LowLow cups his hands around his mouth and shouts something I can’t decipher. Shrugging my shoulders in an over-exaggerated motion, I hesitate.
Quinn’s rusty Cutlass is sidled up to the curb. “Come on!” he yells. “I’m running late and Nico’s going to be pissed at both of us!”
Ruby and LowLow are tangled around each other as they struggle to stand. He saw me this morning, exhausted and tapped enough to give me a pass on the story, but he’ll want full details on what went down with Allie. The difference between the truth and the bits I can tell leaves too many holes, and I don’t have a believable way to fill them yet.
I hear the metallic bang of Quinn slapping the roof of the car with his open palm. “Ploy! Come on!”
Part of me wants to tell him Ploy’s not my name. Instead, I do what he says and turn from LowLow and Ruby, ignoring their calls.
“Hey!” I say to Quinn through the window. It takes everything in me to sound upbeat.
“Get in,” Quinn says. His tone is low, threating, and for a split second, I think of my father. “Now.”
I open the rear passenger side of the car. My pack makes a heavy thud as I toss it in before climbing into the front. The door groans as I close it. Quinn doesn’t acknowledge me, throwing the car into drive and swerving into traffic without a token glance to check if it’s safe.
“Jesus,” I manage, grabbing for the handle on the roof near the top of the window.
“Well, I told you we’re late,” he says. He sounds absurdly frustrated over the ten seconds it took me to get into the car.
“I’m sure Nico would like us alive, no?”
He shoots me a look I can’t quite decipher. “What are you worried about? We give your girlfriend a call and she’ll bounce on over to fix you.”
“And have Nico sell her to repay the favor? I don’t think so.”
“Don’t get attached,” he says and the cadence inexplicably raises my hackles. I should keep my mouth shut. Instead, I laugh, adjust my grip on the handle, and pivot to watch his reaction. “We’re still after CJ, right? Nico’s not changing targets on us?”
Quinn grips the steering wheel, rolling his palm over the leather. “You wanted in, you’re in. Nico will explain everything.”
I’m suddenly hyper aware of whatever my face is doing. “Explain what?” I ask in what I hope is a curious tone.
He doesn’t answer and I wonder if it’s nerves rather than mood that have Quinn so snappy. Last-minute changes mean itchy trigger fingers. I’m not a fan of this development.
I could bail, I think. I could take off. Except… “The kid fell through?” I ask.
I told Allie about CJ. She would have warned him. I assumed CJ just wouldn’t show up today, but if he canceled his movie date with Keeley, they’ll be aware they need another resurrectionist. What happened the last time these guys couldn’t get their original target?
Holy shit, I’m an idiot. “Nico wants to sell Allie instead?”
Quinn signals, the car crawling to a stop as he waits for a bus to make the corner. His head twitches in my direction. “All this? Way above my paygrade. I’m just the taxi, okay?”
Leaning against the ancient leather of the seat, I bring a knee to my chest and rest my forehead on it. Adrenaline floods my system. I watch the asphalt stream past outside the window, my mind racing.
Too soon, we’re pulling into the driveway of Nico’s mid-renovation mess of a house. At least, I assumed it was her house when we came here before. For all I know, it is a squat.
I climb out of the car as Quinn throws it into park.
“Leave your luggage. You won’t need it,” he says.
Quinn starts toward the house. My pack’s in the back seat. I’m unsure what I’m walking into, which means if I insist on taking it, it could get in the way. I’m not keen on abandoning everything I own. Not after what I went through to get it this morning.
You won’t need it. Did he mean to sound ominous?
“Ready?” Quinn prompts. He’s halfway up the driveway on his way around the back of the house. Whatever’s going on, he wasn’t kidding about being in a rush.
My feet are rooted to the cracked concrete. I could go, warn Allie with a text, and be done with this whole damn thing. Grab a ride on a train that actually moves for once. Start over. But not if they already caught her. It’s my fault they’ve gotten this far. I gave them the idea to capture another resurrectionist.
I can’t take off if there’s a chance she’s in trouble. “Do you have Allie?” I ask.
