reflection 01 - the reflective

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  The two had matching sick expressions.

  “She's female.”

  Jeb nodded. “It is the worst place for her to be, besides Thirteen.”

  Silence fell.

  He knew Calvin and Kennet were neutral at best about Beth. But they needed to know.

  “My timepiece has run out, and I have found my soul mate.”

  “Finally! A piece of joyous news.”

  Calvin grinned at Jeb, looking around as though Jeb might have squeezed her into his back pocket.

  Kennet continued to give Jeb a hard look. The wheels of his mind turning were clear on his countenance. Like Beth, his thoughts were plain to all who saw him.

  Jeb saw when realization clicked into place.

  Jeb's silence probably played a part.

  “No,” Kennet said quietly.

  Calvin gave him a sharp look. “What…?” He turned to Jeb.

  “Okay—who the hell just died?” Jacky commented, his eyes moving to each Reflective's face.

  They ignored Daphne as she moaned in the background, muttering requests for drugs.

  “It is Beth Jasper.”

  Calvin sat back on the couch. “You can't be serious.” His patent disbelief irked Jeb.

  “As if I have a choice what the Principle dictates.”

  “He's right,” Kennet said.

  “Who gives a ripe shit?!” Jacky said. “They’re supposed to be together. That clown Ryan jumped her to this criminal planet with… what the hell is there?”

  “Bloodlings and nightlopers,” Jeb supplied. And Principle knows what else. They'd only scratched the surface of cautious exploration.

  Jacky paused.

  “Scary shit,” Jacky said, then announced, “And you dudes are worried about Beth being half-Reflective? Get it together, dudes!” Jacky stabbed his finger at the ceiling.

  “The boy is right,” Jeb began, and Jacky scowled.

  “If we can find Beth…” He hesitated, “When we find Beth, she has the ability with a big enough water source, to jump all the Reflectives back.”

  “Harmony could be restored.”

  Quiet filled the space.

  “This is so Hallmark moment, guys.”

  They looked blankly at Jacky.

  “Nevermind,” he muttered.

  Jeb turned back to Calvin and Kennet. “There's a chance if we go now.”

  Jacky whirled around, one name on his mind. “Maddie!”

  The pause choked them.

  “Where is she?”

  The two Reflectives were silent.

  “Let me guess—Sector effing One, right? With all the creeper dudes…”

  Jeb nodded. He knew what their silence meant: affirmative.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Cold water hit Beth's face, going up her nose and knocking her off the perch she'd been half-conscious on.

  She sat straight up, sputtering.

  Ryan's grinning face greeted her.

  She coughed and spit water out of her mouth and nostrils.

  Beth clamped down on her panic, channeling the adrenaline for when she might need it because her ravenous hunger stole her reserves moment by moment.

  “Wakey, wakey, mongrel.” Ryan's grin broadened.

  “I really hate that you can't get my name right.” Beth swiped the last of the water out of her eyes.

  Ryan had been overconfident, standing too close to Beth, and she lashed out, kicking him dead center in the jaw.

  That open self-congratulatory smile was wiped away in a wash of blood.

  Heal that, prick.

  She'd never wished more strongly for combat boots. Her bare foot was just not as effective.

  Ryan spun, trying to take her foot, but she was slightly faster than he was because of her smaller body mass.

  She avoided the trap of his snagging fingers and leapt off the table she'd been on.

  Ragged faces of Reflectives were behind bars in every corner her eyes visited.

  Beth shelved her shock and searched for a means of escape. Precious seconds had ticked by as she’d taken in the cells that held her fellow Reflectives.

  Low and narrow windows sat just below where the stone walls met the twenty-foot ceiling.

  Bars prevented escape while meager light and ventilation leaked through.

  Beth dismissed the unclimbable walls of stone immediately—no footholds.

  Her assessment took three heartbeats of time she couldn't spare. She found the door and bolted, her heart full for her fellow Reflectives she left behind while fleeing.

  Beth could not help them if she didn't escape.

  Ryan caught her by her long hair and dragged her backward.

  Beth gritted her teeth to stop from crying out.

