The Warrior

by Victoria Scott

  The Quiet Ones don’t serve us the food. In fact, I haven’t seen them all day. Not after they put some sweet healing balm on my burns last night and massaged it in with hands of awesome. I wonder what the H those mute broads are up to.

  I’m sitting on a shoddy bench that circles the perimeter of the room, and Charlie is on the ground, leaning back between my legs. I work my hand over her hair, and she leans into my touch. She likes it when I braid and unbraid her hair, even though my version of this braiding business is twisting two big chunks around each other and trying to pretend I’m still a man.

  Annabelle lounges on a yellow slip chair that used to be white. “Do you think my dark hair makes me look seductive?” she asks.

  I snort.

  Charlie elbows me and gets way too close to my junk. “Yes,” Charlie says. “Totally.”

  My eyes narrow. “Did someone tell you that?”

  Annabelle’s cheeks redden like Charlie’s did before the soul contract.

  “Oh, man,” I say. “What a line. Who was it?”

  Annabelle’s blush deepens. “Paine.”

  “You’re really considering all your options, aren’t you?” I rub my thumbs in circles over Charlie’s scalp. I don’t have to check to see if her eyes are closed. I know my touch is magically delicious.

  “I like him.” Charlie’s voice is groggy from pleasure.

  I stop rubbing. “What?”

  She giggles and turns to face me. “He’s nice. And he helped me last night when the fire broke out.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. He saw me in the hallway and asked me what I wanted to do, if I wanted to find you or move to the opposite end of the house. Everyone treats me like I’m breakable, but he asked me what I wanted to do. It was nice.”

  My brow furrows. “He didn’t say anything about it during training today.”

  “’Course he didn’t,” Annabelle says. “He thinks you’re the bee’s knees. Probably figures what he did is nothing compared to his beloved Dante Walker, the all-powerful.”

  It’s weird, but I allow myself to imagine Paine as my friend. I want to be wary of him, to believe he and everyone else has an ulterior motive. But he hasn’t given me a reason to suspect him of being anything other than chill, so why am I so hesitant?

  “Hey, Charlie,” I say. “Have you had any more luck with your hands?”

  She stares down at them. “I’m getting better at it. Still nothing like that one time.”

  “Why does everyone have something cool but me?” Annabelle says.

  I straighten. “Well, you do have seductive hair. That’s a weapon if I’ve ever seen one.”

  Annabelle roars with laughter and then makes a pose like she’s hot stuff, one hand on her hip and lips pursed.

  There’s a knock, and we all turn and see who it is. Paine stands in the doorway, an awkward smile on his face. He takes us all in, but stops when his eyes fall on Annabelle. “Nice pose,” he says in his British accent.

  If her cheeks were red before, now they’re nearly purple with embarrassment. “I’ve got other moves.”

  Paine nods and smiles wider, but doesn’t move to come inside.

  It’s Charlie who invites him in. Of course. “Come hang out with us,” she says. “We haven’t been able to just lounge in a long time.”

  Paine glances at me as if waiting for my approval. I nod for him to come in. He grins like his world is complete and strides toward us. He’s wearing an orange plaid shirt that picks up the red in his hair he tries so hard to hide. I want to suggest he try another color, but that’d make me a dick, right? Yeah. Dick.

  “You always wear plaid?” I say.

  He laughs. It’s too loud for what I said, and he seems to realize it. He coughs into his closed fist. “I love the stuff.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  Charlie elbows me again.

  “Woman,” I say. “You are getting way to close to my precious.”

  “I always wanted to be a farm kind of guy,” Paine says.

  “Jaysus,” I say. “Hang out with cows and hay bales all day? Pass.”

  Paine isn’t listening to me, though. He’s focused on Annabelle, who I’m pretty sure said hot right after he said farm kind of guy.

  He sits down next to her. Not too close, but close enough. Paine narrows his eyes at the ocean as if there’s something out there he’s searching for. But I know what’s happening here. Home boy wants to strike up a conversation with Annabelle and has no way to start it.

  “So…you like Oswald?” he asks Annabelle.

