by Cole Gibsen
I heard a commotion outside the doors and jumped to my feet, bringing my shaking fists in front of me. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t over yet.
A sliver of light appeared before me in the dark, widening with a groan. I was forced to squint until my blurred vision regained focus.
“Young lady? Are you okay?”
I blinked several times to make sense of what I saw. The white-haired doorman stood wide-eyed in front of me. He offered me a hand but kept his feet planted in the hall. “I could hear the screaming clear outside.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about me or the cables. With shaky steps, I moved forward and took his offered hand. He pulled me from the elevator. Once I set foot on solid ground, my knees wobbled so violently that I collapsed against his chest. His cologne was spicy and warm, something only a grandpa would wear.
He patted my back awkwardly. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“No. I’m okay.” I pushed off of him to see if I could support my weight. I teetered to the side before righting myself. “Just … maybe call someone about that elevator? It’s a deathtrap waiting to happen.”
He nodded and let his hand slide from my shoulder. “I’ll call right now.” He hesitated. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Before I could answer, the shrieking cry of metal against metal pierced my ears. We both turned back to the elevator in time to see it drop from view, leaving only a dark empty shaft. The crash that followed shook the ground beneath our feet.
“Sweet Jesus!” the doorman yelled. He grabbed my arm and scrambled backward, dragging me with him. “I don’t understand. How—”
“Bad cables?” I offered, even though I knew it was anything but.
He shook his head. “That’s impossible. The elevators were just inspected today. They all passed.”
I jerked my head away from the empty shaft. “Today?” I thought about the Whitley look-alike I’d seen only ten minutes ago. “Was the inspector young? Did he have long blond hair?”
The doorman scratched his chin. “No. There were three of them. Here before lunchtime. Two guys and a gal—all of them with dark hair. They were fairly young. But thorough—spent a lot of time poking around.”
“Uh-huh.” So, not Whitley. But they possibly fit the description of the ninja from the alley attack. Which got me thinking, if the ninja kept popping up every time I had a Whitley sighting, that couldn’t be a coincidence, right? But was I ready to believe that Whitley was alive and working with the ninja? I just wasn’t convinced … I’d left Whitley pinned and burning. How could he have gotten away? “Just to play it safe, I think you should call the inspectors back. Different inspectors. And it’s probably best to keep everyone off the elevators until they get the all clear.”
“Yes. That’s probably for the best.” He paused, his brow wrinkled into lines of confusion. “Do you think the inspectors had something to do with this?”
I answered him as truthfully as I could. “I’m sure they were just doing their job.”
14
God, I hate ninja.
I opened the stairwell door and stumbled into the hallway. There was nothing like climbing twelve flights of steps after a near-death experience to put a little wobble in your step. I crossed the hall and leaned against my condo door for a moment to catch my breath. Between the fireball at school, Kim ditching me, and the elevator attack, this day had to be a top contender for worst day ever. At least I was alive. That, coupled with the fact I would never ride another elevator for as long as I lived, thus giving myself great thighs, was all that mattered.
See? I could find the silver lining.
But as soon as I opened my condo door and caught sight of who waited for me, I wondered if this really was an improvement from the hijacked elevator.
“Rileigh!” Dr. Wendell smiled at me from the couch with his arm around Debbie. A reality cooking show played on the flat screen across from them. “Just the girl I wanted to see.”
“That’s funny.” I marched past him without a glance. “You’re just the guy I wanted to avoid.”
Debbie made a choking noise behind me. “Rileigh Hope Martin! That is no way to speak to an adult.”
I wanted to argue whether someone who looked and dressed like the lead singer of a boy band could actually be considered an adult—but I decided not to press my luck.
“It’s all right, Deb,” Dr. Wendell said. “It’s normal for teens to act out when their parent brings someone new into their lives.” He raised his voice so that it followed me as I trudged down the hall to my room. “Children thrive on consistency. Everything will work out, especially when Rileigh realizes I’m here to stay.”
I caught myself before I could say something snarky back. I didn’t have time for this—I had ninja to find. Not to mention I needed to search my room for signs of a ninja break-in. But even as I rooted through my drawers, I started counting under my breath, “One … Two … Three … Four … Five … ”
There was a knock at my door.
Groaning, I shoved a wad of mismatched socks back into my drawer and slammed my dresser shut. “You’re off your game tonight,” I said as Dr. Wendell stepped inside my room and closed the door behind him. “I counted all the way to five before you knocked.”
He shrugged. “Everyone has an off day.”
A cold, slippery feeling rolled beneath my skin, a warning of the ki growing inside of me. I tilted the hinged mirror on my dresser and grasped along the underside until I located the sheath duct-taped to the back. I grabbed the hilt and withdrew my katana, not because I felt I was in danger or even because I liked the way Dr. Wendell’s eyes bulged when I held it. But whenever my fingers curled around the hilt, I could hear the beginning measures of a song that could only be played on instruments of steel and blood. A dark melody that, so far, was the only thing that could keep my ki in line. Unfortunately, at a school that banned students from taking nail files to class, katanas weren’t exactly considered a fashion accessory.