  He wound her hair around his wrist and jerked her face close to his. Beth presumed he was going to say something he thought was clever.

  She surprised him, grabbing the back of his skull, and jerked it as she brought her knee up. She smashed his newly healed nose and the mess she'd made of his mouth.

  He wailed, letting go of her hair, but it remained twined around his forearm as his hands automatically went to cup his nose, dragging her backward a second time.

  Beth spun in the opposite direction, unwinding her hair. Then she ran.

  Ryan staggered after her, calling her names far worse than mongrel.

  She hit the door, and cheers from the captive Reflectives drowned out Ryan's agony.

  Beth jerked open the door and was met by a huge male of indeterminate lineage.

  She reacted instantly, smacking him open-palmed in the middle of his chest then pivoting in the opposite direction.

  She heard him land, but she kept running, her arms pumping, the din of the Reflectivesʼ screamed urgings spurring her on.

  Two guards approached, and Beth dove, swinging low and hard, using her stature to her advantage. She brutalized the crotch of one and slammed her elbow backward into the stomach of the other.

  They fell to the side of her like water off the bow of a ship.

  She reached the door that led outside and thrust it open as she clapped her hand on the handle.

  Beth threw herself in a running leap, clearing a bank of five, three-meter-wide steps.

  She rolled in the air, landing with cat-like precision on the unforgiving gravel skirting the building. Small pebbles abraded her palms.

  She rose, and Slade and twenty-odd bloodlings stood looking at her.

  Icy adrenaline filled her veins as they moved around her in a loose circle. Slade’s face was set in stone—against her.

  The doors slapped open behind Beth, and she put her back to Slade. She used her damp sleeve as already damp with blood to wipe fresh blood, grime, and sweat off her brow.

  A bleeding Ryan strode out of the door. The man Beth vaguely remembered shoving on his ass gave Beth a big grin.

  Let them come.

  Shifting her weight, Beth flicked her eyes at the two guards; one had his hand by his tender groin, while the other glowered at her.

  She'd thought Ryan hated her before. But that dislike had morphed into something else entirely.

  The man with the grin began clapping.

  Loud brittle strikes sounded, each one punching her sensitive eardrums.

  “Bravo… my little hopper, bravo.”

  The clapping abruptly ceased, and Beth tensed, ready for whatever they would deliver.

  “I am Dimitri,” he announced.

  Wonderful. The ring leader of whatever illegal crap Ryan was trying to use her to pay off.

  Beth said nothing, her eyes pegged on the two guards and Ryan.

  She was discomforted by how Ryan's gaze stayed locked on her like a trophy.

  She could feel the bloodlings behind her like the electric conduit of hundreds of years before her time, a low thrumming energy working like a big battery at her back.

  Beth swallowed over a parched throat.

  Dimitri continued, “That was quite a performance.�
�

  “I wasn't performing. I was escaping,” Beth clarified.

  Troll.

  “She needs a lesson of manners,” Dimitri said thoughtfully, and his guards muttered their assent.

  “Dimitri,” Ryan began, “she is a female, but Reflective. You can't expect her to just roll over.”

  Ryan set her teeth on edge. Even with the danger she was in, Beth still found room for anger. Oh now I am Reflective?

  Dimitri turned to Ryan. “Oh? As you did?”

  Ryan's face instantly turned to contained fury.

  “It seems that she bested you.” His light mocking-gold eyes turned to Beth.

  Nightloper, lion descent. Six feet seven, two hundred eighty pounds, snake-like reflexes. She sensed something else she could not identify, also a potential problem.

  Dimitri certainly hadn't been fast enough to thwart her.

  However, Beth wasn't arrogant enough to assume that the element of surprise would be on her side a second time.

  If she had to face him in a real battle, he would hurt her.

  But she would hurt him, as well.

  It made her lips curl in a mocking smile.

  “Look at her,” Dimitri commented, making casual progress as he descended the stairs, closing in on her position.

  Beth held her ground.

  She had nowhere to go, with bloodlings at her back and Ryan and Dimitri's guards at her front.

