Dead City

by Debbie Cassidy

  “That doesn’t change the fact that you can channel arcana without the use of the staff and its crystal. At this stage, we can’t rule anything out.”

  He was, in the nicest way, telling me to back down, to stop biting back at Harker. To stop pushing. We locked gazes, his such a vibrant purple that they were hard to look at for too long.

  “I get it.”

  “Good.” Bane pressed his palms to his thighs and stood. “Report to the hangar at eight a.m. tomorrow morning. Your team and your ride will be waiting.”

  He left the lounge, and I was all alone … or was I?

  “You need to stop eavesdropping, Hunter.”

  “Ooo, you’re getting good.” Air brushed my cheek and then slipped behind me to tease my hair. “Going topside tomorrow, then? It could be my lucky day.”

  “What?”

  “You might not make it back.”

  I sighed. “Back to wanting me dead, are we?”

  “Always.”

  Usually, the light banter, the jibes would have been a nice distraction, but not today. Today anger flickered to life in my chest. “You’re full of bullshit, you know that, Hunter? If you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have saved my life. I don’t know why you hang around or what you want from me, but I’m done.” I stood and felt him circle me. Was that agitation? “Don’t worry, I’m not going to report you. You saved my life, you saved my brother and sister, and I owe you for that, and as far as I’ve seen, you’re harmless. But until you’re willing to tell me who and what you are, leave me the heck alone. I’m done with games.” I strode into my room and slammed the door shut.

  The air brushed my cheek. Shit, really? “Piss off, Hunter.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What?”

  The sarcastic drawl was gone, and his tone was serious. “I can’t leave, and I can’t tell you why. I can’t fucking do anything.” There was real anger in his words.

  I pushed away from the door. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I’m stuck here with you against my will. I mean that I have no choice but to be here.”

  “Be here or be with me?”

  I could feel the frustration in his silence.

  No matter how much he’d baited and goaded and irritated me over the past few years, no matter how much he’d wished for my death, he’d never actually done anything to harm me.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Die,” he said. There was no heat in the word, no vehemence, just resignation.

  “I need to die so … so you can be free?”

  Silence greeted me, but I knew I was right. Somehow, someway my life was connected to his freedom.

  “Maybe if I speak to Micha or Deacon, I can—”

  “No!” There was panic in his tone. “Echo … don’t.”

  Shit. “Why not?”

  Once again, his response was silence.

  I sat on the edge of my bed. My inclination was to push him, but my gut told me to back down. “Fine. If you’re truly stuck here with me, then we’re going to have some new rules.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “No wishing me dead, no eavesdropping on me, and no sneaking up on me. You announce your arrival.”

  “Like this?” His warm breath brushed the delicate shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah, like that, but you don’t need to get so close. You could also, you know, keep me updated on what’s going on around the Hive?”

  “My, my, little Echo is getting sneaky. You want me to spy for you?”

  Spying sounded so … urgh. “Not spy, just keep up with the news.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Well, I was wondering how Finn was getting on …”

  There was a heartfelt sigh. “Echo, this thing with you and the Lupinata will not end well.”

  He obviously didn’t know about the latest development, and thank goodness, because that would mean he’d have had to see it. “Finn is leaving the pack. He’s going lone wolf so we can be together.”

  “He is, is he?”

  Why did he sound so skeptical? “You don’t believe he’ll do it, do you?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I’ll keep watch for you.” He circled me again, and disembodied fingers brushed hair back from my face. “But be prepared for what I find.”

  And then he was gone, and I was truly alone.

  Damn it, why wouldn’t the stove light? I hadn’t had an opportunity to use the huge oven in the Protectorate kitchen before. There was always food prepared on the stove or cold stuff in the fridge, but I’d been unable to sleep and, not wanting to bug Micha, had tiptoed out of the guardian quarters and through the side entrance to the main council building that led directly into the kitchen.

  But the damn stove wouldn’t light, and my inch of milk sat cold in the pan.

