Just like Stark Industries, it would have been so easy to use UniZek as a cover for research, development, and creation of whatever it was that the Cult used to cause an island to erupt from the middle of the Pacific Ocean, bringing with it the tsunamis, earthquakes, and other catastrophes that shifted the earth on its axis and destroyed the world fifty years ago.
His stomach swishing and yet tense, Theo dug. He swore and pounded pointedly on the keys, forcing them to do his bidding, cranking and culling until he finally broke the impenetrable firewall.
Theo’s exultation at hacking through Brad Blizek’s security system collapsed when he saw the image on the screen before him: the circular drawing of a traditional labyrinth. It was topped with a swastika, and around the edges were the scrolling lines symbolizing oceanic waves.
The sign of the Cult of Atlantis.
Holy shit.
Theo erupted from his chair and turned away to pace. Brad Blizek. Attached to the Cult. The people who’d destroyed the world. He felt sick.
Hell, he and Lou had both idolized Brad—not only for the man’s ingenuity and creativity, but for who he was. They’d watched the young man’s rise, noticed with delight that he supported the same political figures they had. He’d donated millions to Haiti when the massive earthquake struck in 2009. He’d given scholarships and outfitted several inner-city schools with computers.
But he’d also paid $50 million to join a cult that destroyed the world, just so he could wear a little crystal that made him immortal. Theo felt ill.
He turned away from the large wall screens and settled in front of a smaller, laptop-sized machine and logged into his email. Lou was going to be just as devastated about the news.
Remy figured the best place to hide from the Elites and their bounty hunters was right in plain sight. Smack in the midst of them.
Not that any of them knew that she was the granddaughter and namesake of the infamous Remington Truth. She doubted any of them even knew her grandfather was long dead…but she hadn’t lived in careful anonymity for fifteen years by being stupid about it. And, she supposed, even if they figured out who she was, they couldn’t know what she possessed.
Her fingers moved, as they often did on their own, to the small orange crystal she had nestled in her navel. Guard it with your life. You’ll know what to do with it when it’s time, her grandfather had said. So she kept it there, in an intricately wrought silver setting that completely enclosed the crystal. It was held in place by four piercings through her belly button, two at the top and one on each side. Sometimes the stone grew warm, even hot. But she never removed it.
If it hadn’t been for that group of men and one red-haired woman who’d shown up at her home in Redlo and tricked her into telling them her name, she would still be living there, making pottery, and being content with her beloved Dantès.
As if he read her mind, Dantès lifted his snout from where it rested on his massive paws and looked up at her, cocking his head. Baroo? he seemed to say, in that way dogs do. What is it?
She reached over to scratch him between his two huge, triangular ears, relieved beyond measure that he was back with her. She’d lost him for a time when she fled Redlo, and had only recently been reunited with her protector and companion.
Remy frowned. That had been another unpleasant occurrence, despite the fact that she had regained Dantès. Who could have predicted that the same jerk who pissed her off so badly that she lodged a bullet in the wall above his shoulder back in Redlo—just to make a point—would have been taking care of Dantès in Envy? He had tried to keep her from leaving, and Dantès hadn’t been any help because he thought the guy was a friend. The jerk had refused to give her his name, so she had taken to calling him Dick. As in Mr. Head.
And in order to escape, she’d tossed a snake at him.
“Something funny?”
Remy, who was sitting on the floor on an old cushion that might have once been blue and most certainly had, at some point, been the nest of a rodent, looked up at her partner. The life of a bounty hunter was a transient one, filled with unfamiliar and questionably sanitary sleeping accommodations and a variety of other inconveniences. But Ian Marck was one of the advantages.
She didn’t give him much, just a bit of a smile. “Just thinking of an amusing occurrence.”
