23. Fourteen

Chapter 23

Fourteen

T urn. Dodge. Strike. Twist. Kill.

So much killing. Fourteen had never been more in his element.

Side by side with Jack and Adelle, he felt free, powerful, and in complete control of himself. If he could only get to Cym and get him out of here…

Well, he was getting to that part.

"On your six, Adelle!" Fourteen called out.

A black, formless shape had stolen up behind Adelle. It crept over her shield, flesh sizzling as it made contact. In front of her was an older man, roiling with the white, cancerous rot of a nightmare, trying to overwhelm her shield with raw magic. Angry white and yellow lightning burned at her shield, trapping her against the black sludge at her back.

Both guardians had stopped using their shields offensively once the sheer numbers against them forced them to begin conserving magic. Both had adopted a fighting style more akin to Fourteen's. It took more finesse, but it had combined the three of them into a lethal fighting unit.

Adelle's whip lashed out at the man, grabbed him by the neck, and snatched him off his feet. She ducked and rolled under him, using the momentum to throw him into the demon behind her.

It swallowed the man whole without slowing down.

"Keep them off our backs!" Adelle shouted to Fourteen.

As Fourteen swung his new favorite weapon ever in a wide arc, a trail of rainbow fire drove back a crowd of nightmare-infested witches straining to get at Jack. Now their attention was on him. He wasn't worried—Fourteen only needed to keep them occupied until his team managed to exorcize the demon. There were only eight of them, after all.

No problem.

Fourteen spun his glorified poleaxe, enjoying the play of colors as it moved through the air, waiting for someone—anyone—to be brave enough to attack.

He wasn't in the best surroundings for such a confrontation. The building beside him was putting off enough heat to make his pants burn hotly against his left leg. The smell of overheated leather coming from his jacket let him know he wasn't too far from being cooked in his own armor.

It was irritating, but Fourteen was grateful the fire kept too many witches from ganging up on him at once. Between the occasional gusts of flame bursting randomly from the window between them, to the wall of unconscious bodies he'd formed on his other side, he was able to keep his opponents down to reasonable numbers.

A man dressed like an accountant lurched through the flames, hands outstretched and spitting orange and white fire at him. Fourteen allowed the magic to roll over him as he angled his poleaxe—friendly side pointing at the man—and scored a direct hit to his solar plexus.

Fourteen didn't wait for the white energy of the nightmare inside the man to fully escape him. With a twist of his wrist, Fourteen lobbed the unconscious body he'd just made onto the pile.

Fourteen had made a lot of those this evening. It was the best night he could remember having. Cym had made such a positive impact on his life that Fourteen didn't think he'd ever be able to properly express his gratitude.

Fourteen was keeping him no matter what.

A smaller figure vaulted over the pile of bodies, trying to catch him off guard, and Fourteen twisted his body to kick at the teenage girl he recognized from the cemetery. His enchanted boots no longer had the initial power from his first jump, but they still had enough juice to send the girl sailing back into the crowd of Blaikes, causing her head to smack against the head of a young man. Judging from the amount of blood pouring from both of their faces, they would be out of the fight for some time.

Fourteen smirked. He could do this all day.

He had the next wave of witches onto the pile with little effort, and the three remaining Blaikes hung back, unwilling to engage.

Pent-up energy buzzed under Fourteen's skin and begged to be released. Normally he would pace while he waited for an attacker to try their luck, but with each step he took, his boots lost momentum. He'd rather save what magic they had left for the fight.

He risked a look back at his teammates and saw Jack kneeling, hands outstretched, with Adelle standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders as she pumped orange fire into him.

A loud groan at Fourteen's back had him turning around to see the wall of bodies undulating.

Shit.

An arm at the bottom twitched and smacked frantically at the press from above it. A woman's eyes stared at him hatefully from under the arm. To his magical sight, the pile of bodies had been giving off nothing more than static feedback, but now a white aura filled person after person, starting from the bottom and moving toward the top like a wave.

He took an involuntary step back and called over his shoulder, "I hope you guys are almost done doing whatever the fuck you're doing because things are about to get messy on my end."

The wall writhed and pulsed as bodies fought to untangle themselves. Fourteen took the opportunity to stab the friendly end of his weapon into as many bodies as he could but had to jump away as four witches, still somewhat entwined, flailed their way off the top of the pile to come at him, snarling and spitting with fury.

