by Nina Walker
It was either that, or they’d kill more innocent people.
I’d become the thing I’d always feared. I was the puppet, the weapon, and the right hand doing the bidding of an evil family. And yes, I had decided to start thinking of Lucas as evil, as well. After he’d held me down, silencing and hiding me from my sister, forcing me to stay in New Colony, I couldn’t think of him as anything but evil. He’d ruined my chance to break free.
The Lucas I knew, the one I loved, the one I’d been through so much with, would have never done that.
I finally accepted that Lucas was gone.
I was living with a different Lucas now, one who was in league with his father. One who may not be as bad as Richard now, but that was only because he was in hiding. I feared the inevitable. One day, he would not only catch up to Richard, but he would surpass him in the amount of destruction he would cause. The Heart Family wouldn’t stop at West America. This was only the beginning.
I shivered, my heart breaking deeper than I’d ever thought possible. How had the sweet man I’d fallen for turned into this? I closed my eyes, pushing back the tears.
“Focus!” Faulk snapped, ripping me from my downward spiral.
I blinked up at her. “Can’t we be done?” I begged. “We’ve been at this all day. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
She smirked, folding her arms over her chest and rocking back on her heels. “I thought you’d have enjoyed this respite from our mission in Nashville.”
I looked up at the plain white ceiling and sighed. “Fine. One more and then I need to get some food and sleep.”
She clucked her tongue and motioned toward the steel door to our right. We waited in Richard’s specially-appointed interrogation room, the same gray box I’d spent time in before being transferred to the bunker. I still didn’t fully understand that move, but knew it had something to do with Lucas, with his memory, and with my loyalties. Didn’t matter.
I focused on the task at hand. Between these walls, it was my job to sort through the minds of the New Colony operatives. One by one, with Faulk at my side, we searched for a spy. Each time some unsuspecting victim entered that door, I held my breath, praying it wasn’t a fellow Resistance member, or even someone who could be misinterpreted to be Resistance. Because as much as I wanted to know who’d hurt Lucas, I was more worried about hurting my people, or harming more innocents.
The door opened, and Branson walked in, eyes focused and clear as they settled on me. He nodded once, confirming he knew what was about to happen. For all the unsuspecting people who’d walked through that door, he wasn’t one of them.
No. My mind reeled and my body tensed. There had to be another way.
“Take a seat,” Faulk said, nodding at the metal folding chair across from where I sat, waiting to ruin his life. He followed the directions, relaxed. He was dressed casually in black cottons and scuffed boots. His broad shoulders pulled at his shirt as he rolled out his shoulders, breathing deep.
“No problem,” he said, smiling conspiratorially up at the woman. “I understand this is a formality and everyone will get their turn. Now is as good as any time.”
Did he have a plan? A way to get out of this? A gnawing pain rolled through my stomach, and I imagined asking Faulk for a break, but it would be no use. I eyed the three guards standing by the wall behind Branson, eyes narrowed, backs straight, hands resting on the guns in their holsters.
How long will it take before they fire those guns?
Sasha had said I could trust Branson, that he was on our side. Branson’s ties to the Resistance had been my suspicion since the first moment I’d met him. He was a good man, through and through. Good men wouldn’t condone the crimes we were committing on West American citizens. Good men would stand up and fight. Was that what he was about to do here?
I gulped. Faulk split an inch of his tanned skin with a small blade. Branson didn’t even flinch. Our eyes met in solidarity as I reached out to his wounded arm and tapped a drop of his warm blood with the tip of my finger. The red danced between us and with a single thought, I sent it back into him. His eyes grew hazy, arms settling at his sides, blood falling in long drops, splashing on the concrete floor.
I knew how this worked. I’d done it enough times. I would have about ten minutes before the numbing magic would wear off, that assuming I wasn’t forced to alter his mind permanently with some kind of blood oath like what I was doing to the people of Nashville. But no, these were interrogations, through and through. I would ask questions, get answers, and that would be all.
