Ourselves

by S. G. Redling

  Hess opened his eyes.

  “I still dream.”

  “I know. I felt you.”

  “For a long time I couldn’t dream. I couldn’t sleep. But then the dreams started seeping in when I was awake. I don’t know what’s real anymore. When I saw you, I thought you were death coming for me. I saw the world burning and I saw you taking me out of it.”

  “I’m not death. I’m just like you.”

  Hess closed his eyes. “You’re not like me. I killed Graves hoping it would kill me.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Hess nodded.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  He grabbed Tomas’s hand and pressed it to his forehead. “Anything.”

  “Mr. Vartan?” Fiona peeked her head in the office. “Miss Capp called. She’s on her way up. She says it’s urgent.”

  “Thank you, Fiona.” He waited until the door was closed before releasing the breath he felt like he’d been holding for twelve hours. He hadn’t slept the entire night, hadn’t left his office. All night he’d tortured himself with visions of destroying his career by acting so rashly.

  He’d taken a huge risk. If something went wrong, if Aricelli Capp saw what was happening at Westin and grew squeamish or righteous, he would have brought a shit storm down on himself. If his partners knew what he had done, they would tear him apart.

  But Vartan had a plan.

  He always had a plan. That’s why he always landed on his feet, because Paul Vartan tried to see two or three steps ahead. He had vision. More importantly, he had the guts to act.

  The drone project was working. Graves kept him updated. The kid was falling apart, growing weaker and more desperate every day. They starved him of blood, kept him from sleeping, rewarded him when he was docile, and amped up the drone when he acted out. Graves predicted Hess would kill himself within two years. The plan was then to present the tragedy to select and sympathetic Council members, along with other documented evidence, with a suggestion that an investigation be launched regarding the stability and dependability of the Storytellers.

  Then Aricelli Capp had strolled into his office and Vartan saw a new plan.

  Lovely, luscious Aricelli Capp, so sweet and young, the delicate pampered daughter of the most powerful tu Bith in North America. He saw the whole plan roll out before his eyes. Send the girl to Westin unannounced. She’d surprise the Kott; she’d surprise Hess.

  That beautiful girl, those delicious breasts. Hell, Vartan had hardly been able to keep his hands to himself. Hess would surely snap. And if an insane Storyteller were to assault the precious offspring of Marcus Capp? It wouldn’t take a Storyteller to imagine how the tu Bith would react.

  Sure, he knew Capp would blame him for endangering his little girl but that would pale in comparison to the hell he’d bring down on the Storytellers. There would be a schism and the business of the Nahan would be taken out of the hands of those bleary-eyed wackos. It would be put into capable hands, responsible, practical hands.

  His hands.

  And if nothing happened to the girl, if Hess had been too broken to assault her, pathetic creature that he was, Vartan still had the girl in his pocket. She wanted what he wanted and knew he had a plan.

  She would see him spearheading a revolution.

  He wouldn’t let her rush into anything. He would mentor her on their plan. For a moment, Vartan let his thoughts drift to the possible sensual repercussions of Aricelli joining their team at his side. Any minute now she would be coming down the hallways of the complex and he would know if he had made history or the worst mistake of his life. He couldn’t wait at his desk to find out.

  Vartan stepped out into the hallway just as Aricelli turned the corner. She smiled brightly and ran up to him, her cheeks flushed just as he had imagined. “Paul! Great news. I’ve brought Daddy!”

  And like a child seeing Santa actually step out of the fireplace, Paul Vartan saw Marcus Capp striding down the hallway, surrounded by an entourage, yet entirely eclipsing them. Marcus Capp was neither overly tall nor especially handsome. Aricelli got her looks from her mother but she inherited her ability to make an entrance from her father. His presence was electric and Vartan struggled to maintain his poise.

  “Paul, long time no see.” Word of the powerful tu Bith’s presence had spread and eyes peered out of every doorway. “Seems we have a lot to talk about.”

  If Paul Vartan had a machine that could capture and preserve one moment in his life forever, he would have used it at that moment. Surrounded by his employees, sharing the hallway with one of the most powerful men in the Council, and knowing he was about to change the world, Paul relished a sweet moment of perfection.

  “It’s certainly my pleasure to have you here, sir. Shall we go into my office?” He swung open the door and held his arm out in welcome.

