Indie Saint: An Urban Fantasy Adventure Page 6

  “I’m pretty sure he has antlers.”

  “He was divinely engineered to be the perfect BFF. And you freaked out and went all hysterical on him.” Dahl shook his head slowly from side to side in exaggerated disapproval.

  “Oh, come on! That’s . . . you’re making this up. The dude could flip a truck.”

  “If it was in some old lady’s way as she crossed the street. How annoying that he came away from a conversation with you with no information except that you are apparently ‘adorable’ and don’t like to be tickled. And now you’re stuck with me. Until tomorrow anyway.”

  “Fuck you, Dahl. You’re trying to be an ass now. Fine. Assuming any of this is real, why do you want me?”

  “We should cover the rest once we’re out.” Dahl adjusted his bandages again. “You’ll want to hear it from Ian.”

  “God grant me patience,” Jane hissed. She meant it as a threat. “Okay. Ten o’clock. And you’ve got the rest when I go blind?”

  “Shit, no. I’ll be right next to you in the back seat, bleeding out. Ian’s driving. See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Seven

  Instead of counting sheep or counting her blessings, Jane lay in bed and counted the minutes to the impossible escape attempt. A gentle drizzle drummed against the two-inch-thick, unbreakable window plastic, and the room was lit by the peach glow of an exterior light. In the quiet and almost dark, her mind was running in high gear.

  She wanted to get out. Anyone would, right? This place was a soul-sucking dump. Her regular day-to-day wasn’t easy or comfortable, but the routine was familiar and reassuring. Do you honestly think you are ever going back to a normal life, Jane? Life hadn’t been normal for a while now, but maybe it still could be. She could still work a job and have friends and frenemies and a messed-up family like everyone else.

  What about tonight? What if she was undeniably confronted with evidence of magic? Maybe she wasn’t unique. Dahl had mentioned an ancient ritual and an organization . . . it did all sound like a delusion. But she couldn’t deny the similarities in their experiences—the books, the power, the pain. If this was real, of course, some people would know all about it, and they would have the answers and the resources to make a tool out of someone like her. A tool or a toy. Or a research project.

  The wisdom of someone she trusted would be awesome right now. Her mind went immediately, disobediently, to her mother. Her mother should be on her side, should believe her. Her eyes stung with tears. Traitor. Jane swallowed hard and shoved the thought aside.

  Jane rolled over. If Dahl had it all worked out, why was he in a mental hospital with bandages on his wrists? This place got inside her head. She’d spoken with a delusional patient the last time she was a resident—a girl who was so, so sincere. Jane had found it hard not to believe her. And, for questionable reasons, it was also hard not to believe Dahl.

  If he was for real it meant she wasn’t a freak—or at least wasn’t the only freak. Dahl seemed to want to help, even if he was an asshole. Tonight, they were going to attempt a jailbreak, and their getaway driver was seven feet tall, socially weird, and thought she was adorable. How the fuck had her appearance come up? Why had Dahl relayed what Ian had said? What did it have to do with anything? Jane self-consciously smoothed her shirt over her flat chest and untoned stomach.

  She didn’t want to go there right now. Time to think strategy. Jane stood and paced the room. Window, impassable. Air vent, too small. Door, locked. She cycled through the three avenues multiple times. At one point, she tried to make a Jane-shaped lump in the bed as a distraction but called it off.

  Well, how the hell was Dahl getting out? He could have given her a hint. She peered out at a hallway clock. It read a quarter till ten. This was impossible! Jane kicked the door in frustration. It glowed softly for a few seconds where her foot struck it. The electronic lock disengaged. Abruptly, miraculously, it swung open. The hallway was dark.

  A warm liquid trickled down Jane’s arm, and her shoulder cramped in a painful twinge. She glanced over and gaped, instant vertigo causing her to stumble. Blood was pouring from a deep puncture wound in her shoulder, and more was running down her back. Did the hole go all the way through? She grabbed a cotton T-shirt and pressed it down hard, forcing herself not to notice the blood. A cold sweat sprang up on the back of her neck.

  Time to go. She slipped out into the hallway. Emergency lights flickered on and off again. The soft, mechanical background noise of air ducts was gone, replaced by the steady rain outside on the windows. Other noises followed: doors opening, footsteps, rustling, voices. She set out to meet Dahl before the chance evaporated.