Ian was a rugged-looking man, probably close to forty, with a wide, square jaw and strong blue eyes. He had a broad forehead and cut cheekbones, with a long, straight nose and dirty blond hair. Harshness and violence oozed from him, ruining what otherwise would have been very good looks. He had a sort of lethal proficiency, as if he’d do whatever he had to do without giving it a second thought. Remy knew that was true. She’d seen him kill a man with his bare hands. Just a quick twist of the neck in an ugly direction, without a change of expression or shift in his breath.
After that, he’d dropped the man and walked away. Cold and hard as a diamond.
Remy didn’t trust Ian anymore than she trusted anyone else—maybe even less, because he was infamous in his own right. His father, Raul, had been a much-feared bounty hunter who worked for the uppermost echelon of the Elite—one of the Triumvirate—until he was killed.
There were those who said that Ian was smarter, more violent and more ruthless than his father had been—and that, unlike Raul, Ian wasn’t greedy. He had no price—not even his own life. Which made him a man without a weakness.
The most dangerous sort.
In the last month or so, Remy had seen and experienced absolutely nothing that refuted that belief.
She changed the subject. “We’re meeting up with Seattle and Garrett tomorrow?”
Ian’s face twisted with revulsion. “Yes.” His eyes scanned her, raising little prickles on her skin. “Seattle’s already heard about you from Lacey, so expect a lot of attention from him. She may not like that you’re with me, but she’ll still rub Seattle’s face in anything that gives her an advantage.”
Bounty hunters worked for the Strangers, searching for whoever might be considered a threat to their power and domination over the rest of humanity. Right now, the bounty hunters were not only looking for Remington Truth, one of the original members of the Cult of Atlantis, but also an escaped member of their own—a woman named Marley Huvane.
These rogue hunters and their partners generally had allegiance to no more than one Elite at a time. It was a sense of pride and display of power for the immortals. And if a bounty hunter was loyal and successful at whatever task was set out for him, then he or she could be rewarded by being crystaled as well. Someone like that wouldn’t be considered an Elite—for that designation was only for those who’d been part of the Evolution fifty years ago—but for many, the immortality was enough.
Lacey was neither a bounty hunter nor an Elite, but she was crystaled. And, according to Ian, she had a love-hate, competitive relationship with Seattle, who aspired to being crystaled so that he could be her equal.
“And we’re meeting up with them, why?” Remy stood and gathered up the simple bowl and spoon she’d used for breakfast. Ian appreciated that she was a far better cook than he, and had gladly given over that task to her since they’d become so-called partners.
He’d fairly blackmailed her into that arrangement when she walked into Madonna’s one day, unaware that the bar was a gathering place for bounty hunters and crystaled immortals. He claimed it was for her protection, which Remy found ridiculous since she was always accompanied by Dantès. But Ian had pointed out that the dog wasn’t impervious to bullets, and given Remy little choice.
But, being in the midst of the bounty hunters and their ilk gave her a better hiding place than she could have concocted herself. So she agreed.
“They want a good, strong showing at Yellow Mountain—a little settlement north of here. We’re doing a raid, going in to clean it up next week. For some reason, Seattle is a bit spooked by some woman there who can foretell someone’s death.”
Remy smiled again and
took up his bowl. “Maybe he’s afraid she’ll foretell his demise.”
“If that were the case,” Ian replied, lounging back against the wall and watching her with those cold eyes, “I’d be first in line to find out. Seattle is a stupid, violent and reckless bastard.”
“Whereas you are simply a violent and reckless bastard,” she said mildly, bending to give Dantès the bowls. He liked to make certain every bit of stew was gone before she washed them up.
“It’s the only way to be,” he said.
His words made her blood chill because she knew he wasn’t being amusing, and she tried to ignore the way the back of her neck prickled. She didn’t trust him, and she wasn’t afraid of him…not really. Aside from the fact that he’d never made any threat toward her, there was Dantès, who watched him like a lion waiting for its prey. The dog didn’t trust him either.
But he was a hot, demanding kisser. And he had a strong, lanky body with golden skin marred by lots of scars.
