by Joss Ware
“God, maybe they did find Atlantis,” Marley whispered.
“But how? Did it rise from the bottom of the ocean? Impossible. And I’ve studied the legends. Atlantis was either an island in the Mediterranean, likely off Greece, or it was in the Atlantic. No one’s ever suspected it was in the Pacific.”
“Someone must have been wrong. Or it’s not Atlantis. It’s something else.”
“Well, for now, I just want to get to Fielding. Where is Mecca?”
Marley looked at him a little helplessly. “Quent, you have to understand. I was running for my life in a terrain completely unfamiliar to me, and then the Marcks caught me. I’m not sure I can help you find it.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She drew in a long breath, then let it out. And looked away. “It’s too dangerous.”
“That’s not your damned decision, Marley.”
Before Marley could reply, Zoë stood abruptly and began to gather up the dishes. Quent began to help her, but she gave him a look and said, “Take her to the river. I’ve got an ass-load of things to do here and I don’t want to be bothered.” And she turned and walked back through the beaded doorway.
“Guess you’d better listen to her,” Marley said with a glimmer of her old sense of humor.
And that was when Quent realized what Zoë was doing. Severing their connection. Sending him on his way—in more ways than one.
He looked at Marley, who, despite her flash of irony, still had a deep weariness in her eyes and a pale pallor to her skin. But she was familiar. And she understood him. She’d known him and his silver-spoon world in ways that Wyatt and Elliott hadn’t comprehended.
“Right,” he said.
Just then, Zoë stalked back into the room, pushing the beads rather more roughly aside than she needed to, and strode over to a trunk shoved up against the wall. She dug around in it and yanked out several articles of clothing, rejected some and bundled up the others, and thrust the wad at Marley.
“Water’s nice for a swim. Here’s some soap if you want to wash up. Sun’ll be setting in about two hours, so you have time to enjoy.”
Run along with you, kiddies, Quent could almost hear her say. Have fun.
Fine. He straightened his shoulders and replied, “We’ll be back.”
The last thing he heard as he followed Marley out of the room was the clanging of dishes, and the low, threatening growl from Fang.
As if he were saying good fucking riddance.
A rubbish-mouthed dog, just like his mistress. If he weren’t feeling so dejected, Quent might have smiled at the thought.
Zoë didn’t relax until she heard Fang walk over and lay down on his bed. He’d remained on guard through the whole meal, glaring at their visitors in a way she wished she’d been able to do.
Well, at least at Marley Huvane. Who hadn’t bothered to button up her shirt, and had been flaunting her substantial cleavage in some light blue bra since they arrived.
She washed the dishes as quickly as possible, then set them aside to dry. After she fed Fang some leftovers, which he wholly appreciated, Zoë drew in a deep breath.
What now?
She felt odd. Off balance, which never happened. Maybe she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her.
The sun would be setting soon. She should hunt, but that would take her out of her home and leave Quent and Marley here. She could be gone for days tracking gangas if she went too far to make it back in one night. That would mean they would be here, in her house.
Not a damned chance she was going to let that happen.
She could make more arrows. She should make more. She’d almost run out last night, and if that had happened or if she’d been alone…bad fucking news.
She didn’t feel like doing that either.
If she wanted to take a night off from hunting, as she did occasionally, she would normally curl up with a book and read. With Fang nearby and a cup of tea.
But Quent and Marley would be back. Wet and slippery and—
Ah, for fuck’s sake. That was not something she wanted to think about.
So why the hell was it niggling at her? She had no claim on him.
Zoë slammed down a cup that, fortunately, was made from tin, and poured more canela. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to.
Just like Zoë would. She nodded to Fang and slogged back a huge drink of tea. It scalded the shit out of her mouth and she blinked back tears of pain, swearing silently. Dammit.
What the hell was she doing, wasting time anyway? She had too much to do, and now that Marley was here, she didn’t have to worry about Quent the blond genius anymore. Marley could take care of him.
Good riddance.
Yes. Marley with the big boobs and the lush curves and the eyes for Quent. They had a history. Oh, Zoë had recognized it right away. Fuck-buddies, maybe even real lovers. The pain and betrayal in his eyes, the shock, pleasure—then hurt—in hers.
Whatever had happened between them, they’d work it out. Down by the river.
Good for them.
And then they could get the fuck out of her place and she could get back to her life.
Quent heard the splash behind him and only then did he turn to look toward Marley, in the river. She rose from the gentle rush, her hair slicked back from her face. Even though the lowering sun was behind her, blinding his vision, he could sense her pleasure.
“You need the water?” he said, coming to sit on a huge fallen tree near the shore. There was no beach to speak of, just a well-worn track through the grass and overgrowth that led from the remnants of the town’s old road here.
He’d noticed other indicators of Zoë’s homesteading presence—three solar panels affixed to the eastern side of a building and a crude waterwheel tucked beneath an old bridge. Subtle signs that would easily be missed unless someone was looking for them.
Like him.
“Yes. Can’t live without it. And the water’s beautiful,” Marley said, treading in the middle. “You look miserable. Come on in. I’ll tell you about it.”