He ignores me.
Run. The command hits like an unexpected punch. My skin crawls. Run away, I think.
“Ploy! Let’s move!” Quinn calls as my view of him disappears around the corner of the house. Last meeting here, we entered through the front door. If I lose him, everything will be unfamiliar.
I move.
When I get inside, he’s nowhere, but I recognize the glimpse of entryway I see down the hallway. I fight up the memory of the route I took when I was in here, fill in the blanks, and make my way to the study. The door’s open. It’s empty.
“Up here!” Quinn yells. He’s on the second floor.
I stare at the elaborate wooden railing, ancient paint tucked into the whorls of the design. The carpet is trodden down and stained. Plaster chips off the wall, the wallpaper ripped and hanging in falling sheets.
I can’t shake the unsettled feeling rooted deep inside me. This has all the hallmarks of a nightmare; the slightly out of frame voice calling to me, the abandoned rooms, the scant daylight filtered through dirty, cracked panes. In my own nightmares, I’m in the farmhouse, and it’s not Quinn bellowing from the second floor, but Jamison’s ragged whispers of my name from the cellar.
This is all in your head, I tell myself. I grab the railing and thunder upstairs. Quinn’s at the end of the hall, gesturing me forward.
“You know this is sketchy as hell,” I say, but he’s already gone. “Shit,” I whisper to no one.
I have half a second to decide what to do. I dig my phone from my pocket and flip it open to wake the screen. The thing’s ancient, but because I can’t use apps or the internet on it, it holds a charge far longer than expensive smartphones. I select Allie’s name on my recents, see the text she sent me two days ago, a smiley face when I told her I’d be there soon. I have to tap each of the buttons multiple times to cue up the correct letter as I painstakingly type my message. I don’t have time for apologies. I send her the code and start a warning not to take any resurrection jobs.
No dandelions. Don’t go
“What’re you doing?” someone asks.
Startling, I bobble the phone as I whip what I very much hope is a casual smile onto my mouth. Keeley’s head tilts.
“Are you coming?” she asks, in her same shy voice. There’s a pause. “Are you calling someone?”
“Wanted to put it on silent,” I lie.
My finger slides across the buttons. Without looking, I think I hit the one that will send the incomplete text. Allie’s smart. I don’t need her to understand it. I need her suspicious.
Tucking the phone into my pocket, I head toward Keeley and sling an arm over her shoulders as she moves us forward. “What’s up, kid?” I ask. “Feel like I’m getting called to the principal’s office.”
“Oh, yeah, well,” she says. “They don’t really tell me anything.”
I make a noise as if to agree with her. “No hints, huh?” I tease.
Keeley peels away for a better view as she studies me. “Is Allie your girlfriend?” she asks.
My mouth opens. “It’s compli—” I start and then realize this time I can tell the truth. “No. She’s not.”
I can’t help but notice the tiny grin Keeley’s desperate to hide. Yup, the kid’s got a crush on me. I lower my voice to a whisper as I lean in close again. “Are you sure you can’t tell me what—”
Keeley digs a subtle elbow into my side to shut me up as she moves ahead to enter one
room off the hall. “He’s here!” she says.
I’m an arm’s length behind her, expecting the whole crew to be in here, but it’s only Keeley, Quinn, and the twins. I risk a quick visual canvas of the room to get my bearings and see if there’s anything other than the knife at my waist to use as a weapon if needed.
Judging by the closet and a broken-down dresser missing a drawer, this room served as a bedroom. A pile of empty boxes lines the wall behind East. Above them, there’s a window boarded over with a ragged chunk of plywood. Glass pieces, each no bigger than a marble, are scattered across the floor underneath it.
My first tipoff I’m utterly screwed is the warm greeting from East.
“Hey! Are you stoked?” he says. He hooks his fingers in mine and yanks my hand to start some complicated dudebro handshake I struggle to replicate.
“Uh, no one told me what’s up so…” I trail off waiting for any of them to fill in the blank. Instead, they all keep staring at me like I’m the one with the answers. My nerves flare to full alert again.
