Our Dark Duet

by Victoria Schwab

  The Flynns had a cat.

  It stared at Kate and she stared back. She had never owned a pet—the closest she’d come was walking the school mascot at her third prep school—but she’d always liked animals more than people. Then again, that might have been a reflection on people more than on her.

  She wiggled her fingers, watching the cat paw absently at her hand.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “Allegro.”

  Kate spun, a kitchen knife in her hand before she even thought to reach for it.

  A man was standing in the doorway, tall and slim, his graying hair cut short. She recognized him at once as the founder of the FTF, the man who had held half the city against Callum Harker and his monsters. Her father’s greatest rival.

  And he was wearing a bathrobe.

  “Miss Harker,” said Henry Flynn in a steady voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you. But you are standing in my kitchen. And that is my favorite knife.”

  “Sorry,” she said, lowering the weapon. “Old habit.”

  He flashed a wan smile and drew his hand from the pocket of his robe, revealing a small gun. “New habit.”

  He held the gun by the barrel with only two fingers, as if he hated touching it—then put it back in his pocket. Kate slotted the knife into the block, trying to ignore the way her fingers resisted letting go. She took a step back from the counter, to be safe, as Henry rounded the island and poured himself a mug of coffee. “Did you sleep?”

  He didn’t ask if she’d slept well.

  “Yes.” She gave him a once-over, saw the slight stoop, as if it hurt to straighten, the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. Flynn laughed at the scrutiny, a soft, empty sound. “No rest for the wicked.” He looked around the apartment. “Are you enjoying our small piece of home? It’s no penthouse”—his gaze returned to her—“but it’s no prison, either.”

  His voice was pleasant enough, but his message was clear. Her presence here was predicated on her cooperation.

  “Since we’re both awake,” he went on, “perhaps we could talk about this new monster, this—”

  “Chaos Eater,” she offered. “What about it?”

  “Two days ago, one of my squads turned their weapons on one another without cause or warning, for no apparent reason.”

  The air caught in Kate’s throat—it wasn’t shock, or horror, but a strange and unsettling relief. She’d seen the creature, of course, but it was one thing to have visions and another to have facts. She wasn’t losing her mind—at least, not entirely.

  “At the time, we couldn’t explain it, but it sounds as if it fits your monster’s pattern.” Flynn drew a small tablet from the other pocket of his robe and began typing. Kate’s eyes widened.

  “You have a connection?” she asked.

  Again, the grim smile. “Internal only. The interterritory towers were among the first things to fail. We don’t know if the damage was a casualty in the midst of another attack or—”

  “I’m willing to bet it was intentional,” said Kate, taking up her coffee. “It’s a siege break tactic.”

  Flynn’s brows rose. “Excuse me?”

  She took a long sip. “Well, which is scarier?” she said. “Being locked in a house, or being locked in a house with no way of calling for help? No way of telling someone you’re in trouble? It fosters fear. Discord. All the things a growing monster needs.”

  Flynn stared at her. “That’s quite a mercenary observation.”

  “What can I say,” she said. “I am my father’s daughter.”

  “I hope not.”

  Silence formed, sudden and uncomfortable. Flynn nodded at her wrist, still bruised from Soro’s grip, the knuckles split from hitting August. “Let me see.”

  “It’s fine.”

  He waited patiently until she finally held out her hand. He prodded the skin and flexed her wrist and then her fingers forward and back with a doctor’s care. It hurt, but nothing was broken. Flynn rummaged beneath the counter and came up with a medkit, and she watched in silence as he wrapped and taped her hand.

  “The question now,” he said while he worked, “is how to hunt this monster. Perhaps you have some insight.”

  Kate hesitated, wondering if this was simply another kind of interrogation, but the words didn’t feel leading or weighted. She drew back her hand, searching for something to say.

  “Have you noticed anything?” prompted Flynn.

  Kate considered this. She’d seen it—or rather, seen through its eyes—during the day, but the vision had been fractured, insubstantial.

