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Eric lay trapped, flat on his back. Against her better judgment Melody crawled over to him. She took care not to get too close, but quickly realized it wasn’t going to matter. Both of her former companion’s arms were pinned at his sides. Even more telling was the froth of pink blood, foaming up along the surface of his lips.
“You asshole!” she yelled at him. Her voice was tinged with frustration and disappointment. “All of this… and for what?”
He looked back at her sheepishly. There was no more anger. No malice.
“Look at what you’ve done to yourself, Eric! You’re hurt!”
He was more than hurt and she knew it. He knew it too. As if to make the point he coughed, and a great gob of blood splattered across the front of his shirt.
“I’m… sorry…” he murmured. “I… I just couldn’t…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head. His eyes closed heavily, then slowly opened to stare back at her. “Not again…”
As she knelt over him, Melody became aware of someone else standing nearby. Lucus had made his way back to his feet. He stood beside her now, protectively.
Eric ignored him. He looked back at Melody pleadingly. He was almost smiling now.
“What… What year is it?”
She blinked. An hour ago she would’ve been completely taken aback by the question. But not now.
“It’s two-thousand eighteen,” she said sadly.
Pain crossed Eric’s face. It wasn’t a physical pain at all. It ran much deeper, far down at an emotional level.
“Ah shit,” he mumbled.
He coughed again, and a bigger clot came up this time. His eyes were glazed now. Becoming unfocused.
“You have to go.”
The words came from Miles. He uttered them simply, matter-of-factly. Like they were a known actuality.
“Take her out,” he said to Lucus. “You already know she can’t stay here.”
Lucus looked back at him solemnly and nodded. He extended his hand.
“Come on,” he said, staring down at her. “There’s little time.”
Melody glanced back one last time as the blacksmith helped her to her feet. Eric had stopped moving altogether. His eyes were finally closed.
Lucus left her side temporarily, and when Melody looked again he had Lady Neveux in his arms. She looked no bigger than a child held against his chest. A piece of ragged, twisted cloth. He laid her gently back on the surface of the bed, even stopping to arrange a pillow beneath her head. When he was satisfied he pulled up the remaining linens and tucked them beside her.
“GO,” said Miles, loudly. His eyes shifted nervously around the room now, as if seeing something Melody couldn’t. “It’s almost here.”
The whole thing made no sense. There was nothing tangible, nothing she could see. And yet, she could feel it. Pressing in on her. Pushing against her in ways Melody could only describe as a constriction of the soul.
“Come on.”
When she glanced up again Lucus was grabbing her hand and pulling her from the bedroom.
32
They moved hurriedly, through th
e hallways and down the broken staircase. Melody trailed behind Lucus, still clutching his hand. Everywhere she looked she saw darkness. Decay.
Smoke filled the foyer, thick and black. A burning smell reached her nostrils and she realized the manor was on fire. She couldn’t see flames — not yet, anyway — but embers swirled up from below. They looked like orange fireflies, circling lazily as they rose from the first floor to the second.
“It’s on fire!” Melody shouted, but Lucus didn’t seem to hear her. “What do we do? Where are we going?”
