AN: It's not over yet, guys...

Chapter Fifteen: Quickening

11:43 AM

In a building, there's a room. In the room, there's a cage. In the cage, there's a girl.

Kat is asleep now, finally. It's not something she would ordinarily classify as 'sleep', because she takes no rest from it. Finds no peace. But her body rests where her mind won't, and the skin on her back tightens as the bullet wound begins to scab over and close. She's curled on the cushion, a loose, animal-like sprawl that bares only her back to intruders.

Mary Harcortte stands outside the cage, watching. She does not smile. She is impatient, and that simply will not do. The ritual will take place as planned, tomorrow morning, and no amount of annoyance will change that.

Although….

She supposes that the girl does not need to live to see the ritual begun, does she? After all, it's only her blood that's needed. No reason to keep her locked in this cage, left to insults and impotent snarls. It would be merciful, really, to kill her now.

Mary considers this. Mercy. Yes. It would show mercy; cut short the girl's suffering. She could do it in this quiet time, this half-light of slumber when Kitty Teague wouldn't even feel the bullet.

88888888

There's a shadow on the ground, leading in rainbowed rivulets straight to the moon. Curious, she follows it; her feet leave red prints on the earth. She crosses a pool of clear water, the pads of her toes leaving nary a ripple as she passes, and her reflection stares out at her. Is she wolf, or girl? She doesn't know, she can't see. There're eyes in the water, yellow-brown secrets that don't want to be told.

There's pain, a foreign sensation that slides along her spine and hovers around her shoulder like a silky ribbon of molten silver. It reminds her of running.

A hand falls on her shoulder, turning her. She is aware of a mask, up hiding her face, but she doesn't know what it is. Before she can see who turned her, she lowers the mask because it's burning, burning her face, her skin bubbling and blistering with heat as her hand convulses around the slender stick attached to the side of the mask. Horror fills her as the skin of her face melts from the bone, leaving nothing but a skull that she can see in the mirror that's suddenly in front of her.

It's coming, she hears. Your time is now.

I can't, she argues, I'm trapped. I can't get out.

You are going to die, the voice replies. Reid is going to die. Everyone is going to die.

No. They'll come. They'll come for me, and they'll kill this bitch.

You are a match, and he is a wick, and when tomorrow comes, everything will burn.

No!

Your time is now. You must fight.

I CAN'T fight from a cage!

If you don't, you will die curled up like a mangy dog, and her plan will carry through. Get up. Get up!

Who are you?

GET UP!

Kat flipped off the cushion in an act of acrobatics she would never have been able to accomplish fully awake. The gunshot rang in the air, and for an instant, she stared at the hole that had suddenly appeared in the cushion where her head had been, the explosion of stuffing drifting towards the floor. Panting, Kat looked up. Mary Harcortte stood there, holding the gun with both hands, staring at the cushion with a look of mild disappointment. It was a moment of almost surreal calm: captor and captive, caught in a wrinkle in the fabric of things, perfectly still.

Then, Mary swung the pistol in a tight arc towards where Kat stood, and the teenager dove. The bullet ricocheted off a bar on the other side of the cage with a sharp clang, and Mary cursed. Kat's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it reverberate off of her ribs.

"Please!"

"I'm trying to help you," the priestess snapped. "I'm making it easier on you!" Breathing hard, fiery pain tearing down her back where the scab was ripped, Kat froze for a millisecond as an idea hit. Praying as fervently as she'd ever prayed in her life, she fell to her knees.

"Don't shoot me down like an animal," Kat begged, wrapping her arms around her stomach protectively as if it hurt there. "Put the gun to my head and kill me, but don't shoot me down." She let the tears fall, chest heaving. Mary Harcortte looked taken aback, and then compassion flooded her features. The annoyance and anger from before seemed to have faded away with Kat's desperation and submission.

