Colm glances at me, but he speaks to the soldier holding me. "Watch her. No mistakes with this one. I want my mother to see her."

The three soldiers nod and Wyld hands me to the nameless one. He walks us into the hall, gripping tight to my arm, creating a quick bruise with his pressing fingers. Colm and Wyld follow. The one called Feig watches his Sire, Colm, like a dog guarding a master, trailing behind a few feet. It's pathetic and stunning to see. I'm not sure if it makes me feel more or less terrified.

We head towards the west gate in a sort of wayward pattern. They know where they're going, that's obvious from the silence and the way they all walk together as if one mind. But they appear to be hiding a trail. I assume this has something to do with the secrecy Colm wants them to have. It seems ridiculous, though. Colm's about to collapse any minute and they're taking a tour of the red sector?

I don't care. I don't. Let him die.

I glance at Wyld; I can hardly look at him without my chest cracking. If I get a window that one's dead first. The El bastard should bleed his life into the streets for what he did to Marec. And I want to be the one to have the honor.

And…oh, god…my bag of Pink...damn. I'll be thrashing with visions by morning if I don't get it.

Panic wells in me. My lungs freeze.

I can't go through that. I can't. Anything but that. No more visions. The one last night was bad enough, and that was only a small drop of poison.

Oh, god, oh, god. Let me just die.

My legs go weak and I stumble.

My captor yanks at me and grunts. I can't help the moan of pain that comes when his fist grips harder at my arm.

"Hyl," Colm hisses. His eyes are now bright with pain--his skin pasty. "She isn't a wayward Waster. Keep her in one piece."

Hyl nods and grunts at me again, before loosening his tension. Not that I notice much. My arm is throbbing so hard I can hardly walk. He probably broke it.

We come to the end of the red district and there ahead is the gate. The buildings here are almost torn down completely, bricks stripped bare to repair other shelters far away. The only thing left behind to show they'd been here at all are their twisted metal skeletons.

The gate looms over this sector like a shadow of death, showing all where the real power lies. For twenty feet it climbs, a strange weaving of brick and earth, dead trees and concrete. Shapes peek out from the folds and bends of the structure: pieces of statues, arms, legs and faces. They reach out, they try to run away, they weep, but the gate holds them there, frozen bits of terror and brokenness.

My heart speeds up as we move closer. Sweat beads on my upper lip despite the cold air. The wall stretches straight out as far as I can see to my left, and my right. Its makeup is more of the same concrete and dirt, but brambles and dead limbs climb over that, with thorns as sharp as knives, making it impossible to climb.

I've never been here. I couldn't ever make myself come this close. I've never been to Trade, never met a Court brat face to face until last night. I've never wanted to see where I was from. I hate it too much, that part of myself. It's like filth on my soul. I know it's why I have visions. Why I'm twisted and wrong inside.

My feet stop, making my captor falter. I can smell something…strange but familiar. It leeks from the towering barrier in front of us, raking at the inside of my head, making my eyes burn again. I can't go in there.

Hyl's grunt becomes a word. "Move!" His fist clenches tighter to my arm again, pushing me forward.

The pain pools into my bones, blurring everything.

No! I can't let it swallow me. They'll take me in there. Inside that terror.

I stumble and try to back up. I gag from the agony in my arm and my legs betray me, going limp.

If I go in there, it'll drown me. I can't. I--

"Give her to me, you fool! You've broken her arm!" Colm turns to me and grabs me up from the ground, throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of trash. "Just a moment, Areana, and the hurt will be over." His voice is breathless, every syllable an obvious effort. "Open it, Wyld, I cannot."

The blood pools in my head, behind my eyes. Everything burns. The fire inside me is a torrent. I can't see but I can hear a rumbling, a thundering. Everything shakes and rattles around us, echoing in my gut. And the smells--oh, god, the smells--twisting inside me, tearing visions to the fore. The girl is there. I am her. White silk molds against our body with the wind. The field of green lies all around us, so lovely. I know the man will come. The man with the crimson dragon on his chest. His hands…hands that take, that burn. The screams surface around us, surrounding us. Like thousands of souls burning at once, crying for death. And all of it changing, warping with the pain, turning to blood.