  “I believe it hunts at night.”

  “That makes sense,” said Flynn thoughtfully.

  “It does?”

  “Night has a way of blurring lines in the psyche. It makes us feel free. Studies show people are generally less inhibited after dark, more open to influence and”—he stifled a cough, then continued—“primal behaviors. If this creature is preying on dark thoughts, turning them into actions, then yes, night would be its optimal time to hunt.”

  “And there’s also a camouflage aspect,” added Kate. “This thing is like a walking black hole. Easier to blend into the dark.”

  Flynn nodded.

  Kate’s stomach growled, loud enough for both to hear.

  “You must be hungry,” he said.

  And she was. Ravenously. But her father’s words rose unbidden.

  Every weakness is a place to slide a knife.

  She hadn’t answered, but Henry was already at the fridge. “Omelet?”

  “You cook?”

  “Two of the five people who live here do enjoy food.”

  She perched on a stool, watching as he set a carton of eggs and a few vegetables on the counter.

  “Where does it come from, the food?”

  “The task force stores what it can,” said Flynn. “We raid depots on both sides of the city. As for fresh food, we hold a grid of farms on the south side of the Waste, but resources aren’t endless and scavengers are plenty.”

  Just one more reason this conflict couldn’t last, thought Kate.

  Flynn started dicing vegetables with quick, deft motions. He had been a surgeon, she remembered not simply a doctor. It was clear from the way he held the knife. Its edge winked at her, and she turned her attention to the cat instead, now asleep in a fruit bowl. Her fingers crept cautiously toward its tail.

  “He belongs to August,” said Flynn. “Though Ilsa is quite fond of him.”

  “And Soro?”

  Flynn’s brow furrowed. “Soro spends most of their time in the barracks.” He paused over his work. “The Sunai are not like other monsters. They are like us. Every one of them is as unique as a human.”

  “And yet, August never struck me as a cat person.”

  Flynn chuckled softly. “Perhaps not,” he said, cracking eggs into a bowl, “but my son has always been the kind of person willing to rescue something lost.”

  Vegetables sizzled in the pan, their scent twisting her stomach.

  “You really think of him that way. As your son.”

  “I do.”

  A shadow crossed Kate’s mind. The memory of her own father in his office, and the words he used like weapons: I never wanted a daughter.

  Flynn split the omelet onto two plates and slid hers forward. Kate dug in, ravenous, but Flynn didn’t seem interested in his own portion. “August believes you want to help.”

  “I wouldn’t have come back if I didn’t.”

  “If that’s true, then you’ll tell me what you know—”

  “I already have,” she said between bites.

  “—about Sloan,” he finished.

  She stilled. “What?”

  “If anyone can pick apart that monster’s logic, figure out what he wants . . .”

  Kate set down her fork as revulsion rose in her throat. She didn’t want to get inside Sloan’s head, didn’t want to resurrect the specter of her father.

  But Henry Flynn was right�
�if anyone could predict that monster’s motions, it would be her.

  She swallowed hard. “If I had to guess,” she said, picking up her fork again, “he wants what all monsters want.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “More,” said Kate. “More violence. More death.” She pictured the crimson light of the Malchai’s eyes dancing with pleasure, with menace. “Sloan is like the cat that plays with the mouse before eating it, just because it can. Only this time, the mouse is Verity.”

  She could feel Flynn’s gaze on her, but she focused on the fork in his hand, the way he nudged the omelet on his plate.

  Kate had grown up reading people, the smallest tells in her father’s mouth, her mother’s eyes. She thought of the photos she’d seen of Henry Flynn—the last six months had clearly taken a toll. There was a gauntness to his face, a gray undertone to his pallor, and then there was the shallow way he breathed, as if trying to stave off a coughing fit.

  “How long have you been sick?” she asked.

  Flynn stilled. He could lie to her, if he wanted to—they both knew that—but in the end he didn’t.