  It was a juggernaut.

  “She is a tiny hopper,” he continued, making a measuring gesture to his pecs with a hand.

  “Yes, well, this tiny hopper,” Beth enunciated slowly, the sarcasm dripping off every word, “knocked you on your big ass.”

  “A lesson in manners indeed,” he repeated, then he was on her, using the preternatural speed nightlopers were known for.

  Beth fought with what little she had left, every move choreographed like a beautiful dance against him.

  Her fists sang along his ribcage, tapping the bones like a fine instrument.

  She peppered him with abuse everywhere that was soft and vulnerable.

  Dimitri didn't grab her hair, but slapped her arms out of the way, flinging both by her sides, and Beth leapt backward in a midair summersault. He barreled into her body as she tumbled through the air.

  She sank her hands into his neck and hung on like a tick on a canine, throwing her head forward in a brutal skull strike.

  His hold broke and Beth fell, her head on numbing fire.

  Something caught her before she hit the ground.

  Beth craned her neck and locked gazes with Slade.

  She used the moment wisely, pushing the apology he deserved into her eyes.

  Beth banked on how she wore her emotions plainly.

  The barest tilt of his lips told her he got it loud and clear.

  “Don't dump me,” she whispered, her body bone tired, her stomach so empty she was beyond hunger, her head a gnarled knot of pain.

  Beth managed a small smile at the private joke.

  Slade brushed the sweaty hair from her forehead.

  “Never, tiny frog.”

  Beth closed her eyes, safe for that moment.

  Who knew for the next?

  *

  “Principle dammit!” Jeb cursed, kicking his foot out, water droplets flinging back into the shallow part of the ocean of Sector One.

  “I think we have more things to worry about than water-logged boots,” Calvin commented, his dark-blond hair vaguely red as the dawn spread across the mountain range of this quadrant.

  Jeb scanned the peaks all around them, the spikes of the tops like arrows against a lightening sky. Peach and tangerine crawled across the tops, tinging them like weapons dipped in blood.

  Jacky came to stand beside him. He lifted a foot. “Dry as a bone.”

  Jeb smirked, clapping him on the back, and he lurched forward a step. “Clothes fit a mite better, too.”

  Jeb was pissed he hadn’t been able to keep the trajectory of the land better focused. Some of them had landed in shallow water.

  Not Jacky. “Yeah, thanks. Keep your hands to yourself—hell.”

  Jeb gave him the once-over: pants too long and big around the waist, cinched with a Reflective utility belt—all matte black—and a Reflective sparring top. The shirt fit loose on Jacky, but was meant to be worn tight to the body so the fabric didn't get in the way of movement and jabs. Jacky’s muscle structure wasn't quite a man's yet.

  The faint outline of a butterfly was still visible on the old sparring shirt. Though it had been washed many times, the vaguest touch of unfurled wings and multi-colored shimmer remained at the breast.

  It made Jeb's heart heavy.

  Kennet spoke up, his eyes the most common color of a Papiliones—lagoon green, pale with streaks of muddied gray. “My pulse indicates we're in the Zimmer Quadrant.”

  Jeb put his hands on his hips, thinking. “And intel says?”

  “That this… ‘illegal fighting’ is in the York Quadrant.”

  “Of course,” Jeb said bitterly.

  “Okay, this means dick to me. What are all these places?” Jacky asked.

  “Is he normally this…”

  “Yes,” Jeb answered curtly.

  “Principle, it's annoying,” Calvin said.

  Jacky frowned, rubbing the spot where Jeb had thumped him. “Yeah? Try this on for size. What's annoying is being the Papilio bitch. I get to be a mushroom, kept in the dark and fed shit. Yeah—like I'm so for that program?” Jacky delivered the tirade so matter-of-factly that Kennet barked out a laugh.

  “Stupid, this Three is not.”

  “Yes,” Jeb agreed.

  “God, you guys catch on fast.”

  They frowned at Jacky.

  Calvin put the strap of his all-ceramic stabilizer on his shoulder, hefting the weight until it hung perfectly, with a practiced motion.

