The gun went off.

The emptied rocket launcher fell to the street with a metallic clatter, splattered with scarlet.

Murphy dropped like a stone.

Chapter

Twenty-two

   Rudolph stood there, shocked at the sudden noise. He stared at the gun. Then at Murphy. “What? What?”

“Medic!” I screamed, rushing forward. “Medic! Medic!”

Murphy lay on the street behind her motorcycle. One knee had bent so that she was lying on her lower leg. The emptied rocket launcher was still rocking where it fell.

I knelt over her. Her eyes were open wide as she stared up.

The fire of the Eye flared again, briefly turned the world scarlet.

I didn’t care.

I ripped her jacket and shirt open.

The bullet had gone into her neck, a quarter of an inch above her Kevlar vest. It hadn’t gone straight through. It had begun tumbling when it hit and had come out under and behind her left ear, leaving a trail of ravaged flesh in its wake. Blood came out as from a fountain.

“Karrin,” I said. “Oh God.”

I ripped the duster off, tore my shirt in my haste to get it off over my head, wrapped it into a pad, and put pressure on the gaping wound. As long as I didn’t try to move it at the shoulder, my injured arm functioned a little. I could use both hands. “Medic!”

There was so much blood. It soaked my shirt through.

I heard footsteps running toward us.

“Karrin, I’m here,” I said. “Help is coming. Hang on.”

She coughed blood.

“Harry,” she said.

Her lips went red with blood when she said my name.

Her voice was ragged.

“I’m here,” I said. It was hard to see her. The world had gone blurry. “I’m here.”

The blood was making a pool around her golden hair.

The running footsteps came to a sudden stop.

Murphy made a couple of gurgling, choking sounds.

I looked up to see Waldo Butters standing ten feet away, staring at Murphy.

His face said everything.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no, Karrin? Come on, Karrin.”

She looked up at me for a second, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled as she smiled weakly. Her face had gone grey. Her lips were blue. “Not from you. I like Murph from you.”

“Okay,” I said. I could barely choke the words. “Murph.”

She reached across her chest and weakly touched my hand with hers.

“Harry,” she said. “I lov—”

Her eyes were on mine, and I couldn’t look away. I felt the soulgaze begin.

And I saw the flame of a candle go out.

Her eyes emptied. Just emptied, like the windows of an abandoned house. One moment, her body had been gasping for breath, straining, her face full of pain and confusion.

Then . . .

It was just an empty house.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no.”

I bent over her. Airway, breathing, circulation. I opened her mouth, tried to make sure it was clear. But it was pooled with blood.

I couldn’t see her then. Was weeping. I bent over her anyway, breathed into her mouth.

“Harry,” Butters said. His voice creaked.

I breathed in five deep breaths, tasted blood. “Keep the pressure!”

Butters knelt down, his body moving on autopilot, his face stunned. He put his hands over the pad, and I did compressions.

On an empty house.

I leaned down to breathe for Murphy again. Then more compressions.

“Harry,” Butters said. “Harry.”

Five breaths. Compressions. It was hard work. In a couple of minutes I felt dizzy as hell.

“Harry, you can’t,” Butters said. “You can’t.”

“Come on!” I screamed. “Murph, come on!”

I breathed for her again.

I broke her rib on the next compression.

But it didn’t matter.

It was nothing but an empty house.

I felt Butters put his hands on my wrists. He drew them gently away. “Harry,” he said, his voice thick. “Harry, even if she’d been on a table when it happened . . .”

I didn’t look away from her face. From her eyes.

I’d been too afraid to soulgaze Murph. Everyone who had done that with me had seen something that didn’t please them. I’d been afraid to lose her, and I’d never allowed it.

Now it was too late.

The eyes are the windows of the soul.

And Murphy’s eyes were just the windows of an empty house.

There was nothing inside to gaze upon.

I put my forehead against hers and wept. Helplessly. I screamed in rage and denial as I did. I knew the sound was ugly, was hardly human.

I felt Butters’s hand on my shoulder.

“Harry, we’ve got to go. We have to.”

I shook him off with a violent twist of my shoulders.

She was gone.

Murphy was gone.

And the Winter mantle did nothing, did less than nothing, for the pain.

I put my hand on her hair. Her head was still warm. I could still smell her shampoo, beneath all the iron scent of her blood.

I felt myself start to scream again. But I grabbed onto that scream and coldly choked it to death.

I leaned down and kissed her forehead, closing my eyes. Felt the pain rising in me. And I embraced it. Welcomed it. I watched the futures I’d hoped we would have die before my eyes. I let the pain burn away everything nonessential.

When I opened my eyes again and looked up, the world had gone grey scale.

Except for Rudolph.

Rudolph was bathed in light the color of Murphy’s blood.

He flinched as my gaze fell on him.

Butters got what was happening. Somewhere in the distance, I heard him say, in a warning tone. “Harry. Harry, what are you doing?”

Rudolph began taking terrified steps back. He pointed the gun at me and I couldn’t have cared less. “Wait. Wait. I didn’t mean . . .”

I rose.

“Harry, no!” Butters said sharply.