  “It’s hard to know. Our medical facilities have never been as strong as those north of the Seam.”

  “Have you told—”

  “Some things don’t need to be said to be known.” His voice stayed steady, calm. “It won’t change anything. I used to think that if we took back the city in time, perhaps . . . but life doesn’t always honor plans . . .” His attention drifted to the windows, where dawn was starting to sweep across the city. “A man is not a cause, and a cause is not a man. Control is already being shifted to the Council. With any luck, I’ll make—”

  He stopped as footsteps sounded in the hall. A moment later Emily Flynn strode into the kitchen dressed in full fatigues. She was as tall as her husband, with short black hair and smooth dark skin, and if she thought it odd that Kate Harker was having breakfast at their kitchen counter, she didn’t say so.

  “Something smells wonderful.”

  “Emily,” said Henry, a new sweetness infusing his voice.

  “I’ve got three hours before my next shift. Are those eggs for me?”

  Flynn held out his fork and Emily swept it from his fingers. He wrapped an arm loosely around her as she ate, and Kate’s chest tightened. There was such a simple ease to the gesture, a comfort to the way they moved in and out of each other’s space. Even when her parents had been together, it had never been like this.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” said Emily.

  “You’re not,” said Flynn, kissing her shoulder. “Katherine and I—”

  “Kate,” she corrected curtly.

  “Kate and I were just finishing up.”

  Emily gave a brisk nod, her gaze leveled straight at Kate, clearly the kind of woman used to making eye contact. She was glad she’d opted for the bangs.

  “August has work to do, so you’ll be confined to the apartment.”

  Kate’s muscles twitched. “Is that necessary?”

  “Not at all,” she said cheerfully. “If you’d prefer a cell downstairs—”

  “Em,” said Flynn. “Kate is proving a very cooperative guest . . .”

  “Ilsa can monitor remotely and I’ve already arranged for a soldier to be on comms in case.”

  But Kate wasn’t listening. She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t lose another day, not with the Chaos Eater out there, stealing more of her mind with every cycle of the sun.

  “I want to train with the FTF.”

  The lie came out so easily without August there to stop it. She had no intention of becoming Flynn’s latest foot soldier, but she needed her weapons back, needed a way out of the Compound.

  Emily shook her head. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?” challenged Kate.

  The woman gave her a long, hard look. “Miss Harker, the FTF don’t harbor kind feelings toward your family. Word is already spreading that you’re here inside the Compound. Some will see your presence as an insult. Others might take it as a challenge. It would be better if you stayed—”

  “I can hold my own.”

  “That’s not actually what I’m worried about. We try to avoid discord—”

  “You mean violence—”

  “I mean discord,” said Emily, “in all its forms.”

  “With all due respect,” said Kate, “keeping me out of reach will only make it worse. You want to prevent discord? Treat me like I belong, not like I don’t.”

  Emily looked to her husband. “She’s persuasive, isn’t she?”

  “Is that a yes?” pressed Kate, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice.

  Emily took the coffee cup from Flynn’s hand and considered the contents. “You will be placed under the watch of another cadet. If you disobey orders, or cause any trouble, or if I simply change my mind, you will be returned to your confinement.”

  Kate’s spirits wavered at the mention of another cadet, but it was a minor hurdle compared to being kept at the top of a tower. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, carrying her plate to the sink.

  August came charging into the kitchen, holding the doorknob she’d removed. His black hair was still wet, and his shirt was open, revealing a lean body newly corded with muscle.

  “Was this necessary?”

  “Sorry.” She shrugged. “I’ve never been a fan of locks.”

  August actually scowled—or what passed for scowling with him, a deep crease between his eyebrows.

  She turned her attention back to Emily. “I’ll need a uniform.”

  August straightened in surprise. “Why?”

  Kate cracked a smile, but she let Flynn say the words: “Miss Harker has offered to join the Force.”

