Page 62 of Sullied Saints

Within moments, Cassandra has stumbled to her feet with a pain-overcoming ability only the mad have. "Kill them!” Her voice croaks out. “Both! Shoot them!"

Dirk’s hand comes over my head, surrounding me with himself.

Needler doesn't give them a chance to get a shot off. Before Cassandra’s words are done leaving her mouth, he shoots the two men who’d handled Dirk, each square between the eyes, and then the morbidly fat man who dragged me. He goes tumbling out of the building, the loud wet thump reaching us amid shocked screams seconds later.

The three left hesitate, knowing they can shoot at us, but none are game or brave enough to reach for their gun first. They didn't sign up for their own deaths. Just other peoples.

Cassandra’s small fists shake. "I have more of them! They’re coming."

She’s telling the truth. I hear the footsteps, either they’re retreating from the mob at their gates, or they’ve come because of the commotion, to serve their mad chosen leader till the end.

I remember them, so armed, so ready to use them. When they get here…

I close my eyes, burying my face into Dirk's shoulder. I so wanted a life with him, to move in together, to go home to him, to wake up with him. To find ease through practice in saying the wordsI love you.

The footsteps are closer, pounding up the stairs. "It’s okay,” Dirk is murmuring, the rage of moments ago forgotten in a voice now gentle. His thumb strokes my hair. But I feel his tears against my neck. Neither of us wanted this to be over.

The men are here, calling to Cassandra. She never stopped screaming, shouting. I just stopped hearing it. I know she’s pointing at us as she orders them to shoot.

There's a bang. I flinch.

But it’s just the one. No more.

Cowering, I brave looking up from the comfort of Dirk’s chest.

Cassandra stands with her back to Tregam. There’s a dark spot in the middle of her chest, and Needler is lowering his gun slowly, watching on in something like surprise and closer to horror.

For her part, Cassandra looks shocked, confused, and then scared. Dark ink drips down her chest, her stomach, and by the time it registers to me as blood, she’s tipping backwards, out and down.

I barely hear her connect with the ground, but I hear the gasps of the crowd.

Dirk’s arms loosen, and my hand trembles in his as I climb to my feet.

The tar of the road below is shiny, wet from sleet but glowing from the fires.

Her body is contorted. Blood has sprayed in an uneven circle around her, a circle now treated like yellow tape by the crowd. They lean over it, peering at her.

I’m waiting for her to move. That, like a cockroach, she’ll crawl back up through the drain.

The people are thick on the road now. It could really be half of Tregam. The name Cocooner circulates, soft, almost whispered. Maybe they don’t believe the Cocooner could be dead either.

But she is dead.

Cocooner is dead. And in the end, it was Needler, after all.

When I turn, Dirk is staring down, his brow smooth. Not smiling, not quite that, but peaceful.

Her men are still in the room. They look between each other now, bereft of their leader. Needler has his back to them, motionless, staring at the spot Cassandra disappeared from. They could shoot him. Nothing could stop them if they wanted to.

Dirk steps up to Tristan, snatching the gun from where it dangles from his fingertips.

He doesn’t point it, only faces the group. "She's dead! The mob is on its way to tear you lot apart. Want to piss them off more by killing the city darling?"

I don’t know if he’s talking about himself or Needler. If they know, it doesn’t seem to matter. What was holding them together shatters, and when the first one turns, the rest scamper after him.

The smell of smoke is oppressive now. This building will be going up too before long.

Tristan sways, blank, still rooted to the spot from where he killed his sister. As though what he’s just done was real, but what’s coming now is a dream. I step up to him, touching his shoulder. "Thank you."

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