Extracted

by Tyler H. Jolley & Sherry D. Ficklin

  LEX

  The common room in Wardenclyffe Tower isn’t the cleanest place on the planet, but I’ve come to appreciate the dirt-stained rugs and the ugly, mustard-colored walls. Today is a good day. There’s no sight of any resident rodents slinking across the floor, nobody is bleeding too badly, and there’s a general tone of relaxation in the air.

  I sit at a table with Nobel as he tinkers with his latest experiment. Across the room, Stein polishes a battle-axe. I take a copper spring from the table of tech and fling it across the room. She doesn’t look up as it bounces off the wall behind her. Grabbing another, I stretch it a little more so that it will make it the distance. I get her right in the shoulder. Perfect shot. She looks up, rubbing her arm, and I flash a wide, cheesy smile. Stein puts the rag down and heaves the battle-axe over her shoulder.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Stein asks.

  I crack my neck. “I’m sure. It’ll get the blood pumping. Help me think.”

  She grins. “Your funeral.”

  With a wave, she’s off, sprinting toward the other side of the common area.

  I chase after her, stopping to grab an axe of my own, and find her waiting for me, perched in a crouch at the lip of the half-pipe. The skaters grab their boards and gravitate toward where a small crowd is forming, and I know why. Stein has stripped off the long trench coat she normally wears, leaving only her black leather pants and tank top. She tips her top hat to me before tossing it aside as well. She looks alert, dangerous, and smoking hot. I adjust my grip and slowly swing the axe. She pounces onto the back of an old tattered couch.

  All in the common room have now abandoned their activities to come watch us practice. We don’t have any specific room we practice in—it’s kind of a move or be moved situation whenever someone is sparring. The common room wears scars from many such matches. Once-heavy damask drapes are now moth-eaten and threadbare. Even the steel plates covering the windows are scratched and scuffed, bits rusted and falling away, and the armchair has a gaping hole down the back from the last time we practiced. Around me, familiar faces watch with excitement.

  Their eyes don’t bother me—they only fuel me, make me burn hotter. It must be how rock stars feel on stage. Everyone wishing they could be you, just for a moment. I twirl the axe again, drawing whistles and applause from my audience. It’s almost enough to take my mind off the events of the wharf. Some poetic wise guy hits the old CD player and “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC blares through the ancient speakers.

  Stein blows me a kiss from her perched position. I pretend to grab it out of the air and stuff it in my pocket near a handful of bottle caps. Some couples snuggle or hold hands and take long walks. Not us. This is how we dance.

  A cloud of dust rises from the couch as Stein lunges off the edge and runs at me. I swing the axe, knowing it won’t connect. She drops to her knees at the last second and uses a worn Oriental rug to slide past me, the blade narrowly missing the top of her head. On her knees, she punches me in the side of the leg, knocking me off balance just long enough for her to tuck and roll away.

  The crowd stamps their boots to the beat. Some of the kids are slapping their knees and singing along. Somewhere behind me is a shrill whistle, the release of steam pressure from a prosthetic appendage.

  “How did that redhead at the Fair ever get a piece of you?” I ask as we begin to exchange blows.

  “Please. That chick had zero skills. She just got lucky.”

  “I wish I could get that lucky with you sometimes,” I grumble.

  That pulls Stein to a stop, and I’m able to kick her in the stomach and send her tumbling backward. For a split second, I’m afraid I might have really hurt her. But when she looks up at me, she’s all smiles. “Is that so?”

  Now I stop. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

  “Oh, I know what you meant.” She lunges again and kicks the axe out of my hands. It lands with a clang and skids across the floor. “You know, you’re lucky Nobel shoved that contra down your throat, or you never would have made it back to the Tower.”

  “Your point is?”

  “My point is, be more careful, you stupid dillweed.”

  I look around at my friends. They’re all cheering, and all eyes are on us. I love this moment.

  “Aww, shucks. You really do care.”

  Stein turns her back to me, wraps her arm around the long, golden rope attached to the drapes, and uses it to climb her way up the window covering until she is balancing on a thick ledge of crown molding above the main window.

