Defiance

by Lili St. Crow

  Chop. More maybe-was and will-be, pouring into my head like they intended to stretch out my skull. Gran’s face, wise and wrinkled; Dad spinning in a field of daisies while I shrieked with laughter, his big capable hands under my arms and the entire world rotating around us; Graves lighting a cigarette; Benjamin slumping against an alley wall and slowly going white as blood slid out of the hole in his shoulder; Augustine’s face a rictus of horror as he screamed, his arms stretched out; my mother’s face brighter than the sun, laughing as she tickled me . . .

  One last image, slowing down and cramming its way into my overloaded head. It hurt, shoving its way past a confused jumble of memories and physical misery. My heart labored under the strain, climbing uphill in steady beats.

  The long concrete hall stretched away into infinity. I saw him, walking in his particular way, each boot landing softly as he edged along, and the scream caught in my throat. Because it was my father, and he was heading for that door covered in chipped paint under the glare of the fluorescents, and he was going to die. I knew this and I couldn’t warn him, static fuzzing through the image and my teeth tingling as my jaw changed, crackling—

  —and Christophe grabbed my father’s shoulder and dragged him back, away from the slowly opening door. The sound went through me, a hollow boom as the door hit the wall and concrete dust puffed out.

  BANG.

  “Bang,” someone whispered, and hot breath touched my cheek.

  I shot straight up, clawing at the air and screaming. Ash went over backward in a flurry of pale limbs. Nat, dozing on the chair she’d pulled up, shrieked and jumped to her feet. The bathroom door flew open and Dibs leapt out, wild-eyed, his little black medibag in one hand and his narrow chest furred with wiry golden hair. He was stark naked, and most of him was wringing–wet. Lather stood up in his hair, and I heard the shower running as I gasped, trying to make my lungs work. The room looked strange, every angle askew and the light somehow wrong.

  I choked on glassy air. Nathalie leaned over and whomped me on the back. The blow stung, but somehow, it worked. I sucked in sweet air, blinking as the touch turned around and settled inside my skull, nestling like a feathersoft bird.

  A really big bird.

  “Jesus,” I husked. “What the . . .” The light was all weird, and after a moment I realized why. It was dusk-gold, not the glare of noon, lying over the room like honey, which meant I’d been out for a while.

  Leon looked up from the window seat. “They’ll return soon. We need a plan.”

  Nat rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, sure. A plan. How exactly is a plan going to help this situation? Get back in the shower, Dibs.”

  I blushed scarlet. So did Dibs. He also squeaked and ducked back into the bathroom, banging the door shut. Nat let out a sigh my Granmama might’ve envied.

  Wow. Now I knew a lot more than I ever wanted to about him.

  I scrubbed at my forehead weakly. “Jesus.” I couldn’t come up with anything better to say. “What’s going on?”

  “You need food. It’s not hot, but the calories will do you good.” Nat stretched, turning the movement into a graceful, coordinated rise from her chair.

  Somehow she’d gotten Ash into a pair of slightly–too–big khakis and a sleeveless denim button-down. Muscle moved under white skin as he peeked up over the edge of the bed at me. Orange sparks drifted through his dark irises, the pupil flaring and shrinking as he examined me. “Bang,” he said sagely, and nodded. Greasy strings of dark hair fell in his face.

  “Milady.” Leon slid off the window seat. “Dru. I bring tidings, if you can stay awake long enough to hear them.”

  My mouth tasted like old dried-up copper and I hurt all over. The pain settled in deep, not like a bruise or a burn but instead as if the center of my bones had been stripped out and filled up with a grinding low-level ache. I rubbed at my grainy eyes. I’d lost pretty much a whole day, and wouldn’t you know, I felt like I could just lie down and sleep for another two.

  “Here.” Nat came back from the door, carrying a plate one-handed. “Not a word until she eats something.”

  “This is important, Skyrunner.” But Leon subsided when she shot him a look that could have broken a window. A flare of yellow went through her irises, and I actually found myself really, really glad Nat was on my side.