For the first time since Zoë’d discovered her, she looked like the Marley he’d known. Her face was clean, her hair sleek, and her eyes sparkled. And on the right side of her chest, just below the collarbone, he saw the small crystal. It was still too light for the glow to be noticeable, so now it simply looked like half of an ice blue marble stuck to her skin.
He glanced at the array of clothes strewn over a bush, noting her white shirt, taupe trousers, and the blue bra and matching panties she’d discarded. He figured he knew what would happen if he joined her—it always did with him and Marley.
They’d known each other since they were teens, since he was living with the bastard that was his father. Brandon Huvane, founder of a successful biochemical firm, and Fielding had been close associates, and the families often vacationed together.
And throughout the rest of his life, the Huvanes and Fieldings continued to run in the same circles. More often than not, if Marley and Quent were at the same function—fundraisers, premiers, parties—they’d find a chance to ditch their dates and sneak off for a bit. Sometimes they’d snog or shag, sometimes they’d simply gossip about the other attendees.
Quent pulled off his shirt and began to unfasten his shorts. The river did look inviting, dark blue sparkling with red and orange as the sun settled onto the horizon. Another hour of daylight, and then they’d have to go inside or chance running into gangas.
His thoughts flickered to Zoë as he peeled down his briefs and started toward the water. Unease that might be defined as guilt sneaked up in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. She’d sent him away. With Marley.
Her intention had been clear.
And aside of that, she’d already tried to ditch him more than once.
And she was probably right: he and Marley fit together much better. They had so much in common. They understood each other. They’d come from the same world.
They’d both been
betrayed by their fathers.
He walked into the water, quickly wading up to his hips. The coolness felt damn good, and he dove under, coming up some distance from Marley.
It struck him that he’d been in the same position only a few hours earlier with another woman, and at that time, he’d expected a totally different outcome. The visions of warm, sleek limbs sliding together, hard and hungry mouths clashing had stoked him this afternoon as he swam after Zoë. He’d enjoyed that moment of the hunt, the thrill of anticipation.
“Right, then,” he said, pulling himself back to his current companion. Treading water so that the current wouldn’t carry him downstream, he asked her, “You need the water for healing?”
“For energy,” she told him. They were far enough away that their submerged frog-kicking legs wouldn’t nudge against the other, but close enough that they could talk in normal voices. “I was away from running water for too long. That’s how the Marcks caught me. Otherwise,” she added grimly, “I’d like to think I could have kept ahead of them longer. I, at least, have the advantage of understanding what hiding places might have been in a building—back stairwells, fire escapes, you know. And also what sort of objects I might find in one. I managed to get into a hardware store and found a saw on the tool aisle that was a very effective weapon.”
“I saw you fighting with Raul Marck. You put that saw to bloody good use. You nearly killed him.”
“Good riddance.”
“Tell me about the crystals.”
She nodded, ducked under, then emerged with her hair replastered over her head. “The crystals are living entities. They can’t survive without the energy from running water. As long as we’re near it, we’re all right. And I could even be away for a couple days, but not much longer. As I learned.”
“You really didn’t want the crystal?” he asked, his eyes trailing over to it.
Marley looked at him for a moment, a range of emotions crossing her face. “I seriously can’t believe you’d even ask. Immortality is one thing, I suppose, and yeah, there are times when I don’t want to die. Like last night, I was pretty sure it was over, until I managed a last slice at Raul Marck and got myself away from him. But to have it forced on me? And for the price paid? God, Quent. I thought you knew me better than that.”
She dove under the water, treating him to a glimpse of her sleek arse, no doubt purposely. When she broke the surface again, she was a bit farther away. “So tell me about Zoë. She’s a piece of work. A post-apocalyptic Martha Stewart. And I mean that mostly in a good way.”
“She’s also a hell of a zombie hunter.”
“The attraction surprises me,” Marley said with a knowing smile. “You generally tend toward more sophisticated types.”
“There aren’t too many movie stars or socialites around anymore,” he said. “Makes it a bit hard to find someone who can tell the difference between beluga and osetra.” He laughed, but even to his ears, it sounded forced.
“You know,” Marley said, treading closer to him. Her foot brushed against his leg and he could see the three little beauty marks on her right cheekbone, along with the tops of her breasts floating in the water. And, now that the sun had lowered behind some trees, he made out a hint of the crystal’s glow. “I always figured that when you stopped running around adding notches to your bedpost, avoiding anything that hinted of real intimacy—and I figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up—we’d end up together.”
She cocked her head and looked at him with a faint smile, and for a moment, he tumbled back in time, remembering their easy camaraderie. His eyes fastened on her mouth, the wide, full lips that she hated because she said they looked like horse lips. He told her they reminded him of Julia Roberts. She told him he looked like Robert Redford on a good day.
Then, Marley surprised him and swished away on her back, like a skittish mermaid. Her breasts flashed fully for a moment, then were modestly covered by the darkening water.
Before he could think of what to say—for he, too, had often had similar thoughts, deep in his mind when he was being honest with himself—Marley swore. “Damn. I left the soap over there.”
