“She said not to swallow it. Bray, can you hear me?” Elora guessed that he couldn’t. His eyes were closed, his breath laboured and when she touched his skin it felt hot.
Grendel suddenly returned, flanked by two huge men in dark suits. Each had a gun drawn. One pointing at the back of her head, the other on Bray.
“I’m sorry child. They arrived a few hours before you did,” Grendel said, before she was roughly shoved to the floor. The man who shoved her raised a phone to his mouth and made strange clicking sounds into it. The same teeth chattering noise which Mr Silk had used to speak to his bodyguard. Elora guessed they were takwiches. They had found her again, but how?
A cold fear wrapped its icy fingers around her heart as she stared into the dead eyes of the man on the phone. Dark, calculating and void of emotion. He put his phone away and a third man sauntered into the room and Elora felt her stomach clench.
“Reuben?” she exclaimed.
He smiled, dimples showing as he displayed white teeth, yet his eyes had lost the glint they held on their last encounter, instead they were as dead as his companions. Elora felt a small amount of satisfaction at seeing the ruined nose, broken and crooked.
“My child? I’ve done what you wanted. Please, let him go,” Grendel pleaded as she clambered from the floor.
“Your boy is untouched,” Reuben replied, as he stepped closer to Elora. He glanced down at Bray, his grin growing wider. “Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Grendel confirmed. “I gave him a rutworm seed.” Her eyes found Elora and she thought she saw a subtle shake of the head.
Bitch! She wanted to scream at her, but it seemed that Reuben held her child hostage. No mother would risk the life of her child over another. She couldn’t blame her for what she had done. No, this was Silk and Reuben’s doing. But was the old woman right? Was Bray dead?
Reuben placed his fingers against Bray’s neck. “The Shaigun is truly dead, so it appears these highly trained balancers are not as hard to kill as you’re led to believe. Shame, I wanted to test myself.”
“He made a mess of your face before,” Elora spat as she watched the woman leave the room.
Reuben took Bray’s sword and let the blanket fall to the floor. He held the dull blade up, testing its edge with his thumb and making a soft scraping sound.
“You may have been in the presence of this body before, little girl, but we’ve never met. And I’m damned sure no mere Shaigun would have done this to me,” he said, pointing to his nose.
Elora found it hard to believe that Bray was dead. His face looked smooth of wrinkle, at peace as if he was simply asleep. Now it seemed, he would be sleeping forever. She felt a tear run down her cheek; her throat tightening up.
“Take her out to the car,” Reuben ordered as he deftly swung the sword about his body, flourishing the blade with the expertise of a master before bringing the point in front of Elora’s face. “And watch her. She’s slippery as an eel in oil.”
The closer man took her roughly by the elbow and propelled her towards the door, the other one followed behind, gun pressing into her spine. She turned her head in time to see Reuben raise the sword above Bray’s neck, about to bring it down.
“No!” she screamed, hands flicking out and gripping the door. “Leave him alone. Isn’t killing him enough for you?”
Reuben’s cold black eyes regarded her, the grin returning to his face as the blade hovered above Bray. “Don’t worry little girl. He won’t feel a thing,” he said and brought the sword down.
Elora scrambled to get back into the room but froze when she watched the blade stop a hair’s breadth from Bray’s neck, his dead hands holding Reuben’s as his eyelids flicked open. Moss green eyes shimmered with a fierce fire as he glared up at the man about to take his head.
“Yield in the name of the Shadojak,” Bray whispered, his voice little more than a dry rasp but sounding all the deadlier for it. Elora couldn’t believe her eyes. Had he faked his death? But how then did he still his heartbeat when Reuben checked for a pulse.
The shocked expression on Reuben’s face fell as he pushed harder onto the sword. “I never yield, boy.”
“Thought you’d say that,” Bray replied before pushing the blade away from him and rolling from under Reuben. As he spun he swiped the legs from under his attacker.