  “Perhaps we should.” Marcus Capp didn’t move. “Before we step inside, however, I’d like to introduce you to a very valuable assistant of mine.” A member of his entourage stepped forward and removed his sunglasses. Vartan froze, staring into the face of Shelan Hess.

  “I believe he has some rather particular issues he’d like to discuss with you.”

  Vartan staggered backward, bumping into the wall as the rest of Capp’s entourage surrounded him. Adlai, Desara, and the pale-eyed girl formed a semicircle around him, leaving him no retreat but into the office. His eyes flew from face-to-face until they landed on Aricelli.

  “You bitch.”

  She smiled.

  Marcus Capp waved his hand toward the office and Vartan was helpless but to turn and enter. “You’ll understand if I invite the Storytellers to join us, won’t you?” The tu Bith bowed to Dalle and a very red-faced Lucien and stepped inside. Dalle went in behind him. Before he followed them, Lucien ran his fingers over the embossed plaque on the door. “Paul Vartan—Council Coordinator.” With a vicious flick of his wrist he ripped the sign out of the wood. Wielding it like a knife, he closed the door behind him.

  EPILOGUE

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  Tomas sat on the bed and loosened his tie. Music and laughter filtered up the steps and he knew it would be hours before the party began to wind down. He lay back and closed his eyes. A moment later the door swung open and Aricelli breezed in.

  “Hiding in my parents’ bedroom? Kinky. I like it.”

  He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I had to get away for a minute.”

  “I know. I just found Dalle outside on the patio with a neighbor’s cat in his lap. Storytellers.” She kissed his forehead and moved to her mother’s vanity to smooth her hair. She wore a copper-colored velvet dress that fit her perfectly, like it had been made for her, which it had. Her hair was swept up in a loose chignon and a gold chain adorned her graceful neck.

  “You look . . . celestial.”

  She smiled at him in the mirror. “Celestial?”

  “Beautiful is not a big enough word for you.”

  She blew him a kiss and began to reapply her lipstick. “How I really look is irritated. Do you know that DeBoer just got here? He claimed he was too sick from the flight to make it earlier. I mean, if you can’t handle twenty hours on a plane, why are you living in Australia?”

  “I bet he has no clue that you’re irritated at all, does he?”

  “Of course not. After all, you never know when you’re going to need Tasmania.” Laughing, she stepped over to the bed and stood between Tomas’s legs. He put his hands on her hips and leaned forward to kiss her velvet-covered body.

  Aricelli had been invaluable in the aftermath of Vartan’s removal. She had proven herself truly her father’s daughter as well as a master negotiator. News of Vartan’s betrayal of the Storytellers had rocked the Council around the world and the complex had become a war zone of meetings and arguments and reassignments. The work had exhausted Tomas and Dalle and the other Storytellers who had arrived to control the damage. Even Marcus Capp had aged in the ensuing chaos but Aricelli
thrived under the pressure. Cunning and resourceful and adaptable, it seemed at times she was the only thing holding the Nahan enterprises together.

  She ran her fingers through his hair, tracing her thumb along his brow the way she knew he loved. “I know these crowds exhaust you. I know how hard all of this has been but a lot of the Europeans are going home soon and it would mean so much if you could just make one more pass through the room. Everyone wants a little face time with Desara.”

  He nodded and kissed her hand. “It’s you they should be looking for. I couldn’t have done this without you, any of this. You deserve the attention.”

  “All I want is justice.” She kissed him again. “And world domination.”

  He laughed. “And that’s just right around the corner.”

  “Of course.” She pulled away, trailing her fingers along his cheek. He thought she was never more beautiful than when she smiled at him like that. “Promise you won’t be long?”

  “I promise.” The sounds of the party swelled in the room as she opened the door and vanished as quickly as she had come.

  It was still cold in Chicago but the air had that wetness that promised the arrival of spring. Tonight snowflakes blew outside the window and Tomas watched their erratic flight. It had been snowing like this when Stell left. He stepped to the window, his face reflected in the dark glass. In his mind’s eye he saw the parking lot of the complex, the battered red Jeep Cherokee idling there, Adlai and Hess inside, Stell standing beside it waiting for him.