It covers the girl. It covers me.

The gate is open.

"You know where to go?" Marec asks. His eyes look flat, all emotion gone.

"I know." I'm still trying to decide if I'm actually going to go there, though--an old bomb shelter, forgotten, deep in the blue district. Did I really want to be a prisoner of my own making?

We'd planned this hiding place long ago, when I was younger, just in case of a revolt. Marec hadn't wanted me in the middle of all that. Now, however, he doesn't seem too worried about leaving me hanging. I'm sure he sees it as some sort of object lesson. Teach his student one more thing before she becomes his equal. I don't know exactly what he's got in mind for me, but I sure wouldn't have thought it included this.

I rub the small baggie between my thumb and forefinger. Two more balls of Pink left inside. Not enough. Not nearly enough. I'm already feeling way too much six hours later. It's supposed to last twenty four. I don't dare take anymore. Not yet.

Marec nods and starts out the door. I have to clench my teeth to keep from begging him to stay--to help me with this--ask him how he could leave me--tell him I hate him. I want so badly to scream I start to shake.

Link won't even look at me. Patch's eyes are sad, only making my anger grow. Craven ruggers. I almost hope I do get caught and executed just to spite them with guilt.

The door shuts behind them with a scraping thud.

Rage twists in me, wanting release. I hold it back. I'll need it to feed what I'm going to have to do. "Damn, damn, damn," I hiss through clenched teeth.

Just get it done. Get it over with.

The gun is heavy. I point it at nothing in particular, testing the feel of it. It's the first time I've ever held one and it's strange. Power and terror trickle into me as I raise it and line up the sites, Colm's head blurring in the background. My hands are shaking too much. I'm going to miss. I need to get closer.

I kneel down beside the El soldier and press the metal barrel into his golden hair. The curls look so soft against the black finality of the gun. I get the insane urge to rub one between my fingertips. I've never touched royal hair before. I've touched Marec's, it's rough; Link's is springy and course; Patch's is gross--there's no way I'd touch his. But this golden hair, it was clean, shinny.

I reach out and run a finger over a curl. It's satin. The sent of flowers trickles into the air again, just beneath the blood and sweat. It makes my eyes burn, rising a vision to the fore, pressing for release.

I yank my hand back. My grip tightens on the gun, finger ready to pull back on the trigger. Just do it. Why can't I just do it?

Because he saved my life. He knew what would happen and he walked right into it.

Why?

I press harder with the barrel. The tip of my finger starts to pull back on the trigger.

Don’t have a choice. I don't have--

My hand is whacked away, the gun firing, bursting a hole through the plaster. He's up, twisting my arm, pinning my stomach to the floor. The wind's knocked out of me. I can't breathe. His weight presses against me, over me. "Little bitch. Now you're ready to blow my brains out?"

My head's throbbing; my blood's angry, thudding through my veins like a stampede. There's a banging in the background. It feels like it's in my skull, but I soon realize it's not. Like something heavy hitting the wall.

"You better lay off, Marec," I hear Patch whisper. He sounds worried. "You can't kill him yet."

"Just warming him up." That's Marec's voice. My heart skips a beat at the sound of it, tense and angry.

I try to open my eyes.

"She's awake!" Link yells. God, does he have to yell? What the hell is everybody doing here, anyway? They should be on the other side of the district.

"Just wait for Ray, Marec." Patch is getting a pleading edge to his voice. "She's awake now. She's fine. Please, leave it for now."

"He's not even trying to fight back. Craven bastard." Another sound, like a boot hitting flesh. Someone moans. I'm fairly sure who it is: Colm.

Guilt fills me. Why, I'm not sure. It certainly isn't a welcome feeling.

Marec comes into view and kneels beside me. Link is hovering pretty close behind, his dark red mop of hair covered by a green beanie.