  “What are you planning to do from way up there?” I call, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice. “You getting tired already?”

  “You wish. I’m just giving you a breather. I’m not even breaking a sweat here.”

  “You don’t sweat.”

  She laughs, and the sound is smooth and deep, like honey. “True. I glisten. You, on the other hand, you look a bit peaked. You sure you aren’t going to pass out again?”

  I sigh. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

  She makes a face like she’s thinking about it before brushing her dark hair out of her eyes and winking at me.

  I reach over to retrieve the axe and pitch it toward the plaster ceiling above her. A light dusting of white powder rains down on her, making her cough and release one hand from the rod to cover her mouth. I yank the curtain. She falls, landing right in my arms. I’ve almost forgotten the crowd is there until they start cheering and clapping again.

  “Nice catch,” she whispers, her face so close to mine I’m sure no one else can hear. I relish in the moment even though we have an audience. She gently touches the scarred side of my face and neck.

  Her fingers take me back to the first time I lay in Stein’s lap and let her give me my first rifting tattoo. We all get chevrons for each mission. Most of us put them down our spine, but Stein convinced me to tattoo my scar—to change it—so that it looks like a hand made out of smoke. Its inky fingers crawl along my jawline, as if cradling the side of my face. It’s a piece of her that’s always holding on to a piece of me.

  I lower my face to hers, and we touch noses. But when I tilt my head to steal a kiss, she wriggles free and runs into the crowd. Soon enough, she emerges from our cheering fans, wielding a blunt-edged broadsword.

  “No fair,” I grumble. Something hits me in the foot. I look down to see that someone has slid me a flail. Standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding the sword like a cane, Stein grins. Behind her, the crowd thrusts fistfuls of money into the air as Nobel scrambles to collect the bets.

  “Five to one on Stein,” he shouts, winking at me over his shoulder.

  Stein lunges, slicing wildly at me. She’s not used to fighting with such a heavy weapon, and the weight of it is throwing her off balance. I take advantage and press forward. She holds the sword like a baseball player, and I manage to wrap the ball and chain around the blade. Both flail and sword fall to the floor.

  “No cheating!” she yells, backing up slowly.

  “If you aren’t cheating, you aren’t trying,” I say.

  Stein backs away, and another weapon slides from the crowd of Hollows in her direction. She picks up the sickle.

  “Guys! Quit being so helpful, okay?” she says with a grin as she takes a step forward.

  I expect her to force the advantage, but instead, she blows past me and runs down the stairs toward Nobel’s workshop.

  “Oh man. I hope you don’t have anything important in there.” The last time we sparred in the lab, we almost destroyed a cabinet full of rifting tech. I cringe at the memory of the three-day clean-up duty.

  A look of near panic crosses Nobel’s face, and he jerks his head. “Go get her.”

  I chase her, grabbing two sai from the crowd like a marathon runner grabbing a baton.

  “Really, guys?” I say, blowing past them. “Sai against a sickle? Thanks.”

  The stairwell is nar
row, steep, and empty all the way down. I look back as the mass of Hollows begin pressing themselves into the stairwell.

  Slowly, slinking down the spiral stairway, I take one step at a time with my back to the outer wall. Stein likes to scale things, so I scan the rafters as I go. Walking down these steps is like entering a tomb that’s been sealed for thousands of years. Why Nobel keeps his lab down here is beyond me.

  “Stein, where are you?” I call out.

  I kick a small rock down the stairs to see if I can draw her out. No luck. I hold the sai out in a defensive position and keep descending.

  Once I clear the stairs, I enter the short hallway that leads to Nobel’s lab. Fortunately, he leaves a light on outside the doorway. With a quick hand in the air, I stop the crowd following behind me. A soft chorus of disappointed groans follows me as I inch forward.

  “Stein?”

  I creep along the hallway, expecting Stein to drop down on me any minute. There’s no place to hide in the hallway except the rafters. I reach the end, where Nobel’s lab door is normally locked. It’s made out of ornate wood with a brass owl perched on the top of the door’s molding. The door is ajar. I give it a gentle push and carefully step inside. The room is mostly dark, the only glow coming from a Bunsen burner on the corner table. The dark blue bubbling liquid suspended above it stinks of rotten eggs. Not exactly romantic candlelight, but it’ll do.