They weren’t lovers, but Remy suspected it was only a matter of time until that happened. Between the proximity, the lack of privacy, and the fact that they had, in fact, shared more than one session of deep, rough kisses, she knew it wouldn’t be long. One of those sessions had ended when she jammed her elbow into his belly and then her foot onto his instep, twisting away to make an escape from Ian and his father.
Not that she hadn’t enjoyed the kiss—or the ones that had tangled their tongues before—but an opportunity had arisen, and she’d taken it. And it was shortly after that that she’d been reunited with Dantès and met up with “Dick,” and then only a week later that she’d come upon Ian again at Madonna’s.
Her relationship with him was indescribable and illogical: they were neither friends nor lovers, nor were they enemies. They neither trusted nor liked the other…and yet they remained together.
One thing Remy knew: he hated the fact that he had kissed her. It was as if he’d been forced into it, and now reviled himself for doing so. Whether it was because he had shown weakness or some other emotion, she wasn’t certain. She only knew what she read in his eyes.
He watched her, not with the heat Remy was used to seeing in a man’s gaze, but with cold calculation.
She stayed with him because it was the best camouflage and the safest place to be.
She wondered, not for the first time, just what he wanted from her.
Selena didn’t realize Theo had returned from Yellow Mountain even earlier than she had, and she found herself glancing out the window, wondering if he would even come back at all. But about two hours after she finished checking on all of her patients, she saw him walking toward the house, deep in conversation with Frank. He was wiping sweat off his brow, and he looked as if he’d been working for some time.
So apparently, he hadn’t stayed in Yellow Mountain this morning to be with Jen. Why did that make her feel so warm and hopeful? She bit her lip, realizing she was smiling. Despite him scaring the crap out of her with his stunt on horseback, she’d enjoyed being with him. They’d joked, they’d smiled, she’d found herself relaxing a bit. She felt comfortable around him in a way that she hadn’t been with anyone for a long time.
When her patient groaned, Selena turned her attention guiltily back to Maryanna. The woman’s death cloud sparkled in the morning sun. Bluish gray glitter, like shiny dust motes, curling and swirling, told her that the young woman’s time was near. Maryanna’s guides waited patiently, watching as their charge sighed and shuddered in what was no longer sleep, but the ease of life into death.
Maryanna hung on between life and death for longer than Selena expected, the pregnant cloud coiling delicately in the corner of her room as the guides hovered silently. The young woman, who’d been breathing with rough desperation, opened her eyes and looked at Selena, lucid and calm.
“I’m going soon,” she said, her voice low and halting. “I’ll see my brother again and it’s going to be all right.”
Selena nodded and reached to cover her patient’s hand. Preparing. “Whatever separated you on this plane will no longer matter, I think, after.”
Maryanna smiled one of peace despite what Selena knew must be searing pain from the infection that had wormed into her body, culling every bit of energy and leaving her little more than skin and bone. “He’s waiting for me too. Thank you for listening to me all these days.”
Selena returned her smile and curled her fingers tighter over weakening ones. “That’s what I’m here to do. I learn from each one of you that come to me.”
So very true. Every soul that she’d ushered into whatever came beyond this life had touched her or taught her in some way—and not only through their inherited memories. They taught her forgiveness and grace, peace and even humor. Often, humor.
And then there were the zombies…the ones with whom she could only communicate at the moment of their release. Those were the ones that haunted her.
“Are you in great pain?” she asked, seeing the flash of an uncontained grimace. There was so little she could do…but she would try.
The woman’s lips thinned and the peace from her smile ebbed. “It’s nearly over. I…I can manage.”
The guides had moved, now, and Selena saw them reaching their hands for Maryanna. And between them, behind, was a young man waiting. The one person Maryanna needed to see before she could let go…and so she did.
