Jasper's eyes fell.
“I appreciate that he did.”
“Did he tell you how many kilometers he carried you?”
Jasper's nearly black eyes swept to Jeb's. “No.”
“Four,” Rachett said.
Jasper's face fell farther, if that were possible.
“Sir, I already feel like canine crap about it.”
Rachett scrubbed his head in an irritated swipe.
“Damn, damn—damn.”
“Is it the Threes?” Jeb asked.
“It's all of it.” Rachett swung his hand around, encompassing the general area. “I need a follow-up jump to make sure the scientists get eliminated. At least the one—”
“Joe Zondorae.”
Rachett nodded. “Threes will take him out of the equation.”
Jasper put a finger to her lip, debating something. “If I remember my history, Gary Zondorae becomes a zombie, and brother dear…”
“He gets eliminated by them?”
“Sounds right,” Jasper commented.
Rachett was grim. “You jump and fucking observe.”
“Do either of you know what that means?” Disbelief at their abilities filled every line of his face.
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“No more bringing back stray Threes. No more getting your asses handed to you and almost getting a fresh trainee killed. And no more killing Threes.”
Jeb fought for composure. “They needed killing.” Jeb couldn't shake the image of their fists thundering into Jasper.
Rachett gazed at Jeb for a heartbeat longer, then turned sharp attention to Jasper.
“How did you like your first mission?”
Jeb saw the emotions like a spinning kaleidoscope cover her face: shame, anxiety, fear, and determination.
She really needed to learn how to school her emotions.
“That good, eh?” Rachett asked, but he was grinning.
“I want to go again, sir.”
“And you will.” His gaze slid to Jeb. “And you'll do better at avoiding these Principle-damned Threes.”
“Sir,” Jeb began.
Jasper turned to him, the struggle for a blank face failing her.
Jeb's request to change partners was on the tip of his tongue. Jasper even helped him, as was her way, by saying nothing—not a speck of a plea in her eyes.
Jeb decided and it was based for the wrong reasons.
Yet, they felt right.
“Thanks for the opportunity, sir.”
Jasper's face showed her surprise.
“Welcome.” He jerked his jaw toward the door they'd entered an hour ago. “Go grab some food and babysit that smart-ass Three.”
Jeb asked, “Yes, what about him? And the girl?”
Rachett was thoughtful—pensive.
“The girl remains.” His head dipped, and the stubble of hair at his temples showed silver. He cupped his chin.
“Her assessment was disturbing.”
His pale eyes never wavered.
“She has many healing injuries,” Jeb conceded, sick to his stomach at the thought of what he'd sensed.
Reflectives’ assessments were normally constrained to the superficial. But like so much, touch deepened it to a sort of tactile telepathy.
Rachett shook his head in reluctant denial. “In good conscience, I can't return her to that environment.”
“Sir.”
Rachett lifted his chin. “Reflective Jasper.”
“Is she…” Jasper was struggling to spit it out. “Is she too broken to be saved?”
They were quiet, and their silence had substance, standing between them thickly.
“I don't know,” Rachett finally said.
Jeb nodded. “Where will you—keep her?”
Rachett and Jeb looked at Jasper.
“Oh, for Principle's sake!” Jasper said, exasperated.
“Because I'm female? It sucks to be me, unless somehow that gender thing pans out?”
Rachett's brows lowered. “Reflective Jasper.”
Jasper stiffened her spine.
“Yes, sir.”
Jeb thought she still looked mighty pissed.
“You have a unique historic perspective, do you not?”
Jeb knew how much Jasper had suffered and how unfairly she had been treated. Who knew the small abuses she'd suffered over the years. Jeb had not been oblivious to the defensive wounds that had healed faster because of their jumps, though some of the marks were scars.
Jeb thought of Ryan and wanted to punch him back to Sector One.
Rachett knew Jasper’s history—he'd watch her develop since her fifth cycle. They both understood that her Sector One blood aided her survival in the hostile environment of the Reflectives.
A combative Reflective that was also female had a hard row to hoe.
Jasper pegged her hands on her hips and stood quietly.
She and Rachett seemed to exchange words without speaking.
“I guess,” she finally admitted.
“Excellent,” Rachett said. “Madeline DeVere can be your ward.”
There was a lengthy pause.
“When you execute your return jump, I would order that the Three male—Chuck?”
“Yes, sir,” Jeb said.
“He must be eliminated.”
Sixth: take life only in defense of another.
“Don't be so shocked, Merrick.” Rachett's icy gaze landed on them both. “It isn't the first time the directive has been modified.”
Modified.
He stood, indicating they should go.
“You're dismissed.”
Jeb and Jasper began to walk out.
“Reflectives,” Rachett said in a low voice.
They turned with yes sirs on their tongues.
“It shall not be the last,” he said, switching to Latin and dumping the Three slang in one fell swoop.
*
Beth transferred the pack to her left shoulder out of habit. Unlike Merrick, she was right-hand dominant, and even a rookie Reflectives knew not to encumber their fighting arms with anything other than a weapon.
“I can't tell you how much I appreciate you… putting me up,” Madeline said.