  She made it three and a half feet without incident. The door to the next room opened with enough kick to waylay unsuspecting loiterers, and Jane hopped rapidly back to avoid it. Even as her annoyance swelled, she patted herself on the back for the little ninja move—quick, quiet, and hidden behind the open door.

  “Hello?” The resident next door was trying to call attention to herself. What was her name? Sarah? “There’s a problem with the lights! Can anyone hear me?”

  Jane cursed her luck. Seriously? Was something seriously wrong? Was it such a bad thing to be in the dark, at night, when people were supposed to be asleep anyway? Jane was holding her breath. But what if something was wrong? Maybe she had a medical device that needed power or she was injured. Maybe she was about to have a panic attack. Jane sighed and stood taller. “Yeah, someone is here. Are you okay?”

  “Oh, hey!” Sarah’s shoulders relaxed as she locked onto Jane. “Are your lights out too? My night light turned off, so then I tried the room light and no luck there.”

  “Yeah, the lights are out everywhere. Stay in your room, okay? It’ll be fixed soon.” Lightning forked outside, followed by a rumbling, prolonged thunder. The flash illuminated Jane’s bloody shoulder and soaked T-shirt before returning to darkness.

  “Oh no . . . oh no, what happened? Are you okay? Help!” Sarah’s face went white and her voice rose. “Somebody help us!”

  “I slipped! I’m okay. I’m okay!” She motioned for her to be quiet. “I’m getting some ice, nothing to worry about.”

  Another door swung open, spilling its occupant into the hallway. Jane didn’t know her name, but the girl darted straight for the fire escape stairs. The alarm did not sound as she pushed open the metal door, giggling with delight as it closed behind her.

  Sarah had gone from white to green. “That’s a lot of blood! Like, a lot.” She steadied herself on the doorframe.

  “Look—” Jane was a little woozy. Time to get going. “Stay here, Sarah. Things are getting weird.” Jane headed for the day room.

  A flashlight beam sweeping the hall missed Jane by inches. A voice of authority accompanied it. “Please stay in your rooms. Everything is fine. A nurse will be by to check on each of you soon.” As if these words were some kind of signal for chaos, doors all along the hall started popping open. All right, now she was getting somewhere. Jane waited for the right moment and broke into a run. Dahl had better be there.

  Jane leapt over one patient who’d crawled out on hands and knees, likely aiming for stealth but hitting awkward instead. Another of her fellow wardmates pushed past her toward the men’s wing. Someone dashed madly for the security doors that led to the medicine storage locker.

  The day room seemed like a low priority in all the chaos. Surely no one would come to storm it in the next few minutes? Jane burst into the dark room panting and full of adrenaline.

  The space was furnished comfortably on a budget. Beanbag chairs clustered in groups like huge mushrooms. A worn pool table stood unadorned, the balls and cues (potential blunt weapons) safely locked away. A Sega Genesis sat lifelessly on a small cabinet. Its controllers (strangulation hazards) were conspicuously absent.

  “Hello? Am I here first?” she whispered loudly.

  She didn’t notice him until he moved. In the low light, robed in shadow, Dahl was leaning against an exterior wall,
his posture nonchalant. Jane would have put cold hard cash on a bet he had assumed his position when he’d heard footsteps coming to impress his level of coolness on anyone who came along.

  “Shit! You could have said something. I’m here, can we go? Things are getting out of hand real quick.” Jane checked her wound, which still oozed blood, and pressed the wadded shirt back on.

  Dahl stepped forward, straightening. Lights from the street outside penetrated the windows and reflected in his eyes. He gave Jane a once-over and apparently determined all was well enough, as his response was a curt nod. At least he didn’t say anything stupid and time-consuming like “Are you okay? Are you bleeding? What happened?”

  He assumed a ready stance—feet apart, shoulders squared—and stretched his left hand out, palm back. His fingers closed, and the muscles in his forearm flexed. In the darkness, he could have simply been closing his hand, but Jane was close enough to see something in it. For a few heartbeats it had no edges or form. He was holding shadow. With a wrenching motion, Dahl pulled a beautiful, three-and-a-half-foot sword out of thin, dark air. Simple with clean lines, a double-edged blade, unadorned cross guard, and round pommel. It had no fantastic ornament to be given a royal description, but gazing at the weapon Jane was instantly, profoundly mesmerized.