The glaze of discomfort left her face, replaced by a beatific one as she slid out of her body and into their arms. As she died, the slam of memories barreled through Selena, prickling and rushing through her in flashed images.
When Maryanna was gone, Selena did as she always did. She spent quiet moments in prayer, remembering some of the images that had flashed through her mind at the moment of death as a sort of private memorial.
Sometimes, that was nearly as difficult as the moment of actual death, seeing those times of happiness and joy. But the most difficult were the angry or frightened ones. The sadness and grief.
It was as if she lived every emotion from a person over and over. But she did it, in memory of the person who died. Then she wrapped the body in lemon-scented cloth. It would be given to the family if there was one, or taken to Yellow Mountain for cremation if not.
Selena looked down at Maryanna and wished that it was always this easy. This painless. This peaceful, ushering a soul into the after.
Her stomach tightened and she glanced outside. She’d been eighteen when she learned of her other responsibility. Of the power of the rose crystal.
She’d been outside the walls one night, returning to her home, when she became lost and couldn’t find her way. She was in the forest, lost and without light, and she pulled the crystal from her pocket because she knew sometimes it lit up.
Tonight it was glowing, and offered some illumination to help her find her way.
When she heard the moans from the orange-eyed creatures, Selena knew she didn’t have a chance of returning home. The trees were too tall for her to climb and there was nowhere else to hide from them.
She sat on the ground and prayed that it would be quick, holding the crystal, wondering if she’d see her own death cloud. She heard a voice in her mind that said, Be brave. All will be well.
She tried to heed the advice, for she knew it was her guardian angel. But when two of the zombies came to her, she tried to fight them back, terrified and screaming.
Suddenly, she realized they wanted only to touch her crystal. They didn’t tear into her, didn’t try to carry her off.
They groped and grabbed at her crystal, and deep inside her Selena heard the voice again: Help them. They need your help.
And when she opened her eyes—which had closed in fear—she saw the blond-haired Wayren standing there, watching and nodding.
As with the others that she helped, Selena didn’t wholly understand how or what was expected of her. But she knew peace when she saw it, and as she allowed the creatures to touch her, she saw it fill their eyes.
&n
bsp; And when she looked at Wayren, she saw the woman nodding. This is your gift. Use it to help them.
Some time later, Selena padded into the kitchen and found Vonnie in there, stirring something that smelled incredible. As usual.
Filled with a combination of love even as apprehension weighted her, she bundled the woman into a big hug. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known,” she said, then smiled down at her.
Vonnie patted her on the cheek. “The feeling’s mutual, honey,” she said. “But what prompted you to say that?”
“Just the fact that it’s true. And because you feed me. What are you cooking?”
“Roasted mangos and potatoes with stewed chicken,” Vonnie said, removing a dripping spoon from the pot to the counter. She left a trail behind and swiped a quick rag over it. “And, for you, tomatoes and peppers and corn with quinoa. Lots of garlic and cilantro.” She knew Selena couldn’t eat anything that had a face, and always went out of her way to make meatless food for her.
“Thank you. Sounds delicious. Make sure to save me some of the mangos.” She reached into a bowl of newly-picked almonds, most likely shelled by Frank. Three years ago, they’d almost lost their last almond tree, but Frank had babied it through a pest-infested drought just as he had their other special plants.
Selena cast a guilty look out toward the ruff of tall trees and thick bushes in the back third of the grounds. They were lucky the snoot hadn’t ever found their way past Frank’s camouflage. Part of the reason they didn’t get that far was that their leader, Seattle, was half-terrified, half-fascinated by the Death Lady—a fact that she exploited whenever she could.
“I’m sorry about Maryanna,” Vonnie said.
Selena nodded and shrugged. She was too; but there was little to say. It was a fact of life.
Another why? for which she had no answer.
She glanced toward the window. The sun seemed to have moved much too quickly all of a sudden. It was still high…but now on its downward slope. She’d have to go out tonight.
Night Beckons Page 10