  “Stein? You can’t hide from me forever, you know?”

  “I’m not hiding,” she says. I follow the sound of her voice to a large cabinet full of chemistry glassware in the corner of the room. Just as I fling the doors open, rattling the jars, I hear her add, “I just wanted to get you away from the crowd, so I could do this—”

  Too late, I see that she’s standing on top of the cabinet. She drops, taking me by surprise as she knocks me to the ground and pins me to the floor. The sickle is gone, but she’s pressing her forearm into my throat. Just when I think I’m going to have to tap out, she leans forward and kisses me. Relaxing, I let the sai drop to the floor and wrap my arms around her. She smells like flowers, grease, and metal, and even though we’ve been sparring, her bare skin is cool to the touch. When she pulls away, I sigh.

  “Do you submit?” Stein asks with a huge grin.

  “Um, no,” I say and rear up, flipping us over so she’s pinned beneath me. After a short struggle, I have both of her hands pinned over her head. As strong as she is, my weight is too much for her. Leaning forward, I press a kiss to the hollow of her neck. “You give?”

  “Never,” she says, squirming. I bring one hand down and hold her by the neck. She squeezes her eyes closed, her body tensing beneath me. It only takes me a second to realize something is wrong. I withdraw my hand.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask, rocking back on my feet so I’m perched over her legs but no longer touching her.

  She shakes her head and blows out a long breath. Slowly, she rises up so she’s on her elbows, half sitting.

  “Stein? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  I stroke her hair and tuck the strands behind her ear. “You’re lying.”

  She finally reopens her eyes. “No really, I’m okay. Just forgot how to breathe for a second. What can I say? You have that effect on me.”

  I notice that her shirt has crept up enough to reveal the small, sun-shaped birthmark around her belly button. I trace it with my finger. It’s perfectly symmetrical, and it’s only a few shades pinker than her skin. I know how she wonders about that mark—where it came from, what it means. We’re both only half of a timeline, our pasts missing.

  “You know you can tell me anything,” I say gently, looking her in the eye as I tug the lace of her shirt back down over the mark.

  Sitting up the rest of the way, she looks away from me. I reach out and take hold of her chin, turning her face back to mine.

  “I mean it, Stein.”

  At first, I think she’s going to say something, but the mask of fierceness returns, and she throws me off instead. For a second, I’m lying on my back, stunned. Then I look up and see faces watching us from the doorway.

  “Looks like my adoring fans have found us.” I snicker and roll to my feet.

  I look back at Stein. She pulls her hair into a ponytail using some surgical tubing she found on a lab bench, and her expression is sour. I can’t blame her. We get so little time to ourselves here. But that’s what happens when the two strongest Rifters get together. We tend to draw a crowd. Normally, it’s fun. But I would have liked a few more minutes alone with her.

  Stein drops her hands to her sides and takes a step toward me. “Yeah, well, your adoring fans can kiss my—”

  She kicks me, and I fly out the door into the short hallway. My face stings from hitting the ground and my fingers come away bloody.

  A mix of cheers and taunts ring out above me as I look up at the water-stained ceiling. Nobel leans over me, the goggles over his eyes making him look even more manic and bug-like than usual.

  “Thanks for keeping the damage to a minimum this time,” he says. He offers me a hand up, which I gratefully accept. “Oh, by the way, Gloves wants to see you.”

  I look around as the crowd disperses, but Stein is nowhere to be seen. “Where’d Stein go?”

  Nobel points into the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. “I think she went that way.”

  The crowd parts, and she looks over her shoulder.

  “So I guess we’ll finish this later?” I say as I walk up to her.

  She smiles, and it’s satisfied, but not happy. “First blood wins, Lex.” She takes her free hand and rubs her thumb over my top lip, holding it up so I can see the blood.

  I can’t help grinning. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Stein frowns and slips a finger into my belt loop. “I suppose.”

  “I like it when you win.”