Bay
The stable is dark and eerie as I walk back into the musky depths. The horses are panicked — I see white eyes and teeth as I walk down the row of stalls. The uneasy shuffle and snort of anxious horses echoes from every corner, broken only by Edana's wails. I walk up to Corr's old stall and take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'll see when I look inside.
Edana cries. Her broken body is ghastly in the pale moonlight filtering through the stable windows. She looks like one of the grotesque creatures painted on the walls. I raise the rifle to my shoulder. I really should take her out of the stable first and then shoot her, but she's already deadweight. With her hamstrings cut, she can't walk and I can't drag a wounded capall. I'm going to scare the living daylights out of every horse in here, but they're already terrified anyway. If one of them drops dead of a heart attack, it serves Malvern right. There's no better way to do this.
I take a deep breath and close one eye, feeling the cool press of the rifle against my cheek. I'm no trick shot, but I can hit what I aim for. In the close confines of the stable, I can't miss. I line up the shot, grit my teeth, and pull the trigger.
There's a gunshot, sudden and loud.
Edana goes silent.
Horses neigh and snort in terror.
I hear a keening cry from upstairs, something inhuman and wild and painful.
Corr calls, broken and mournful.
I let out the breath I was holding.
The world stills.
No one comes running. No grooms, no Malvern. I guess by now they all know what happened. I shoulder the rifle and turn to walk back to Sean's flat. I need to take care of Edana's body, but I can't do it alone and I have a sudden need to leave the rifle behind — this cold instrument of death.
Corr calls again. I stop. He sounds so alone. Nearly as pain-filled as Edana's earlier wail. Did Mutt manage to hurt Corr too? I turn and go deeper into the stables, back to the blood-red stallion. As I get closer, Corr sticks his head out of the stall, eyes wide and nostrils flared. He smells blood. He smells fear. He calls to me, the seductive wail of the sea. I stand and look at Corr. I've never seen the capall stallion look vulnerable before, but suddenly, here in the iron-blood smell of the stable, with flecks of blood on his red coat, he looks almost as scared as the horses.
I put the rifle down and step closer.
"Hush, Corr, it's alright," I say. I walk up to the stall door and reach out with my right hand, slowly. Corr lets me touch his nose.
"Hey, boy," I say. "You're safe now."
I hear the thrum in his chest a moment too late. My eyes go wide and I leap back, but not fast enough. Corr's sharp teeth snap shut on my right arm. I choke back a scream and freeze. So does Corr. His teeth tear into my skin, but he doesn't bite down. He holds me there, like a dog does to establish dominance. I don't move. I can't move. My heart pounds in my chest, threatening to slide up my throat.
"Corr," I plead softly. Just his name. "Corr." I hate how small and scared I sound.
Blood drips down my arm.
Horses shift nervously.
Corr stares at me.
I stare at Corr.
Corr shifts his feet and I gulp, knowing he could end me at any moment. One toss of his head and he could snap my arm. If I'm lucky, he'll tear it off and I'll get away. As long as I don't bleed to death or die of infection later. But if I die here, I can't ride in the races. I can't go back to Sean, who needs me right now. I can't make a Yard, make a name for myself, make my dad proud.
"Corr, I'm not him. I'm not the one who hurt you."
Corr still doesn't move. I may not be Mutt, but I'm not Sean either. I take a deep breath and spit on the fingers of my free hand, like I've seen Sean do. I press them to his forehead and rub circles between his eyes.
"Open your mouth," I command. I whisper of the sea.
Corr backs up. I follow so he doesn't rip my arm. My toes brush the stall door. I can't follow any farther.
"Corr, let me go."
To my complete and utter surprise, he does. I yank my arm away from those cruel teeth and jump out of reach, but he doesn't bite again. I inspect my arm. Besides a ripped sleeve and a few cuts, I'm fine. It could have been so much worse.
I look back at him.
He knows. He knows I'm not the one who hurt him. He showed me as much when he let me go. But it was a warning. Corr's patience is wearing thin. I swallow hard and grab the rifle. I back out of the stable, keeping one eye on Corr until I'm out of sight.
It's dark in the flat when I get back. Sean kneels on the floor, head down. He looks pale in the thin moonlight streaming through his window. He leans against raw fists, grinding his knuckles against the scuffed wooden floor, as if by that pain he might ignore the pain that claws at his heart. He bites his lip so hard I see a trickle of blood drip onto the floor, but he doesn't seem to notice. What a bloody mess we are, the two of us. I should see to my arm, but I need to see to Sean first.
I prop the rifle against the wall by the door. It's a cold and empty piece of metal and wood now. Powerless. Like us.
I walk over to Sean's bed and grab a blanket, then kneel on the floor in front of him and throw the blanket over our heads like we used to do when we were kids. When the hot bubble of our breath under the blanket meant safety. When we told each other secrets and ghost stories and things that all seem pointless now. I know it's ridiculous to think that we could ever go back to when life was that simple. But there's something comforting in pretending.
"Hey," I say. "I'm here."