  The wall in the day room never stood a chance. Jane wasn’t sure if swords could normally cut through exterior walls of buildings, but this one didn’t even shudder as Dahl sank the blade almost to the hilt through drywall, plaster, insulation, and stucco. Using both hands to leverage the blade, he cut an arched gash and kicked the freed section out into the night, creating a doorway to the wind, rain, and a two-story drop.

  Fear and validation swirled inside her. What she had was real. He had it too. These powers were real, despite what medication and therapy told her. She was real, and her struggle was real.

  The rain struck her face and whistled in the opening. Dahl glanced out into the darkness and back at Jane, wind swirling through the gap, ruffling his clothes and hair. He released the sword, and it disappeared in a puff of darkness. Absorbed in the rain and magic, it took significant volume before Jane registered the sound of yelling. Something was going down nearby. This wasn’t the kind of yelling for projection or to gain attention, but urgent cries for help, the voice tightly controlled but with notes of panic.

  Dahl didn’t react at all. Maybe he couldn’t hear it? Something was terribly wrong. He leaned over the edge and gestured for Jane to step up. She wanted to obey. She willed her feet to go toward him and allow her to escape.

  A scream sounded from the hallway, freezing Jane in her tracks. What good was it to have magic powers if she wasn’t going to use them to help people? Someone within earshot was screaming. How could Jane possibly walk away?

  “Wait,” she pleaded. “I’ll just be a minute!”

  She turned and bolted toward the noise. Jane’s feet carried her through the hall, her pulse pounding in her ears in time with the footsteps behind her. She burst through the kitchen doorway and assessed the poorly lit scene. A nurse was on the ground, clutching her thigh. Two people were on their feet, grappling. One was a nurse holding a syringe, the other a patient holding a knife. The smell of blood and sedative laced the air.

  “Oh, God. Hold on. You’ll be all right.” Jane immediately dropped next to the nurse on the ground. The leg wound was hideously deep, and every heartbeat squirted a little more pomegranate-colored blood. Jane groped in the darkness, finding nothing useful. Her hands shook, a familiar electric tingle rising along her back and over her scalp. She had created enough light to see. Jane’s glowing body and the tall column of light above her were not exactly cloak-and-dagger subtle. “I can do this, don’t think about it,” she muttered to herself and put her hands on the wound, trying to mentally block out the slick, warm blood.

  Dahl came through the doorway in a calm, collected fashion. He scooted around the outside of the prep counters and was almost behind the knife-wielding patient when the remaining nurse made a lunge with the sedative. As she went forward the patient jumped back, upsetting a sheet rack. Dahl hopped on the counter to avoid being knocked over.

  The nurse with Jane screamed, her eyes wide with shock. Jane’s skin warmed. Muscle and skin knit back together. “Shh. It’ll be okay, but you have to hold still!” As the wound closed, Jane’s light went out. She almost swooned, but as darkness edged in she jabbed herself hard in the shoulder puncture. It hurt like a motherfucker but did the trick—the haze of threatening unconsciousness receded fast.

  Quick as a snake, Dahl’s hand shot out, grabbing the patient’s hair as his other hand closed on her wrist, rapping it sharply against the edge of the counter. The knife skittered away, and the standing nurse injected the sedative. Jane expected the woman’s body to relax instantly, slumping slowly to the ground, but instead she thrashed and cussed while Dahl restrained her for an agonizing minute before the meds finally kicked in. By the time he released her on the floor, he was sweating and out of breath, and both nurses stared about wild-eyed, collecting their wits.

  Dahl’s arms had a variety of small cuts. Nothing appeared serious, but . . . when had that happened?

  “Are you all right?” Jane stood, her body streaked with blood and her hands stained red. An eerie howl echoed from the hall. “Did she hurt you?” Jane kicked herself for asking stupid questions, but even as she watched, another laceration opened along his cheek, as if the injuries were being inflicted by an invisible enemy.

