by Skye Malone
The shivers return, scurrying over my skin.
Katsuro glances to Amar briefly again. “Even a demon who’s sworn to a House can leave. Not that they do very often, owing to the fact most of them would spend the rest of their lives hiding in terror, since their former House would readily make an example of them for the offense. But it happens. They can refuse an order. They can be unpredictable. But a Touched?” Katsuro gestures equitably. “They are the perfect slave.”
I feel sick.
“That is who Linden and Volgert are fighting over,” he continues. “A Touched—or perhaps simply the rumor of one—freshly turned from human only a short time ago. The story is that this newly made Touched has manifested an incredible ability, one that even the succubi and incubi haven’t possessed in centuries, though the rumors are vague as to what that might be. But Volgert wants them. They seem to think Linden controls them, though if they do, Linden is keeping them well hidden. In the meantime, though, Volgert is tearing into the Linden Protected, sending the message that Linden cannot defend their own, so they ought to capitulate to Volgert’s demands. Thus far, Linden has shown no intention of doing so. Once Volgert realizes this fact, they will escalate their aggression and then all of us will be looking at a war.”
I can’t stop shaking. I don’t even know what that means—a war—but I know it can’t be good. For me. For Amar. Ruby. Anyone I’ve met.
Linden and Volgert have been terrifying enough, and they’ve hardly even started fighting yet.
“How do you fit into all this?” Amar’s voice doesn’t reveal a hint of what he thinks of Katsuro’s words, but suddenly, I remember he said something about this. Ages ago, when he’d first taken me to Bianca’s apartment… Amar had been concerned about the Houses starting a war too.
At his question now, though, one of the guys beside Katsuro gives a low growl. Katsuro glances to him. “Then we will know who to blame.”
The other guy appears slightly mollified. I look between them, not liking the sound of that.
“The answer to your question is complicated,” Katsuro continues, directing the words at Amar. “Very. And quite frankly, I am not certain we can trust you.” His gaze flicks to me briefly, considering. “Suffice it to say that we are the counterbalance to this. We are the force which will stop it.”
“Stop what?” I ask nervously. “The war?”
“All of it. The Touched. The sets. The ones being used for the powers they manifest. The Houses and their myriad ways of exploiting humanity and meddling in this world. Everything.”
I stare at him.
“Suicide,” Amar states.
Ram shifts angrily. “Guts.”
“We know the risks in undermining the system the Houses have built,” Katsuro says. “Why do you think we’ve been so careful about meeting with her?” He nods at me. “Why do you think there are guards outside right now, if not to protect against the possibility that any one of us were followed? We are well aware of the danger, and of what the Houses do to the people who oppose them.”
“I doubt that.”
My stomach churns at the darkness lurking in Amar’s voice.
One of the guys near us growls like a wolf, his eyes flashing bright like backlit amber, and he starts forward as if he’s going to attack. Ram’s hand comes up fast, catching the man’s chest to stop him.
Katsuro doesn’t even glance their way. “Your opinion is irrelevant. We are not like others of our kind, and we are certainly not like your type. The demon-born among us aren’t willing to pretend they are a superior race to the humans, and the changed in our number—the vampires or werewolves—haven’t forgotten what it was to be human ourselves. We feed on them, yes. But we can choose not to kill. And we know that if not for being turned, it could have been us in those pits. It could be our friends and family devoured by this sick system of death matches and exploitation. What the Houses have done to these people is wrong. It’s an offense any decent person should do whatever they can to stop.”
The air gets colder. Arctic in its bite.
And there’s something in Katsuro’s voice, a knife’s edge of fury sliding under his placid tone. It sounds like this is personal. It makes my heart race. “How are you going to help them?” I ask before Amar can speak.
For an eternal moment, my question is met with silence. Finally, Katsuro looks away from Amar, but he still hesitates before he answers me. “That is part of why we need your assistance. It’s uncommon enough to save a Touched person from their madness, and these humans who’ve manifested abilities like your kind…” He grimaces slightly. “It may be difficult to bring them back to sanity again. Matters are made more complex by the fact that it takes a succubus or incubus to dismantle what was done to them and—as you may have noticed—your kind are rather lacking in the compassion department. They would never aid a Touched without an egregiously self-serving motive. You are the only one who is different. The only one I’ve met in centuries who—if you will forgive what is an offensive comparison to the rest of your kind—is still human inside. This makes you invaluable to us and to our cause.”
I’m not sure what to say. He’s never quite looked at Amar, but I think we’re nearing deep space for a temperature in here.
I fight the urge to fidget with discomfort. Everything else aside, this could be bullshit. Katsuro could simply want to get his hands on these people for himself. There’s no reason to assume he isn’t lying.
But if he is telling the truth…
“And what’s the other part of why you want my help?” I ask.
“We want you to find them for us.”
I stare at him, flabbergasted.
“No,” Amar replies.
Ram gives him a disgusted look. “Not your call, incubus.”