  I reached for diplomacy. “I think I can eat and listen at the same time.” My stomach actually rumbled, and when she gave me the plate, I saw a pile of ham sandwiches on wheat toast. The lettuce and tomato looked a bit soggy, but my stomach spoke up again and I grabbed the first half-sandwich on top. “What the hell, Leon?”

  “You gave me a commission.” His chin jutted.

  “Sure I did.” I glanced at Nathalie. “Thanks.” Back at him. He was looking like a sulky third-grader. Jeez. “Spit it out.”

  That was the exact moment what he was saying caught up with me. He was telling me he’d found something out.

  About Graves.

  Leon spread his hands a little, a curious little helpless motion.

  I took a huge bite of sandwich, chewed, and my stomach started singing hosannas. It was work not to talk with my mouth full. “Oh, you mean . . . Well, whatever you’ve got, Nat can hear it. She’s my friend.”

  For some reason, that made Nat stand a little straighter. She folded her arms, and her earrings—purple metal hoops with little silver rings hanging at the bottom—swung a little.

  “Are you sure?” He held up both hands when I glared at him, too. “I’m not impugning your duenna, Milady. There are some things it’s safer for a wulfen not to hear.”

  “Oh, dear me.” Nathalie sank back down in the chair and examined her Uggs. The sarcasm could’ve started dripping off her and staining the floor. “Is it conspiracy, treachery, murder, or open warfare? I’ll have to choose my lipstick accordingly.”

  Ash still peeked up over the edge of the bed at me, and I grabbed another sandwich half and held it out to him. He studied it, studied me, then grabbed it so fast his hand blurred. He disappeared, hunching down next to the bed.

  Leon’s face twisted itself up slightly. “I don’t know what to call it at this point.” He folded his arms, shook his lank, fine hair down. “Except unsavory.”

  “Excuse me? I’m sitting right here.” I tore off another huge bite of sandwich. Have you ever been so hungry even cardboard would be oh-my-God fantastic? That’s how it was.

  “I’m not quite sure how you’ll react, either.” He stared at a spot about two feet above my head. “It concerns Reynard.”

  I swallowed a huge load of toast, cheddar cheese, ham, and tomato. It tasted like manna, or like Gran’s cooking. All it needed was some fresh milk. “What about him?” The food hit my stomach with a thump I was surprised wasn’t audible. Then I started to get a very bad feeling. “Wait. What does this have to do with—”

  He dug under his jacket, and Nat tensed perceptibly. Leon glanced at her, making another odd little face like he was amused, then pulled out a sleek silver thing. “I decided to start at the beginning, with the moment your loup-garou disappeared. There must have been a security feed for that sector, I thought. So I went looking for it. Found out the raw footage had been yanked, but there are always backups. I called in a favor and had a friend of mine go digging until he found a ghost-shell image of the time in question. He brought it out and reconstructed it—but in the middle of the reconstruction he got transferred to Oklahoma. I’m not at all sure those two events aren’t related, but that’s beside the point.” Leon opened up the silver rectangle. It was a screen on top and a touch pad on the bottom, a cute little thing. He pressed a button on the side, showed me what had to be the world’s smallest DVD on a little tray sliding into the bottom half. “So I took it to another friend, this time outside the Schola, and called in another favor. He finished, and I went on my merry way. Take a look.”

  He handed it over. I stopped stuffing my face long enough to press the play button, tilting the screen so the glare di
dn’t hit it. The bathroom door opened again. Dibs, rinsed off and dried, wearing (thank God) a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt silk-screened with an elephant, peered out.

  He was still blushing fiercely, deep crimson staining his cheeks. I didn’t blame him.

  “What you’re seeing is security footage outside that gym exit,” Leon continued. “Your loup-garou should be coming out right about . . . now.”

  And there it was. A slice of wall, the camera angled to show the gym door, two paths, and the baseball diamond and bleachers in the distance. The door blasted open so hard little things popped off, a slam I could almost hear as it flew wide and hit the concrete wall. Graves stalked out.

  He stamped, coat flapping silently. Veered away from the baseball field, passed behind the bleachers. Crouched and sprang, his hands jetting out, grabbed the top railing of the bleachers, and cleared it in a swoop of graceful authority no human body would have been able to pull off. My heart lodged in my throat, but I took another bite anyway. Had to swallow twice to get the chewed food down.