Fourteen managed to dispatch them, fighting his instinct to simply fling them into the fire on his left. There was a small chance some of these people were unwilling puppets, and he'd rather not have more innocent blood on his hands than he already did.

Now, evil blood? Don't threaten him with a good time.

With a tortured groan, the wall of bodies tipped over, spilling a mess of nightmare-possessed witches across the alley. They struggled to break free of the mass of writhing limbs, kicking and clawing as they went. The wet pops of dislocated joints and cracks of compound fractures followed them as they fought their way to freedom.

Fourteen exorcized them, nightmare after nightmare, as they came for him. Most bodies were far too damaged to be effective, but they kept coming, trying to bury him with sheer numbers.

He faced an unstoppable onslaught as more and more bodies managed to untangle themselves from the pile.

Thought ceased. Cold poured in.

Thinking was certain death. Training was all.

He sliced, stabbed, kicked, spun, thrashed, cut, disemboweled—the bodies piled up around him until he couldn't breathe.

He was failing, failing. Must keep going no matter what.

An unending wave of death and destruction rushed over him. He'd keep going, he'd never stop. Stopping meant losing. Losing was not an option. Swing, slice, kick, stab, slash.

Pain. Ignore. Keep going. Never stop. Never. Stop. Protecting. Him.

"You can stop now."

Behind him.

Somehow, they got behind him.

He had to stop them.

Fourteen spun, bringing his full weight to bear on the enemy behind him and stopped his blade an inch from Jack's throat.

"Fourteen. Buddy. It's over." Jack reached out a careful hand to push the glimmering blade away from his neck. "It's okay. You got them. You got them all. You can stop now."

Blink.

Cold reigned inside Fourteen's mind. Why did he stop? What could have induced him to stop his swing at the last moment? Who was the man in front of him? His conditioning gripped him tighter, demanding he finish what he started.

Jack's hand went to Fourteen's shoulder, but still didn't touch him. "This isn't you. Don't let them do this to you. Come back. Come back, man."

A shudder swept through Fourteen's frame, and he closed his eyes.

Weakness, the Cold insisted. It wanted him to kill his way out of the situation and continue to his goal. He didn't need anyone else to finish his mission. He was trained from the start to rely only on himself, or, if absolutely necessary, Company operatives, and there were none of those at hand.

The hand hovering over his shoulder radiated heat, bringing Fourteen back to his body. He opened his eyes, and his gore-covered hand caught his attention. It was clenched around his weapon. He felt completely disconnected from it. What was it going to do next? Would it try to kill his new comrades again? Would he be able to stop it?

"This was done to you, Fourteen. This isn't you. You can control this, I know it." Jack's voice was calm and low. His hand lowered slowly. So slowly. Fourteen could pull away easily if he wanted to. Any contact would be his choice, and Jack made sure he knew it.

Fourteen held still and allowed it to happen.

He concentrated on the sensation of Jack's hand on his shoulder, trying to bring awareness to the rest of his body. He realized he wasn't breathing and released a slow, shuddering breath. Inch by inch, his body came back under his control, and finger by finger, he pried his hand away from the weapon. It seemed an eternity before he heard the clatter it made as it hit the pavement.

Panting, Fourteen said, "Is the demon dead?"

"I think everything around us is dead right now." Adelle's dry voice came from behind Jack. She pointed to his right. The pile of unconscious bodies had become a gruesome circle of dead bodies.

He felt like a puppy that killed the family cat. He should be put down before he did something worse.

"Oh, no, none of that now. We'll get this shit out of you, just hang on a little bit longer." Jack shook him lightly.

When Fourteen continued to stare blankly at his surroundings, the hand on his shoulder increased pressure until it was gripping him hard enough to press his armor plates painfully into his skin. Instead of shaking it off, Fourteen welcomed the pain. It cleared out some of the cold invading his mind, telling him he was nothing more than a misfiring weapon. Now that he didn't feel like he was freezing to death from the inside out, he could think.

"He's back," Jack said with a touch of relief.

The hand left his shoulder.

Fourteen didn't miss it. Regardless of his temporary break with control, he still disliked being touched.

Only Cym was allowed.

"Good, unmaking that demon made me tired. I didn't relish binding this one." Adelle jabbed a thumb in Fourteen's direction, and he stiffened at her words.

"Relax, Addy. He's got this. It was just a small lapse. Ready to go, soldier boy?" Jack scooped up Fourteen's poleaxe and offered it to him.