Reuben fell backwards as his fist came up and caught Bray a hard blow to the head that sent him sprawling into the shelves.
The takwich that had been pressing a gun into Elora’s back shoved her to the side and aimed his weapon. She brought her hand down onto his wrist and shoved it away. The gun went off, the bullet smashing through a glass jar and spilling its gruesome contents onto the floor. He elbowed her in the stomach causing her to double-over with pain, the breath knocked out of her. But his companion grasped a handful of her hair and wrenched her back up before putting his meaty arm around her neck and pulled her out of the room.
She struggled to stay where she was, fingers digging into the doorframe once again and gripping on with all her might. Not having the strength to pull herself back into the room, she found that at least she wasn’t going any further.
More shelves were knocked down and a cupboard shoved over as Bray’s body slammed into it before he crumpled to the ground. Elora noticed that the wound in his arm had split open once again, blood now freely flowing.
Reuben towered above him, sword held in both hands, the knuckles of his fingers bone-white as he plunged the blade down. Bray shifted his head a fraction of a second before the steel struck the floor where it had been. The Shaigun flipped back to his feet, striking Reuben in the face, the blow glancing off the side of his head and doing no more than forcing him back a step. He glanced at Elora, their eye’s locked for a moment before he shouted at his men.
“Get her out of here! I don’t need any help with this runt. Go”
Strong hands yanked her back as the other takwich grabbed her around the legs and lifted her up. She struggled like a cat in a pillow case, thrashing her legs, throwing her shoulders about in a vain attempt to free herself but the men held fast. Carrying her briskly through the strange building to the back door.
There was a scream of rage from the room where Bray and Reuben fought, followed by a scream of pain. The former belonged to Reuben, the latter, Bray. Elora felt sure that Bray should have bested him with ease, yet this new Reuben seemed different - as though a demon had possessed his body. That and the fact that Bray was still sick. She needed to get to him.
As they reached the back door the man holding her upper body momentarily let go with one hand and slid the deadbolt open with the other. Elora took the opportunity and sunk her teeth into the arm that held around her neck.
She bit as hard as she could, the hot tangy taste of blood filling her mouth.
The arm released, letting her fall. Her shoulders struck the tiles hard, jarring her back, yet she didn’t let it hinder her as she drew her knees in then kicked out as hard as she could.
The second takwich stumbled back but kept on his feet, drawing his gun and aiming at her. She knew he wouldn’t shoot, Silk wanted her alive. Clinging to that hope she rolled onto her front and sprang to her feet. Dipping her shoulder low, she drove her body into the man she had bitten, knocking him clear of the door. With him out of the way she grasped the handle and pulled. Thankfully the bolt had been slid before she was dropped and she rushed out into a small courtyard.
Clicking sounds from the men inside spurred her on and she crossed the yard in a few easy strides to the gate and shoved it open, spilling into the alley beyond. She stumbled a few steps, regained her balance, and ran straight into a tall man that had been walking towards her.
Yelping with surprise, she struck the wall, fighting to keep on her feet but the alley was too narrow for her to pass the man. He didn’t make a move to grab her; simply watched, half his face hidden in the shadow of a building while regarding her with a puzzled look.
He had a slate-grey beard, the same colour as his hair which was shaved to a whisper above stubble. His face was mean, weathered, full of hard edges - high cheek bones and deep crags. A nose that looked to have been broken a good couple of times and a scar over his icy blue eye that took a notch from his eyebrow. He wore khaki cargo pants and a grey shirt. Not something you would expect a person of his age to wear. He was surely one of Silk’s men but as her two pursuers crashed through the gate they stopped to survey him. The one she had bitten bringing his gun up level - so he wasn’t one of them.
“Turn around and leave old man,” ordered the takwich with the gun. “This is of no concern to you. Leave or regret staying.”
The old man gazed at him, his lip curled back in a menacing grin. “Happens, I might make it my concern.”
