Tristan’s wings are huge gray things against the night sky, flapping slowly. He almost doesn’t fly at all, instead gliding in our direction. He angles toward us but comes down a little too fast. Apollo raises his hands to signal for him, but Tristan’s wings close and he drops like a ton of stone. Apollo and I only have the time to jump out of the way. The ground trembles with Tristan’s landing, in perfect opposition to Apollo’s graceful one. Donatello steps out of Tristan’s hold, looking like he’s had a worse time than I did.
“Holy fuck, Tristan,” Apollo hisses, getting to his feet and fondling his side again. “You call that a landing?”
My sister appears from the shadows of the night a moment later, sitting sideways on the broom. I let my jaw drop, then shift back in time to catch her landing. Much more graceful than Tristan, as if she’s done this a thousand times.
“That’s a landing,” Apollo says, motioning at her.
Mei faces me with a grin. “I can fly a broom!”
I race closer so I can hug her. “I saw it!” We hold each other for a moment where I let relief take over. I can barely believe we made it. Everyone. Everyone in one piece.
“Come on, Ren,” Apollo calls out. “Let’s pick up some wood to build a fire. The others stay here. Keep your eyes open.”
I nod as I follow him into the woods, thinking it’s a fire to keep us warm for the night. It takes me a solid minute to remember we’re building a fire to burn Cassandra’s body. My mood drops to my feet as I help Apollo gather dry twigs. I hate it. I hate that we’re going to burn the one thing we still have of her, the one proof she ever existed.
Back in the clearing, we find Tristan sitting with Oreo by his feet. Cassandra lies on the gargoyle’s lap, as if she were but sleeping. The sight of her squeezes my heart all over again. They watch Mei as she studies Donatello’s face with a furrowed brow. I make my way toward them when Apollo cuts in, throwing the wood to the ground.
“Tristan, let’s see if we can clear this area.” He kicks some of the undergrowth to demonstrate. “And let’s do it fast. We don’t know if they’re after us, but something tells me Kayn won’t give up this easily.”
Tristan, Apollo, and I make quick work in the silence. We clear the undergrowth, then open a shallow ditch that can fit Cassandra. The wood we gathered goes there as a bed, then Tristan picks Cass up and lies her down, gently, as if she could feel any pain.
My eyes sting. I don’t wipe the tears away, standing there as Tristan comes to my side. My heart breaks when Apollo kneels by her, brushes his knuckles down her cheeks, then takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes when he blows fire onto her body. The orange light makes me wince in the dark, and the smell of burning flesh makes me nauseous.
My sister helps Donatello up, then walks closer. She intertwines our fingers together, then leans against my shoulder. I try to take a breath, but all that comes out is a sob. Tristan shudders with tears as we watch the fire eating her flesh and bones. Destroying all that’s left of the woman we all loved.
Several minutes pass like this. Mei hugs me sideways. Oreo whimpers by Tristan’s feet. The gargoyle still quivers with sobs, while the light dances across Apollo’s features, illuminating his quiet tears. Donatello stands with his head bowed, hands curled into fists, though no sound leaves him.
The revolting scent of burning flesh is all around us. I tilt my head up, glancing at the smoke rising above the tree line.
“We can’t stay here for long,” I murmur, knowing the smoke will be a clear sign if Kayn’s following.
Apollo wipes a hand across his face, then looks up. “Yeah,” he says in a quivering voice. Of all of us, he’s got the toughest heart, always putting the rational first, and still, I see him suffering. No man would go unscathed after the death of a mate. “But we can’t leave the body this soon. We have to be sure there will be nothing for Kayn to use.”
“And how long are we supposed to wait?” I ask.
“Some hours, definitely.” Apollo’s shoulders droop. “You can rest. I have to keep the fire hot. The one thing that can destroy bones in such a short time is dragon fire, anyway.”
I nod, then search for a spot in the clearing where the smell is weaker. My sister and I take a seat, then Tristan and Oreo follow us. Donatello lingers behind, then stumbles in our direction, his feet dragging. I blink, studying him. He still has his eyes closed, but he flares his nostrils, using scent as a guide.
Shooting to my feet, I curl my fingers around his elbow and guide him toward us. I help him sit, and he releases a grunt of pain when he does so. He was hurt when we started this, and he hasn’t had the time to heal properly.
“You need to rest,” I tell him, trying to light up the mood. “We won’t be leaving so soon. We don’t even have a plan, anyway.”
Apollo glances over his shoulder at me. “Of course I have a plan. We wait until her body turns to ashes, we spread the ashes to the wind so Kayn’s necromancer can’t use it, then we run. He’ll go full insane when he learns what we’ve done. We don’t have a clan or pack, or jobs. It’ll be some time before we can stop and rest. Until then, we have to stick together.”
Apollo’s words are rough, full of ragged edges, but they speak of the only soothing truth we can all hang on to. “Sticking together sounds good,” I tell him. The others quietly agree. I turn to look at Donatello, who keeps his eyes closed, his forehead creased. “You need to feed, Donnie. Do you want to feed?” And I raise my wrist toward his lips.
He holds my arm between two hands but doesn’t bite into it. “Thanks, Ren. I have to, but I think it can wait.”
“It will help you heal. Whatever it was Kayn threw your way, it looks like it hurt.”
His lips twist into a sad smile. “He had been using that concoction to torture me,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. “A drop every couple of hours. It feels like acid to your eyes. Burns like fire. The more you blink, the worse it feels.”
“Wait, he was using a drop and it would burn like acid?” I ask, glancing at his face. The skin down his cheeks and across his eyes is angry red, burned, and it’s taking a while to patch up. “Shit, Donnie. You think you can heal from that?”
Donnie’s smile doesn’t falter. He keeps a soft look on his face, lips slightly stretched, his forehead now relaxed. He still holds my hand, but the look on his face feels too much like defeat. Like surrender.
“Vampires can heal from almost everything,” he says, tilting his head so his hair falls away from his face. The light hits his eyelids, and there’s something wrong about them. I narrow my eyes, noticing they’re not as round as one would expect. Almost as if his orbs have become flat. “Almost. There’s not much to recover from when there’s a hole in your eyes.”