For several heartbeats, our breathing is the only sound in the room. It's dark under the blanket. So dark I can't see Sean. But I feel him. Hot and breathless, like a capall uisce after running the Scorpio races. He takes a shaky breath and I realize that Sean Kendrick is crying. Or trying not to.
"Are you all right?" I ask.
"I'm scared to death," he replies in a strangled voice. I don't think the word scared has ever passed Sean's lips.
"Of what?" I'm afraid of the answer.
"Of myself."
"Sean, there's nothing —" I begin, but he cuts me off.
"I would've done it, Bay. I would've killed Mutt tonight." His voice is harsh and rough, like his throat's been torn.
"But you didn't. You didn't kill him."
"Only because I was stopped."
I don't know how to answer that, so I don't. Sean is right. I was there. I saw the pure hatred in his eyes, his humanity gone, wild rage replacing reason.
"You heard what I said," Sean continues. "And I meant every word. But if I had actually done it…" he trails off. I feel him shift under the blanket and I get the feeling he's looking at his hands. Or would be, if he could see them. Sean takes another shaky breath and speaks again. The most I've ever heard him say at one time. "I don't ever want to feel what I felt tonight again," he continues. "I felt raw and empty...like I didn't remember who I was. Like something else took control of my hands and my mouth. Something dark. And I gave in."
I know why Sean hurts so much now. Because Sean is always in control. He never does anything, no matter how small, without meticulous planning. He likes order and rules, even if he chooses not to play by them. Even in the Scorpio Races, even with Corr, Sean is always sure of himself. He doesn't know what to do when he loses control. I open my mouth a few times and close it. I don't know what to say to him. I'm not sure there's anything I can say to him. This is something Sean will have to reconcile with himself.
Instead, I reach out with my right hand and find his face. I trace his cheek to his chin, and raise his head up. "I'm here, Sean."
He reaches up to grab my hand, then pulls away suddenly. "Bay…" He pulls the blanket off our hunched figures. "You're hurt." His eyes widen as he pulls my arm down to look at it better. There are traces of blood on his face where I touched him.
"It's nothing," I say, although now that he's brought attention to it, I notice the sting.
Sean traces one of the cuts with his finger. I wince.
"These are teeth marks," he murmurs. He looks up at me sharply. "Who bit you?" he demands.
I tug at my sleeve. "It's not important."
"Who bit you?" he says again.
"I don't even think I'll need stitches." I try to sound cheerful and fail.
Sean is in my face in a moment, his hand locked like steel on my good arm. Blood drips onto the floor between us and I feel lightheaded. But it's not bloodloss. Sean is an intoxicating presence, wild and dark and cold. He doesn't feel like the sea. Right now he feels like the rocks. If I'm not careful, I'll get dashed against him.
I swallow. His gaze is fire again, like the night of the Scorpio Races, but this time I hold it. "Corr," I finally say.
His mouth draws into a thin, white line, his eyes go hard, his nostrils flare. He's like a capall uisce, and for a moment, I believe those weird paintings downstairs of half-man, half-horse creatures. For a moment, Sean's not human.
"He wouldn't," he says.
"He did."
Sean looks at my bloody arm again, his expression unreadable. He still grips my hand in his.
"He knows better." This time he sounds desperate, as if he's trying not to believe what he's seeing.
"He's scared, Sean," I murmur. "Even capaill uisce aren't invincible. I don't think he meant to…" I pause. I almost said "hurt me," but that's not true. Corr meant to hurt me. "He wasn't trying to kill me," I say instead. "It was a warning, I think."
"A warning," Sean murmurs. "It was supposed to be for me." He looks away for a second, closing his eyes, as if composing himself. When he looks back at me, he's Sean again — closed and controlled. "We need to clean you up."
He stands up and pulls me to my feet, then gestures at the loveseat. I sit down as Sean turns on the light and disappears into the bathroom. He returns a moment later with a clean face and a first aid kit and goes to work on my arm. He starts to roll up the sleeve, but I shake my head and tell him to just cut it off. It's ruined anyway. Sean shrugs and pulls out his pocket knife. He looks pained when he pulls the blade out, but he doesn't say anything as he carefully cuts my sleeve off above the elbow. He closes the knife and puts it back in his pocket, then washes my arm with alcohol. I wince as it stings and burns its way into my cuts, but I bite my tongue and don't make any noise. Once he gets all the blood off, he pulls out a small jar of salve and a roll of bandaging. He works the salve quickly into the cuts, looking up only once when I jump as he rubs a particularly painful spot. He pauses but I motion him to go on. Then he wraps my arm from wrist to elbow as neatly and efficiently as he wraps Corr's legs with seaweed.
"Better?" he asks.
"Yes."
He walks back into the bathroom to put away the first aid kit. When he comes back out, I notice he's bandaged his knuckles as well. Without a word, he walks toward the door.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"Edana," he says.
I get up and walk over to him. He gives me a long look.
"You're going to need help, Kendrick."
He sighs, but he doesn't stop me as I follow him down into the stable.
We have a body to return to the sea.