Beth gave her a sideways look, still shocked by the metamorphosis. Rachett hadn't seen how Madeline had looked before, but to Beth and Merrick, the change in her appearance had been like night and day.
It was as though her body simply knew what sector she belonged in.
“You're welcome,” Beth replied, feeling as if her space were being invaded. Of course, she had never really had a female friend before. The other Reflective females treated her like a pariah because she’d chosen to be a warrior.
They simply didn't understand that it hadn't been about choice but about calling. She could no more work in a clerical capacity than Merrick could.
She smiled, thinking about that big warrior's body being folded behind a desk.
“What's so funny?”
Beth's grin widened as she drew closer to her small domicile.
She lived in the suburbs of Barringer, which she liked better than town. She received fewer dirty looks and had less shunning to avoid. What the elite Papiliones did not see, they could not look down upon.
“Sorry, my mind is wandering.”
“Has anyone ever told you that what you're thinkinʼ is all over your face?” Madeline asked.
Yes, with their fists.
“Some,” Beth answered.
“Wow…” Madeline breathed. “This is amazing.”
Madeline spun in a slow circle, taking in the antique building with a thatched roof at a fourteen-twelve pitch. Two apartments had been carved out of the interior, and a wrought-iron stairwell guarded a medieval-period arched door. Studs of hand-forged metal held together the wood tongue- and-groove planks of the seven-foot door.
Warm windows of amber, each with four divided lights were separated like two sets of kind eyes sunk into the stone faç
ade.
“It's gorgeous,” she said.
Beth agreed, giving critical attention to her shared domicile and nodded. It was as close to the remembered childhood home as she could come.
Madeline turned away from the house and took in the solar-powered lights flickering on with twilight's descent.
The town of Barringer lay beneath them; stone cottages and cobblestoned roads flowed in ribbons of chaos as they migrated down the hill to the center that housed the judicial, medicinal and The Cause headquarters.
Beyond that, vineyards rose like reminders of the spring that would yield plump grapes.
“The view is incredible.”
Beth was pleased that the Three was so grateful for their world. Each minute she was there, Madeline seemed to thrive a bit more. It was as though Sector Three had poisoned her. Or, at the very least, hadn’t allowed her to flourish as she was meant to.
“Come,” Beth said, putting her thumb to the pulse pad at the right of the thick entrance door. The old-fashioned surface-mount rim lock remained, but it had fallen out of use long ago. When brain impulse technology—or just “pulse” for short—had been introduced, the number of thefts had taken a big dip. It had improved the quality of Papiliones’ daily life, as most advancements should.
A thumbprint was unique to the individual, so it was completely secure. Of course, that had not been the case with the fraudulent prints they'd sold on the black market of Three.
It had been for The Cause.
The door swung wide, the bronze handle pull cool to the touch, reminding Beth that autumn was quickly approaching. Her one-month absence had unnaturally sped up her sense of reality, and she hadn't caught up yet.
The two women climbed the steps, and Beth repeated the pulse security routine for her personal dwelling.
The number at the door simply read,2.
There was only one other that entered here and Beth was relieved when her butterflies floated toward her when she swung the heavy door wide.
“Butterflies!” Madeline chimed behind Beth and the women raised their arms to receive the greeting from butterfly to Reflective.
As ancient as Papilio itself, the butterflies came and landed.
One large specimen stroked its velvet wings against Beth's cheek. “Yes, yes Sampson.”
Beth petted his wide wings.
Sampson was her favorite. He was a great beauty. His body was decorated in periwinkle, with striking electric blue spots and stripped antenna that alternated between the two colors.
“He's so pretty,” Madeline said quietly.
“Handsome,” Beth said automatically.
“How do you know he's male?”
She smiled at Madeline.
The girl cocked her head. “Besides the clue in the name?”
Beth nodded, her smile becoming a grin.
“I don't know—just do.”
She knew. The male Reflectives could never tell, but Beth could. She always attracted the papiliones wherever she went. Sometimes one or two followed the male Reflectives, but never the flock that trailed Beth as if she were the Pied Piper.
Madeline made her way deeper inside Beth's domicile.
Her eyes touched on everything, and Beth was suddenly self-conscious. She wasn't known for her housekeeping.
It was a very good thing the women who straightened residences for Reflectives while they were on jumps visited frequently.
Beth knew the women had been there because the butterflies’ small salt perch was fresh, and their sugar dropper was full. She sighed in relief. No one had anticipated the break in the continuum. However, every Reflective’s contract stated that their domicile would be maintained in their Cause-sanctioned absence—until their death or break in service.
Beth had never anticipated an absence so long when she’d blithely signed the contract.
She was glad for the contingency.
Rows of small lights hung from solid wood beams buried in the stone walls and flush against the solid four-meter-tall rock ceiling.
The butterflies lit on the wires that traveled between the bulbs.
White lights twinkled at the women like stars.
“Thank you,” Madeline said softly.
Tears like crystal rain fell from her face, dripping from her delicate jawbone to land on the wood floor.
Beth wasn't good at consoling. She had no practice.
