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A thought occurred to me, and I grasped his wrist, making sure he was looking at me. “I want to give you something. I want to make this worth something.”
“What, saving the world wasn’t enough?”
I placed my hand on his cheek, then leaned in and kissed him. Though it wasn’t like my kiss with Desmond, it felt just as right and just as necessary. The finality was there, and now I’d properly said goodbye to them both. “I love you.”
“You know I love you.”
“I do.” This, I knew, fulfilled Calliope’s prediction for me. She said I would be with someone I loved in the end, and at least she’d been right about that.
“Is that what you wanted to give me?” He appeared perplexed, and I shook my head, my tears flowing freely now.
“Promise me you’ll make it quick, okay?”
And that undid him. I’d never seen Holden cry, not in all the years I’d known him, not after everything we’d been through. But now he choked out a sob and used his thumb to wipe away two bright red trails of bloody tears from his cheeks. “Damn you, woman.”
I kissed him again, unable to resist my one last chance. And when I was done, I slapped him. I hit him as hard across the face as my waning strength would allow, and when he blinked at me with surprise, I said solemnly, “I, Secret McQueen, Tribunal Leader of the East Coast council, declare a fight against you.”
The realization of what I was doing settled over him, and he lowered his head, blinking back more tears.
“I accept.” His voice trembled, and he braced one hand on my shoulder, stroking the side of my neck with his thumb.
He looked me right in the eyes when he killed me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The funeral was held at dusk.
Though it was meant to be a small service, hundreds of people had gathered in silent clusters around the ceremony site. Human and supernatural alike, they all shared common loss that night. The air was thick with sadness so cloying some people started to cry before any words of remembrance had been spoken.
Cemeteries were still in shambles, with specialty crews working around the clock in government-designated camps trying to determine which bodies belonged where. It was a laborious and emotionally taxing process given the thousands of corpses that had piled up around the city, many of which were miles from where they were originally buried.
And there were the newly dead. The ones who had no home in the ground yet and no place to put them for the time being. Services were being held, but most with empty caskets while the bodies waited in cold storage until they could be properly laid to rest.
It had been two weeks since the Hands of Death had been defeated and the citizens of New York were able to leave their homes without fear for their lives. But the garden of carnage waiting for them in the streets was unlike anything they’d been prepared for. The roads were still closed to traffic for all but emergency personnel and the military, while bodies were moved and stored.
Some families might never know what happened to their long-buried kin, thanks to the ravages of weather and decomposition. Others remained unidentified because no one was left to claim them.
The president had come after the initial military sweep deemed the city safe. He toured the streets followed by an entourage of media, and met with many civilians. He shook hands and expressed his sadness about what had become of one of America’s greatest cities and pro
mised the government would do what it took to rebuild New York bigger and stronger than before.
He talked about heroes.
He talked about those who had sacrificed their lives.
But he didn’t name names, and there were no official memorial services. In the end he went back to Washington, and the people of the city were left to their rubble and their fallen dead. Hero was a cheap word, and every time it was used in newspapers or on CNN in reference to the chaos and madness of what had happened in New York, the people knew most of the story was going unsaid.
The real heroes of that day died without accolades, many of them not knowing if their efforts made an ounce of difference.
Tonight one of them was getting the farewell they deserved.
Hell’s Kitchen was living up to its name. As one of the neighborhoods with the highest concentration of damage, most of the buildings remained unoccupied, and a majority of the businesses were still closed.
Including the Starbucks on 8th.
In the falling darkness, the streets were abandoned. Lawlessness was a problem still, especially in the harder-hit areas, and anyone with common sense steered clear after dark. It wasn’t safe to wander the city alone. Not yet. Maybe not ever again.
I felt like a newborn walking out into the night air.