  I roll my eyes.

  Annabelle, however, has much to say on the subject.

  “This is fun,” Charlie says. “It feels like old times. Kicking it with friends and stuff.”

  Annabelle agrees, and so do I, even though my old friends were rat bastards who used me for cash. I notice Paine doesn’t agree. In fact, he sort of diverts his gaze like he wants to avoid the subject.

  “You miss your life before being a liberator?” I ask Paine directly.

  He smiles. “Yeah, I do,” he says. But then his smile falters. Paine eyes Annabelle. “Actually, I don’t. My family moved around a lot. Made meeting people hard. I had this one girl friend. Not a girlfriend. Just a girl who was a friend. I miss her especially.”

  “What was she like?” Annabelle whispers.

  Paine looks at her without speaking until we all understand that Annabelle must remind him of her. She blushes.

  Listening to his sob story, my heart does this damn clench thing. Totally Charlie’s fault. I didn’t used to care when I heard this sort of crap. Now I do, apparently. I groan inwardly and say, “Well, today you’re a liberator. And we’re all here for the same reason. So, you got friends now.”

  I want to puke at how disgustingly emotional what I just said was.

  But Paine, he’s looking at me like he wants to call me brother and exchange friendship bracelets. I decide, maybe, that I do like the kid all right. Perhaps it’s hard to admit that another dude could think of me as a true friend. That I could have that kind of relationship outside of Max, a partnership that began in hell. Max is still my No. 1 bro. Always will be. But I guess that doesn’t mean I can’t be nice to Paine.

  “Thanks for watching out for Charlie last night,” I tell him.

  He waves me off like it isn’t a big deal, and I respect him even more.

  The four of us hang out for more than an hour, and Charlie’s right, it feels good. Even if we are surrounded by reinforced glass. And even if there is less than a week until we are forced to fight. Or that we don’t know how long we have until the sirens eat through the walls like termites or before the collectors pop up through the floors.

  Or how many hours until Rector steps foot inside the Hive.

  Someone clears his throat near the doorway, and I wonder who it is this time. When I glance up, the tendons in my body ache with anticipation.

  Blue stares me down.

  Then he sighs like he’s been holding that breath for almost two weeks. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and his eyes fall to the floor. “Can I hang out with you guys?”

  When his gaze lifts, it’s me he’s looking at. I can’t help the skip my heart performs. I’m mortified by how happy I am that he’s here. I mean, he’s practically apologizing in man speak.

  I swing my leg over Charlie’s head and walk over to Blue.

  No one says a word.

  I stand in front of him, and when his mouth cracks into a smile, mine does, too. And suddenly, his arms are around me, and mine are around him, and we’re slapping each other on the back so that everyone knows we don’t swing that way, but man, it’s awesome to be hugging. I mutter that I’m so damn sorry, and he mumbles that it’s not my fault and he wanted someone to blame, and I say I’m to blame, and he says to go fuck myself.

  And just like that, Blue and I are Blue and I again.

  I drag the curly-headed dude over to my bench and practically pull him i
nto my lap. I want to do all the crap dude’s do when they’re happy to see each other. I want to punch him in the arm and call him names and tease him mercilessly. And so I do. Blue returns the favor, and each time he does, his smile broadens. Paine does a good job hanging with us. He’s shy, except when he’s defending Annabelle, but he wants to fit in this time. And it just so happens that I’m accepting applications for new bromances.

  What’s weird, though, is that each time we laugh—each time we grab our stomachs and roll from delirium or from the fact that Blue clearly said the word panties even though he insists the word was pansy—I miss Max. Here are new, shiny friends.

  But I miss Max.

  A heavy sensation rolls through the room like a hot breath. When I turn, I spot Kraven standing just outside the doorway. We must be making a lot of noise. But Kraven’s eyes aren’t on us. They’re on Annabelle.