  “This is a bad idea,” called August.

  He was down on one knee, trying to reattach the doorknob to his bedroom door while Kate finished dressing on the other side.

  “So you’ve said,” she called back. “Three times.”

  “It bears repeating.”

  She rapped her knuckles on the wood—the signal that he could enter. August straightened and nudged the door open. Kate stood there, dressed in FTF gear, her eyes shielded by that pale sweep of hair, the rest of it pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the scar that traced the left line of her face, temple to jaw.

  She gestured down at the fatigues. “How do I look?”

  The uniform suited her more than it had ever suited him. But it wasn’t just the clothes, it was the way she wore them. Commanding. Kate Harker had always had a kind of presence, and seeing her like this, it made him think of that game she played, imagining a different version of her life, herself. For a second he glimpsed the version where she’d stayed.

  “August?” she prompted.

  He couldn’t lie. He didn’t need to. “You look like you belong.”

  Kate flicked him a smile and sank onto his bed to lace up her boots.

  “But why would you even want to join the FTF?”

  “Oh, I don’t,” said Kate briskly, “but if I stay in this apartment, I’m going to lose my mind, and that wouldn’t be much good to anyone now, would it?”

  “This is a—”

  “So help me God if you say bad idea.”

  “You’re Callum Harker’s daughter.”

  She gasped. “Really?”

  “Half the FTF would probably like to see you hanged.”

  She looked up. “Only half?”

  He stepped closer, lowering his voice. He wasn’t worried about Henry or Em, but Ilsa might be in her room. “What about your . . . bond with the Chaos Eater?”

  Kate’s attention snapped toward the door, even as her tone went flat. “What about it?”

  “Does Henry know?”

  “I didn’t tell him,” she said coolly. “Did you?”

  He’d thought about it. August had never been good at keeping secrets. But if Henry found out—if Soro found out—there would be no protecting her.

  Shoul
d he be protecting her?

  Yes, she was a criminal, but this—this hadn’t been a crime; she hadn’t brought it on herself. She was the victim, one who’d managed to get away, if not entirely. She was their best connection—their only connection—to the monster, if it was really in their midst.

  He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lie for her.

  But he wouldn’t expose her either.

  “Not yet.”

  He swept the violin onto his shoulder and led Kate to the elevator.

  “You’re not going to shadow me all day, are you?” she asked. “I’m already persona non grata, and I doubt I’ll earn any points by traveling with a bodyguard, especially a Sunai.”

  “No.”

  “Great, so just point me in the right direction. I promise not to run off or get in any fights—”

  “Kate—”

  “Okay, I promise not to start any fights—”

  “I’ve enlisted someone else.”

  The elevator came and they stepped inside, the world collapsing to the space of a five-foot square. As the metal doors slid shut, he found Kate staring at him—or at least, at his warped reflection—studying him as if she could see the blood he’d scrubbed from his skin. “What?”

  “I’m just trying to figure out what happened to you.”

  He tensed. “Not this again.”

  “What am I missing? Where did you go?”

  He closed his eyes and saw two versions of himself, the first surrounded by bodies, blood and shadow climbing his wrists, the second sitting on the roof, hoping to see stars; and as he watched, that second self began dissolving, like a dream, a memory unraveling moment by moment, slipping through his grip.

  “I’m right here.”

  “No, you’re not. I don’t know who this is, but the August I knew—”

  “Doesn’t exist anymore.”

  She twisted toward him. “Bullshit,” she snapped.

  “Stop.”

  But she didn’t. Even pitched low, her voice had a way of filling the narrow space. “What happened to him? Tell me. What happened to the August who wanted to feel human? The one would rather burn alive than let himself go dark?”

  He kept his own gaze forward. “I’m willing to walk in darkness if it keeps humans in the light.”

  Kate snorted. “Okay, Leo. How many times did you practice that line? How many times did you stand in front of the mirror and recite it, waiting for it to sink in and—”