“Cait is the one the Houses will come after,” Katsuro says to Amar. “It is her life at risk, regardless of whether she helps us and for the very reason I’ve already mentioned. Her talent. The one that, now that I’ve seen her, I am certain she stands a good chance of possessing. The Houses have only resisted carving a trail of blood through whole cities and changing all in their path to Touched to find these rare few because of the dangerous human attention it would draw. Yet, depending upon the form her talent takes, Cait might be able to help them with that—and even if she cannot, they won’t leave the possibility unexplored. They will come for her. But we can help. We can protect her. And we can give her the opportunity to do something good with her heritage.”
My heart pounds harder. “What are you talking about? What heritage?”
“Josephine,” Katsuro says. “Your mother.”
My world goes still.
“You are the very image of her, you are the right age to be her child, and it appears your demonic parent never arrived to claim you. These facts point squarely to Josephine being your mother, something which cannot have escaped the Houses’ attention. You won’t remain free of them much longer without help.”
I can’t speak. I don’t have a clue what Katsuro means, and I can’t even speak. I look toward Amar, desperate for a lifeline.
He’s totally frozen. I’m not even sure he’s breathing. But there’s something to his stillness, like he understands exactly whom they’re talking about.
And it’s shocked the hell out of him.
“But—” I flounder.
A loud noise cuts me off. On instinct, I look to the door like I could see through to the outside. Shouting breaks out, and the sound of gunfire too.
“Go!” Ram orders.
I turn. The man with the lantern bends quickly and yanks open a hatch I hadn’t noticed in the floor. Ram and the others hurry toward it.
“This way!” Katsuro calls, motioning for me to follow.
Something heavy slams into the door. Metal screeches in protest and a crash follows the sound.
Electricity burns the air behind me. I can feel it coming, the incredible heat building in the time it takes to blink. I don’t have time t
o react.
Amar grabs me. Shoves me forward, past the line of shadow cast by the lantern and the tractors.
And darkness swallows me.
I tumble onto grass. A weight slams into my back, smashing the air from my chest.
And then the world explodes.
Frantically, I cover my head. Debris scatters over me and I cringe under the assault. I can’t hear. My ears ring from the blast of whatever the hell was just destroyed.
The bombardment ends almost as quickly as it began. The weight on me disappears. My lungs labor hard to draw in air while sound comes to me thick and muffled like my head is wrapped in cotton. It seems as if someone is shouting. I can’t make sense of the words.
Choking with my effort to breathe, I roll over, searching for Amar.
And I find him. He’s surrounded. Six guys with knives circle him. We’re in the middle of a park not far from my apartment and up ahead, a tree looks like it’s been hit with a grenade. Orange flames climb from the shattered trunk. Smoke blurs the streetlights casting cold light on the grass.
I rush to my feet, woodchips falling from my clothes and skin. “Amar!”
Two of the guys feint toward him. They slash at him with their knives like they want to tear him apart. I can’t see any magic on Amar yet, no blue glow or faint crackle of electricity, but when he twitches back, the ones who are now nearest to him pull away, as if even with their knives, they’re scared of getting too close.
“Cait, run!”
I don’t move. I’m not leaving him here. “Get the hell away from him!”
No one listens. The ones around Amar don’t even blink.
But two of them break off from the group and charge toward me.
I backpedal on the slick grass. A strange sensation pulses through me, like all the air around me rushes toward my body and then bursts away.
I remember the feeling. It’s what happened in the alley outside Goa Cafe.
The men stagger. One of them falls.
And the second lunges at me. His hands grab my arms. His weight tears me down. I tumble to the ground and he comes with me.
My fingers claw at the grass while I struggle to drag myself away. He reaches out quickly, snagging my shirt. His other hand grabs my shoulder and hauls me back to the dirt and grass.
“Stay still, bitch.” He places his knife to my neck. “You’re no good to the Guardians in pieces.”
I don’t listen. On instinct, a tangle of purple energy washes over me, masking the world in fog for all of a heartbeat. The guy cries out. His grip and the knife disappear. I scramble for my feet, my body feeling electrified.
I don’t make it far. Hands catch me again. Shove me to the grass and then yank me around.
The first guy I knocked down glares at me. “You’ll pay for that.” His knife flashes in the darkness. His other hand wraps my throat.
Panic races through my body. My fingers pry at his grip while my gaze locks on the blade hovering above me. White sparks flare across the shadows encroaching on my vision. A rushing sound fills my ears, made up of too much blood with no way to escape.
And I can’t breathe. I just can’t breathe. The blade starts toward me.
A surge of energy rushes by me, tingling and weirdly cold, and every hair on my body stands on end. I hear a muffled shout. His grip disappears. I gag, my hands clutching my burning throat. My whole body feels like alarm bells are clanging throughout my system, each one ringing with panic from the fact I almost died.
Someone grabs my shoulder. I shriek, my legs and hands already fighting to get me away.
“Cait!”
My eyes focus. Amar is there. Relief hits me like a two-by-four, making me want to sob.
Hanging onto him for support, I scramble up from the grass. My gaze darts to the park. Our attackers are on the ground.
