Part 30 (1/2)

”Thank you for coming,” I said.

He drew me to the bed and cupped my face in his warm hands. ”You're welcome.” He kissed my forehead. ”Evangeline, you are eternally welcome.” Then he turned, eyes searching in the darkness for the other heart that beat there. ”I would like to know who you are. The one whom the poet loves. The one who has been creating such havoc.”

He grimaced. He was speaking in vague terms, but even this came too close.

Toby stepped out of the shadows. He held a gun.

”Lieutenant Collier,” Arbor sighed. ”I should have recognized you at the police station this afternoon.”

”I made sure you didn't,” said Toby. ”I may be younger than you, but I'm much stronger.”

Arbor's face was flat and expressionless, as always. But I was starting to be able to read those dark eyes. I could almost see the gears in his brain whirring, calculating odds, running scenarios and cataloging available resources. He took my hand, and squeezed it comfortingly.

Toby waved his gun, indicating me. ”I take it you know why Evi has invited you here.”

”She was obviously manipulated into doing so,” said Arbor. ”Who do you have? Ellen?”

”Callie,” I whispered. ”She's in a coma at the hospital. He's trapped her soul in a playing card.”

”Limbo,” growled Toby.

”Whatever.”

The three of us stared at each other for a few seconds. I could feel Arbor's heart beating in his fingers.

”Evangeline did what you asked,” he said, voice even. ”Let her sister go.”

Toby lurched forward and grabbed Arbor's arm, lifted him off the bed with such force that my hand was ripped away from him. He shoved the shaft of the gun into his throat, throwing him up against the wall with a boom that shook the foundations of the house.

”You think I'm that stupid?” he hissed. ”She gets Callie back when I get you.”

”Don't!” I screamed. ”Please...”

I jumped up and tried to insert myself between them, but it was like trying to bend steel bars. I hit and clawed, but my blows made no impression. Toby was choking Arbor; I grabbed his arm and tugged with all of my strength. Nothing gave. He shook me off and I fell sobbing to the floor.

”Weepy little girl,” said Toby, ”battered and abused, just a p.a.w.n in the game of strong, unemotional men. How many times have you seen this in the movies? Are you surprised that the tropes are true? That you really are as worthless as you seem?”

Arbor didn't look very strong himself, at the moment. Toby was holding him up against the wall by the neck, gun buried in his cheek. I bit my lip and stared down at the carpet. I couldn't watch. Toby was right. I was dealing suddenly with a bigger world, with forces beyond my powers to comprehend, much less control. He was trying to get a rise out of me with his meta-commentary nonsense.

Why? Why is he bothering to bait me?

I looked up again. Toby was still clutching Arbor's neck. His fingers were red; he was squeezing as hard as he could and still Arbor's bright black eyes were open. The gun clicked. A bullet fell to the floor, unfired and whole.

Click. Click. Click.

Toby emptied his rounds into Arbor's head. They refused to cooperate, fell lazily one by one.

”You can't do it,” I breathed, heart pounding. Temporary relief coursed through my veins and lit my face with a small smile. ”You can't kill him, and what? You think you can use me to distract him? Nice try.”

I saw now that Toby was unsure of himself. ”Jesus Christ,” he muttered at Arbor. ”Just die, why don't you?”

”I'm afraid there are certain rules,” said Arbor. He glanced at me and I knew at once what to do. I plugged my ears and hummed while Arbor spoke to Toby, allowing him to explain without getting hurt. I watched his mouth move in weird patterns, almost as though he were speaking a different language. Slowly, I saw Toby's grip on his neck relax, until finally he withdrew his arm and holstered his useless gun.

Arbor turned to me and nodded.

I took my fingers out of my ears, let the hum die on my lips. Toby was grinning.

”Your friend has agreed to sacrifice himself.”

”What?” I cried. ”No! Arbor, you can't!”

”I can,” he said, simply. ”I will.”

Toby climbed out the window and hovered in the dark, cold air. The oak tree creaked in the wind behind him, its old bones loosing their leaves to fly and drift downward, to skate across the lawns and sidewalks. Dead leaves from dying branches.

Arbor took my hand and straddled the sill. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in close. ”Please don't do this,” I said.

”We can't beat him,” Arbor sighed. ”He's much too powerful. All I can do now is save your sister.” He started to choke and gasp again as he said, ”That's my job.”

I let him pull me out of the window, trusting in him completely. With his arms wrapped around me I floated. It was an odd sensation of total buoyancy. As if I were bobbing on a calm ocean that I could neither see nor feel. The world seemed vast. Open. I looked over the crown of the tree and saw the lights of Denver, whirled in Arbor's embrace until I was facing the mountainside, ground running up and up, vertically, the sweeping western wall of Colorado. And then Arbor let gravity take us gradually down. My heart sank with my body.

We landed soft on the dewy gra.s.s in my backyard. Toby stood before us, arms crossed and foot tapping, impatient. Arbor left me and knelt before him, head down.

”Just speak the words,” he said.

Toby nodded. He widened his stance, stretched his hands out to the sky and cried, ”Do ut des! Facio ut fiam!”

I give so that you might give. I make so that I might be made.

He flipped a penknife out of his pocket and cut a small gash across his palm. Then he held it out over Arbor's head. I watched in the weary light of streetlamps as three drops of blood spattered into his hair.

”The sword will appear,” choked Arbor, s.h.i.+fting his weight. ”One stroke at the neck.”

Something was taking shape in Toby's injured hand. His brow knit as his fingers gripped the hilt of a long, flaming sword. It was t.i.tanic, impossible. The blade glowed in the night, its brilliance like a beacon as he raised it to the sky.

”Uriel's sword,” he gasped. ”It's so light...”

”What is that?” I asked.

”The sword of Uriel, the Second Mover,” he said in breathless awe as he gazed up along its great length. ”With this sword, she guards the gates to the Last Planet, letting no one enter until the appointed time.”

”That's a myth,” said Arbor.

”You're a myth,” Toby laughed. ”And here you are. Imagine what I could do with this...” He gripped the hilt with both hands and took a few practice swings above his head. The sword danced. It was so sharp, it seemed to cut the air itself.

”You requested it,” gasped Arbor, forcing the words out as he sank lower. ”It is here. It may only be used for this purpose. If you try anything fancy, it will just disappear. So get on with it.”

Toby breathed in deeply. He positioned himself behind Arbor, cold flames licking his wrists as he raised the sword high, ready to strike. This was it. Arbor would die, he would be gone forever. I wracked my brain as Toby's eyes widened with antic.i.p.ation.

One more moment and he would strike. The blow would fall. Arbor's head was down, his jaw held rigid, steeling himself for the end.