gasped,
his back arching as raw flesh was left exposed to the air. He held
in the scream that lodged in his throat like a burr. The bastard
was ripping out pages.
The cabbie looked back, the whites of his
eyes too visible in the rear view mirror.
“Keep driving. I’m fine,” Nik said through
gritted teeth. Anger and adrenaline kept him awake when pain
should’ve offered unconscious oblivion. Warmth blossomed on his
back as blood seeped into his black shirt.
The cab ride was taking too long. He’d never
thought he’d be destroyed by someone pulling apart the book. Would
he die or just be maimed? How much skin could he live without?
As the next strip of flesh was pulled from
his side, he clamped his jaw closed. His body jerked. He was being
flayed with his own skin. The metallic scent of his blood hung in
the air and his breath came in short pants. Each one pulled the
open wounds on his back.
The taxi stopped. Nik waited a moment,
wanting to be sure Gardner was home. His link to his tail
reverberated in a desperate cry for help. His instinct hadn’t
failed him. He thrust a handful of bills at the driver and got out.
His shirt clung to his back, glued to his body by blood. Rain
poured over him, washing but not healing his wounds.
He didn’t wait for the cab to pull away. He
took out his cell phone and called 9-1-1 as he walked up to the
front door. If Gardner tore the book to pieces and he died, he
wanted the police to be there to witness the destruction of
evidence. Nik gave the address and hung up. He tried the door
handle. Locked.
Since he wasn’t going to announce himself by
knocking, he let himself through the side gate. The back door was
also locked, but it opened when coerced with the lock pick he kept
in his wallet. He hadn’t spent four hundred years as a human and
not learned anything about survival, for too long his life had
depended on his ability to break out of, or into, buildings. The
skill had also helped when he was searching for the book in
peoples’ private collections.
He closed the door with barely a click. Water
steamed off his clothes and heat licked his skin as if he were near
a fire, drying the rain residue. A howl of rage directed Nik to the
front of the house. He moved silently over the wood floor to where
Gardner kneeled in front of the fireplace, poking at the pages he’d
ripped from the book. But they remained whole and unburned.
Fire salamanders scuttled around the edges of
the pages, unable to keep a footing on what had once been his skin.
One saw him and puffed up its neck frill in a show of aggression.
Its yellow tongue darted out as it hissed; then it flicked the page
onto the brick hearth in disgust. They knew him for what he was. A
Water Elemental.
“Water defeats fire,” Nik said, his hands
curled by his side. The urge to kill Gardner was tempered by
thoughts of Isla. She wouldn’t want anyone to die.
Gardner spun. “You.”
“You’re destroying evidence.” Or at least
trying to.
On the logs lay a bent metal spiral and
thick, peeling cinders. They were all that remained of Isla’s other
sketchbook. Anger burned hotter than any flame made by man. He was
too late to save the rest of her work.
“She’s going to ruin my career.” Gardner
tossed the whole book, what used to be Nik’s tail, into the
fire.
The crimson leather flared brilliant blue in
the heat. Nik’s skin tightened as if he was sunburned. He had to
get the book out of the fire—water would eventually evaporate in
fire’s glare. The salamanders didn’t offer to help. They laughed
the dry crackle humans mistook for the sound of burning wood. Why
would they help him? Fire and water were enemies at best.
“You did that on your own.” Nik moved closer
to his tail.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Mr. Gardner lifted the
poker and waved it at Nik, a mad glint in his eyes.
Nik stepped back with his hands raised as
though he meant no harm. Fire may not kill him, but a metal spike
through the chest
his back arching as raw flesh was left exposed to the air. He held
in the scream that lodged in his throat like a burr. The bastard
was ripping out pages.
The cabbie looked back, the whites of his
eyes too visible in the rear view mirror.
“Keep driving. I’m fine,” Nik said through
gritted teeth. Anger and adrenaline kept him awake when pain
should’ve offered unconscious oblivion. Warmth blossomed on his
back as blood seeped into his black shirt.
The cab ride was taking too long. He’d never
thought he’d be destroyed by someone pulling apart the book. Would
he die or just be maimed? How much skin could he live without?
As the next strip of flesh was pulled from
his side, he clamped his jaw closed. His body jerked. He was being
flayed with his own skin. The metallic scent of his blood hung in
the air and his breath came in short pants. Each one pulled the
open wounds on his back.
The taxi stopped. Nik waited a moment,
wanting to be sure Gardner was home. His link to his tail
reverberated in a desperate cry for help. His instinct hadn’t
failed him. He thrust a handful of bills at the driver and got out.
His shirt clung to his back, glued to his body by blood. Rain
poured over him, washing but not healing his wounds.
He didn’t wait for the cab to pull away. He
took out his cell phone and called 9-1-1 as he walked up to the
front door. If Gardner tore the book to pieces and he died, he
wanted the police to be there to witness the destruction of
evidence. Nik gave the address and hung up. He tried the door
handle. Locked.
Since he wasn’t going to announce himself by
knocking, he let himself through the side gate. The back door was
also locked, but it opened when coerced with the lock pick he kept
in his wallet. He hadn’t spent four hundred years as a human and
not learned anything about survival, for too long his life had
depended on his ability to break out of, or into, buildings. The
skill had also helped when he was searching for the book in
peoples’ private collections.
He closed the door with barely a click. Water
steamed off his clothes and heat licked his skin as if he were near
a fire, drying the rain residue. A howl of rage directed Nik to the
front of the house. He moved silently over the wood floor to where
Gardner kneeled in front of the fireplace, poking at the pages he’d
ripped from the book. But they remained whole and unburned.
Fire salamanders scuttled around the edges of
the pages, unable to keep a footing on what had once been his skin.
One saw him and puffed up its neck frill in a show of aggression.
Its yellow tongue darted out as it hissed; then it flicked the page
onto the brick hearth in disgust. They knew him for what he was. A
Water Elemental.
“Water defeats fire,” Nik said, his hands
curled by his side. The urge to kill Gardner was tempered by
thoughts of Isla. She wouldn’t want anyone to die.
Gardner spun. “You.”
“You’re destroying evidence.” Or at least
trying to.
On the logs lay a bent metal spiral and
thick, peeling cinders. They were all that remained of Isla’s other
sketchbook. Anger burned hotter than any flame made by man. He was
too late to save the rest of her work.
“She’s going to ruin my career.” Gardner
tossed the whole book, what used to be Nik’s tail, into the
fire.
The crimson leather flared brilliant blue in
the heat. Nik’s skin tightened as if he was sunburned. He had to
get the book out of the fire—water would eventually evaporate in
fire’s glare. The salamanders didn’t offer to help. They laughed
the dry crackle humans mistook for the sound of burning wood. Why
would they help him? Fire and water were enemies at best.
“You did that on your own.” Nik moved closer
to his tail.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Mr. Gardner lifted the
poker and waved it at Nik, a mad glint in his eyes.
Nik stepped back with his hands raised as
though he meant no harm. Fire may not kill him, but a metal spike
through the chest
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