Seeker

by Veronica Rossi

  I actually do feel super connected with Anna sometimes, so it’s weird that she doesn’t know about any of this stuff. My sister has no clue that I’m War. Or that her boyfriend’s Conquest.

  Jode, man. Talk about the worst guy for your sister to be with. It’s not right.

  The best the guys and I can tell, we’re incarnations of the horsemen not because we’re bringing about the end times, or Judgment Day. We are what we are as a kind of lesson. Me, for example. It’d be fair to say I have anger issues. It would also be fair to say I’ve had my share of internal unrest. As War, I’ve had to learn to deal with it. Really learn. Same goes for Jode, aka Conquest, who’s got his superiority issues to deal with, and Marcus, who, as Death, has had to fight harder than anyone I know personally for a good life. We’re walking metaphors, you could say. Human works in progress—but we are progressing. Every one of us has grown in character and in faith because we wear our weaknesses so openly.

  “Give me more,” Cordero prompts. “You saw Anna and noticed something unusual. What was it?”

  “Hey, Cordero. Doesn’t this remind you of the time you were questioning me but you actually secretly wanted to take my head off?” This entire moment, me sitting here and answering her questions, brings back bad memories of when one of the Kindred, a shape-shifter, impersonated her and interrogated me.

  “That wasn’t me, so of course I don’t remember it.” Her eyes narrow just slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.” It’s not that I don’t trust Cordero. It’s just that it’s hard to forget. “You were asking about Anna. Why I went over to her.” I lift my shoulders. “I just knew. She had this look on her face like something was going on. She told me a girl had come up to her and that she’d looked nervous. She introduced herself as a friend of mine and asked Anna to give me the key.”

  My attention is pulled to that very key, which sits between Cordero’s computer and her glasses. It’s heavier than an ordinary key, like something ancient. Daryn wore it around her neck for weeks. The guys and I had thought it was so important. A sacred key, to open heavenly gates. But we’d been wearing the real key all along without realizing it—divided and disguised as wrist cuffs. Four cuffs that were misused. That opened a splinter realm, under Daryn’s control, when she was coerced by one of the Kindred. “I instantly recognized the key as the decoy when Anna gave it to me and—”

  “I think I’ve got something!” Ben, one of the MI Trio, barrels into the office with a sheet of paper crammed in his hand. He drops it on the desk. For a second we all look at it, this paper-spider; then Ben dives back in. “Shoot, sorry,” he says, palming it flat. “That’s from a gas station sixty-five miles north of here. Oh, hey, Gideon,” he says, finally noticing me.

  Cordero picks up the rumpled page to get a better look. I’ve stopped breathing mid-exhale. Totally stopped. I also seem to have spontaneously developed X-ray vision, because through the fibers of the paper I can make out the faded image of the girl.

  The disappointment is gutting.

  I let out my breath. “That’s not her.”

  Cordero frowns and flips the paper around. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” The girl in the photo has long blond hair and she’s about the right age, seventeenish. Other than that, she looks nothing like Daryn.

  “It’s a grainy image,” Ben says. “I can sharpen it up.”

  “Then it’ll be a sharper picture of not her.”

  Cordero cuts a look my way. I know she wants me to be more encouraging. Everyone’s working nonstop. We have cots set up outside and most of us sleep here rather than trek back to the motel. “Keep working, Ben,” she says, handing the paper back to him.

  “You’re doing great, man,” I add, to be more encouraging. “But try to do better. Faster, too.”

  “Definitely. You got it,” Ben says, super earnestly. Then he jogs back to his desk. Literally jogs.

  I can’t keep the smile off my face. “See that? That’s an A-plus effort, Cordero. Everyone should work that hard.”

  She shakes her head. “You take such advantage.”

  I laugh. “What’d I do?”

  “Never mind. It’s my fault. I should never have allowed them to see you as War.”

  “Nah. They loved it.” Aside from Daryn, who’s not here, and some extremely high-up government people, the people in this warehouse are the only ones who know what we are. Who we are? Whatever.