All of them.
I look to Amar, incredulous.
His mouth tightens. “Let’s go.” He heads for the street.
Anxiously, I hurry after him. We cross the road, leaving the park behind, and duck into an alleyway between two businesses that have already closed for the night.
The moment we reach the alley, Amar moves me behind him. Sticking to the shadows, he scans the street and the park. I peer past him, my heart pounding, but there’s nothing. Nobody but those guys on the ground, still not moving. I don’t know what he did to them. How he managed to take out six— My eyes play a trick on me, and suddenly, two women and three more guys materialize out of the shadows near the trees. And my brain can’t keep up. It’s as if they were there the whole time. Like my mind is arguing that surely I only missed them. But I know it’s not true.
Their gazes sweep the park, pausing briefly on the destroyed tree and then landing on the fallen guys. Amar pushes me farther behind him, his attention never leaving the group. In the distance, I hear sirens; police, maybe, or firemen responding to the reports of an explosion. They’re coming closer with every second.
One of the women motions to the others, and together, they head toward the men on the ground. They heft the guys between them and carry them across the grass till they reach a point where the glow of a street light casts a shadow from a tree.
And the world shifts again. The group is gone.
Amar lets out a small breath.
I draw in air of my own, realizing I haven’t breathed since the five people appeared. Amar glances back at me, and I catch how his gaze pauses at my throat.
I swallow. The motion hurts and I try not to think what bruises might show up there by tomorrow. As if I didn’t have enough things to figure out how to explain to Ruby…
I shove the thought aside. Hard.
“Come on,” Amar says. “We need to get out of here.”
He heads deeper into the alleyway. Casting an anxious glance over my shoulder, I follow. The alley empties onto a narrow side street. The shadows are thicker, with almost no light to interrupt them. Somehow, that almost seems comforting.
“Who were those people?” I whisper to him. “Who are the Guardians?”
He slams to a halt. I stop fast, barely keeping myself from bumping into him.
“What?”
“The Guardians,” I repeat. “The guy said I was no good to them if I was dead.” My words are met with silence. “Amar? Who are they?”
“Revolutionaries. Psychotic ones.”
My brow climbs. Oh. Fantastic. There are those too now? “Any idea why they’d attack Katsuro’s people?”
He doesn’t respond for a moment. “We need to get moving. Get back to your place.”
I guess that’s a no. At least… possibly.
He starts off again, and I don’t think it’s my imagination that he looks even more tense than before.
My stomach lodged firmly into a knot, I hurry after him.
We weave through the streets, sticking to the shadows and ducking out of sight whenever someone appears on the road. I feel strange, sneaking across the town I’ve lived in for my whole life. Some part of me can’t believe this is really happening.
The rest of me is just terrified someone will pop out of nowhere and try to kill us again.
My heart is still pounding when we reach my apartment. For several moments, Amar keeps us out of sight behind the corner of a building across the street, watching for who knows what, before we rush toward the door and inside.
I hesitate when we start up the steps, the stairwell light letting me see clearly for the first time. Bits of wood are snarled in the fabric of Amar’s shirt and he has small scratches on his neck and arms. From the stinging of my own skin, I know my injuries probably look the same. I bite my lip, grateful that we weren’t closer to whatever hit that tree.
My place is silent when we slip inside. On the couch and chairs, the mercenaries sit, their eyes locked on us. I get the weird impression they’d known we were coming.
They rise from the seats. One of them twitches his head back toward Ruby’s door. “She hasn’t left.”
Amar nods. “Keep watch outside. We were followed from the meeting. They might try to track us here.”
The one who spoke nods in return, though his gaze flicks over us like he’s read something between the lines. In silence, the group files from the apartment.
And then it’s just me and Amar.
“Do you have any bandages?” he asks softly.
I blink. “Y-yeah, of course.” I hurry toward the bathroom. Several seconds of digging turns up a box of Band-Aids and some antibiotic ointment. I gather them quickly and bring them back to the living room. “Do you want me to get you a washcloth or—”
I cut off, seeing that he’s already gathered some paper towels and a small cup of water. He glances to Ruby’s bedroom and then nods toward mine. I slip past him and wait to close the door till after he’s inside.
He sits on the edge of the bed and sets the cup of water and the paper towels on the nightstand next to him. Not quite looking his way, I sink down near him.
“Let me see that,” he says, taking my arm gently.
“What about you?”
“In a minute.”
He dips the edge of a paper towel into the cup and then starts cleaning the tiny traces of dried blood from my cuts. His motions are so tender, so careful, as he works his way up my arm to the scrapes on my cheek. I watch him, though he never meets my eyes. Every few moments, a flicker of worry crosses his face and there’s something strange in the expression, as if the sight of the small wounds isn’t the only thing upsetting him.
And I wonder if it’s the same thing that’s bothering me.
“You, uh…” I’m not sure how to ask. “You recognized who Katsuro was talking about. Josephine.”
He’s silent. It doesn’t matter. I know what I saw at the salvage yard.