  “Need a hand with that?”

  I turned to find Councilman Orin behind me, although it took a moment to recognize him out of his Protectorate gear. He was dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt, and his hair was ruffled.

  “Let me get that for you.”

  I stepped aside to let him get to the stove. He had it lit in less than a second and even popped my pan on the ring for me.

  “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “Are you worried about tomorrow?”

  The harvest and my trip topside. “Nervous.”

  “Not surprising when everyone keeps telling you that you’re the chosen one. The only one that can do blah, blah, blah.” He shook his head. “Take it from someone who knows, the only certainty in life is the moment you’re standing in. You take each moment as it comes, and you make the most of it, and the future … The future will take care of itself. Forget the pressure, forget the duty and responsibility, and focus on being the best version of you that you can, and deal with whatever comes your way the best you can in that given moment.” He pushed off the counter and reached around me to take the simmering pan off the hob. “In the world we live in, even the best-laid plans don’t mean shit, but we keep planning because it gives us an illusion of security, it makes us feel prepared when, in truth, you can never be prepared. You can only ever be ready.” He jerked his head toward the milk. “Shouldn’t let it boil, it ruins the taste. There’s some cocoa powder hidden under the sink.” He winked. “Secret stash. Don’t tell anyone.”

  “What the hell, Orin, how long does it take you to grab some ice? Harker isn’t going to wait for— Oh. Hello, Echo. Ha. Can’t sleep?”

  Councilman Ryker didn’t look very councilmanly in his loose black pants and vest, and then his words and their meaning registered. For a moment, no one spoke, and then everyone was moving at once. Ryker was backing out of the room, Orin was ducking into the freezer, and I quickly poured my milk into a mug.

  “Night.” I scurried from the room, out into the chamber and toward the guardian quarters.

  Councilwoman Harker, ice, and two councilmen … Yeah, that image would need to go.

  I entered the lounge to find Micha padding sleepily out of his room, knuckles rubbing his eyes. He was naked except for his boxers, and he looked adorable.

  “You okay? I woke up and sensed you were gone?” He yawned.

  I held up my mug of milk. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Warm milk?”

  “Want some?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Not without chocolate. You know, there’s a hidden sachet of cocoa under the sink in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, I know.” I sipped my milk. “Councilman Orin told me, just before Councilman Ryker showed up to hurry him along with the ice for Councilman Harker.” I wiggled my brows at him.

  Micha’s eyes widened, and then he let out a burst of laughter. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look at her the same again.”

  I drained the milk and put the mug on the coffee table. “Hopefully that will knock me out.”

  “You know,”
Micha said. “Snuggles help sleep.”

  He was looking down at me with those soft, fiery eyes of his, his lashes slightly downcast, and the corner of his mouth curled up almost hesitantly, as if afraid I’d reject his offer.

  I slipped my hand into his. “I’d love snuggles.”

  It wasn’t until I was pillowed on Micha’s chest with his soft, even snores in my ear to lull me to sleep that it occurred to me what Finn might think of this arrangement. I waited for the guilt, but there was none, just the comfortable reassurance that in Micha’s arms there would be no nightmares.

  He was my friend, and this … this had to be okay. I’d tell Finn when I saw him. I’d …

  Sleep pulled me under.

  Chapter 8

  I woke to find Micha gone, and the clock showed me that I had half an hour to get to the hangar. Shit. I was up, washed, and dressed in less than ten, and then began the mad dash to the hangar. Well, at least my sleeping in had meant no morning procrastination.

  Emory had taken retinal scans and palm prints when he’d run his tests on me a couple of weeks ago, so I was able to get through the security doors without an issue. This time my lungs didn’t react so obviously to the change in atmosphere as I climbed up the tunnel to the hangar bay, my staff bumping against my back in its sheath. The door slid open to reveal Deacon, Micha, and the Draconi I recognized as one of Micha’s brothers. Dark-haired with eyes like ice, he was one of the Draconi who’d helped in the attack on the Hive.