And we wouldn’t even need five minutes to get the job done. Heck, in this case, we may not even need one.
“You will happily answer all of Faulk’s questions with 100% accuracy and truth,” I said, my voice foreign in my ears. Then I sat back, fists clenched and heart quickening, as Faulk began her questions.
“Are you loyal to King Richard and his mission?”
Branson didn’t hesitate. “No.” The word hung in the air, final.
Faulk sucked in a breath, anger rocketing through her. She slapped him across the face. “How dare you!”
He was calm as he looked back to her, expression pleasant, simply waiting for more questions.
She kneeled in front of him, arms folding behind her back, teeth bared in disgust. “Are you Resistance?”
“Yes.”
She stiffened, and then slowly, she smiled, her face smoothing, her eyes sparkling with delight. Goosebumps prickled up my arms and I stepped back against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Click, the guards readied their weapons.
“And who else is Resistance?”
He pointed to me. “Jessa.”
“I know. And who else?”
“Jasmine was. I don’t know any other names.”
Her scream pierced the room and she leaned into his face. “How is that possible?”
“We kept everything separate, all of us in the palace answering to Jasmine.”
“But there were others in the palace who were Resistance? How many?”
“There are, but I don’t know who or how many.”
“Guess,” she spat, the reflection of the florescent light above shining off her immaculate blonde bun, lighting her head like a halo.
“If I had to guess, I would say anywhere from five to ten.”
She stood, cracking her neck and knuckles, mouth grim, the anger rolling off of her in waves. “The traitors,” she whispered. “I will find them and I will kill them all.”
She continued on for a while, asking question after incessant question, the need to needle out every small piece of information from his mind driving her. I stood back motionless, silent tears running down my face. She would kill him. And even though he didn’t know much, he would somehow reveal too much. She would find a way to root more information from him. More people would die. And if she didn’t get to them today, eventually, I would. Eventually, they’d walk through that door, just as Branson had.
His eyes flickered over to me for the briefest of moments, a flutter so quick, I barely caught it. Heart racing, palms growing sweaty, I realized with sudden and absolute clarity that Branson’s red alchemy had just worn off. The timeline made sense. Faulk had so many questions. Ten minutes had slipped by unnoticed.
She froze, tilting her head, eyes squinting. “Jessa.” She turned to me. “Get him again. I’m not finished here.”
“Too late.” The words fell from my mouth, barely audible, lost in the sudden crash. Branson was out of his metal folding chair in an instant, picking it up and throwing it at Faulk. It hit her with a crack and fell to the floor with a clatter. She staggered, falling to her knees. He was quick to move on to the guards. He attacked them faster than lightening and with the force of a bulldozer, his years of skill and practice kicking in.
“Catch!” he called to me, tossing a gun into my outstretched hands. It was heavy and detached, but I steadied it.
“Shoot him!” Faulk yelled at me. I looked at her
with a sneer. Why didn’t she shoot him? And then it dawned on me that in the middle of all the commotion, he’d managed to disarm her, as well. The sight of her gun missing from its belt sent a wave of triumph over me. Maybe I should shoot her instead?
I hesitated. Branson didn’t.
He grabbed me, pulling me close and aiming a gun at Faulk and her guards, all now lying injured on the floor.
“I’m sorry about this,” he whispered low in my ear. “Just go along with it. I’m getting us out of here.”
He then wrenched me against him, turning his gun on me.
“Come closer and I’ll kill her,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to lose your precious red alchemist now that you know how powerful she is.”
Faulk’s face drained of color—he was right.
Days ago I’d been facing the execution block, but now everything had changed. Richard had gotten a taste of what he could do with me, and he wouldn’t be very happy to kill me and lose his greatest weapon yet.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh yes, I most certainly would.” He cocked the gun and even though I knew what he was doing, my body automatically reacted, trying to fight him off. It was no use; he was way too strong, pinning me to his massive body with ease.