Fourteen raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Adelle's connection to Sterling said he was that way. Is that still true?

Adelle nodded. "Yep."

"You're still interested in getting your boy back, aren't you?"

"He's not a boy," Fourteen stated firmly. If he was, then the things Fourteen wanted to do to Cym would be beyond even his moral flexibility.

"Fair point," Jack conceded. "You still want to get your man, right?"

"Yes, but…" Fourteen wanted to find Cym, but he wasn't used to being thrown back into the field after slipping his leash. From what he could remember, any time he'd gone berserk, he'd had mandatory time in the capsule before being assigned another mission.

But The Company didn't own him anymore. Fourteen could do anything he wanted.

"Then take up your weapon, my man. You aren't charming enough to rely on your personality to get you past these monsters. I, on the other hand, could probably manage it if I didn't have you two weighing me down." Jack's fathomless eyes sparkled impishly in the firelight as he held out the poleaxe.

Fourteen eyed the weapon thoughtfully. All he had to do was keep it together long enough to find Cym. After that it didn't matter what happened. If Fourteen fell apart, Cym could fix him, and if he couldn't, at least he had the guardians to help him now. They weren't Fourteen, but they would be the next best thing in keeping Cym safe.

He closed his hand around the staff of the weapon. Damned if it didn't feel good. "Where to?"

Adelle's face went distant, and he saw her magic flare around her head briefly before she snapped back to the present. Her eyes locked on to Jack's, and Fourteen saw a thin thread of orange stretch out to touch Jack. After a minute, she nodded curtly and said, "Fine. We'll do it your way." She jerked a thumb back in the direction of the glittering mess of dissolving demon behind her. "This way."

Their boots scattered the remnants of the demon into stardust as they tromped through. Hopefully the glitter clinging to Fourteen's pants would dissipate as well.

It wasn't covert to sparkle.

Fourteen followed Adelle as she led their team unerringly to the main building, and questions swam in his head. Why would Cym be in the main building instead of the forest? Had he been captured again? How did Fourteen know he was still alive? All he had was the word of near-strangers that he was.

He quashed the last thought before it had a chance to sink hooks into him. Said near-strangers had saved his life multiple times tonight, and he knew questioning his allies at this point would only hamper the mission. They were all he had, and he had no choice but to follow them.

Fourteen had to continue on the assumption Cym was still alive, otherwise there was no need to keep the cold at bay anymore. He wouldn't need to fight it anymore. He could just let his faulty conditioning take over and let whatever happened happen.

He shook his head slightly to dislodge the invasive thoughts. There was no point in dwelling on them until he needed to.

When they reached the main building, Fourteen was relieved that it had escaped Harper's fires. At first glance, it was an unimaginative, three-story, prefabricated box, but the magic climbing up the walls made Fourteen look at it again.

The windows crawled with a red mesh of power, writhing and pulsing inside the glass rather than on top of it. He was willing to guess they weren't a weak point of entry. The red bled out into a subtle orange woven into the walls and the effect was unsettling. It made him feel like the house was breathing.

As Adelle marched up the stairs, the red sigils enmeshed with the front door lashed out violently, only to be absorbed by the warm orange halo surrounding her. She pressed forward, drawing the red into herself and transmuting it into orange. By the time she passed through the door, it was nothing more than the white rectangle its original designer had meant it to be.

Fourteen covered their six as he entered the building. If they were going to be attacked, now would be the time for it. "Where is he?"

"He's straight ahead," Adelle corrected. "It's quicker to follow the magic I pumped into Sterling. All I have to do is look for it."

"You mean you aren't even looking for Cym?" Fourteen's voice was a barely controlled growl. Why the fuck had he trusted strangers?

Adelle was unfazed and turned her back to him as she made her way down the long hall in front of them. "Cym's essence is different from other witches. It's more slippery and tends to blend in with the magic around him, making him difficult to find. If I checked specifically for Cym, I'd have to stop every few yards and reconnect to him to make sure he hasn't moved or been affected by someone else's magic. In this situation, it's quicker for me to follow his brother."

"It's sound logic." Jack jumped in to assure him. "I mean, if he didn't cut and run on Cym earlier, he isn't likely to now."

"Unless they were separated by the explosion." Fourteen pointed out. He might respect their fighting skills, but optimism was a weakness that had no place on a mission.

Adelle hesitated and turned, "I'm sure?—"

The door at the end of the hallway burst open, releasing a dozen or so people—all running as if their lives depended on it. Sterling brought up the rear.