  It had struck him then that goodbye scenes were never like they were in the movies. No music swelled, there was no soft lighting. There was a bitter wind and blowing snow. He was freezing and exhausted. Inside the complex Aricelli was struggling to keep a fist fight from breaking out among three European Coordinators. He hadn’t slept in two days. He knew Stell was leaving and knew there was nothing on earth he could do to stop it, even if he wanted to.

  He had to say something but nothing seemed right. She looked up at him and he felt that silence, that peace that had always fallen over him when he looked into her pale eyes. He reached out and touched her cheek.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to the complex sprawling behind him. “You too.”

  She climbed into the Jeep and left. In the blowing snow, she was out of sight in seconds.

  Tomas pressed his forehead against the cold window. He knew he wouldn’t be getting any letters like he had sent her on his trip out west. There would be no postcards describing the sun on the red rocks of Texas or the sight of the mystical Joshua trees. It wasn’t her way. But maybe someday she would be bored riding in the back of the Jeep or holed up in a motel somewhere lying low from the law and she would decide to pass the time reading the only book he knew she always carried. Maybe she would pull out that battered copy of Wuthering Heights her mother had given her, the only memento of the life he had taken her from, and maybe she would read as far as page 166 and there, tucked into the binding, maybe she would find the note he had left for her. It was just one line.

  Come back to me.

  Tomas straightened his tie and headed for the door. The Council was waiting for him.

  GLOSSARY OF NAHAN WORDS AND PHRASES

  Acte – apprentice

  Acul ‘ad – Nahan who are predisposed to killing; assassins

  Avalentu – literally flight, a road trip that is a rite of passage for Nahan youth

  Chagar – chaperone, escort

  Da Sute – literally the ache; growing pains, the reality of adulthood

  Di Crun Feta – literally rocks in a puddle; a mess below the surface, hidden danger

  Eihl – The One; a Nahan’s true love; partner with whom to have children

  En Na ‘u ‘an – True Family, Nahan cult of repentance

  Epatu – open

  Kott – commons who have pledged to assist the Nahan

  Kott’del – members of the Kott who voluntarily feed the Nahan

  Nahan da li? – “Are you Nahan?” used more as an enthusiastic greeting than a question

  Oascaru – deadly, fierce

  Osviat – to disappear, to be liberated, usually when one’s parents change identities

  Petiln – literally to desire another; the requests for life guidance from a Storyteller

  R ‘acul – killing while feeding

  Saht – flood, colloquially the feeling of being around young lovers

  Set fealte, ‘u di – formal welcome into a home

  tu Bith – Nahan moneymakers, bankers

  ‘u fealte, sed ‘im sete – formal request for permission to enter a home

  Vehn – listen

  Vint – the physical manifestation of energy Storytellers can see in the common

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book has gone through the trials. I have about a billion people to thank for reading this throughout its many incarnations and I should go ahead and apologize to all the innocent trees and ink cartridges who sacrificed everything for this. Let’s hope your efforts are not in vain.

  I strained the limits of common decency and friendship with the fearsome Hitches—Gina Milum, Debra Burge, Tenna Rusk, Angela Jackson, and Christy Smith. Thank you for reading, rereading, and rerereading. And thanks for always showing up.

  My sister Monica Rimer has sacrificed precious shelf, closet, and floor space keeping up with all the new pages. Love you.

  My 47North editor Jason Kirk got thrown into the deep end with this one. I deeply appreciate your time, attention, tact, and enthusiasm, as well as your inability to be shocked or grossed out. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

  My copyeditor Hannah Buehler saved my bacon too many times to count with her amazing attention to detail and her ability to figure out what I was trying to say. This book is better for her skill and all mistakes are my own. Seriously, she tried. Hard.

  Nobody gets anywhere alone and I could spend the rest of my life thanking people who have been generous with their time, attention, reading hours, enthusiasm, snack food, and all the other million things that keep a writer going. To my family, blood and otherwise, my friends, WV WIPs, Matera peeps, Patchwork Writers, my radio family . . . I am beholden to you.

  And finally to Fang, who was with me every step of the way—I miss you, mouse.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2012 Jessica St. James

  A fifteen-year veteran of morning radio, an avid traveler, and a so-so gardener, S.G. Redling currently lives in her beloved West Virginia.