Beyond the Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  She walked back to the house. When she entered the kitchen, the two men looked as though they’d gotten some bad news. Both were standing, facing each other, their expressions wildly different: Pope’s was resolute, Cheveyo’s not much different than what he’d worn when he told her she couldn’t be part of his life.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Cheveyo said, “Pope wants me to kill him now.”

  “What? No.” She shook her head. “No.”

  “We’ve gotten too close,” Pope said. “And now Yurek has a Sinthe, something he obviously smuggled through the finestra. We, on the other hand, are temporarily handcuffed in our abilities. Even three against one, we can’t hope to keep me from being extracted. It’s too big a risk. Think of your people, Petra. That baby.”

  “No,” she said again, looking at Cheveyo. “You don’t agree, do you?”

  She could see that he didn’t, the pain of Pope’s request heavy on his expression. “I want one more chance at Yurek before we give in.”

  She wanted to hug him but held back. Instead, she faced Pope. “You have emotions. That makes you a sentient being and more human than you think. And . . . you mean a lot to me. Like you said, we’re family. Family doesn’t let family die. We do whatever we can to keep each other alive.” She flicked a glance to Cheveyo, knowing she’d just corroborated his argument about them being together. Never mind that. “One more chance, like he said.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “What’s the plan?”

  Cheveyo pressed his hands against the granite countertop. “We let Yurek find us here. On our turf.”

  She shook her head, taking in the light, open kitchen. “I don’t want to trash this place.”

  “It’s just a place. It can be replaced. People can’t.” He was looking at her.

  It wasn’t just a place to him. It was his father’s refuge, and now his own. He wanted to believe it meant nothing to protect his heart. Did he do the same with her? “You can’t deny what you feel for this place, just like you can’t deny what you feel for me.”

  “I have to separate what I feel with staying alive and accomplishing our goal. They are separate things. Whatever happens to this place, I can fix or rebuild it. I want this over, and this is the best place for that to happen. It’s my territory. And we have weapons, which is all we have.”

  Pope said, “I know humans get attached to their possessions. Yurek has your bike. Are you sure—”

  “I’m sure. For now, we stay put.” He pushed away from the counter and walked down the hall. “Find another weapon, Petra. You and Pope keep working with them. And we get ready.”

  They were in that strange room gazing at the gleaming knives when the phone in her pocket rang. She yanked it out and saw Nicholas’s number on the screen. “Excuse me.

  “Hi. Hold on a sec.” She walked all the way outside, closing her eyes as the sun warmed her face. “Did you find him?” Her heart was clenched.

  “Yes. He’s in Phoenix.”

  “In . . . a graveyard? An urn?”

  “Nope. Actually, he was climbing across monkey bars in a school playground.”

  Chapter 21

  Yurek spent the balance of the day cleaning the rental house. It wouldn’t do for the cleaning crew to find blood, a broken window, and shattered pictures. Leave no trace, one of the Collaborate rules. He’d called a repairman in the next largest town and bribed him to immediately fix the gaping hole in the drywall, as well as the window. Shines were always given plenty of financial resources when on an assignment. The money he’d received on his mercenary jobs had been better than what he would receive as a full-fledged Shine, but that wasn’t as important as the prestige, the honor.

  By mid-morning the handyman sought him out. “I’m done. Take a look.”

  Yurek inspected the bedroom. The man had painted the entire wall, and though it wasn’t the exact shade of cream as the other walls, it was close enough. The window was in one piece again, the picture repaired. Yurek had to clean up the blood before the repairman came.

  Yurek pulled out the amount he still owed the man and handed it to him. “That will be all, thank you.”

  The man counted the bills. “Thank you. My wife’s got to have a hysterectomy and we don’t have insurance, so—”

  “Goodbye.”

  Stopped short, the man pocketed the money. “Sure, ’bye now.”

  Yurek followed him out, waiting until the truck was out of view before getting onto the motorcycle and starting it. Shines were trained to operate all vehicles here in the Earth dimension, but this had been his first actual experience riding one. He would procure such a vehicle on every mission from now on.

  His destination was the area where he and Baal had tracked the hunter. He was sure the road leading into the woods was his residence, or at least his hiding place. He glanced at his watch. Twenty-four hours before he was to report back to Surfacia. He had no intention of returning without Pope.

  Cheveyo didn’t know who Petra was talking to. And you hope it’s that guy she was on the date with.

  Yeah, that’s what he hoped.

  He watched her from the front window as she walked away from the house for privacy. He needed to keep an eye on her, just in case. He looked up to see Pope studying him. “What?” he growled.

  Pope actually smiled. “Nothing in particular.”

  Cheveyo looked at her again, the way the sun reflected gold on her damp hair and made her skin look like honey. The fringes on her suede vest swayed with her movements, and the neckline dipped down to tease him with the creamy vee of her cleavage. Dangling turquoise earrings peered out between the strands of her hair.

  “Do you know what she wants to do? She wants to join me, be my partner. Isn’t that the craziest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  The thought of going through this all the time, it would drive him crazy. He wasn’t about to explore the other things it made him think of.

  Pope stepped up beside him. “She’s a brave woman.”

