Page 122 of Thief of Night
For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating as she lost consciousness. Then she saw Red’s fingers grab Mark by his hair and pull back his head before rabbit punching him in the side. Mark gave a high, satisfying cry of pain.
Charlie sat up, breathing hard.
He had his forearm pressed to Mark’s neck. Standing behind him was Rosalva, her tether cut. She held Archer and was speaking to him in a low voice.
The NeverMan and JonJon hovered just beyond them. Charlie rolled to one side and grabbed for her lighter, when she saw why none of them were moving any closer.
The air was thick with shadows. They doused light as they moved, gathering in a wide semicircle around Red. All of them, Blights. Red had created that pack of Blights they’d speculated about and led them here to save her.
Mark tried to speak, but Red only pressed his forearm more tightly to Mark’s throat.
“The shadows,” Charlie said, her voice sounding odd after being strangled. “From the glass scrolls.”
“Yes,” Red told her. “The one you sent back found me and I thought that they could help. That shadow you saved brought me here. Posey, Malhar, and I were halfway to you when we got your call. You’re an absolute heart attack of a person, Charlie Hall.”
“You took the battery out of his car,” she said, staggering to her feet.
“The shadow couldn’t recall the exact apartment you were in. I wanted to make sure you couldn’t leave while I looked.” Red studied her. “I am so angry, Charlie. I am sick with it. What he did to you—if you don’t want him dead, you better tell me now.”
She looked at the tethers, binding the remaining shadows to Mark—JonJon, the NeverMan, Archer. The NeverMan’s hands were long, knifelike claws, his head in the shape of a scythe blade. JonJon appeared to be holding an axe of shadow. If they were no longer tethered, they would be free to do whatever monstrous things they might want.
Archer stopped struggling in Rosalva’s arms. She let him go and he snuffled around on the ground.
“You willing to be responsible for them? Keep them out of trouble?” Charlie asked in a voice that only shook a little.
“Yes,” said Rose’s shadow.
Charlie turned to Red. “I think we should let him go. I think we should let all of them go.”
He raised his eyebrows, not misunderstanding her suggestion as kindness. “Are you sure?”
She thought about the horror of the apartment three floors up. About the Hatfield Massacre and the house where Red almost died. Thought of shadows being taken from places like that, ripped from the person they belonged with, perhaps even forced to drink that person’s blood. “I’m sure.”
Mark wore a smug expression, even as Red’s arm was still against his throat.
She fished her phone out of Mark’s pocket, hating the feel of his greasy jeans and the proximity of his skin. Then she leaned down and one by one, burned through each of the tethers, turning all his shadows into Blights.
“If you remain the Hierophant,” Red reminded her, “you’ll be the one to hunt them.”
“Maybe,” Charlie said. “But not today.”
“As you wish.” Red released his hold on Mark, letting him drop to the ground.
Mark dusted himself off as he pushed up, a sneer on his gaunt face. “Couldn’t do it, could you? And you, Blight? Rose told me about you. Told me how much power you have. Why bind yourself to her? She’snothing.”
Red put his coat over Charlie’s shoulders. “And yet, somehow you were still tricked.”
“You think this is over?” Mark sneered.
A moment later, he seemed to notice the number of shadows fluttering around him. Shadows he’d stolen. Shadows he’d bound. Crowding in, with a sound like the wings of dozens of crows.
He took a step back.
“Oh, it’s over,” Charlie whispered as Red led her toward the van, its engine running, her sister behind the wheel.
Behind them, Mark began to scream.
And no matter what more Charlie heard, she didn’t look back.