She swam back to shore and, seemingly uncaring of her nakedness, picked up the little pot of soap. She scooped out a hunk and waded back in to her hips and began to lather up.
Quent swam back and stepped out of the water, his back to her so that she might have some privacy, and pulled on his shorts. Thinking.
He knew her. He wouldn’t have to worry about Marley sneaking out on him, taking off into the dark after toe-curling sex. Disappearing for days.
She was funny and smart and hot. She was a poor little rich girl to his poor little rich boy. And both of them had been transplanted into this new world where they had nothing.
“So,” she said, “are you going to tell me what happened to bring you here?”
“I wish I knew,” he told her, and explained about the cave.
When he finished, which was about the time she splashed onto shore behind him, Marley said, “You don’t really know if you’re immortal like me, or if you just time-traveled, or if something else happened.”
“I’ve used the term cryogenically frozen, but I suppose time travel is possible. I have no explanation for it other than the fact that Sedona was known for being the center of such strong energy sources, like ley lines, and if some great upheaval happened that caused them to overload or to somehow connect, a massive energy surge could explain it.”
“You’ve always been so fascinated by those sorts of things—explanations for how the pyramids were built and lined up a certain way with…what was it? Easter Island? Or Machu Picchu? Halfway around the world from them.”
“Easter Island. And some nodules on the bottom of the ocean.” He gave a little chuckle. “So you were listening to me all those times I droned on about those things.”
“And about the lost treasures you wanted to find, and Atlantis.”
The mention of Atlantis stopped him. “You must know they—our fathers, and the others—were all members of the Cult of Atlantis before this happened,” he said.
“Yes…but, God, Quent, how did you ever find out about that? It took me years, and I was living with them.”
Shrugging, he decided not to tell her about the Resistance quite yet. “Putting the pieces together.”
He could hear her getting dressed behind him and steered the subject back to his experience. “As I was saying, one of the guys in the cave with us died after we came out, so it’s pretty clear we’re not immortal. And although I haven’t had to shave but once in the last six months, some of the other guys have noticed their beards and nails growing again too.” He shrugged. “Maybe whatever it was simply stopped us from aging or changing for a while, and it takes some time for our bodies to get back to normal.”
“I’m done,” said Marley, walking around so that he could see her. “And it’s getting dark. My little friend is glowing.” Though she gave a short little laugh, he heard the bitterness in her voice.
She was wearing one of Zoë’s tank tops, which stretched much too tightly over her breasts and fully exposed the crystal. He could see that she’d been unable to snap the cargo pants, though they were fully zipped.
“You can’t imagine how glad I am to find you, Quent. I’ve missed you.” She looked up at him and he saw sadness and hope in her eyes. “It was like finding a friend after fifty years of being alone. Fifty years of looking in the mirror and seeing the exact same person, every day. Do you know,” she said, her voice taut, “that I’ve had a broken nail for fifty years that’s never grown back? And I’ve never had to have my eyebrows or legs waxed, or my hair cut—thank God I was having a good hair day when they put that damned crystal in my body. I haven’t changed a bit. For fifty years.” Tears gathered in her eyes, ready to spill over.
“I can’t imagine,” he replied. “You must hate them.” A renewed wave of fury reminded him how much he hated his father. And how he had his own
work to do, his own vengeance to take.
“I do,” Marley said, her voice breaking with anger and frustration. “And I’ve been alone for so long. Without a friend, or anyone to talk to.” The next thing he knew, she was in his arms, and he was folding her close, feeling her shoulders shake and the damp tears wetting his neck. “Dammit,” she sniffled. “I swore I wasn’t going to cry. But I’m so angry, and so glad to have found you, Quent.”
He made soothing noises, rubbing her back with his large hands and feeling the water drip from the ends of her hair down over them. Being a man, he was also fully aware of the swell of breasts pushing against him, and being a man, he had a little bit of shifting down in the nether zone as a result—but that was purely nature.
“They’re going to come after me,” she said, her words muffled by his skin and her tears. “Will you help me find somewhere to hide?”
“Of course. I have to have your help. I’m going to need to know everything you can tell me about them.”
“You’ll never get to him, Quent,” she said, stepping away to look up. “He lives in a compound with other Elite, including my father, and there’s no way to get in or out without being seen. Let alone get close to him.”
“I’ll find a way. And you’re going to help me.”
“Aren’t you listening? There’s no way, Quent. I’m telling you. I lived there. You’ll be killed before you get close enough to do any damage. And you can’t kill him anyway.”
“I can if I cut the mother-fucker’s crystal out of his goddamn skin.”
“Quent, please…can’t we find another way for revenge?”
“It’s the only thing I can do, Marley. I’ve got nothing else. I’ve got no money, no influence, no skills. For God’s sake, I was an Indiana Jones-wanna-be, going on adventures that meant nothing, spending money and trying to get myself killed so I’d have great stories to tell Bonia Telluscrede or Lissa Mackley so I could get them into bed. And now that it’s all gone, I’ve got rot but the drive and the purpose of killing my father. If I die in the accomplishment, or even trying, I’ll have done the best I can do. There’s no other place for me.”
