Greywalker - Kat Richardson [132]
Clank and scratch, something pushed on my office door. I started to raise my head. A flicker passed the edge of my vision. I peered sideways and the Grey blazed in sunrise colors around the door, centered on a furious, red shape. I whipped my head to look, letting the Grey well up all around, flushing the room with rippling strands and a thin, cold mist.
Alice flew through the door at me. By reflex, I flung up my hands, shoving back against the grim crimson of her fury. She stopped inches from me, teeth bared and hands like reaping hooks.
She was a horror. A long slash had rent away part of her cheek, deforming her mouth and leaving a band of muscle exposed. Her clothing was tattered and her limbs were misshapen, showing broken bones and gouges that oozed black. Fury, pain, and violence whirled around her, reeking of blood and eviscerated bodies.
Looming over me, she hissed through her broken mouth, “Trickster witch. I would shred you, but your blood will feed me better.”
My heart racketed and choked me. I barely dredged up the words, “No harm, Alice. You promised.”
“Lied to me. Betrayed me. You die for it.”
I rolled out of the chair and leaned on my desk, weak-legged. “I agreed to make a path to Edward and stand aside. Only that. I did that. I didn’t stand in your way. I told you to be patient. You misplayed your moment.” Barely keeping my brain functioning, I was dizzy with fatigue, and the Grey twisted through me, wringing out my strength.
She howled rage, frozen by her promise. My geas had worked.
She leveled burning eyes at me, catching me, pressing her command against me. “I will find a way and you will stand aside. You will neither help nor hinder. You will do nothing and you will go unharmed. Break this promise, and I will kill you for days, dine upon you slowly, drinking your screams like wine.”
I couldn’t pull away from her. I was too exhausted to push or dodge. It wouldn’t matter, though, once the organ was gone. I found myself nodding, panting, “All right. I’ll stand aside.”
She spun away, the door crashing behind her as I fell to the floor.
I woke at five o’clock, stiff, cold, and miserable, huddled on the floor. I dragged myself home.
A phone call awakened me again at ten. Nightmares of the night before left me incoherent when I answered, but the voice on the other end chirped, “Good morning. May I speak to Harper Blaine, please?”
I grunted and prepared to dump her into telephonic oblivion. The last thing I could deal with was a telemarketer.
“Ms. Blaine? Edward Kammerling requested that we call you and confirm your appointment and ask if everything was still on schedule.”
“Uh . . . yeah. Edward’s OK?”
“Oh, yes. He wanted you to know that everything is on track for tonight’s party, but that you will have to make your own transportation arrangements. He has his own way in, of course. Will that be a problem?”
“No.”
“That’s what we hoped to hear. Everything else will be taken care of. Thank you and have a nice day!”
My stomach gurgled and I pitched the phone back into its cradle, burying my head under the pillow and wishing damnation on all TPM employees, living or undead.
Getting out of bed was difficult. My limbs were stiff with scabs and bruises, I felt like I had the flu, and too many sleepless nights weighed me down. The previous night was muddy in my mind, nightmare differentiated poorly from reality. The night ahead didn’t promise to be any better.
I called Will, hoping to touch normalcy. Michael answered.
“Where’s Will?”
“He’s out at the police station.”
“Is he OK?”
I could hear him shrug, unhappily. “I guess. . . . I gotta go to class. I’ll tell him you called, though.”
That would have to do. I wandered around the condo, listless, aching. I kept picking up the ferret and cuddling her, hoping that things weren’t as awful as they seemed and that hiding my face in her warm, fragrant fur would somehow make them better. Chaos didn’t appreciate the attention and jumped out of my stifling