  “Not to mention off her rocker.”

  “Off . . . ?”

  “Nuts. Suicidal.” He took a swig of coffee and burned his mouth. He hadn’t even put sugar in it. “She went from Princess to Warrior, and now she wants to fight Otherlings with me.”

  “She loves you. Love, not something I understand, but a powerful motivator.”

  Cheveyo set his mug on the sill. “I think you do feel it. But understand it? Forget that.”

  She lowered the phone. Her body stiffened and she stared at the woods for a moment. His senses went alert, his eyes scanning the area. She looked shell-shocked, but not afraid. Her hand went to her mouth, but there was a happy light in her eyes. She turned and walked to the front door, blinking in surprise to see him there.

  “Making sure you were all right,” he said. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you . . . all right?”

  She stood right in front of him, still clutching the phone. “I don’t know if this falls into the category of saving you or not . . .” She took a deep breath. “Cody is alive.”

  The words didn’t make sense.

  She put her hands on his shoulders, her face inches from his. “Cody is alive. I know it’s hard to grasp, but I took his picture on your phone”—she held up his phone, showing him one of Cody’s pictures, her hand trembling—“and sent it to Nicholas. He’s a finder. I asked him to find this boy. Nicholas found him in Phoenix in a school playground. He remote-viewed him, saw him playing. He’s alive.”

  His knees wobbled. He took several steps back until his ass rested against the back of the big leather couch. “But I saw him die. Saw his mother dead.”

  “I know. I saw it, too.”

  “It can’t be right. Nicholas is mistaken.”

  “Let’s find out. The boy he saw was at Grammercy Elementary School. If we leave right now, maybe we can get there before school lets out.”

  He pushed away and walked to where he usually kept his keys.

  Pope ji
ngled them, holding them in his fingers. “Let’s go.”

  Even as Cheveyo’s mind filled with irrational hope, he scanned the road and woods as he drove. Yurek would be nearby. Not that he could feel him, but he knew the man would find the house. He made sure no one was following them, taking no chance of leading Yurek to a boy who might be his son. Leaving like this was impulsive, something Cheveyo rarely was. He glanced at Petra. Except where she was concerned.

  “We’re leaving an opening for Yurek to get in the house while we’re gone.”

  Petra’s mouth twisted in a frown. “I know. I should have waited to tell you. But I wanted you to know just in case . . .”

  “No, it’s all right.” Cheveyo’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “Let Yurek think he has the advantage. He’ll be waiting for us when we get back. Count on it.”

  Pope said, “We go in pretending we don’t suspect he’s there.”

  “You go in. Petra and I come in from the back side. Let him think he’s ambushing us; we’ll ambush him.”

  They drove for more than two hours, going over the plan. Outside Phoenix, Cheveyo looked up the address for the school and punched it into the GPS. The woman’s droll voice led them through the city to a cluster of brick school buildings. His chest was tight, and got tighter the closer they got.

  “It can’t be him,” he said, preparing himself for disappointment.

  She sat beside him. “Nicholas has never been wrong, at least as far as I know.”

  “He’s wrong this time. It’s a kid who looks like Cody.”

  Even so, he parked in the lot. He wanted to go inside and ask if a Cody Summers was registered. Like they would tell him anything. He wouldn’t be listed on any paperwork. His name was on the birth certificate as father, but it was purposely spelled wrong in case an intelligent Otherling were to track down his records.

  So he waited. Cars started lining up, parents ready to pick up their children. He looked over at Petra, sitting stiff and straight in the passenger seat, hands folded tightly on her lap as she watched. Pope stood behind her.

  “I know you don’t want to put too much hope into this. I know it’s not logical. But I feel it.” She put her hand on her chest. “He’s alive.”

  Children started spilling out of hallways and doors. He got out of the Tank, his gaze picking through the stream of kids. Each group was escorted to the curb by what he guessed was their teacher. Cody would be nine years old. He’d been tracking his would-be progress, looking for him in every dark-haired boy he saw. What would his son be into now? he wondered in those moments. How tall would he be?

  His gaze sorted through them. Petra stood next to him, searching, too. The sun seared them from overhead, rising from the black asphalt, blurring his vision. He kept blinking, staring so hard his eyes were tearing up.

  That boy. Something exploded in his chest as his sight locked onto a small boy with hair that was thick and a little too wild and long. He pushed it out of his face as he talked to a boy next to him.

  Her fingers clamped around his wrist. “There!”

  “I . . . see.” And he felt. Felt his son. Cody. Alive. He couldn’t breathe.

  The other boy playfully punched Cody’s arm before dashing over to the car that was waiting for him. Cody waved and continued to wait. An old white car pulled to a stop, and he dragged his feet on the way to it. Cheveyo could barely pull his gaze from the boy, but he forced it to the driver.

  Not Darcy, Cody’s mother, or her sister Paula.

  “Follow them,” he said, the words pushing out of a throat so dry they were a mere whisper.

  Soon he’d maneuvered his way through the slow crawl of cars onto the road and eventually into an apartment building complex. The place looked tired, the flower beds overgrown, the buildings in need of cleaning.