The second the sword was in my grip, the prickly feeling recoiled, like a waterfall in reverse. I took a moment to polish the sapphire embedded in the hilt with the edge of my T-shirt before I opened my closet and sorted through the clothes hanging inside with my free hand. “How long is the recruitment pitch going to last this time? I have work to do.”
His gaze never left the sword grasped in my hand. “Who says I’m here to recruit? Maybe I just want to talk about our relationship. Specifically your dislike of me.” His voice was a pitch higher than normal. “I’m dating your mother. I hope you’ll eventually understand I’m going to be a constant presence in your life.”
“But are you really dating my mother?” I closed my closet door and turned to him, swinging the katana in front of me in slow arcs. “Do you honestly have feelings for her? Or is dating her just some lame attempt to keep harassing me until I give in?”
“Why?” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple trembling in his throat. “Is it working?”
I laughed and took a step forward, noting with pleasure that Dr. Wendell retreated from my path until his back pressed against the door. “Let me tell you something, Jason. For reasons I don’t understand, my mom really likes you. Trust me when I say you do not want to hurt her.” A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as I continued swinging the sword between us with enough force to sway the dark, curly hair framing his face. “I have had a bad day. A really bad day. But still, it’ll be bunnies and rainbows compared to what would happen if you hurt my mom. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”
“No.” His hand searched the door until he found the knob. “I heard about today. When you got upset and set off a fireball in your chemistry class.”
It was my turn to take a step back. “Wait. How did you hear about that?”
Looking a little more confident, Dr. Wendell’s hand fell from the knob. “Look,
Rileigh, contrary to what you think, I really do care about you. I want to help you … before someone gets hurt.”
I folded my arms, the blade of my katana resting against my side. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Dr. Wendell sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know what goes on with you because it’s my business to know.”
Anger warmed the pit of my stomach and fueled the rise of ki within me. My skin tingled as a buzzing sensation stretched and pulled beneath the surface. I gripped the sword tight enough that each ridge of the eel-skin-wrapped handle dug an impression into my palm. The buzzing died down but it still took me a moment before I could answer him, spitting the words through clenched teeth. “You mean it’s your business to spy on me!”
His hand fell to his side. “You’re not even giving me a chance! The Network only wants to help.”
“Yeah? Well, you guys are doing a great job. Did you know that I just went on a death ride in a hijacked elevator?”
His jaw fell and it took him several tries before he was able to speak. “What?” His fingers fumbled inside his shirt pocket for his phone. “This needs to be reported!”
“Forget it.” I held a hand up to stop him. “Kim and I will take care of it. You can help by leaving me alone.”
“Rileigh, I … ” he looked back and forth between me and his phone. “I have to make this call. We need to make sure the building is secure and”—he looked around the room—“that the condo hasn’t been compromised.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m already on it. Besides, my spider-sense hasn’t gone off so that’s a pretty good sign there’s no ninja hiding under my bed. And Kim will be over in a couple of hours.” I patted his arm condescendingly. “Why don’t you just sit back and let the professionals handle it. Mmm’kay?”
Dr. Wendell’s face puckered. “I’m not the bad guy here.”
“Whatever.” I waved him away with the flick of my wrist. He left shaking his head. I kicked the door closed behind him. It was almost funny that he thought I needed his help (which I obviously didn’t). I had Kim. Not to mention a lifetime of samurai experience. I knew his offer of help was just another sad attempt to lure me into joining the Network.
Please.
I dropped my sword on the mattress and kicked my skateboard into my hand. Clutching the battered wooden board against my chest, I inhaled its scent of dirt and asphalt. Just like my sword, the skateboard was a part of who I was—a part I would have to give up if I joined the Network. Oh sure, Dr. Wendell had tried to sugarcoat the facts by telling me that the Network would only require a moderate amount of my time. Yeah, right. I saw what they did to Kim—between running the dojo and the various “missions” he was assigned, he barely had enough time to spend with me. I didn’t want that. I had school, training, friends, a life.
It wasn’t fair. I didn’t ask to be a samurai (at least not in this life) and I definitely didn’t ask for the ability to manipulate ki. All I wanted to worry about was passing trig, not setting my friends on fire and staying alive until graduation.
I couldn’t, wouldn’t, pledge away a life I’d barely begun to live.
15
The acrid stench of burning hair stung my nostrils. I wanted to run but a wall of flames surrounded me, trapping me inside a cage of fire. The heat pressed against my skin like a thousand angry needles. I whimpered. The tears burned from my eyes before they could fall.
“You’re pathetic.”
I looked up to find Whitley staring at me from where he stood, pinned against a wall of black by the razor points of his own shuriken. Gone was the wide-eyed crazed expression he wore the night he tried to kill me. This time he looked … disappointed.
And then I knew, despite the heat that pressed closer to me still, blistering my skin. “I’m dreaming.”
“Are you?” The shuriken dissolved into the wall and Whitley stepped forward until he stood just beyond the flames.
For a dream, the pain was amazingly real. The smoke twisted inside my lungs, choking me. I coughed and crouched low to the floor. “Yes. Because you’re dead … aren’t you?”