"Come here, then, child," she said softly. "You are making the right choice. As I said, you should be so proud for what you're doing." Oh, I am, Kat thought viciously. Outwardly, she just gulped and crawled on her knees over to the edge of the cage. Mary stepped closer, close enough so Kat could make out a small rip in the hem of her shirt, and raised the pistol. Kat closed her eyes, concentrating harder than she'd ever concentrated before. Now, the tears that were streaming down her cheeks were tears of effort rather than terror. She bowed herself over her stomach, feigning despair in order to hide what was really happening.

She felt a shiver that went through her entire body as the cold metal of the gun rested gently against her forehead. It was barely a touch, as if Mary didn't want to cause her discomfort. Kat restrained a shudder of disgust.

"Good night, child," Mary said, and hers was a tone of such pride, pleasure and regret that Kat felt sick.

Now!

As Mary took in a breath before pulling the trigger, Kat straightened out of her bent-over position, flinging out her arm. There was a flash of fur and claws as she slipped it easily through the bars, and Mary Harcortte let out a scream as Kat slashed the arm holding the gun. As only her hand and wrist had Changed, Kat could use her human flexibility to spring backwards and duck as the gun fired when Mary's fingers tightened reflexively. Then, the pistol fell to the floor and the priestess staggered backwards, clutching her arm. Blood poured from four deep furrows running diagonally from the inside of her elbow to the base of her palm, slicing straight through her wrist.

"You- you-" Kat ignored her, scrambling for the fallen gun. It was lying where Mary had flung it, just barely out of reach.

"No! No!" Kat pressed her shoulder up against the bars of her cage, stretching painfully. Her fingertips brushed against the metal butt of the pistol. "Come on!" She slammed herself against the bars, and her fingers hit the gun's base, spinning it away from her. "Sonofabitch! No!" The priestess was slumped against the far wall, but as Kat watched in horror, she pushed herself up. Her arm was held tight against her chest, staining her blouse crimson. An ugly look crossed her face, and she began to move carefully towards the gun.

"You little brat," Mary hissed. "How dare you?" Frantically, Kat lunged at the bars again and again, mindless of the blood seeping from the reopened wound across her shoulder and back.

"Fuck! Come on! Oh god, please come ON!" Her fingers scrabbled desperately against the floor, searching for that cold metal salvation and finding only stone and air and then the gun was off the floor and in Mary's bloody hand, and a shot rang out an-

"Get away from her!" Kat saw Mary go down hard, not even making out exactly what Reid had actually done. The gun clattered to the floor, and the priestess lay motionless.

"Reid?" He didn't answer her, just walked up to the door of the cage and sneered at the lock. It exploded off the bars, and Kat realized that his eyes were black. The door swung open with a creak, and the blond shook his head sharply. His eyes returned to their customary blue.

"Hey," Reid said. "Let's get you out of h- Oh shit." He was staring at her chest. Kat looked down and saw red.

"Don't worry," she reassured him lightly, almost giddily. "It's not mi-" Suddenly, Kat stopped. Blinked. "Oh," she said vaguely, lifting a hand to the rapidly spreading pool of blood that was turning her- well, Reid's- shirt an entirely different color. "Um." She remembered the sound of the gun firing just before Reid intervened, and blinked again.

Reid just barely managed to catch her before she hit the floor, limp as a rag doll.

"Kat," he said, frowning down at the girl in his arms. Her head was cradled in the crook of his elbow, leaving her torso sprawled awkwardly across his lap. He could feel her blood, warm and wet, spreading to his jeans and the bottom of his T-shirt. "Wake up. Come on, Kat, we gotta- we gotta go. Kat?" He jiggled her head lightly, unsure as to what he was doing. It wasn't supposed to go like this. Her mouth was slack, her eyes closed. Her face, he saw, was pale. There was no movement, save for Reid's own trembling.

He bent over her, listening for her breath.

"Kat? Kat, wake up! Kat!" Her head lolled lifelessly as he shook her, pressing one hand against the hole in the center of the bloody mess that was her chest. Pressure, right? Keep pressure on the wound.

"Help! Someone! Help me!"

Silence.