Chapter 9:
Spencer's POV
My vision was tunneling, dark spots dancing at the edges. The assassin's knee was a crushing weight on my chest, his hand a vice around my windpipe. I couldn't draw air; all I could manage was a faint, gurgling rasp. The glint of the descending dagger was the last thing I could see.
Please, Wednesday… The thought was a silent, desperate prayer. I know you can hear me. I'm sorry. I don't want to die now.
"Time's up."
The voice was a cold, clear bell in the suffocating silence. It was the voice I had been longing for, the voice I had foolishly sent away.
Right at my face, a silver blur whizzed through the air. The butcher's knife materialized from nowhere and stabbed deep into the assassin's left eye with a wet, sickening crunch.
He didn't even have time to scream. Wednesday, with a brutal, practiced flick of her wrist, pulled the chain. The blade ripped back out, carving a grotesque trench from his eye socket down to his jaw and severing the top of his ear. The sound was like tearing canvas.
A guttural, animalistic groan finally erupted from him. The pressure on my chest and throat vanished as he stumbled backward, his hands flying to the ruined mess of his face. His scream that followed was raw and piercing, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony.
I finally let out a deep, ragged gasp, rolling onto my side as my lungs screamed for air. Violent, wracking coughs tore through me, each one sending fresh jolts of pain from my ribs and abdomen. I was a broken, bleeding mess, lying in a bed of shattered glass.
The one-eyed assassin staggered blindly out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, his cries echoing.
Then, she was there. Wednesday stepped through the wall and stood over me, her boots not making a sound on the glass. She looked and down, a cringing, creepy smile playing on her lips.
"How was life without me?" she asked, her head tilted.
I looked up, managing a weak smile that exposed my blood-soaked teeth. "Less fun," I croaked. "Extremely dangerous." I tried to push myself up, but my arms buckled. "Help me up."
She squatted in front of me, her ghostly face level with mine. A faint, mocking smile was on her lips. "And why would I do that?" she purred. "The last time I remembered, you told me…" Her voice shifted into a perfect, arrogant mimicry of my own. "I don't need your help. I can fight them myself."
I met her gaze, all my pride gone, washed away in a river of blood and fear. "I was joking when I said that," I whispered.
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "You still owe me a thousand apologies."
"Very well," I conceded, my body trembling from shock and blood loss.
"Start apologizing," she stated, her eyes glinting.
Another cough wracked my body. "I'm sorry… so very, very sorry. I will never again underestimate you. I was a fool."
"Apology unaccepted," she replied coolly.
Before I could plead further, the bedroom door burst open. The one-eyed man stumbled back in, supported by two new, heavily armed assassins. He pointed a trembling, blood-soaked hand in my direction.
"Finish him off!" he snarled, his voice thick with pain and rage.
The two new men raised their guns, the cold, dark barrels aimed directly at my head. I gave them a faint, bloody smile. I had nothing left.
Wednesday, stood crouched in front of me, simply bent her head at a creepy, unnatural angle.
One of the new assassins suddenly jerked. His arms twisted against his will, the gun swiveling to point at his partner's head. Panic flooded his face.
"What are you doing?!" the one-eyed leader shrieked.
"I'm not doing this!" the man cried out, his finger tightening on the trigger against his will.
BANG.
The shot echoed deafeningly in the tiled bathroom. His colleague crumpled to the floor, dead before he hit the ground.
Before the controlled assassin could process what he'd done, Wednesday tilted her head to the right. His arm obeyed the unseen command, pointing the gun under his own chin. The terror in his eyes was the last thing he saw before he pulled the trigger.
In the same fluid, brutal motion, Wednesday snatched the fallen dagger from the floor. She moved like a phantom, appearing in front of the one-eyed leader. He was still standing, clutching his face.
"No… please…" he begged.
"Here's the other one," she whispered, and drove the dagger straight into his remaining good eye.
He screamed, a high-pitched, soul-shattering sound of ultimate horror and pain. "MY EYES!"
Wednesday didn't let the sound linger. She materialized her butcher's knife, the chain slithering like a metal serpent. She swayed it once, and in the blink of an eye, the blade flashed. A clean, silent sweep.
The screaming stopped.
The man's head separated from his body and hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling to a stop facing me, his two wounded eyes staring into nothingness.
Wednesday rolled up her weapon, and it vanished behind her back. She came and bent in front of me again, the scent of old roses and fresh blood clinging to her.
"Why did you take so long to come save me?" I asked, my voice weak. "You waited until I was almost killed?"
She raised an eyebrow. "And that's the 'thank you for saving my life' you're going to say?"
"I will not only thank you," I muttered, a genuine, weary smile touching my lips. "I will name ten of my children Wednesday."
"Thank your stars that the kiss made me constantly visible to you. If not, I would have watched you die here. Then I'd return to the underworld and come back after 17 years again or totally forget about the justice and never come back," she said matter-of-factly.
"You'd still kiss a Spencer if you had to come back again after 17 years," I wheezed.
"Help me up," I said, my strength finally completely gone.
This time, she didn't refuse. She pulled my arm across her cold, solid shoulders and hauled me to my feet with surprising strength. She half-carried, half-dragged me out of the bathroom and into a clean guest room, laying me gently on the bed.
"Don't ever leave me again," I said, the words slipping out in a wave of gratitude and sheer terror. "I'll be supplying ice cream for you for a lifetime."
She actually laughed, a real, melodic sound that felt alien in the house of death. "Don't worry, they won't come again tonight."
"What can I do for you?" I asked, my eyes heavy. "To appreciate you? I can order ice cream now."
"Well, ice cream is one of my problems right now," she said, her tone shifting, becoming grave. "But my major problem is… you need to help me finish what I started."
The deal. It hung in the air between us, inescapable.
"Will you join me?" she asked, her ghostly eyes piercing into my soul.
I looked at my own bloodstained hands, then at the ghost who had just carved a path through my enemies to save me. My protector. My only ally. The weight of her stare was immense, filled with centuries of anger and a trenchant desire for justice that chilled me to my bone.
"Join me," she implored, her voice low and vibrating with intensity. "Help me find my killers."
I slowly reached out and took her cold, translucent hand. A shiver ran down my spine, but I didn't let go. There was no other path forward.
"It's a deal," I said, the words feeling final and absolute.
A smile of total, profound satisfaction spread across her face.
"But only," I added, my businessman's instinct surfacing through the pain, "so you will protect me until we find who wants me dead."
She nodded, a single, solemn dip of her head. "Of course."
To be continued....