  Another eerie howl raised prickles on her arms.

  “Fine. You ready?” He was poised. Jane’s heart pummeled her chest.

  One of the nurses spoke in a brisk, if shaky, voice. “Thank you for helping, but it’s time to go back to your rooms now. Let me walk you.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Jane sidled toward the kitchen door, motioning for Dahl to come to her, red hand extended. No way she’d go back now. Before, her mother had lied to lock her up—at this point, she wouldn’t have to.

  Dahl carefully shifted in Jane’s direction. He didn’t take his eyes off the standing nurse. “You should check on your friend. She needs you.” Little puffs of black smoke escaped his lips, dissipating in the dark air.

  Lightning from outside cast the room in stark, bright relief for a second. Another howl followed, closer. The nurse’s eyes glazed a little, and she nodded, bending over the woman Jane had healed, who was still seated on the floor.

  Dahl was next to Jane in the doorway. “Your wolf?”

  “Wolf? That howling isn’t part of what you do?” She backed toward the door and out of the room.

  “Don’t think about it. It might not matter. Let’s go.”

  Dahl strode toward the hall with Jane on his heels, so when he stopped abruptly and backpedaled, Jane didn’t and was knocked in an undignified sprawl on the kitchen floor. She scrambled along the alley formed by the cabinet islands and the wall as four security guards sprinted into the room, rapidly spreading out. Dahl met her at the end of the row of cabinets.

  “Anything you can do?” he hissed, barely audible.

  “Maybe. I did a lightning thing once—”

  “Good. Do it again.”

  Jane peeked over the top of the counters. Sudden relief left her light and warm. Two guards were helping the nurses and the sedated patient leave the room. Even numbers.

  Pulling from the core of her being, Jane searched for a tingle of electricity, strength, power. She pictured the shepherds in her mind. She clenched her fists, mentally fumbling. God, help me, and I swear I’ll stop smoking. I’ll . . . If you could tell me what you want, it might save time.

  Nothing. No electric tingle, no vision, no divine command.

  A dinner plate smashed into pieces after striking one of the guards in his solar plexus. He fell, gasping for air, stun gun still in hand. The stainless steel cabinet next to Jane opened slightly, revealing a three-gallon bottle of cooking oil. Well, fine, I guess that works too. Jane grabbed the bott
le and upended it.

  The guard struggled to stand, but the linoleum was now an oil slick, and he landed on his ass. Jane crawled on all fours, out of sight along the cabinet alley as ceramic projectiles flew overhead. Guard number two was a good deal nimbler. Dahl had run out of aerodynamic plates and was now hurling coffee mugs. The rate of incoming dinnerware was enough to keep the guard on the defensive, but it was a temporary situation, and everyone knew it.

  Jane threw open another cabinet, hoping desperately for something useful like a spare taser or a teleporting machine. She found a fifty-pound bag of flour. Fuck. She ripped it open and was trying to figure out how to throw fistfuls far enough to blind the guard when the unmistakable tick-tick-tick of a taser discharging filled the room. Covered in blood, flour, and a cold sweat, Jane popped her head back over the counter. Dahl was nowhere to be seen, and the guard strode confidently forward, unclipping a pair of cuffs from his belt.

  Okay, distraction time. Jane’s gaze fell on the gas range. Maybe she could buy time with a well-placed fire. She lunged for the stove, grabbing a roll of paper towels en route, and struck a tidy blaze. Black, sooty smoke rose from the burning paper, and cheerful yellow light revealed the guard’s confused face as he stood, gaping at her handiwork.

  “Put out the fire.” The sound of Dahl’s voice should have made her feel relieved: he’d ducked the taser. Instead, it carried a gravity that nauseated Jane. “The fire is what matters.”

  The guard swayed, and his focus shifted. He dashed frantically to the wall, retrieving an extinguisher. His buddy on the ground crawled on hands and knees across the floor toward the stovetop, calling to his partner.

  Dahl struggled to his feet. White as bone, he hunched his left shoulder forward, painfully deformed. In the rosy glow of the stove, Jane could see dozens of injuries sheeting blood across his ashen skin. He staggered and held the edge of the counter, eyes sweeping the room, calculating, planning.