  Micha raised a hand. “Guess who made the team.” He jerked his head at his brother. “Lyrian will be giving you a ride. Bastion and Aidan are up top with the Protectorate who’ll be gathering the crops.”

  “Just two of you?” My gaze went from Deacon to Micha.

  “For now,” Deacon said. “I’ve told the other Protectorate that I’ll select two of them to join your protective detail after the harvest. The position comes with a ration rise, so we’ll see who comes through.”

  “A competition?”

  Micha chuckled. “Now she’ll wonder if they’re being nice to her because they like her, or because they want the extra rations that come with being on her team.”

  Maybe the Echo of before the Run would have cared about that, but the post-Run Echo had bigger things to worry about. “I don’t care about them being nice to me as long as they keep me alive long enough to do my job.”

  Lyrian was watching me carefully, but he didn’t speak, and then Deacon was leading us up out of the hangar into the sunshine where everyone else was gathered. Bastion and Aidan were already in dragon form, and there were five other Draconi too, three of whom had crates strapped to their backs. The other two were being mounted by Protectorate. The Draconi were big enough to carry three nephilim each.

  I nudged Micha. “Are you riding with me?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, I’ll fly.” His smile was bashful. “I’d carry you if I could, but I can’t shift, and my wings aren’t strong enough to take the extra weight.” He looked to Lyrian. “Take care of her.”

  Lyrian’s icy gaze was on me. “Don’t worry, I ate before I came. Besides, she doesn’t smell like food.” And then he was backing up. The air around him shimmered, and when it cleared a huge obsidian dragon stood in his place, but those eyes were all Lyrian. Cold and deadly.

  Deacon approached us. “I’ll be riding with you.” He had an arcletic baton strapped to his waist and what looked like a crossbow on his back.

  Micha gave my hand a squeeze and then took a few steps back. He bowed his head, and huge crimson wings burst from his back. They stretched out, glowing as the sun shone through them. He launched himself into the air. “Hey, Lyrian? Fancy a race?”

  Lyrian’s nostrils flared, and his gaze tracked to me and Deacon, the icy depths churning with impatience. Deacon’s hands closed around my waist, and then he was lifting me up and onto Lyrian’s back. He climbed on after me, and we’d barely gripped on with our thighs when Lyrian launched himself into the air.

  “Lean forward and grip the scales,” Deacon shouted in my ear.

  I did just that, and then Deacon’s chest was pressed to my back, pressing the staff into my spine as he hugged me to Lyrian. The wind tore at my hair as we sliced through the air. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. I couldn’t look, couldn’t open my eyes against the gusty onslaught. Micha’s laughter drifted on the wind, and then we surged forward as Lyrian put on a burst of speed.

  Riding Wilomena Bastian had been pleasant, but being on Lyrian’s back was torture. He flew like he wasn’t carrying cargo, like he didn’t give a shit and, hell, maybe he didn’t.

  The only source of security was Deacon’s warm breath on the side of my face and his body, wiry and hard as steel, holding me in place. It might have been comfortable if there wasn’t a staff digging into my back.

  “How much longer?” The wind snatched the words from my lips and carried them away.

  Deacon’s lips were on my ear. “Almost there.”

  My stomach dropped sharply, and my yelp was swallowed by the wind, again and again, as we dropped altitude, and then, with a jarring of sinew and bone, we hit the ground.

  I hugged Lyrian’s heaving back, my body trembling as Deacon climbed off.

  “You’re okay,” the Sanguinata said. “You can let go now.”

  There was a definite edge of amusement to his tone. “If you laugh at me, I’ll blast you with arcana.” I forced my thighs to relax and then carefully peeled my clawed hands from Lyrian’s scales.

  Deacon grabbed my hips and lifted me off the Draconi. My knees trembled as I hit the ground, and I grabbed onto him for support. His sweet scent hit me hard, and my head was suddenly dizzy.