  Maybe her hair is seductive, because the liberator is wearing the same expression Paine is. But that’s not true, exactly. Because Paine appears more enamored with Annabelle, like she’s a girl he’d like to make cupcakes for even though he hates cupcakes. The kind of girl he wants to kiss like he means it, and the kind of girl he’d like to introduce to Mom. That is, if Paine could do those things. If he wasn’t wearing a liberator cuff.

  Kraven, on the other hand, looks at Annabelle with unadulterated passion. He looks at her like she’s his heart, and if she moves too far away, he may drop dead. Kraven’s eyes take her in like he would a love he believed forever lost. Like he would his own soul.

  He looks at her like I look at Charlie.

  The liberator grinds his teeth, his hands balled into fists at his sides. It’s the only sign that announces he’s upset. When Annabelle sees him, she leans toward Paine to finish their conversation. She didn’t need to be so close to Paine to hear his words a moment ago, but now she does. Her jaw tightens, and her eyes storm with defiance.

  “Annabelle,” Kraven says.

  Paine stops speaking and turns to see Kraven. He doesn’t seem pleased at our newest guest.

  “May I speak with you?” Kraven asks.

  “No,” she answers. There’s no room for argument. That single word is like a bullet, and Kraven flinches from the impact. I wonder if his face will trip out again, and I also wonder when he’ll tell us what we’re really capable of, and whether one day my face will do the same thing.

  I seriously hope not.

  I can see what Kraven is considering. He’s thinking about begging. But he won’t. Not in front of us, and maybe not in private, either. Perhaps that’s the problem. Because for Charlie, I’d get on bended knee and kiss her painted toes if it meant making amends.

  Then I’d ravage her, obviously. That’s the only way to argue: bend to your woman’s will, then show her you’re a man.

  But Kraven only watches as Annabelle touches Paine’s arm and says, “I’m busy.”

  He studies her so long that Blue clears his throat. I almost make a joke about the awkwardness, but I’m afraid Kraven will Unabomb us for real. Finally, he turns and leaves. I almost feel bad for the dude.

  Almost.

  Paine examines Annabelle’s face. There’s no way he doesn’t know she used him to make Kraven jealous. But he covers her hand with his anyway. I’ve known dudes like that. They realize they’re second choice, but they’re willing to wait until they’re first. Because in the end, they win. And sometimes, if it’s the right girl, that’s all that matters. Me? I don’t play that game. I’m your first choice, or I’m outtie. But it’s cool if Paine’s down with that strategy.

  The five of us hang out a while longer before Blue heads to bed and Paine offers to walk Annabelle to her room. I shoot the dude a look like don’t even think about it, and he shows me his hands in surrender. He’ll walk her to her room, that’s fine, but I don’t want him getting funny ideas about getting some from Annabelle. Me being with Charlie is one thing. But Anna?

  I’ll murder someone.

  I offer Charlie my hand and pull her up. “Let’s go to bed, too, huh?” I try to say it casually. If it’s casual, then maybe she’ll oblige.

  She glances out across the ocean like she’s thinking. Her brows pull together, and she looks a lot like she did two nights ago. The night she said she envisioned how this would all end. “Okay,” Charlie says.

  She takes my hand.

  We walk in silence back to our suite of bedrooms. There’s this hush about the Hive, and once again, I can’t help wondering how long this will last. It feels like we’re living inside this glass ball. Outside, wasps buzz impatiently, waiting for their chance to strike. And inside, black widows discover crevices in our armor and slip in unnoticed. They’re here, and then they’re gone. Or maybe they came in the night, and they never left.

  When we turn the corner, Oswald is there waiting for us. His drooping cheeks are pale, and his mouth is downturned. The old man moves quickly toward us, gray robe swishing around him, long arms brushing his sides.

  His small, alert eyes speak volumes.

  He has come to tell us something important.

  18

  Rooted

  Oswald comes to a stop and pulls on his earlobe. His eyes dart around, ensuring we’re alone.

  “Spill it, Hefner. What’s going on?”

  “Kraven said I shouldn’t say anything until we were sure,” Oswald squeaks.

  “But you’re here. So you must think differently. What’s up?”

  Charlie’s grip on my hand tightens.