  There he was on the bleachers. He crouched, and it was difficult to make it out at that distance on the small screen, but maybe his shoulders were shaking.

  Oh, God. Is he crying?

  “Now watch,” Leon said, leaning forward with his gaze fixed on my face. Like he could tell exactly what I was seeing by my expression.

  I took another bite, my eyebrows drawn together, and almost choked.

  Graves straightened and leapt off the bleachers, running with fluid grace. He was gone in an instant, but there was something else.

  A shadow came from the other side of the baseball diamond. A streak of something that resolved into another boy-shape as it paused behind the bleachers, tipping its head. Sleek hair, a dark sweater, and sharp handsome grace.

  Djamphir grace.

  “What the fuck?” I breathed. Lifted the sandwich to my mouth again.

  It was Christophe. I’d know that body language anywhere.

  Christophe paused for just a moment, then loped in the same direction Graves had gone. He passed off-camera toward the little copse I’d found a scrap of Graves’s coat in, determination evident in his stride.

  The touch twitched inside my head. A scene painted itself in quick swipes, like a motion-capture sketch, black and white. I’d do it with as dark a graphite as I could find, then go over it with black pen to make the shadows even deeper.

  Christophe, leaning against a tree in a shadowed clearing. His eyes turned blowtorch-blue as he watched, and the expression on his face was chilling. Because under the set grim look of a guy watching something distasteful, there was faint, scary amusement. He watched as the struggle took place, and when it was over, his smile was a ghost of itself.

  “Just get it out of my sight,” he said, and their narrow white hands lifted the other boy, his long dark coat flapping as he struggled uselessly.

  I shook my head, sharply, trying to dislodge the thought. The clip ended in a fuzz of static. “What?”

  “Does Reynard have a grudge against your loup-garou?” Leon’s tone held exactly no mockery, and that was odd to hear. “I ask because . . . well, he hasn’t mentioned being the last to see the wulfling, has he?”

  “They said Shanks was the last one to see him,” Dibs whispered. He’d grabbed the door frame, his curls dark with water and heavy on his forehead. “But . . . Christophe was?”

  “Shanks saw him exiting from inside the gym; he stayed to make sure Milady was protected. He couldn’t see outside.” Leon neatly subtracted the silver thing from my fingers. “There’s more, Dru. Are you sure you can stand to hear it?”

  I stared at him, my hand in midair holding a sandwich half. “I . . . Just what are we talking about here?”

  But I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew.

  Just keep waiting, Dru. If I’d heard anything, you would know. How many times had Christophe repeated it?

  “Someone erased that security feed. Someone on the Council, no less, transferred my friend when they caught wind of his poking around for the raw footage. I decided to go very carefully, and it’s good that I did. Because—” His fingers flicked again. Hell of a magic trick—a white envelope appeared in his hand, just like magic. “I found out where he’s being held, too. And how do you think I did that?”

  I lowered my hand. Nat moved restlessly, Dibs held on to the door like it was keeping him from drowning, and Ash peered up over the edge of the bed again.

  “Bang,” the not-so-Broken wulf said, gravely and expectantly.

  I handed him the fresh sandwich half, and he ducked down again. My fingers tingled, and rushing noise filled my skull.

  Like wingbeats, feathers frantically brushing air.

  “Tell me.” Dry-lipped, I whispered the words.

  “By following Reynard until I found one of his lairs. He’s a tricky fox indeed. But once I found his latest den, I found papers. Some of his private papers. These were among them.” He offered me the envelope. “Only take it if you’re certain you want to know. Milady.”

  “Dru?” Nathalie moved again, like she didn’t want me to go any further. “Eat. Whatever happens, you need your strength to face it. Leave this for after you’ve eaten.”

  If I do that, Nat, I’m not going to be brave enough to open it up. I reached up. My nerveless fingers closed on the paper. “Is this a copy or the original?”

  “I didn’t see a copy machine around.” Leon shrugged. “He’ll know someone was in there. He has a sharp nose; he may even know it was me. In that event, you’re the only person who can possibly shield me from his vengeance.”