Whitley folded his arms. “If I am dead, I sure look a helluva lot better than you.” He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length blond hair, as if to illustrate his point.
And he was right. The flames did nothing to him as he stood just outside their grasp. Meanwhile, the blisters on my arms blackened and slowly ate their way along my skin. I screamed. “Help me!”
He gave me a you should really know better expression. “Can’t.”
“Can’t?” I coughed. “Won’t is more like it.” My heart beat against my ribs so hard I thought they would crack. The fire cooked the skin on my arms, turning them black. The skin crumbled away to reveal the bone underneath. I bit down on my tongue to stop another scream. Blood, hot enough to burn, trickled down my throat.
“Can’t,” he repeated. The amusement fell from his face. “But you are going to need help. You won’t be able to put this fire out alone.”
“But who?” The charred skin of my chest collapsed,
exposing a blackened heart beating underneath. “I’m …
dying … ” It was the last word I was able to mutter before my shriveled tongue fell from my mouth.
Whitley rolled his eyes. “Come on, now. You’re not going to play the stereotypical dumb-blonde card, are you? Think, Rileigh. The answer is pretty obvious.”
If it was so obvious, why didn’t he just tell me? But I didn’t have a chance to ask. The flames were on top of me now. Pulling me apart piece by piece and leaving only black ash behind. I wanted to scream but my shriveled lungs only rattled around inside the hollow cave of my chest.
Whitley’s laugh was the last thing I heard before the world went dark.
I shot up off the couch with a gasp. It took me a few seconds of running my hands along my body to determine I’d been dreaming. But that didn’t explain the white fuzz raining down around me. I picked up a clump of the soft white cotton off my lap and ran it through my fingers—stuffing. I looked around and discovered the tattered remains of a throw pillow scattered around the room like confetti. Great. As if losing control of my ki when I was awake wasn’t bad enough, now I was losing control in my sleep.
“That was … um … quite impressive.” Dr. Wendell stared at me wide-eyed from his perch at the kitchen bar. He clutched a cup of coffee between his hands. “Do you always greet the new day by exploding something?”
I buried my surprise at seeing him behind a mask of indifference. “Why? Wanna volunteer?”
He shook his head and went back to reading the news on his iPad. I bent over and began picking up the cotton when his words, echoing through my mind, hit home. Greet the new day. I let go of the stuffing and whirled around. Sure enough, the first edge of sunlight peeked around the building across the street, its rays purpling the darkness in the condo. “Wait a minute. If it’s morning, why are you here?” I looked at him and that’s when I noticed his flannel pants and slippers. “Oh, gross!” I shouted before he could answer. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Where’s my mom?”
He hid a grin behind his coffee mug. “Debbie had an early meeting. You wouldn’t have even known I was here if you hadn’t slept on the couch. Besides, it wasn’t like I could leave you unguarded—especially after learning you’d been attacked in the building.”
“Are you trying to make me puke?” My stomach convulsed and I was glad it was empty. I picked up the remaining stuffing. “And I don’t need guarding. I can fight my own battles, thank you.”
“If you’re so confident, then why sleep on the couch?”
A strangled sound escaped my throat. “I’m not afraid of sleeping in my room if that’s what you’re implying.”
He shrugged.
“Please. The only reason I was on the couch is because I fell asleep waiting
for Kim who, thanks to the ever-annoying Network, had to stand me up for some dumb mission when there’s an actual crisis going on right here.”
“A mission?” Dr. Wendell put down his coffee, all traces of amusement gone from his face. “Kim told you he had an assignment?”
“Well, he didn’t get a chance to. I fell asleep, remember? Jeez, I thought doctors were supposed to be smart.” I dumped the batting in the trash can and brushed my hands along my sweatpants. Kim standing me up was nothing new; the Network often ruined our date nights with their last-minute missions. I couldn’t be mad at him. It wasn’t like they gave him a choice. Besides, he always left a message when he had to cancel. I probably had one waiting for me now.
“Um, Rileigh … ”
I reached into the cabinet and pulled down a coffee mug. “Yeah?”
“Kim wasn’t assigned a mission last night.”
“Of course he was. Otherwise he would have been here.” After filling my mug, I searched the refrigerator for my vanilla-caramel creamer. “Apparently, Dr. Wendell, you’re not as important as you think you are. You’re obviously out of the information loop.”
His sigh was impatient. “I can assure you that’s not the case. Need I remind you that I’m your assigned handler?”
My teeth pressed together so hard my jaw ached. I hated the word “handler.” It made me feel like a show poodle. “So?”
“Well, since you and Kim are so close, part of my job involves staying abreast of his missions.”
“Ew. Can you please stop saying skeezy things this early in the morning?”
“Abreast is not a skeezy word—whatever that means. Abreast translates to ‘well-informed.’”
“Don’t care. It sounds gross.”
He sighed and pressed a finger against the bridge of his nose. “I need a raise.”
“Or better yet, a new job.” I took a sip of coffee. “The stress isn’t good for you. You should quit. Immediately.”
