Lead Demon

Earmarked for Death

His arm went numb from a kraven’s bite. His hands were drenched red. And still, the monsters came.

He didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t move his arm to meet hers, to start healing. His fingers twitched, and she placed her bloodied hand in his. Energy connected, a snap of power, and slowly, painfully, he began his work.

She winced as flesh knitted itself back together. There was no shortcut—he had to heal each wound one at a time. If his connection to Earth had taught him anything, it was that dying was easy; healing was the painful part.

“So like you,” she muttered. “Healing me before yourself.”

He laughed. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t let his concentration break. Even when something warm dribbled from his lips.

“You’re the pretty one,” he whispered, and choked down a sob of pain or despair, he couldn’t tell which.

When her wounds had closed, he turned his attention to himself. Arcs of fire lanced across his skin, seared through his bones. He didn’t grimace. This pain, this physical hurt, couldn’t hold a candle to the hell that Water had dragged him through. This was just a reminder that he was still alive.

After what seemed like hours, he closed off to Earth.

The Spheres all had a backlash as unique as their power, but Earth’s was, in many ways, the most dangerous. Earth was like a d**g: when you were on it, you felt invincible, high, immortal. The moment it left you, you were sharply reminded just how weak and mortal and close to death you truly were.

His limbs, though healed, shook as he forced himself to sitting. His heart raced and his sSebastianch wanted to eat itself, but at least he hadn’t used so much that he passed out. Or lost a chunk of hair. Again. He just hoped that nothing would break when he moved.

Together, the two of them hoisted each other up to standing. Christal wouldn’t meet his gaze; she stared out at the creatures littering the ground around them. Limbs and carcasses were splayed everywhere and, even with the rain, the stink was atrocious. Blood pooled dark and thick like an oil spill.

“Mustapha?” he asked.

She shook her head and continued looking off into the distance. The rain hid whatever tears she might be shedding. He bit back an apology; apologies wouldn’t bring the guy back. i***t or no, he had still been their companion. He was still important.

For a while, they stood there, looking out over the m******e. Seven’s heartbeat didn’t slow, but it was no longer just the blowback of Earth. It was the fear. The fear of what he’d done, or what Water had done. He’d jeopardized their mission by using magic.

Rather, the magic had used him. How? And where the hell had that power come from?

“How did you do that?” Christal asked.

He started, wondered if he’d spoken aloud. Then he realized that of course she would ask that, because no one could use that much magic and live. At least, no one he’d ever met.

“I don’t know,” he replied. His voice rasped.

“You killed them. All of them.”

“I know.”

He wondered if Mustapha had still been alive when he called down the power. Pain wrenched in his chest at the thought. If he’d killed Mustapha by accident...

“Did I—”

“He was already dead,” Christal whispered. “I saw him go down.”

That shouldn’t have been the relief that it was. It almost made him feel worse.

She looked at him, but her eyes quickly flicked away.

“I’ve never seen that much power,” she said. “How are you still standing?”

“I don’t know,” he said again. He felt like a broken recording.

“Did you know...”

He shook his head. “I was ready to die.”

“Me, too,” she said, and went silent.

Despite the fact that they needed to move, despite the cold and the scent and the bodies, they stood there in silence and let the minutes drip by. Seven tried to gather his thoughts, tried to create an argument that would hold up against Derek’s inevitable tirade. He failed. He couldn’t stop looking at Christal, at the old blood trickling down her face and the small quiver in her fingertips. What did she think of him, after what had happened? What would she say to the others?

Seven looked back to the bodies. Mustapha was under there, somewhere. He deserved a better burial than this.

“We need to burn them,” Seven said. “In case...”

In case they attract attention. In case any are still alive. In case others come along and devour Mustapha’s corpse...

She looked at him, and maybe it was his imagination, but that look was different. Like she wasn’t certain who or what she was staring at. She didn’t speak, just nodded tersely, and light flickered in her chest as she opened to the Sphere of Fire. Heat shimmered around her, made sweat break out across his skin. Then, with tendrils of flame snaking around her fingertips, she lashed out.

The fields erupted into flame. Seven hid behind his arm as the world around him roared with heat and anger. Christal screamed as bodies caught fire, as rain sizzled and the earth cracked. She screamed and cursed until the roar of flames drowned her out.

Fire was the Sphere of passion and hate. It pulled from the heart, just as it burned it apart.

It lasted only a minute. But when the power died down, the fields were nothing more than smoldering ash and steam.

He put a hand on her shoulder, trying not to wince from the heat of her skin.

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “I’ll f*****g kill you.”

He stepped back.

This was why he didn’t get along with Fire users. After using their powers, they were unstable at best.

Then she started to laugh. He took another step back.

“Sorry,” she said through the laughter. She sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s gone,” she continued. “The f*****g deer. It’s gone. They ate it.”

Seven turned to the road. She was right. Hell, there was nothing on the road anymore save for the burned-out scraps of cars and pools of the dead that streamed like magma.

“Mustapha would be so pissed,” Christal said. She giggled. Then her laughs choked into a sob. “We should have let him eat the tongue.”