“Hide your gun,” he whispered as we moved for the exit. “You might need it soon.”
He shoved us out the door and into the hallway.
Chaos swept through the area in a cacophony of angry shouts as he shuffled us down the narrow space. The entire time, the cool barrel of his gun pressed against my temple. My heart beat so loudly, I heard the blood whooshing through me, a reminder that I might not make it out of this. I held my breath and forced myself to stay calm.
I could use the red alchemy. His wound wasn’t healed. It would be easy.
No.
I had always liked Branson. He was one of the only good ones left. Besides, I hadn’t seen Lily or Jose since arriving here, not once. Branson might be my only chance. I had to trust that he knew what he was doing.
Faulk and her people circled us with guns raised as Branson led us to the exit, using his hip to push it open. Pelting rain assaulted the earth, some of it splashing my face, spreading cold everywhere. Night had fallen, and freezing air filtered into the hallway fog.
“Let her go!” Faulk barked. “She doesn’t belong to you.”
He laughed. “She doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“Actually, she’s the property of New Colony.” Faulk’s eyes were bright, her mouth set in a thin line. She stepped closer. “You’re going to get her killed.”
“She’d rather that than be your slave.”
He said the words as if he knew it were true, as if he knew me better than I knew myself. And I realized, he might be right. The thought of losing my life settled over me, and a strange sense of peace rose inside. I didn’t want to die, but faced with it now, I’d rather die than continue on the path of harming others.
Branson shoved me out into the rain behind him, still using me as a human shield. Rain slid down my face and arms in rivulets of ice, making the world seem muffled. I sucked in several sharp breaths, blinking away the water.
“It’s going to be okay. They won’t kill you,” he said against my hair.
More and more soldiers from all over the base stomped in, weapons trained on us, as Branson and I trudged through the mud and toward the airfield. Faulk followed closer than anyone else, drenched by the rain, gaze fixed and determined.
“What do you think you’re going to do?” she cackled.
“Yeah, what’s your plan here,” I said low, meeting Branson’s eyes. He squinted against the water that ran down his face, breathing deep.
“Just trust me,” he replied.
“You’re going to give us a pilot and a way off this base,” Branson yelled back, his voice sure as anything.
“I don’t think so,” she replied coolly.
He pushed the gun harder against my face, and I yelped.
“I do think so!” he screamed.
We shuffled through the puddles and mud, inching closer to our destination. Worry found its way to my core with each step. But also, a flickering hope rose inside me; what if he pulled this off? What if he got us out of here?
Maybe, I didn’t have to die. Maybe, I was minutes away from freedom. The idea was so sweet I could taste it.
A chopper came into view and my heart leapt. This was it.
“Stop right there!” King Richard’s voice bellowed through the stormy night, slicing through me like a knife. The crowd of armed soldiers parted as the King ran forward, water sloshing out around his black shoes. He was dressed in nothing but a white button-up shirt, and slacks. The clothing stuck to his body like a second skin.
“We’re leaving,” Branson said. “If you don’t let us out of here, I’ll shoot her.”
Richard shook his head. “What makes you think I’ll agree to this?” He laughed, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “You should know me better than that, Branson.”
“I know she’s nothing to you if she’s dead.”
“That’s true,” he replied. Rain dripped down his chiseled face, but he hardly seemed to notice or care. He stared at us with a strange intensity. “But I would rather she die than work for my enemy.”
The air knocked out of me so fast that my knees became weak.
Of course, it was true. Richard didn’t care about me as a human; he cared about me as a red alchemist, as a weapon. He would never allow his most powerful weapon to end up in the wrong hands. Never.
Branson cursed and his body instantly tensed against mine, perhaps realizing the gravity of his mistake.
“It’s okay,” I said to him. We could figure this out.
“Stay strong,” he growled into my ear as he raised his gun.