  Until last night, though, the techs only knew in theory, so we did the full kit reveal for them here in the warehouse, calling up weapons, armor, and horses. It was Cordero’s idea. She thought it would motivate the team, and did it ever. We made an impression, Marcus especially. When you get a look at Death, you feel something. I only wish we’d recorded their reactions.

  Cordero and I pick up where we left off. This must be the tenth time I’ve answered these questions, but we’re working on my frustration and it’s also her investigative process. I know she thinks she’ll stumble on a clue.

  Marcus and Jode stroll in as we’re going through it. Jode takes the chair next to mine, his watch flashing as he drops his hand on the arm. As Conquest, he’s an incarnation of the white rider. Even in street clothes the hints are there if you know what you’re looking for. Under the fluorescent lights, Jode’s blond hair has just a little too much shine. Same with his watch, his fingernails. He’s got some flash. Jode—James Oliver Drummond Ellis by birth—is English, smart as a well-bred and highly educated Englishman, and one hundred percent lethal. None of us would be here if not for ole Drummy. The world might not even be the same. When we fought the Kindred, Jode fired an endless supply of arrows from the back of his white stallion, keeping us from getting overrun by demons. There were a lot of heroes that day but Jode was center podium.

  Marcus leans against the wall behind Cordero, gravitating to the back as usual. He trains his glass-colored eyes on me. Quiet, steady eyes. Death stare. Before I got to know him I saw that look as completely hostile. Total turnaround now. Marcus and I are connected like Anna and me—like words aren’t necessary. He had it rough growing up in foster homes around Chicago. He doesn’t say much about it, but it was hard-core survival. Every day. I lost Dad last year, and nothing will ever replace him, but I got Marcus right around the same time. A brother. It was meant to happen, I think. Mom and Anna needed him, too.

  Marcus crosses his arms and listens, his gaze moving from me to Cordero. Jode’s attention’s more like a satellite: unfocused and landing nowhere specific but taking in everything. I wrap things up, describing how I’d sprinted after Daryn—the direction Anna indicated—getting the attention of the military police on base, but coming up with nothing. Daryn had disappeared again. Even now I feel the echo of that moment. Brutal.

  “Okay,” Cordero says. “What do we know for sure?” She steeples her fingers and taps them together as she thinks. I used to be able to do that. “We know she didn’t come solely to give you the key. It has no real value and she could’ve found a much easier way to deliver it if that was all she wanted to do. She came for another reason. What was it, and what caused her to veer from her plan?”

  “How do you know she veered from her plan?”

  “I’m making an assumption based on the distress your sister picked up on.”

  “You think she saw a threat of some kind and changed her mind?”

  “Or had a change of heart.”

  Cordero and Jode exchange a look. Marcus drops his head and stares at his feet.

  I don’t like this. “Spill, Ellis. Marcus…? Someone, talk.”

  Jode looks at Cordero. I think I see a slight nod of approval from her. “What if she didn’t come because of Sebastian?” he asks.

  “Daryn might have come for strictly personal reasons,” Cordero adds.

  “Ah. Got it. You think I’m the personal reason. Solid theory, but you’re wrong. Daryn would never show up for that reason. She’s dedicated. All Seeker busines
s all the time.” Why are they saying this—to test me? Or do they really think it’s a possibility? “Anyway, this part of the discussion isn’t up for discussion.”

  “Maybe it should be,” Cordero offers. “Maybe you should consider that she might’ve shown up to see you and left because she wasn’t ready.”

  Marcus crosses his arms. “She could’ve seen your prosthetic.”

  “You mean this?” I raise my robohand. It’s capable of fifty distinct gestures, but the bird’s one of my top-used ones.

  Marcus is already smiling. He knew it was coming.

  “It might have taken even less,” Jode adds. “One look at you could’ve sent her running.”

  An image flashes through my mind. Daryn seeing me, then doing an about-face and hauling ass like she’s in a B horror film.

