Part 34 (1/2)

Eighteen.

Deven held back his scream, just barely, but his head fell back and hit the wall, eliciting a strangled sound of pain that Miranda herself could feel throughout her body. Blood erupted from the wound, running in coppery dark rivers down over his legs, pooling on the floor.

Marja stepped back to avoid the blood and said, ”There, now. That's the first problem dealt with. Now I just have to keep you quiet until my client arrives in an hour.” She turned to Miranda. ”Either you can stay where you are and not make trouble, and watch your friend bleed to death, or I can give you another shot of poison, and you can scream and writhe on the floor in your own blood while he bleeds to death. Up to you.”

Miranda glared at her, wanting nothing more than to fling herself at the bars and tear them down to get her hands around Ovaska's throat, but she was still too injured and unfocused to Mist, and not strong enough to tear down walls.

Ovaska watched all those thoughts cross Miranda's face, her own expression deeply satisfied with Miranda's impotence. ”Enjoy your last few moments together,” Ovaska said to Miranda. ”I'll be back soon.”

She slammed the outer door shut and locked it.

Miranda's hand was still in agony, but she forced energy into it to at least partially mend the broken fingers, and got up on her knees. ”Deven!”

His head was hanging down, eyes closed, but she could hear him breathing, a shallow rattling in his chest. The blood was still flowing from his abdomen.

Miranda dragged herself to her feet and held on to the bars. ”Can you heal it?” she asked.

Deven could barely focus on her enough to reply, but he said, ”Can't . . . stake's still . . . in there. Can't pull it.”

Miranda tried reaching through the bars, but he was chained at least two feet beyond her reach. Her heart was thundering around her rib cage as she tried to a.s.sess the situation for a solution: Deven's cell was still open, but hers was locked.

Miranda pushed herself over to the door of her cell and pulled on it as hard as she could, shaking it, trying to make it budge. If she could get it open, she could get into Deven's cell and pull the stake, and he could heal the wound before he bled to death . . . but she had to get the door open . . .

”Miranda . . .”

She stopped midshake and turned to Deven. ”Just hold on,” she said. ”Just stop the bleeding as much as you can. I'll get that thing out of you, I just have to-”

”Miranda . . . I'm done for. Unless I can draw power from Jonathan, even if the stake comes out, I won't last long.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. ”You have to save yourself. Whatever that woman wants with you, it can't be good.”

”Let me think,” Miranda said. ”I'll get us out of this.”

”Miranda . . .”

”I'll think of something!” she said, and she turned to him, tears in her eyes. ”I'm not going to let you die.”

Deven smiled. ”Why not?”

Miranda shook her head around her tears. ”I'm not going to be the one who has to tell David you're dead. It would kill him to lose you. Jonathan, too. Literally.”

Their eyes met, and to her astonishment Deven's were s.h.i.+ning, too. ”I'm sorry,” Deven said softly. ”I'm sorry about David.”

Miranda hung her head against the bars. ”I forgive you,” she whispered. ”Thank you . . . for Sophie. She was . . .”

”She was a good friend,” Deven finished, his own voice fading. ”That's all you need to remember about her. She was your friend.”

”I don't want you to die,” she said, crying through the words. ”Tell me what to do to save you.”

”You're too weak from the poison to Mist,” Deven said. ”There's nothing else you can do.”

Miranda watched Deven's blood falling, drop by drop, onto the cold floor, drop by drop his life draining out of his body, the light in his Signet beginning to dim.

”Jonathan,” Deven whispered, his eyes slowly closing. ”Oh, love . . . don't keep me waiting long . . .”

”No,” Miranda whispered. ”No . . .” She took a deep breath, planting her feet solidly on the ground and holding on to the bars hard.

She lifted her eyes from the blood trail to the stake jutting out of Deven's body, right through his solar plexus, making his breath labored, his healing ability unable to stay on top of the damage as it tore through his flesh over and over again each time he inhaled. If she could just get her arm far enough through the bars, she could get her hand . . . around it . . .

Miranda gasped.

She slid her hand through the bars again, extending her palm toward the stake, and drew up all the energy she could, trying to remember how she'd done it before . . . with Hart . . . she had acted without thinking, acted from emotion, from anger . . . and one thing Miranda knew how to do was manipulate emotion.

She reached down into herself and dragged out all the anger she could find: anger at Marja Ovaska for killing Drew, for attacking Kat, for poisoning David, for killing Jake and Denise . . . for bringing fear and violence to the streets of her city . . .

Miranda pushed that anger out along her arm, then focused her mind on the stake as if she were mentally wrapping her fingers around its hilt, feeling the wood grain against her fingers, the slickness of Deven's blood around the wood, as she grasped it, and with the force of her anger, pulled.

Deven cried out in pain as the stake flew out of his body, yanked so hard that it was flung back into Miranda's cell and hit the wall.

Breathing hard, barely able to stay conscious from the effort, Miranda held on to the bars. ”Deven!”

He was icy white and not moving; she couldn't even hear him breathe. He hung limp in his chains . . . but the blood had stopped flowing.

”Deven? Are you still there?” she asked.

Several interminable seconds later, she heard, ”Nice . . . work . . .”

Miranda slid down the bars onto her knees. She couldn't keep herself up anymore. ”How long can you hold out?”

”Maybe . . . half an hour.”

”Okay. That's a start.” She turned and crawled over to the stake where it had landed on the floor. The point had been blunted when it hit the wall, but with enough force it could go through flesh. So they had a weapon; that was step one.

If she could get Ovaska into her cell, she could attack, and with the door open she could get out and call for help, find the keys to the shackles, and get them out of here. The only thing she could think to do was feign unconsciousness.

”How can we get her in here?”

Deven sighed. ”Make a lot of noise.”

Miranda nodded, leaning against the bars to rest for a moment. Exhaustion was dragging her down and she just wanted to sleep . . . no, she wanted to go home and fall asleep in her own bed with David beside her . . . the longing to have him with her was suddenly overwhelming. She just wanted to hear his voice, feel the rea.s.suring strength of his presence, anything . . .

”Your husband is really amazing in bed,” Deven said suddenly. ”I love that thing he does with his tongue-”

”Shut up!” Miranda snapped, her attention whipping back to center, and with it, the realization that she was on the verge of cracking. Now was no time to pine herself to death-she had to act. ”You're such a b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” she said, though she was almost grinning as she spoke.

Deven managed a smile. ”Better. Now get up . . . or I'll give you the play-by-play of the night with the handcuffs-”

”Like you're really into bondage,” she muttered halfheartedly, focusing her energy on moving back to the corner of her cell. The farther she could get Ovaska in, the more room she'd have to take her down. Miranda fought hard to ignore the pain in her hand and shoulder, the slow creeping madness of being cut off from David, the burning in veins that needed blood, badly, to help her recover from her injuries and the poison . . . soon she'd have time to rest, and she could feed and sleep. But now she had to focus.