“Quinn!” Nico says. She sounds aghast in a scripted way. “You didn’t tell him?”
Quinn flips his palms skyward. “I barely got him in the car.”
Apparently, I didn’t do as good of a job hiding my hesitation as I thought. “Because you’re playing games again,” I say as I work anger into my tirade. “Quinn’s hinting we have problems. You were supposed to keep me in the loop.” I take a chance. “Is Allie your new target?”
At Nico’s feet is a blue grocery bag. I can’t see what’s inside, only the vague shape of harsh lines pressed against the plastic. “Adapt or perish, as they say,” she says.
“What happened to not blocking my play?” I ask. As if reminding her of their promises to first Jamison, then me, will do anything at this point.
Nico grants me an indulgent smile and leans against the water-stained wall. “Come on, Ploy. You’ve been running this con, what, two? Three months now? How much longer will Allie humor a parasite like you in her space? You’re cute, but let’s be honest; you were lucky to get your foot in the door and you’ve gotten nothing useful since.”
My neck flushes and Nico’s tone dulls into sympathy. “Oh, Christ,” she says. “You caught feelings for her, didn’t you?”
A harsh laugh explodes from me. Keeley jumps. I sneer at Nico. “Don’t be a child. We’ve gone from a quick payday to me losing the roof over my head. Now tell me if you did the heavy lifting or I’m stuck playing bait to fix your fuckup, too.”
East’s chuff of warning is uncertain. He isn’t happy with how I spoke to his sister, but he’s not sure what to do about it. He doesn’t know what to make of this side of me. Last time it came out, he got coldcocked. My attention locks on Nico. I don’t spare her brother so much as a glance.
Answer. Tell me Allie’s safe, I think, watching Nico cycle through surprise, then respect.
Already, I’m picturing Allie tied down on a dissection board, the skin of her stomach peeled to expose her organs, her genetics reviving her over and over again to screaming pain. Allie’s childhood monsters had lab coats. They came after kids who didn’t keep secrets.
Keeley’s fingers touch my arm, the motion enough to drag me out of my stalemate with Nico.
“We talked about it,” Keeley says, her tone calm and even as she scans each of them in turn, Quinn, East, Nico. “We don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, so all you have to do is get her here. A call, a text. Whatever you think will work best. East will do the rest, okay?”
They don’t have her. Not yet. Relief threatens the hard facade I’m struggling to hold together. Ironically, despite all my efforts, what’s protecting Allie now is how much she hates me. She won’t come. Not to save me.
Not anymore.
“The Doctor,” Keeley goes on. “He said the worst he’s going to do to her is a blood draw. A needle poke.” She offers me a tentative smile. “I had Nico ask because if Allie was your girlfriend maybe you would worry.”
Keeley questioned me seconds ago in the hall, and I’d assumed it was because of her crush.
“Obviously, this sucks,” Quinn says as if in apology. “But the Doctor is not a guy you screw over. He gave us a deadline. Allie’s the card we have left to play. You get that, right, Ploy?”
When I speak, my throat is tight enough that the words sound strained. “Allie’s not— We’re not—”
We’re not together. She won’t come. It’s what I should tell them, but the unease swells into the same doom I felt staring down into the open grave of Jamison’s father, a bag of lye at the side of the hole, dirt crumbling from the edges to scatter into the puddles gathered under the tarp-wrapped body.
What happens if I can’t deliver Allie to them? I’ve overheard too much, seen things, learned details. They won’t risk information getting leaked if I’m of no use to them.
They’re going to kill me.
My bravado melts away and what’s left is my standard-issue self, floundering and failing, with no escape strategy. Allie’s not rescuing me when my existence already has her neck on the chopping block. Which is fine. I want her far, far away from them.
“Yeah, I mean, sure, I can do that,” I say as I reach into my pocket for the phone. It hasn’t gone off, no return text from Allie. At least I’ll see if I hit the proper button and it sent at all.
And then Nico moves. Her fingers pinch the phone to snap it shut as it leaves my hand.
“You didn’t want to know how much?” she says.
“What?” I manage. I’ve got to get my phone back. I watch her as she withdraws behind the protection of her brother.
