Page 59 of Dead Rockstar

He ran fast, so fast I almost couldn't keep up with him. It was no surprise that he'd be faster since he was also stronger. I held tightly to his arm, forcing my legs forward, ignoring the burn in my muscles and the rapidly growing cramp in my side. I had no idea where we were going. I hoped he did.

He pulled me through the woods, past tall, ancient pines and redwoods, our feet crunching over the leaves. A frightened deer fled from us and a raccoon stood and stared as we made our way past. I could smell smoke on the breeze. There was no light other than the pale glare of the full moon, the clouds drifting across it and casting a weird, darkened glow over the ground. I was breathing hard, having a difficult time getting air. Tree branches whipped into my face, stinging and sharp. “Phillip,” I wheezed after a few more minutes of trying to keep pace with him. “You're going too fast. I have to stop for a second to catch my breath.”

“We have to get you to safety.” His voice was urgent.

“I know, but I'm going to have a heart attack. Not all of us are part werewolf.”

We stopped. I leaned against a tree, still wheezing. He watched me silently, his face full of emotions I couldn't identify. He looked all around us, eyes darting, alert for any threat. Finding none, he finally asked me softly, “Are you alright?”

“Kind of.” I didn't know how to answer him. “You?”

He laughed. “I'm fine. Now that I've found you, anyway. I was worried sick.”

“I’ve got a head wound,” I said and touched a hand to it. “I think it might be bleeding.”

“You were right,” he said, breathing hard. “They were never after me. They've always been after you.”

“I know.” Hot tears stung my eyes. “I told you.”

“I've got to get you somewhere safe,” he said, biting at his lip.

“I don't think I can run like that anymore,” I said weakly. “I'm not just out of shape, they drugged me, too.”

“I never thought for a minute you were out of shape,” he said with a smile. “Come here.”

He extended his arms to me and I rushed into them. He was warm and solid and strong, drenched with sweat. The next thing I knew he had picked me up and thrown me over his shoulder. I felt like I was flying as he ran, pine needles whipping past as he brushed by tree limbs, the moon looking down on us, as cold and silent and ambivalent as a ghost.

“Phillip, I'm too heavy,” I protested weakly, but he just laughed. The deep, velvety sound echoed through the quiet woods like the crackle of embers in a warm autumn fire. “I got you, girl,” he said with a growl, darting through the trees. “Not even a silver bullet can bring me down.”

Some time later, I came to, lying on the rickety bed in our motel room and Phillip was leaning over me, his face lined with worry. When I opened my eyes, his face lit up into a bright smile.

“What happened?”

“You passed out,” he said. “I think there were still drugs in your system.”

“I have no idea what they gave me.”

“I wish I could get you to a hospital, have you checked out.” He reached out and tucked a piece of my hair behind an ear. “Maybe we should go.”

“No,” I croaked. “I’m fine. Are you?”

Before I’d passed out, Phillip had filled me in on what happened to him while I was with Lee. He’d described the experience the same way as I’d felt it – he’d put the key in the ignition and groaned when the car hadn’t turned over. He’d yelled out to me that the battery was dead, then fiddled with the keys, cussing all the while, hoping that it might still start up. But as he held the keys in his hand, he’d been filled with an eerie sense of foreboding, as though the daylight had suddenly shrunk down into a dark void, the air crackling with electricity. He’d been struck by a piercing terror, and opened his mouth to warn me, to tell me to get in the truck. But he couldn’t speak, couldn’t get words to come. He couldn’t move; it was like he was bound by an invisible cord. Just as I had been.

He’d been powerless to stop it as he’d heard the commotion outside – someone had come up and hit me. He’d heard the thwack and my bellow of pain, and had been unable to move, tears streaming down his immovable face as he’d heard me being carried off, the start of an engine, the squealing of tires.

For ten minutes he’d sat there, still as a statue, crying with frustration and fury. Then he’d noticed Lydia’s front door open again, her old, wispy head peeking out. He could feel the power of her dark eyes peering at him from the porch, and as he stared back at her, he felt the pins and needles come back into his limbs. He could move again.

Just as soon as he’d been able to get life into his limbs, to think straight, he’d exited the truck and bounded up the stairs, demanding Lydia tell him what happened. Her old face had been full of emotions – fury, fear, and sadness – but she’d refused to give him any information.

“It’s for the best, Sidhe,” she’d said sadly, hanging onto the door frame as though she’d collapse without its support. “Neither of you heeded the warnings. It’s best you’re apart, anyhow. Too much power concentrated in one place can be dangerous. And the two of you…you’re just like Guthrie and I, you are. When you’re together, the passion is undeniable. But then you look up and realize the world has collapsed around you.”

He’d begged and begged, but she’d refused to tell him anything. Had just stared at him with sad eyes. All her mysterious power from before had seemingly dried up and shriveled away; now she looked impossibly old and very tired. Resigned, Phillip had let her retreat inside to her dusty haven and had gone back to the truck, full of terror for me.

To his surprise, the truck had started back up without a hitch. So he’d backed out of the rocky driveway, and from there he just drove. Drove and drove around Boston, winding through little neighborhoods, meandering down city streets, staring into storefronts, even into his old neighborhood, where he saw Jason Langley smoking a cigarette in his old front yard. For hours he drove, but he found no sign of me. No sign at all.

“So how did you find me in the end, then?” I had asked.

“I stopped looking,” he’d said simply.

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