"It's nice to see you guys," Sterling grabbed Adelle's arm and turned her back the way she'd come, "But for now, it's time to run!"

Fourteen stood his ground and blocked the way. "Where. Is. Cym?" He gripped the poleaxe so tightly he heard the leather of his glove creak.

"Safe in the forest. Now go!"

Fourteen complied.

As one, the team raced back the way they came, quickly catching up with the fleeing witches in front of them. Fourteen was fairly certain he saw the building ripple around him as he ran.

"Not that I don't love a good run, but might I inquire—?" Jack attempted.

"No!"

They reached the front door only to come up against a bottleneck as several witches tried to force their way through one small door.

"This wouldn't have happened at the old house," Sterling said with a touch of hysteria, shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot. "Hester couldn't have spent a few more dollars on a set of double doors?"

The walls rippled again, and this time, Fourteen felt something in his body ripple too.

Yanking a slender, prepubescent boy out of the doorway to make enough room for an old man and a rotund woman to fit through, Jack asked, "Sterling, what did you…? Oh no. Seriously? Tell me you didn't." He chucked the young boy through the opening as soon as it was clear.

"The entire upper floor was full of monsters, and I was out of magic!" Sterling shouted as he dove through the door.

Fourteen was at his heels rather than bringing up the rear. This wasn't his mission and these weren't his clients. Fourteen was under no obligation to get anyone here to safety.

Fourteen turned at the bottom of the steps to see Jack toss Adelle out the door and jump after her. The entire house blinked out of existence seconds after Jack's feet left the concrete. The only thing left was a hole where the foundation used to be.

"What the hell?" Fourteen thought he was past being surprised by the magical world, but apparently not.

"Astin had us trapped in a room upstairs… He… he wasn't Astin anymore!" Sterling shuddered and hugged himself. "Alex cut a hole in the floor—he has a carpentry gift—and we ended up in the infirmary. They were going to catch us. Astin was already coming through the hole we made. There were so many of them, and they had something horrible with them." Sterling choked as he tried not to cry.

Adelle put her arms around the boy and crooned, "It's okay, you saved everyone, it's okay."

"There was a crate full of crystal boxes that hadn't been unpacked."

Jack's face was grave as he nodded as if in confirmation to himself.

"So, I threw it to the ground and smashed everything inside and ran. I was hoping for a distraction…" Sterling buried his face in his arms and shivered. Adelle tightened her arms around him and stroked his hair.

Jack whistled. "That would do it. That much magic blending together and refracting off the crystal… My guess is the buildup of all that undirected power took everything it was touching back to the Source."

"Can we get them back?" Sterling asked, sounding much younger than his sixteen years.

Jack's kind face creased in sadness. "I'll check when we get out of this, but…"

Adelle kicked him.

"There's certainly a chance of it." Jack finished lamely.

"My condolences on you killing half of your family, kid. Can we find Cym now?" Fourteen snapped. His patience was a thing of the past.

The look Adelle threw him was pure anger, and Fourteen didn't give a single shit. Maybe he would have been more concerned if he'd seen orange magic flare up inside her, but her anger wasn't a threat, merely an emotion.

Fourteen wasn't an expert on those, but he knew enough to know that they were only a danger if the wielder allowed it.

Instead of backing down, Fourteen allowed the cold inside him to show through his eyes. The fewer Blaikes he had to deal with, the better. Hadn't he just proved that in the alley? If something inside him writhed at the thought, he chose to ignore it.

Adelle met his gaze head on, and her anger vanished. A mask of calm settled over her face, and Fourteen wondered if she had a similar cold place inside her to help control her emotions like he did.

Sterling straightened and pulled himself away from Adelle's protective embrace. "You're right." He wiped his eyes on a sleeve. "Let's get Cym and get out of here."

"Can you find him?" Fourteen asked Adelle, holding back an I told you so and feeling virtuous. Even a killer needed a few manners to fall back on from time to time.

Adelle nodded and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll see what I can find." She closed her eyes and went still.

Fourteen saw the orange around her pull in tight against her body, condensing and growing still, echoing her body language. Fourteen accessed levels of restraint he usually didn't need to keep from bouncing impatiently.

The orange around Adelle flared out like quills on a porcupine, and her eyes flew open. There was horror in their hazel depths. "Sweet Vis, he's with Marshall."