in a sharp breath.

In his palm was a mess of shattered plastic and wires.

“What—what is that?” she said.

James looked up. “The timer.”

It must have happened when that last burrower attacked them, when its leg struck the duffel bag.

Broken.

Dee’s last hope slipped from her.

“It’s broken,” he said. “We can’t—we can’t—” The wind swallowed up his words. “There’s no timer to set.” His gaze settled on Dee and his face hardened. But even so, his fingers were trembling as he pulled the duffel bag open. “Manually,” he said, his voice shaking. “We can set off the C-4 manually.”

She knelt beside him and his arms went around her.

This—this would be all right.

Her hand pressed to the place where his heart should have been. “It’s okay,” she said. “I knew—I knew this might happen. I knew what being heartless might cost me.” The words came in little fits and starts, but she said them. And she meant them.

He had been right, the first time they met. After she lost her heart, she had lived. Not simply existed, but lived. She couldn’t regret that; she was only sad it had not lasted longer.

James pressed a kiss to her brow and it felt strange—not like any kiss they had shared. It was affectionate, rather than passionate. He reached inside the duffel bag and withdrew something else. It was not part of the explosives; it was not a river rock—it was wrapped in a clean shirt. He unwrapped it, and then Dee drew in a sharp breath.

The object was red and gleaming, like a fist-sized ruby.

It was a heart.

A heart brought into a void. No wonder those burrowers had zeroed in on them. Dee looked up at James, uncomprehending. She did not—she did not understand why he would have carried that with him. How had he even managed to carry it? She would have thought a heart needed the warmth and breath of a body.

“James…?” she said, his name a question.

But James was smiling, truly smiling, as if he were looking at his final masterpiece, the greatest artwork he had ever created.

He said, “You’re not heartless, are you?”

And then he shoved the heart against her chest.

She had only a moment to gasp. The heart should have hit her clothes, her skin, but whatever power the Daemon used was still upon it. The heart passed through cotton and skin and bone as if they were not there.

It sank into her chest.

It hurt; it was like the snap of shoving a key into a lock, of fitting pieces together. She could not speak for the pain, could not think for the shock.

James kissed her. A press of heat, his mouth against hers, and it was too quick. Abruptly, it felt as if gravity had upended. Her fingers clawed at the air and she fell backward, wrenched away from James. She reached for him and caught only air.

Nothing living can enter the voids. Nothing with a heart.

She remembered the rats being spat out, hurled by some invisible force. The same force that gripped her. With a cry, she tried to hold on, tried to stay—

James was still smiling—and it made him look so beautiful her heart ached.

Her heart.

But it couldn’t be her heart—her time wasn’t up—

She understood. It wasn’t her heart.

It was his.

The weight of it dragged at her, a heavy anchor hooked through her rib cage, and then she was crashing downhill, no, not downhill there was no downhill, but she was falling, falling sideways and tumbling and staggering, all elbows and knees, sand catching in her hair, her stomach turning over, and then the pop in her ears as if the air pressure had suddenly changed.

She was flung from the mouth of the void, and as she went, she had enough sense to grab at Riley and the two of them hit the ground together. They rolled, still caught by the momentum, and Dee desperately tried to right herself. She scrambled to hands and knees, faced the void—still glittering and half there, and maybe there was enough time.