Marec reaches out and runs a finger over one of the cuts on my cheek. "You okay?" Dark eyes, almost black, look me over, studying every nick and bruise. His fingers are rough, calluses scraping at my tender skin. Somehow it's still comforting, though. Black hair, streaked with blue tint, sticks out at odd angles on his head. His skin's paler than most tribal people, almost as white as Colm's, now that I think about it. But the defining thing about Marec is his tattoo. He's wearing a black t-shirt right now and all I can see are the dark, rolling tendrils that climb his neck and jaw, up to his temple--but I know it cascades over his chest too, sinking down his side until it disappears past his belt.

I've known him since I was ten. This is the man that saved my life. He's like a god and a demon in one.

I try to sit up but he presses me back down. "Just rest, Areana. You look like death."

He's the only one who dares call me by my given name. Like I could tell him not to. "Marec, what are you doing here?"

He gives me a disbelieving look. "You were due back six hours ago. When I got the report that your mark was dead and you were MIA I followed a crawler body trail from your Point. It led me here."

Six hours? I see the sunlight now. It's streaming in through the dusty blinds. How had I slept so long? And no dreams?

"Are you going to explain all these cuts?" Marec frowns at me. The piercings in his eyebrow clink together. "What were you thinking taking them on?"

Link stands up and starts pacing. "She's freakin' boinkers, is what. That damn Pink is tweakin' her." He's way too obvious with his concern. God, I shouldn't have let him kiss me. Stupid mistake. It was only once--I'd felt so tired, so lonely--but now Link acts weird around me--thank God I didn't give him flesh rights. I'm not sure what would happen if Marec found out...

Not that Marec's ever touched me--not in that way, anyway. But I know he's just been waiting. I can feel the tension in him when he's near me, like a coiled viper ready to strike.

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I try to fix myself into the reality of now again. It's so hard, but I have to. I have to get to Patch, to more Pink.

I can hardly lift my hand, but somehow I manage to point towards Patch’s hole. My head is exploding with pain from the threads of vision left behind. It seems determined to punish me, this thing. I bite back a moan and taste blood.

"Now where?"

I shake my head. "No gate. Help." God, I’m ashamed. I can’t even talk.

It seems to help him decide, though, my weakness. I guess that's some concession. "Where?"

"Patch. Third hole on the right. Number thirty-five."

We stumble past two apartment buildings and into the third. He pauses in the hall. The flickering light buzzes overhead. We both drip blood on the black and white checkered floors. Mine spreads out in the shape of a rabbit’s head. That can’t just be from my face. My arm aches, but I can’t see it. I can’t even move my head to look.

"Number thirty-five?" he asks, as if unsure.

I know what he’s thinking. A trap for a Court brat. He’s right, but I can’t help it now.

He moves forward anyway, up the stairs, supporting me the whole way. My feet barely touch the ground. We come to level three and move down the hall to thirty-five. He knocks. A bloody fist mark is left beside the upside down number five. Next to that there's a faded image of an underwater paradise. Coral reef, I think they used to call it. There, in the corner of the image, is the hidden mark of the Blade: a "V" with a circle around it.

Patch is looking out the peephole, I’m sure. Assessing.

"Let me in, Patch."

Latches slide, jingle, and clank on the other side. The door cracks open, still held with a chain, and a dark brown eye peeks through. "Password."

Colm growls. "Listen, you--"

I hold up a hand to stop him, and yank my shirt down off my shoulder, revealing my mark--the same "V" as on the corral reef image--and say, "Boinkers."

Patch shuts the door. There’s another jingle and then it opens. "What the rugger is goin’ on, Ray!" He pulls me out of Colm’s arms and helps me to the tattered, orange couch. The light's better here, still buzzing, but not flickering as much.

Went's napping in the corner. She lifts her head and meows, sounding like she's scolding me.

"You look like a building fell on you." Patch glances at Colm and then takes a longer look, up and down. "Who’s this snug?" Patch isn't what you'd call big. But that doesn't seem to stop him from talking like he is.

