Year One (Chronicles of The One #1)(45)

She wanted to kill him, and the want of it sickened her. Instead she stomped, without remorse, on his good hand.

Left him shrieking while she went to his dead companion, took his knife and gun, shoved everything into the side pockets of her backpack.

“Can you walk?” she asked Fred.

“Yeah.”

“Can you run?”

“It’s my face, not my legs.”

“There may be more of this kind, or the even worse kind. We don’t have far, but—I think we should jog it. We need the flashlight.”

Fred picked it up, but stuck it in the side of her pack. “Not right now. They can stay with us.”

“Even better. Let’s go, fast as we can.”

Arlys paced herself to Fred’s shorter legs, but they kept up a good speed.

“You didn’t leave me. You said you would.”

Locking away the fear, Arlys kept her gaze straight ahead in the faerie light. “I guess you were right. I wasn’t telling the truth.”

“You saved me. You had to take a life to save me.”

Arlys kept running and thought of bright, brilliant light over dark, dark deeds.

At the Hoboken station, Arlys hauled herself up to the platform while Fred floated up.

Arlys wanted to scrub her hands, her face, strip off her ruined jacket. The sting in her arm told her the knife had done more than tear the material.

But she wanted to get aboveground again more.

She heard echoing voices, but couldn’t risk finding out if they were friend or foe. So she hurried Fred up the stairs to the street.

The dancing lights circled, then whisked away.

“They’ll come back, or others will,” Fred told her, “if we need them.”

“Best backup ever.” Then the tears scorched her throat. “I have to get somewhere, somewhere I can wash my hands—my face. My … I have to get somewhere I can fall apart for a few minutes.”

“We’ll find somewhere. Lean on me now.” Fred circled an arm around Arlys’s waist.

“You’re hurt. We need to get you some ice or frozen peas or a raw steak. Does that actually work?”

“I don’t know. Nobody ever punched me in the face before. It really hurts. It really hurts when it happens. It’s not as bad now.”

They limped along the street, and Arlys prayed they wouldn’t have to fight again. She didn’t know if she had any fight left.

They stopped in front of a shop, windows boarded, door bolted, called Cassidy’s Closet.

“I bet there’s a washroom for employees.” Fred studied the door. “Maybe some clothes. Maybe a coat you can change into.”

“It’s shut up tight. If we had some tools, maybe…”

“Faeries—experienced ones—can get into locked places. I might be able to. I just have to find it, and hold it, and…”

Fred shut her eyes, cupped her hands as if about to catch rainwater in her palms. Her wings fluttered out. She began to glow.

“Find it, inside me,” she murmured, “hold it. Bring it. Offer it. Be with me, children of light and air, of the forests and the flowers. Open locks so we may enter.”

Nearly numb to it all, Arlys heard locks and bolts click and clank and fall.

Bruised, filthy, triumphant, Fred fluttered up on her wings to circle in the air.

“I did it! It’s the first time I did it on my own!”

“You’re a wonder, Fred. An absolute wonder.” Cautiously, Arlys reached for the door. “But stay behind me, just in case.”

Arlys led with the gun, and Fred threw in some light.

No doubt the secondhand clothing store had been picked over, but it didn’t appear to have been looted or vandalized.

“There’s no one here.” Fred carefully closed the door, locking it again. “I’d know. I didn’t sense the two—the last two—because we, well, smelled, and it made me a little sick. You know?”

“Yeah, I know. Let’s see if there’s somewhere to wash up.”

As they wandered through, Fred looked around, stopping herself from touching anything because her hands were filthy. “Nobody broke in and trashed the place.”

“Maybe people are more civilized in Hoboken. Or maybe more got out quicker, or are holed up. Chuck must be holed up.”

“I almost forgot about him.”

“Let’s hope he didn’t forget to watch tonight’s broadcast. Here! We got a little washroom back here.”

“Yay! I’ve got to pee so bad.”

Fred yanked down her pants, dropped down on the toilet.

Arlys braced herself, walking to the little sink, looking in the fancy little mirror over it.

Worse, even worse than she’d imagined. Blood on her face, gore in her hair, the jacket covered with both. She gagged again, fought down the bile. Ripped off her backpack, then the jacket.

“I might be able to fix it.”

“Even if you could, I…”

“I get it. I’m going to take it out, find you something warm to wear. I think I can clean myself up without the soap and water. If not, I’ll be back to do that when you’re done. And, um, your pants, too, Arlys.”

“I know.”

“I’ll take the jacket out so … Arlys, your arm’s bleeding. You’re cut!”