  I have to laugh. It’s just so sad. “How is this relevant to anything?” I’m sweating and I can’t sit any longer. I stand and brace my hands on the back of the chair. “Hey, Ben,” I call into the warehouse. “How’s your personal life? You got any rejections you want to dissect with our psychologist-boss?”

  Ben jumps up and rounds his desk. “Definitely. I’m the king of rejection.”

  “Dude, then I’m your co-monarch.”

  “Blake,” Cordero warns.

  “We’ll talk later, Ben. Keep after it. You’re doing great.”

  Ben spins and goes back to his desk.

  Cordero sighs. “This is a relevant line of inquiry, Gideon, because her appearance the other day could be a false lead. She doesn’t seem to want to be found. We have to consider that she might want no involvement in the search for Sebastian. And since she controls the key…”

  I shake my head. “I’m not on board with this line of thinking. If Daryn isn’t willing to go after Bastian, we’re nowhere. And I’m not throwing in the towel before we even find her. We assume she showed up because she wants to go after Sebastian, or what’s the point?”

  “All I’m trying to understand is why she’d leave without approaching you if she wanted your help.”

  “Because that’s what Daryn does.”

  At this, Cordero’s antennae go up. It’s subtle, a quick blink, like she’s afraid she might miss something. “Explain what you mean by that.”

  “She’s not the most open book out there.”

  “Can you elaborate for me?”

  “If she were a book, you’d only be able to read a few pages.”

  “Elaborate better.”

  I pull in a deep breath, then let it out. How can I say this without throwing Daryn under the bus? “She’s not one to ask for help when she needs it. She’s … I don’t know. She’s skittish.”

  “So she might, for example, attempt to approach you for help, then get cold feet and back away?”

  Marcus and Jode both look at me. We all know where this is going.

  “She might do that.”

  “And then?” Cordero asks.

  “She’d go after it on her own.”

  The silence that falls over us feels like it reaches out to the warehouse. Like the team out there has felt a shift, too.

  “Do you believe it’s possible she might go after Sebastian alone?”

  It’s exactly what Daryn would do. Exactly.

  Before I can reply, Ben jogs into the room carrying his laptop this time. He sets it down on Cordero’s desk. Instantly, I know this isn’t a false alarm. My heartbeat starts pounding in my ears as we crowd around it.

  The screen is divided into four squares. My eyes pull to the top right quadrant first. It’s a photo.

  Of Daryn.

  A close-up shot of her in an old Ford pickup. She’s leaning slightly out of the driver’s window as she hands money to a tollbooth operator. Her hair is up in a ponytail and she’s wearing sunglasses with lenses in the shape of hearts, which seems weird and unlike her but then again, I haven’t seen her in six months, aside from seeing her in my head all the damn time, so maybe she’s changed. Maybe I never knew the real Daryn. Maybe everything that happened between us was fake.

  Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

  Good. So that quadrant’s out of the way.

  The one below it has a shot of license plates with the registration information. It’s registered to Isabel Banks of Moose, Wyoming. Which takes me to the left two quadrants. Both are maps. One is the projected route Daryn drove, or is still driving, from Georgia to Wyoming. The other is a map with Isabel Banks’s last known address.

  125 Smith Ranch Road, Moose, Wyoming

  Daryn is in Wyoming.

  Has she been there this entire time? Just miles from where I last saw her?

  The name Isabel Banks sounds familiar. Daryn told me once that Seekers have a tight network. They help each other with connections, travel, boarding, money. That’s how we think she got into Fort Benning.

  I remember. Isabel was the Seeker that mentored Daryn when she first started having visions. She’s like an aunt to me, Daryn told me.

  “I got it right,” Ben says. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

  I can’t answer him. My jaw feels welded shut and I’m back on quadrant one, a hundred thoughts racing through my head, not a single one sticking.

  Cordero looks up, waiting for confirmation.

  “That’s her,” Marcus says.

  “That’s Daryn,” adds Jode.

  “Ben, get us a flight to Wyoming.” Cordero grabs her laptop and stands. “Let’s go track her down.”

  I’m already out the door.

