Fate’s Edge (The Edge #3)(65)
Author: Ilona Andrews

"Wake up!"

No response. Crap.

Jack grabbed the bottle of water, pulled the lid off, and dumped it on George’s head.

"Anytime," George said.

Curse it.

Jack slapped him. Nothing. Another slap. Nothing. Panic swelled in him.

"It’s not working," George said.

"No shit." Jack paced back and forth, like a caged tiger.

"Don’t panic."

"I’m not panicking." He didn’t know why he kept talking. It was not like George could see him or hear him.

"Try burning me."

"With what, George? We have no matches." With each second, the gulf between his brother’s mind and his body grew wider. They should’ve thought about this. They should’ve brought something, a lighter, matches, something.

"No wait. We don’t have any matches. I forgot. Jack, you have to hurt me."

"You’re crazy."

"I know it sounds nuts, but it works. You have to do it, because if you don’t, I’ll be stuck in this rat. Pain, Jack. Severe pain. My body needs to send me a signal that it’s fighting for its life, or it will just go to sleep. You could try breaking my fingers. That works sometimes – "

Screw it. Jack grasped George’s neck into an armlock and squeezed, hurting but avoiding the jugular. If he put pressure on it, George would pass out. Three seconds, and George gasped for breath. Jack kept squeezing. George’s face turned purple. Jack hauled him up. George made no effort to resist. He just hung there like a cloth doll. Jack kept squeezing. He couldn’t remember how long it took to choke a man to death. Of all the things, how could he, with his perfect memory, forget that one? Was it three minutes? Two? He tightened his hold.

Please, George. Please.

George’s hands clawed his arm. Jack let go, and his brother crashed to the floor and sucked in a long, hoarse breath.

"Are you back?"

George curled on the floor, gasping, trying to breathe.

Jack yanked him up. "Are you back?!"

"Yes," George croaked. "Let go."

Jack dropped him, and George fell, smashing his head on the bed frame. "Ow."

Jack crouched on the bed. He had almost squeezed the life out of his brother. A little longer, and, one way or another, George would have been dead. Jack realized he was cold. His face was drenched in sweat. In his head, he was holding George’s dead body.

It was over. It was done and over, and everything was well. Everything was fine.

George grinned at him from the floor. His face was red, and a dark swollen line marked his neck. Jack held out his hand, his brother grasped it, and Jack pulled him to his feet.

George rubbed his neck. "Shit, this hurts. Your turn."

Jack rolled back off his bed and pulled off his clothes. "The freckled girl came to see you."

"Oh, what did she want?"

"She wanted to talk to you."

George grinned and winced. "Ow. My whole face hurts now. What the hell did you do?"

"Just a standard choke hold." Jack took a deep breath and let the Wild off its chain. The world crashed down around him. Pain tore through his muscles, grasped his bones, and twisted them in their sockets. His body whipped the floor, thrashing and kicking, lost in a confusion of agony and magic. He felt himself stretch into the distance, impossibly far, then he was back. Jack rolled to his feet. George was looking down on him from the bed.

"You have four hours. At five, the sun begins to rise, and there is light."

Jack bared his fangs, panting. Four hours would be plenty.

George opened the door, peered outside, and shut it. "The freckled girl," he breathed. "She’s outside."

It had been like two hours. She couldn’t have waited there for two hours, could she? Everyone in this place was crazy.

"I’ll go first," George said.

Jack crawled under the bed to hide and squinted so his eyes wouldn’t give him away. George swung the door open and stepped out. "Greetings."

Greetings? George, you dumb-ass.

"Hey there," the girl said. "Your bother said you were sleeping."

"I was." George’s voice slipped into his Cursed Prince tone, calm, measured, with a touch of a blueblood accent. "He said you came by a long time ago. Did you wait here this whole time?"

"I took a walk."

Bullshit.

"I don’t blame you. The moon is so beautiful tonight." George looked up. The moonlight spilled from the sky, bathing him, and George’s yellow hair seemed to shimmer, almost white. The freckled girl stared at him, googly-eyed. Jack rolled his eyes.

"You must be tired," George said. "Why don’t we sit down? I think I saw a bench somewhere."

"There are a whole bunch of benches in front of that building."

"That’s wonderful!" George’s voice pulsed with joy, as if she’d given him a present. Jack would have grimaced if he could. "You know this camp so well."

"My mom works in the cafeteria. I’m stuck here for the whole summer. There is nobody to talk to except the Bible-heads and the runaway kids, and all of them are assholes. It’s so boring."

"Not anymore, I hope." George smiled.

"No, I guess not."

They turned right and walked away.

"So tell me about yourself," George’s voice floated on the draft. "What’s your name?"

"Lisa."

"That’s a lovely name. What do you like to do?"

"I like to read. I read about vampires a lot . . ."

Jack sprang from under the bed and dashed into the woods. The tree trunks and branches blurred. He ran and ran, as if he had wings. In that moment, with the moon rising over the treetops, the forest was his for the taking. He was the king of everything he saw.

Three hours later, when he crawled back into the room, having recited everything George had told him into Kaldar’s recorder, George was already in his bed. George waited until he shifted back into his human body.

"How did it go?"

"It’s done." He had met Kaldar and Audrey near the Edge boundary and recited everything George told him into a recorder.

"Good."

"How did it go with the freckled girl?"

"She thinks I’m a vampire."

Jack snickered and fell asleep.

"WHAT do you think?" Gaston held up two disks made of pale brown plaster.

Audrey examined the disks. The three of them had worked on the fake disks for the last two hours. Jack’s recount only confirmed what they already suspected – stealing the Eyes of Karuman out of the camp was too risky. The wards guarding it had been rooted too deeply into the soil, and even assuming they did somehow break through the magic defenses, the camp was filled with children and armed guards. If anything went wrong during the heist, the chances of a child’s being hurt in the confusion were too great. Even Kaldar wouldn’t risk it. They had to go with the Day plan – replacing the real Eyes of Karuman with a fake copy – and hope they got out of the camp alive.