Page 83 of Quicksilver
“You all right?” he panted.
I was still clutching hold of the dagger, its short blade covered in sticky black blood. I swallowed, nodding, even though I was pretty sure I wasn’t all right. Not all right at all. “The boy...” I panted.
Kingfisher’s expression darkened. He turned, and we both saw the adolescent at the same time. Eight feet away, on his hands and knees, he was moaning as he licked a patch of blood on the rug. Just as the female’s had been, his tongue was a raw stub of meat. Without hesitation, Kingfisher brought Nimerelle down onto the creature’s neck, decapitating him, too. The boy’s body sagged instantaneously, his gnarled hands relaxing, claws uncurling against the destroyed rug.
I rolled over and threw up.
Kingfisher was probably going to mock me for losing my stomach, but I didn’t care. I was shaking too hard to even pull myself up onto my knees.
What...
...the fuck...
... just happened?
Strong hands found my sides. I gasped, the bright sting of pain dancing up my leg again. Kingfisher repositioned his hold on me, muttering unhappily to himself as he lifted me into his arms. “You’ve been clawed. The wound needs scourging,” he said.
“Scourging?”
“The poison will kill you otherwise. Did either of them bite you?”
“N—no. I don’t...” My head swam, another wave of nausea hitting me hard. White pinpricks flared in my eyes, making it look as though Fisher’s hair was full of stars. They streaked across the ceiling, first one shooting star, then another, then a million of them, racing across my vision. It was...really beautiful, actually. Kingfisher was, too. His throat was flecked with black ichor, and his hair was disheveled. His eyes were wild, but he looked breathtaking. I could feel his heart beating like a drum against my side.Thum thum thum thum.
I couldn’t feel my fingers.
Why...couldn’t I...feel them?
Why was Kingfisherrunning?
“What...werethose...things?” I rasped.
Stars raced above Kingfisher’s beautiful head. He clenched his jaw, his throat muscles working as he kicked open a door and carried me through it.
“Sanasrothian foot soldiers,” he answered tightly. “Feeders.Theyare the reason why we need silver so badly. It’s the only thing that can kill them.NOW CAN SOMEBODY FUCKINGHELP!”
19
BONES AND ALL
A dreamof death and liquid fire.
No.
A nightmare.
I was trapped inside it with no way out. Darkened hallways stretched off into eternity, doors on all sides. Whenever I opened one, heart thundering in my chest, I was met with the putrid stench of rot and sharp, yellowed, snapping fangs. There were crowds of them. Feeders. That’s what Kingfisher had called them. He had also called them foot soldiers, but they didn’t seem like soldiers. A soldier had to be able to follow orders. To enact the will of another. The things behind these doors were monsters, capable only of obeying their thirst for blood. Women, and children, and elderly men, all of them insane and hungry. They tore at me with clawed fingers. They sank their rotting teeth into my skin. I screamed and thrashed, ripping myself away from them, barely escaping with my life, only to open another door and unleash a fresh wave of them.
There was no outrunning them. No fighting them. They sprinted after me, defying gravity as they sank their claws into the brickwork and swarmed up the walls, charging on all foursacross the ceiling. Fell, evil demons, determined to drink me dry and drain my soul while they were at it.
I ran hard, but it was no good. There were too many of them. My lungs burned, the wound in my side on fire. Blood ran down my legs, coating my bare feet in a slick that made me slip and fall...
I didn’t stop falling.
I would fall forever, burning and burning, until my blood turned to crimson steam and my flesh sloughed from my brittle bones.
And still, I’d fall.
Fall and fall forever.