“We never talked figures. You’re all worried about doing more work, but you haven’t asked about your percentage, never tried to negotiate it higher.” She tilts her head, the motion sarcastically sweet. “Aren’t you curious how much money’s on the table, Ploy?”
“I…” My tongue wets my lips as I fight not to fidget. I think of the small stacks of cash they keep feeding me, payment for my silence, for my cooperation. Cruelty curls my lip. “She’s not important to me. Cash is. Her blood is worth a lot to the right buyer. You know that.” I’m playing to her vanity now. “And you’re aware of how hard the resurrectionists train. Weapons, self-defense,” I say, ticking off each on my fingers. “This won’t be simple. Allie’s not easily subdued. You obviously took the associated risk into consideration when you brought this to the table, right Nico?”
The original deal they negotiated was for CJ, but no one calls me out on that detail.
Quinn wears a confused expression. “Nico, he’s—”
She holds up my phone to cut him off before he can complete his thought. “Ploy, this thing’s ancient!” she says. The slightest chuckle escapes her, like she’s got some special fondness for the crap phone Jamison gave me so he could get ahold of me as necessary. Her hazel eyes go brutal with faux sweetness as she takes me in. “I bet there’s not even a passcode.”
She’s right.
I’m trying to remember the texts I’ve sent to Allie. Is there anything incriminating? Anything Nico could take out of context?
She flicks the phone open and hits a button, struggling to work it without a touchscreen. The speaker trills the theme song of the stupid snake game that came preinstalled. Her brow furrows. “Here,” I offer.
“I got it!” she says brightly.
East moves out of my line of sight, shifting himself closer to the door and behind me but I don’t dare take my attention off Nico as she goes through the phone. The smile melts from her lips as she holds it for me to see. “What’s this mean?”
My last message to Allie is still in the box at the bottom of the screen. The text never sent. Allie got no warning from me.
“No dandelions. Don’t go,” I read and then shrug. “Autocorrect. I didn’t get a chance to finish it. It should have said, ‘No donuts. Don’t go to the store. I’ll get them on my way home.’” My embarrassed hes
itation might sell the ridiculous story. “I ate the last two. Allie thinks I’m hanging at the Boxcar Camp today.”
No one says anything. I hook my thumb over my shoulder at Keeley, who has moved to stand next to East in the doorway. “Keeley saw me writing it,” I add, and then force myself to shut the hell up before I sound guilty.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I shift my attention to Nico to see if she’s buying any of this. With the degree of intensity she has trained on me, it could go either way.
“Then why didn’t you finish the text?” Nico asks. “You never sent it.”
“Quinn told me you were pissed we were late.” I move a hand in his direction. He nods to back me up. “I figured Allie could wait.”
I hold my breath. Nico taps the phone against her palm twice and then offers it to me.
Her focus strays to where East is standing. It’s a split second, but it’s enough for me to realize aside from Nico, the others are all behind me in this room I’ve randomly been lured to on the second floor of this house. I’m not meant to escape.
I reach for the phone. “So if I hadn’t passed your test? What were you going to do, lock me in here?”
Nico grins like it’s all a big joke, and then her gaze goes steely as she kicks that blue plastic grocery bag at her feet. “Had the zip ties ready and everything.”
She’s not kidding. I know it instantly. Before I can take my phone from her, she tilts it. “I think maybe I should be the one to text Allie,” she says. “You don’t mind.” There’s a heavy pause. “Do you, Ploy?”
Allie
The sting of Talia shaming me for not protecting the Fissure’s Whipp resurrectionists is still fresh. After today though, I’ll be able to hold my head high.
I’m leery as I start down the street, in my hand the map and names written in Christopher’s careful print. My fingertips ran across the divots the letters made in the paper the entire walk here. It’s smooth again from me worrying the note. Not smeared, just…less him.
He’s gone, I think. By now, he’s got to be gone. LowLow will have given him my message and he’ll understand Talia’s gunning for him and he’ll take off until he’s somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from me.
Something Grave: The Resurrectionists Series book two Page 20