  “What we have here is a ten-kilometer click to find the center of the illegal cage fighting. The bulk of our Reflectives are housed there. Beth Jasper is key.”

  “Why?” Jacky asked.

  The men shifted their weight, then Jeb finally spoke. “She is a jumper for whom there is no comparison. Whatever she cannot do as well as her male counterparts, she makes up for in unparallelled reflection functionality.”

  Jacky grinned, laughing.

  “I can see that just twists your noodles, guys. A mere female”—he waggled his brows—“trumps ya on the old jumpathon. Yeah, that rankles.”

  Calvin glared at him, his hands fisting.

  “I want to strike him.”

  “Feeling's mutual,” Kennet agreed smoothly.

  “He speaks true,” Jeb said.

  “Why is it such a big deal—” He made a whoo-hoo sound in his throat. “That Beth is better? Is it all because she's a chick?”

  He searched their faces, and Jeb dropped his gaze.

  “God! You guys are supposed to be so advanced, but you slave out your women—not dealing with liberation here.”

  “This isn't helping,” Jeb commented.

  “Which part? The part where ten percent of the ʽgreatʼ Reflectives did the moral dunce cap and took leave of their senses, ruined Papilio, and nabbed the rest of you guys? Or the part where you beat a good woman down who could have helped?” Jacky gave them steady eyes.

  “’Cause I gotta say, I'm confused dudes.”

  Calvin stalked off, and Kennet came to within kissing distance of Jacky. “I am sorry that your family has been murdered.”

  Jacky held his tongue, though his eyes sparked with anger.

  “However”—Kennet's finger went to Jacky's chest—“do not think my empathy is boundless. You are a foul-mouthed, impudent adolescent that needs a swift kick in the head to make you a man.”

  “Yeah?” Jacky leaned forward into that pressing digit, apparently unintimidated by the five-inch-height and forty-pound-weight difference. “You need this foul-mouthed Three, Reflective Kennet.”

  Jeb walked to
the pair before they came to blows. It would be Jacky for whom it would end fatally. It was not the role of the Reflective to mete out life lessons to people from other sectors, no matter how enticing.

  “Kennet,” Jeb began.

  The Reflective's hands flexed. Then he backed away, expelling a disgusted noise.

  “You need me,” Jacky repeated, crossing his arms.

  “Yeah? Explain,” Kennet said, clearly disbelieving.

  “I know the bad from the good.”

  Jeb and Kennet stared at him as Calvin strode back. “Tell us.”

  “You guys call me a ʽSensitiveʼ.” His gaze locked on them. “On Three, I'm an Aura Reader. I can always nail the butt munches from the cool people.”

  Jeb cocked his brow.

  “And?” Kennet asked.

  “I'll know who we can trust, bright one.”

  “Jacky,” Jeb warned.

  “Well—God, he's the most stubborn listener on the planet.” Jacky’s eyes bounced around the general vicinity.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I'm gonna go there—on all the sectors.”

  Calvin's chin jerked back, his hand on his hips. “And you presume it will work here? This is Sector One. Abilities don't always transfer.”

  “Yeah?” Jacky asked, undaunted. “What if they have more traction instead of less?”

  Silence met his statement.

  Jeb turned from the group without a word, beginning the trek to the York Quadrant.

  Blisters would tear his feet apart as his socks and boots worked against each other in the damp muck of his shoes.

  He heard the other follow.

  They were an unlikely group but necessary.

  Jeb tried to keep The Cause firmly trenched in his psyche, but it warred constantly with his soul, which was bound to Beth.

  That compulsion was even stronger than The Cause. Jeb knew that was why no Reflective could ever serve both The Cause and a soul mate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Slade handed Beth into the arms of another bloodling.

  “You again,” she said, and the young male smiled. Not a hint of scarring remained from his encounter with the nightloper lion.

  “Be still, hopper.”

  Dimitri went nose-to-nose with Slade, and they were evenly matched in size. “Do not make this your war, bloodling. She is one female.”

  Slade’s smile looked more like bared teeth than any bid for humor.