I don’t have the heart to deal with the issue of Colm yet. I wave my bloody hand between the two of them. "Colm, this is Patch. Patch, this is Colm." When I look at Colm I see he’s bleeding pretty bad, too.

Patch sneers at the Courtier. He knows, or at least he suspects. "Colm, huh? Whatever you say, Ray." Has he gotten skinnier since I saw him last week? I need to get him to move closer to the rest of the Blade Core. That t-shirt looks like it's hanging on a skeleton. When he turns to disappear into the back of the hole I see he's got pink sores on one of his elbows, three on the back of his neck---they really show up on his dark-chocolate skin. Doubtless, from the water. He's not cleaning it properly. Damn, Patch. His stomach is probably a wreck.

juneluv12

aquixoticgirl

bracken

Well, I got a rejection and a request on Monday, so I guess we're even.

I did something entirely beyond the level of stupid this week. Dumb, dumb, and dumber. Astronomically idiotic. I'm not even sure I want anyone to know. But then it's no fun. Someone out there needs a good laugh--or maybe a good cry--so I should do a service to humanity and spill.

As I said last week, I'm really bummed that lots of the agents are talking about WILLOW DOOR like I missed my window. I understand that. I took two years to write the darn thing. My bad. But I've been stewing. And pondering. And my wacky brain had a spasm and I started rewriting the blasted thing in 1st person/present (it's in 3rd/past). What am I thinking, right? Move on, Rachel. Finish GOLDEN! It has to be done for SCBWI!!!! But NOOOOOO. Can't do that yet. Must waste time rewriting WILLOW DOOR. Grrrr..... dumb brain

Okay, but that's not even the horrible thing. No. As if that's not moronic enough I decided to test it. *dark looming music* So, I sent two queries out with the rewritten pages. *hysterical laughter* Yes. That's right.

In the mean time I'm editing, editing, editing *interdispersed with banging my head against a wall*

It'll be fine. If someone asks for a full, I'll be fine. I have time. I do.

*panicked weeping*

When are agents ever quick? Right?

*naughty Pixy, should know better*



P.S. I just finished reading LAMENT and REBEL ANGELS. Good stuff. I really love Bray's work. She's so good at sinking you into the world. Looking forward to diving into A SWEET FAR THING. And LAMENT was very dark, sexy, and romantic. The couple kept getting interrupted in the kissing parts, though. Very frustrating! Hehehe...

Query Stats: 14 rejections (three offers in there to look at Golden when it's done) -- 6 waiting -- 2 lost in cyber space -- 1 full

Well, I've gotten a LOT more rejections. :) It sucks but it's been good for me. I've had a tough time writing through this whole chemo thing, getting a little done on Golden, but not as much as I would have liked (That's a bit frustrating since there's the agents that want to see it). However, I got a spurt of inspiration the other day and wrote a short (okay, not really that short--17,000wds) story. I'm working on it for my very first entry to the WOF contest. I'm not sure it's an awesome story, but it was good to be writing again. I'll be searching for readers if anyone feels suicidal. :P I'd be happy to trade critters.

Here's the first few lines:

I wanted to kill him that first night, to sink my blade into his chest and have done with it. But his eyes captured me, the subtle brush of his hand against my chin--fingers rough and scratchy from climbing trees. In a breath I became his captive.

Hopefully it's not too horrid.

Thanks so much to all you guys who commented last time I posted--when was that again? Like, a million years ago? I've been out of it lately and didn't get the gumption up to respond. Really sorry. I know, I'm a flake. I love you all, though! *hugs*

I have some good news about my cancer, too. I just had my second to last treatment (time flies when you've got your head in the toilet) and the tests have shown my tumor is gone and  no cancer cells to be found. I should be able to go into remission as soon as I finish my treatment at the end of the month. Yay!!! I might even have hair again by summer! I'm so excited. You know how long it's been since I used razors or shampoo? It's saving me money, though...lol

I finished a new drawing in honor fo my strange journey, caled Reborn. It's a companion piece to My Sin.



Hope you like. :)

Blessings!