  Yeah, like he listens to me at all. “Wait.” My head ached, the rushing noise threatening to spill free of my ears and go walking. A crackling ran through me, like the static was somehow being transmitted from my bones outward. Leon shook his head a little, a curious look falling over his sharp face. “Just hold on a second. Let me think.”

  “You’re radiating.” Nat handed me another sandwich half. Even her eyeliner was purple, and it glittered in the honey-gold light. “Please. Eat more; you’ll need it.”

  I lifted it mechanically to my lips, put it down again. Stared at the envelope in my right hand. “You’re saying Christophe was there when something happened to Graves. And that he knows where Graves is and . . .”

  “I don’t know if they left this morning to free the loup-garou.” Leon showed his teeth. “I doubt it. The entire Council, gone to rescue a wulfen, even a prince among the furred? No offense.” Here he glanced at Nat again.

  Her mouth was a thin grim line, and her eyes flared yellow. “None taken.”

  “He promised he’d tell me.” My right hand curled up into a fist. “He promised.”

  “No doubt he would, when he judged the time right.” Leon folded his arms again. The glow of dusk through the window deepened, the sun’s last hurrah before it sank. “The Council will more than likely return at dusk, Milady. When they do, I’d ask that you allow me to stay in your presence. If Reynard finds out I’ve been in his papers . . . well, as I’ve said, you’re the only person in the Order who can stop him from making me extraordinarily uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t understand,” Dibs croaked. “Why would he . . . I mean, Graves. He’s one of us. Why would Christophe do that?”

  “For the oldest reason in the book, Dibsie.” Nat sounded tired. She was looking right at me. “How maddening, for a djamphir to get edged out by a wulf.”

  “Nothing ever changes.” Leon’s mouth pulled down bitterly. “You’d do well to remember that, Skyrunner.”

  “Some things change.” She watched me, steadily. “You’re proof of that, aren’t you. Leontus.”

  I honestly couldn’t tell what the fuck. It went right over my head. “Wait. You’re saying Christophe would . . . would give Graves to . . .” The only possible explanation took shape inside my head. “Give him to Sergej.” The name burned my lips, and Ash shivered. “Because . . . of me?”

&n
bsp; “Maybe not necessarily.” Leon shifted his weight slightly. He had the look of someone smelling something unpleasant who couldn’t move away. That slightly set, slightly disgusted expression, mouth tight and eyebrows level—you can see it on plane trips or bus rides all the time. Usually when someone’s sitting next to someone else who doesn’t have the same hygiene standards. “Maybe he gave the loup-garou to Anna, who—”

  I shook my head. Curls fell in my face. “But Anna . . . she hated Chris. You were there, you saw as much!”

  He shrugged, the sharp points of his shoulders coming up, dropping. I had a mad thought of offering him a sandwich. Leon spread his hands, a helpless gesture. “He could have played her for a fool, too. Let her think she was striking at you. It has a certain symmetry.”

  “But Anna had just finished . . .” The enormity of it walloped me sideways. I held the envelope up, sweating fingers crushing the paper. It was thick, stuffed full. “He couldn’t have. She’d just . . . I’d just finished having a fight with her. She wasn’t about to go meeting up with him. She didn’t even know he was around.”

  Leon let his hands drop. “If you say so, Milady. In any case, you have a decision to make.”

  I set the plate aside on the rucked-up covers. Nat twitched. I ripped the envelope open, and the sound of tearing paper was like my heart breaking. I felt it, a sharp tearing in my chest, and a steady slow leaking.

  Leon actually took two steps back, his boots soundless on the hardwood.

  Ash’s head popped up again. He studied me for a moment, then actually climbed up on the bed while I slid the six sheets out and opened them up. A whiff of apple pie rose, and my stomach closed around the lump of rock that had been food a little while ago.

  I won’t push, and I don’t pry. All I ask is a little attention.

  I opened up the sheaf of paper. Have you ever wanted to wash your mouth out with bleach? I wanted to scrub every part of me that had ever flushed each time Christophe got close to me. I spread the sheets of paper out, crackling, and stared at them.