  The woman parked in a spot designated for Apartment C-2. Cody got out, slamming the door shut and slinging his backpack on his back as he headed toward the stairs.

  “He’s beautiful,” Petra said in a soft, reverent voice. “Go, talk to them.”

  “Not while I’m engaged with Yurek.”

  His son, standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for the woman to make her way up. His son, healthy, alive, reminding Cheveyo of himself at that age. He watched until they closed the door behind them, and only then could he release the breath he’d been holding.

  Petra’s hand rested lightly on his arm. “If I’m not enough to stop fighting for . . . if you’re not worth it, then maybe they are. You can have a family again.”

  The thought of approaching the boy paralyzed him in a way that facing monsters never had. “I haven’t been part of his life for almost as long as he can remember. What do I tell him about the four years I’ve been gone?”

  If his son had inherited the cat, what then? He would have to monitor him. If he displayed signs of abilities, Cheveyo would teach him how to use them—hide them. But that wouldn’t happen until adolescence.

  He rubbed his hands over his face. “How? How can this be?”

  “You said your father healed you, cleaned up the mess. Could he have lied?”

  “I saw them die.”

  “Or thought you saw them die.” He turned to her, and she shrugged. “I don’t know how. But he didn’t want you to have them in your lives. Think about it. They were softening you. Maybe he sensed you were thinking of giving up fighting for them.”

  Hadn’t Wayne accused him of just that? He stood abruptly. “I need to talk to him.”

  “I want to be there, too.” She met his gaze. “Let me come.”

  He nodded, his mind spinning. He walked back to the bedroom, passing Pope. Wonder what he’s picking up now?

  He climbed up to the loft and fell onto the bed. His body was vibrating so hard, he thought he might turn cat. If he could. He maintained careful control over the roil of feelings inside him. He had to get the facts first.

  She reclined on her side beside him, her hand on his chest. “I was able to talk to your father this way before.”

  He closed his eyes, hands pressing down against the bed.

  “Father.”

  It took several seconds before Wayne’s voice said, “Son.”

  He chafed at the endearment, recognizing the contriteness in the word. It was something he’d never heard in his father’s voice before. “My son is alive. Explain to me how that can be.”

  “I was protecting you. The boy and his mother as well. Getting involved with others, as you know now, is never a good idea. You made a mistake and got the woman pregnant—”

  “The boy was not a mistake.”

  Wayne’s voice hardened. “You created an untenable situation. You were softening, and that will get you killed. I could feel your desire for the boy to grow up differently than you had. With a father around, without learning defensive and offensive skills. I wanted to separate you from them so you could focus on your life’s mission. I manufactured the memory of their deaths to accomplish this, as well as to fire you against your enemies. I put the idea into the mother’s head to hide him away, that you were involved with dangerous people, which was true. So you see, they’re safe. Perhaps it will ease your pain, the pain the woman beside you told me about. But now you must focus on your enemy.”

  “You bastard!” Petra’s voice. “How could you take away what he loved and make him think he’d failed to protect them?”

  “I do what is necessary.”

  In life, his father had no emotions, only a cold focus on his goal. He was still that way.

  “Son, you do understand, I did what I thought was best. You were born a warrior, and that you must remain.”

  Cheveyo was so torn between relief and anger, he couldn’t speak. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  He pulled out, coming to a sitting position. Petra sat up beside him, her hand on his knee. Amid the tangle of feelings inside him, he realized she had given him permission to walk away, from his life, from her. She had given him the gift of his son. Now s
he was willing to sacrifice what they had so he could have his family again. Not with her, but with Darcy, because she thought that’s who the woman with Cody was.

  “What will you do?” she asked.

  He covered her hand with his. “Kill Yurek. That’s all I can think about right now. I have to keep my focus.”

  Anger swept in, shoving the shock and numbness away. He’d lived with the grief and guilt over his son’s and Darcy’s deaths for four years. And for what? So his father—no, his teacher—could keep him focused on killing. That’s all Wayne ever was to him, a teacher. Drill sergeant. Never once had Wayne told him that he loved him.

  Cheveyo painfully clenched his hands into fists. Heat infused him. His soul vibrated. Petra backed away, watching him with wide eyes. But not fearful eyes.

  “I see the cat trying to come through,” she whispered. “Use your anger to bring back your abilities.”

  The morphing process teased him, coming in a quick wave and then receding.

  “Your eyes are black,” she said. She wanted him to change. Wasn’t afraid, wasn’t weirded out by it.

  He summoned the energy, harder than ever. Morphing came naturally, but he pulled the anger up, like a blanket, and tried to force it. His muscles were clenched so hard they burned with the effort. A growl emanated from deep within him, half human, half jaguar.

  On the edge . . .

  He fell back to human, sucking in long breaths, his body sagging. “It’s not the kind of anger that strengthens me. It cuts me into pieces and makes me weaker.”

  Her expression fell. “Maybe I should have waited—”

  “No. It’s all right. Knowing my son is alive, that alone gives me strength. It’s the anger I have to control.”

  He sat on the floor and closed his eyes. The pieces of anger floated in front of him like shards of a broken mirror. If he put them together again . . .

  What?