“Why are you crying?” Again.
Madeline hiccuped back a sob. “I'm so damn grateful, I simply don't have the words.”
Beth blinked. It made her resistance to sharing her domicile less frustrating. Madeline behaved like a person who'd never received a kindness in her whole life.
That sobered Beth in many ways, some which struck very close to home.
Beth didn't know exactly what to do with the gratitude so she ignored it.
“Let me show you your room.”
A smile tilted the corners of Madeline's mouth as she followed Beth, which irked her.
She hated being so easy to read.
Beth walked down the dimly lit corridor and depressed a tarnished brass thumb latch, pushing open the wooden door.
A miniscule window peered into the ancient woods behind the domicile, now kept in the deep shadow of night's invasion. Only the tops of the trees appeared to escape, reluctantly letting go of their silhouettes to the cape of true evening.
A long, narrow bed stood underneath the small convex portal of a single pane of glass. A tiny nightstand with a pulse light was centered atop the adjacent square wooden tabletop.
A scrolling design of metal loops took up the headboard in a chipped blood red. The quilt made by one of the Crafters snugged the corners and foot. A lone stuffed bear—the only thing Beth had been allowed to keep from her childhood—lay anchored amid two thick pillows.
Madeline walked over to a small bookcase opposite the bed and ran her finger over the spines of many tales of the dark fey, Beth’s favorite.
The dwelling was too ancient for anything modern like an integral closet, but there was a wardrobe against a corner that jogged to accommodate the tiny fireplace in Beth's chamber. It mirrored the room they stood in.
Beth went to the wardrobe and opened the pine doors, placing the backpack inside the bottom, noting a dozen empty hangers, starving for clothes, hanging on the brass rod.
She softly closed it and turned.
Madeline's face clenched to restrain her emotions. After a few deep breaths, she said, “This is wonderful. But…”
Beth frowned.
Madeline laughed. “Is there a bathroom here? Everything looks so antique-y.”
Beth's lips twitched. “Yes. We call it a cleansing room in this sector.”
It was Madeline's turn to frown. “That's weird.”
Beth shrugged. It was what it was.
“I'm desperate for a shower. I feel skanky and—yuk,” Madeline said, taking a subtle whiff of herself.
“I'm sympathetic.”
“Do you want to use the shower first?” Madeline asked, tucking back inside her turtle shell.
Principle but she is reticent.
“No, you go ahead and cleanse first. I will follow.”
Madeline's brows quirked. “You talk different here.”
Beth nodded. “I am home.”
“Are you speaking Latin?”
“What do you think?” Beth asked, curious.
Madeline shrugged. “I can't tell.”
Beth looked down at her feet, overcome with all the strangeness of the current circumstances.
Her face rose. “Yes,” she answered.
“Oh,” Madeline said. “I'm gonna go then and…” She indicated the corridor.
Beth answered, “Second portal on the left.”
Madeline hesitated. “Thanks.”
After a few minutes of silence, the commode flushed, and the cleanser was turned on.
The white noise of water drowned out the silence, and Beth walked to her sofa then p
lopped down in exhaustion.
She unlaced her boots and dragged her feet out of the shoes she'd been wearing for three days.
Sleepily, her mind reminded her that it had really been more like a month. That made her mouth crack into a sloppy grin.
The last thing she remembered was feeling dead on her feet.
Then it occurred to her she was no longer on her feet.
Beth fell into a deep sleep.
The butterflies stood guard over their charge, only the soft beat of their wings revealing their existence.
After a time, a large periwinkle butterfly floated downward with the expertise of practice and landed on the sleeping female Reflective.
It tucked its wings tight to its body and nestled against the soft crook of her neck.
Beth slept on, oblivious to the butterfly who gave her comfort while she dreamed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Hey, man! How do I turn this dumb thing on?”
Jeb cracked an eyelid. His every muscle ached, begging for more sleep. His eyes rolled over the countertop of his kitchen, where crumbs, a dirty knife still caked with too much peanut butter, and an open sack of bread stood like a contaminated island in the middle of his kitchen.
Jeb's eyes fluttered shut.
“Jeb!” Jacky yelled, two feet from his face.
He sat up in one motion, staring at the teen like imminent death. Just call him Reaper.
He was tired and hungry. He felt sore because he was, and if he'd thought he had escaped host duty, he was sorely mistaken.
Obviously, Jacky was on another sector zone for time.
“Hey, man… you look like ass.”
Jeb growled, and Jacky stepped back. He was at a safe distance and Jeb calculated how far he would have to reach to ring Jacky’s neck.
Instead, he scrubbed his face. He ran his finger through his long corkscrew hair. He longed for a close-shorn haircut, but his return jump to Three would require him to keep the mop for a time longer.
“Well,” Jacky asked, retreating one more step.
Definitely smart.
“It's second portal to the right.”
“Thanks.” Jacky gave him a considering look.
“You're not much of a morning person.”
Jeb glared at him.
“Fine, eff me.”
Jeb heard the door slam and sprang off the couch, flinging his arms to loosen the stiffness.
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