  Oswald drops his arm to his side. “I was able to translate another portion of the scroll using the books you found in the library. How I’ll translate the rest of the document is beyond me, but at least we have this one part. It’s quite fascinating, really. How the collectors, or whoever it was, knew to target the library and burn—”

  “Oswald,” I interrupt. “Tell us what you found.”

  He wraps his arms around his stomach and inspects each of us in turn. Then he says, “The scroll spoke of a pair of hearts that…” Oswald clears his throat. “It said… Two hearts that beat as one will make a great sacrifice.”

  I wait for him to reveal more.

  He doesn’t.

  “That’s kind of encrypted,” Charlie says.

  “They’re all encrypted.” I press the heel of my hands to my forehead. “What you’re saying is English, but it’s still in code. What’s the point of finding the translations if what we read doesn’t make sense? We’ve got find the sparrow among the crows in some unburned room, something about people with calloused hands leading to victory, and now this.”

  Oswald’s bushy eyebrows rise. “Perhaps it will make sense when the time is right.”

  I roll my eyes. “What does Kraven think it means?”

  “I’m not sure he knows,” Oswald says.

  “Have you been able to work out other parts?”

  “I believe there are only two other part,” he admits.

  “Well?” I say. “Any ideas on what those will say?”

  A shadow falls over his face. “N-no.”

  I cock my head. “Oswald.”

  “What is it?” Charlie asks him.

  The old guy cinches his robe belt and meets my eyes. His entire body seems to quake like he wants to disappear from sight. And slowly, Oswald begins turning in a circle.

  “Aw, Oswald,” Charlie says. The lack of surprise in her voice says she’s seen this from him many times. She touches his shoulder, and he stops turning. His eyes take her in, and his breath catches.

  And in that moment, I know. One of the last parts of the scroll is about Charlie.

  …

  Charlie falls asleep in my arms, my black wing wrapped around her small frame. I know she won’t stay through the night regardless of how close I hold her. But I wish she would.

  I stay awake as long as I can and watch her breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling. Her skin is flawless during the day, a side effect of the soul contract, but at nigh
t it seems to glow. I can’t help running a thumb over her porcelain cheek. There used to be small, pink bumps here and a flush that I could bring out at any time. Now she is a mirage of the girl I met in Peachville, Alabama.

  My head hangs heavy on the pillow, and though I don’t want to miss a single breath she takes—I tumble into sleep.

  I open my eyes, and my stomach dives into my throat. I’m in a room that’s smeared with soot and decorated with furniture still smoldering from a forgotten fire.

  And I am lying on the ceiling.

  At first I lie perfectly still, afraid if I move I’ll come crashing down. I’m not so high up. Maybe only twelve feet above the floor. But it’s more than enough.

  Carefully, my hands explore the space around me. And when I discover that I don’t fall, I push up onto my hands. Then to my feet. Blood doesn’t rush to my head like I expect it to. Because even though I’m hanging upside down, it feels completely natural.

  I take one wobbly step, and then another, and walk toward the closest wall. When I reach it, my hands pass through to the other side. I contemplate what to do next as my heart dances in my chest. This is a dream, I remind myself.

  But I know that may not be true.

  I’ve never dreamt like this before.

  I close my eyes and walk through the wall. My body free falls, and I crash to the ground. Small pebbles dig into my skin, but I’m too relieved to be right side up to care. When I raise my head, I spot Aspen.

  She’s wearing a dress of scarlet and plum. It cascades down her body like ripples in the desert heat. The folds of the dress appear to move though her body is still. She holds her arms out to me, and her mouth opens in a perfect circle of black. The teeth and tongue are gone from her mouth, and all that remains is a deep, empty cavern.

  Though her lips move, no sound greets my ears.

  “Aspen.” I move closer, but something stops me. It’s her skin. Something is wrong with her skin. It has an odd sort of rise and valley to it like wind trails left in sand. Aspen is standing on a podium of sorts, surrounded by a moat of inky water. The moat isn’t wide, maybe five feet across, and it certainly won’t stop me from getting to her.