Taunt by Claire Farrell

defending myself. It was time to
fight back.
    Determined to
give it everything I had, I tackled him, but he overpowered me and
sent us both toppling over.
    We grappled on
the ground, him aiming for my throat. I held him at bay, using my
legs to give me space, but he almost bit off my fingers. I let him
throw me on my back, then I rolled over, wriggling away.
    I leapt to my
feet, and he ran back at me so quickly, he didn’t notice the dagger
until it was too late. His speed and strength helped me stick the
dagger into his heart as far as I could. The dagger shone electric
blue, then lit up every vein in his body as it burned the poison
from within. I looked away when he screamed in agony, but I could
feel the heat of the flames close to my skin. I heard the dagger
drop to the ground amongst a mound of ashes that quickly blew away.
It was over.
    I won. Without
blood, without counting. I had stayed calm, and I won.
    I picked up the
dagger and carelessly shoved it into my pocket. A flash to my left
caught my eye. I heard a loud cracking noise and flew backward,
unable to understand what had happened.
    Then the pain
came, burning hot in my stomach.
    Humans dotted the
streets; I could hear their whispers like thunder, yet that was
quiet compared to the beating of their hearts. I pressed the wound,
and blood drenched my fingers. The pain stopped. Not a good sign,
but I was too tired to think about it.
    My eyes closed by
themselves; my whole body felt weightless. Not right. Feeling
strangely empty, I struggled to open my eyes. Ignoring the
dizziness, I rolled over slowly. I got to my knees first. Slow and
steady. The blood still flowed; I could see a puddle on the ground,
but I had to ignore it, had to move, couldn’t bleed out—not right
there on the ground.
    I managed to push
myself to my feet. I staggered on, trying to remember who lived
close by, because I needed help. I pressed on the wound again,
wondering why it didn’t hurt. It felt slippery; I concentrated on
that because all I wanted to do was lie down and sleep.
    I kept going,
trying to stay upright. My vision blurred at the edges, and I had
no idea where I was headed. I just knew I needed to keep moving.
Then I heard my name. Someone grabbed me, held me tight.
Peter.
    “ I . .
. I think I’ve been shot,” I managed to croak. Of everything that
could happen to me, this was the last thing I expected.
    He nodded. “I
know, she warned me something would happen. I’ve been ringing you,
come on. We’ve all been looking for you. I’m taking you to the
bookshop.”
    “ No,”
I moaned. “Not him. I need to go home.”
    “ Trust
me, Ava,” He ushered me along.
    “ I
can’t.” I wanted to, but everyone felt like the enemy.
    “ Why
didn’t you answer your phone?” He sounded frustrated.
    “ On
silent,” I said through wet lips.
    “ It’s
okay. We have to hurry, come on.”
    I let him help me
along but, after a couple of steps, I coughed, and blood poured out
of my mouth.
    “ It’s
fine,” he kept saying over and over again. “It’s fine.”
    He eased me into
his car and sped off. I was afraid to speak because I could taste
the blood in my mouth, and after a couple of minutes the pain cut
through the daze.
    “ It’s
hurting now,” I said. “Think that might be a good
thing.”
    He glanced at my
wound. “We need to get the bullet out. Looks like it’s healing over
it.”
    “ Can’t
be. I can’t do that.”
    He shrugged.
“I’ve seen you heal wounds before.”
    “ Not
anymore. Never works. Need to spit now.”
    He glanced at me,
then opened the window. The breeze cooled the sweat on my face as I
spat a glob of blood outside.
    “ If
the skin heals, the bullet will be stuck inside. You’re not healing
properly on the inside, so we have to get it out.” His voice
shook.
    I shivered,
unwilling to think about what that might mean. No chance of a
hospital, or even a doctor, and painkillers had never worked on me
before.
    I gave a little
cry of pain