Then he shoved me down into the gravel. I landed on my hands and knees, mud and rocks and water flying. Guns shots blared, and Branson fell to the earth next to me, already dead. His blood splattered against the splotches of mud, mixing with the earth. I screamed, crawling back, my cries garbled in the sound of rain and shouting.
“Help the King first!” a voice pounded through the chaos, and an alchemist kneeled down next to Richard.
My mind tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The King had fallen? When? Everything seemed to be in slow motion and happening all at once.
Richard clutched his arm, crimson blood blooming against his white shirt. An alchemist was quick to use healing magic, the green ribbons twirling around Richard’s injury. His face relaxed, and I knew he would be just fine. Branson wouldn’t be so lucky. I looked away, hot tears burning my cheeks. They were quickly lost to the rain, like so much else on this awful night.
My eyes scanned the ground, noticing a few more bodies that had been caught in the crossfire. Blonde hair stained red shone from one of them, an arm awkwardly bent beneath. My entire body stilled, burning with a prickly sense of understanding.
Faulk.
I tilted my head, so overcome by the surreal sensation of seeing her dead body right in front of me. It wasn’t the Faulk I knew, the determined woman with the flawless appearance and cruel center. It was a shell of her, only a shell, entirely broken in the end. A small red dot was centered on her forehead, a trickling of blood falling into unblinking eyes. They glowed like two full moons. Blood moons.
I squeezed my eyes shut and rolled to the side, fingers clutching at clumps of cold mud, and violently lost the contents of my stomach.
I thought sleep would never come, but somehow it did. It wasn’t a blessing but another curse, accompanied by tormented dreams, darkness so thick and heavy it threatened to destroy everything, to stifle the breath in my lungs. It left me sweaty and panicked, gripping at thin white sheets.
“Shush,” a deep voice whispered against my neck. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
My body stiffened as awareness surfaced. Two arms wrapped around my body, a hard chest pressed against m
y back, and hot breath tangled in my hair.
“Lucas?” I croaked. My voice burned, and I swallowed hard. The tears came again, salty and thick. I couldn’t hold back the sobs, and wondered if they’d ever stop. The wound was too deep. They wet my face, reminding me of being outside in that rain, of the blood, and the death, and just how much death would still come because of my life.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”
I wanted to fight him, shove him off, tell him to get away, but my body betrayed me and the comfort was far too good to pass up. I relaxed, eyes shutting as if my eyelids were weighted down. I sighed, breath steadying, and before I could process any more thoughts, I fell back into the darkness.
Later, I woke with a start, reaching around the bed.
I was alone.
Had I dreamed him? Had Lucas really come in here and held me in the middle of the night? My brain filtered through the thoughts, sleep giving way to lucidity, and I knew that he had. It wasn’t a dream. But, why? He wasn’t supposed to do things like that. He was supposed to be the enemy. No. He wouldn’t have come in—it must have been a dream. That was the logical answer.
I rolled over on my pillow and breathed in, the scent of sandalwood and grass and something else, something so entirely Lucas, filled me up, soothing and heart-breaking. I held it there for several long minutes despite my better judgment. He had been here. Maybe he’d changed…
Enough.
I jumped from the warm sheets, tossing them to the floor. I couldn’t be weak. I needed to be stronger than this. Stepping into the scalding hot shower, I allowed the water to wash away any lingering scent of Lucas as quickly as possible.
“Let me guess,” I said, sliding into the chair of the ghastly interrogation room. I looked up at a man I hardly knew, but his was a face I would recognize anywhere. He had the same features as his daughter, Celia. “You’re the new Faulk?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m taking over where she left off.”
“Because she’s dead,” I supplied. “Don’t need to tip-toe around it. I was there.”
“Yes.” His expression turned sour, two red eyebrows arching over amber eyes. “She’s dead.” He straightened in his black suit and tie, oozing confidence.