  CHAPTER 3

  DARYN

  “Daryn? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I reply automatically. I pop a piece of cornbread into my mouth, buying a second to figure out what I just missed. Isabel was telling me about something at the ranch. “No kidding, a black wolf?” I say, catching up.

  It’s raining outside. Actually, it’s pouring. A quiet roar fills the cabin like the hushed sound of my noise-canceling headphones times a million. I missed when that started, too.

  Isabel takes a sip of her tortilla soup and nods. “Yes, right behind the ranch. Caitlin and Samantha were clearing trails for summer and almost ran right into him. They said he was ten feet away and so enormous they thought he was a black bear at first.” She smiles. “He gave those girls the scare of their lives.”

  This bit of news is actually noteworthy. There are tons of wolves in Wyoming but you never see them. They’re too good at keeping their distance, which I admire. But a black wolf is especially rare. Ordinarily this would hold my interest but as Iz fills in the details, I feel myself slipping into my own thoughts again. Because what’s more rare than a rare black wolf sighting?

  Going to rescue a friend who’s stuck inside a realm with a demon.

  As soon as Isabel leaves, I’m doing it.

  Fifteen minutes from now, I’m finally going to right some major wrongs.

  As we finish our soup, I do my best to nod and reply at the correct moments but my thoughts keep straying to the things I’ll need to bring with me tonight. What does one wear into an alternate dimension? Warm clothes, phone, rope, knife—wait, knife?

  Yes. Knife. The goal is to come out of this alive, and with Sebastian.

  “You sure you don’t want to come tonight?” Isabel asks as we start on the dishes. She washes a glass, her movements flowing into one another—scrub, rinse, drain—like they’re words in the same sentence. I’ve always loved the way she moves, so gracefully, still bearing the mark of her younger years as a dancer. Even her features are graceful, a mix of Japanese and Spanish traits that make her look like a living watercolor. I’m practically an ogre next to her. Tall. Muscular. Cloddish, with my Norse roots and crazy blond hair that’s not straight but not curly, either. Little Vikings, Dad used to call Josie and me.

  “Things are picking up,” Iz continues. “We’re fully booked this week. And you know the teen boys won’t dance unless you’re there.”

  “Hah. Even when I’m there, I wouldn�
�t call what they do ‘dancing.’” Franklin Ranch is a high-end resort for city slickers who want to ride horses and fly-fish in the summer and ski in the winter. Isabel waits tables there and I work in the children’s program, which means walking little kids around the indoor arena on ponies, teaching them to rope calves, aka stuffed teddy bears, and doing crafts with them. It’s not my life’s passion but it gets me out of the cabin and I needed something after earning my GED in December. Being a shut-in who does nothing but read and watch the snow level rise sounded great at one point but I only ended up marinating in regret all day. Working with little kids and horses keeps you “in the moment,” as Iz likes to say. It’s helped.

  It’s Tuesday night, though. Square-dancing night. The staff is encouraged to come to the ranch and pair up with guests, since they don’t know the steps. Isabel and I usually dress up in Old West clothes and lend a hand for a few hours—and earn a little extra cash. The season’s just started but I’ve already allemanded and do-si-doed with way too many thirteen-year-old boys. It’s agony. They smell like hormones, sweaty gym clothes, and Axe products. And they don’t know where to look. That was one thing about Gideon. He always looked right at me with those soulful blue eyes, like he had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell me. Like he couldn’t wait to hear mine.

  That look terrified me. But I also loved it.

  “So? Will you come?”

  “To square dancing?” Come on, Daryn. Focus. Just a few more minutes. “I’m going to pass. Still kind of tired from driving so much. I’ll come next week when I’m back full-time.”

  “Okay. I’ll let them know.” Isabel dries her hands with a towel and passes it to me, then watches me as I dry mine. Rain hammers at the window, warping our reflections in the glass. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I know. But don’t be. I’m fine.” I need her to believe me. Then stop wringing the dish towel, Daryn. “Really, I’m fine. Seeing the guys stirred up some of the old stuff, that’s all.”