  “Are you okay?” He forced my chin up with the crook of his finger, scrutinizing me from beneath his golden brows. “You’ll be fine, and you’ll get used to flying. It’s a practice thing.”

  “At least you didn’t fall off,” Lyrian said, back in his human form. His icy eyes narrowed, and he canted his head. “I’m not a dive-and-catch kinda guy.”

  I raised an index finger and pointed it at him. “Good to know.” My stomach was churning. “I just … I need a moment.”

  I walked away from Deacon and stood, hands on hips, taking huge gulps of air. Sweet, fresh air, and oh, God … Green and yellow and blue—the world opened around me, and the aroma of nature filled my head, earthy and fresh. The fields stretched out below were covered in corn and wheat, and several greenhouses bordered them. An old barn stood to the east, probably housing all the equipment needed to reap the harvest. The Protectorate were already headed into the barn.

  “You stay up here,” Deacon said from behind me. “It’s high ground, so we can keep watch for scuttlers better from this vantage point.”

  I pulled my staff from its harness at my back and balanced the end on the ground. “I’ve got this.”

  “Yes, Echo. You have.”

  The Protectorate worked hard as I sat on the hill watching over them like a shepherd. Deacon and Micha took it in turns to sit with me. The dragons flew back and forth, taking the cargo of crops with them.

  I looked up as Deacon lowered himself to the ground beside me. “Well, this isn’t what I expected.”

  He shrugged. “You wanted explosions and death?”

  “No. I just … I wasn’t expecting it to be so peaceful.”

  “There hasn’t been an attack here in years,” Deacon said. “I’m not sure Genesis is even aware of this location, but we must always be vigilant. Harker feels we need to sweep the town to disable any scuttlers that still might be lurking, but with the Breed in residence, I’ve vetoed that idea for now. We’ll sweep ten miles out.”

  “He’s not just going to attack and then go away. He’ll press the advantage.”

  “I know. We just don’t know what form that press will take.” Deacon raised a knee and balanced his arm on it. “You won’t be alone out there.”

  “God, you must think I’m such a coward.”

  “No
, I think you’re prudent, realistic, and brave. You’re out here after everything you saw. You could have refused to take up the mantle.”

  If only my conscience were so fickle. “No. Refusal was never an option. I couldn’t do that to the Hive. I couldn’t do that to Tris. She wanted this so bad. I have to do this for her and for everyone else who died trying to make it.”

  His gaze was warm on my cheek, and I turned to find him watching me with the strangest expression on his face. “You remind me of someone I used to know a long time ago.” His aqua eyes grew soft. “She was one of the bravest people I knew.”

  “Who was she?”

  He blinked and ducked his head. “Her name was Marika. She was a Merlin blood, an Arcana, as many like to call them.”

  “She died in the war?” Heck, why was I even asking, all the Arcana were dead.

  “Yes, she died.”

  He’d loved her. It was in the sudden thickness of his tone and the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes. He was hiding his pain.

  There were no words. But still … “I’m sorry.”

  He raised his head and looked directly into my eyes. “Thank you.”

  This was the first conversation we’d had where he hadn’t dropped into don’t-give-a-shit mode. Maybe our relationship was growing?

  He stood and dusted off his clothes. “Now, how about you actually do some work and maybe do a sweep of the perimeter?” The sarcasm was back, but it was more teasing than barbed.

  He held out his hand, and I reached for him to allow him to haul me up. His palm was cool and dry against mine, his fingers strong as they curled around mine. His slight, wiry build was deceptive. He was powerful, maybe even more so than Emory and Micha. But he held back. Why? Deacon was an enigma, a puzzle, and that itched at my mind. I wanted, needed, to know more, to understand how he ticked and find out about his past. It was more than curiosity, it was a need that came as if from nowhere, washing over me.

  Our hands were still clasped, and I gave his a slight squeeze. “You want to come with?”

  He was staring at our joined hands. And then he looked up with an apologetic smile. “No, I’m going to sit here and buff my nails.”