by Stacey Nash
“You switched shifts.” Even though her voice is whisper soft, it’s an accusation.
I shrug.
“Why?”
I can’t very well tell her it’s because I’m hopeless. Hopelessly in—not love, but maybe something like it—with her and every second she’s hurting twists my insides. Instead I say, “You asked for space, I respected that and now you have Will.” The smile I force my lips into, is fake. “You’re welcome.”
She flinches and takes a step back, further away from me.
“I don’t have Will.”
“Whatever.” I shove the port band back in my pocket and pick at my fingernails. Nonchalance: gotta own it.
“Just because he didn’t run away, doesn’t give you the right to be pissy.”
“Whatever, Cupcake.” I tug at the nail too hard and it rips right off, beading blood in my cuticle. “I don’t care what the two of you do or don’t have.”
“You saw us?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was a hug, Jax. That’s it. A simple hug, like friends exchange when one of them is upset.” Her glare cuts right through me. “You know what? I can’t worry about this right now. I’m tired.” She waves her hand through the air. “So tired of all this.”
Does she mean me? Probably.
“All the death and fighting . . .” She takes a shaky breath. “I just can’t do this anymore. This seeing people die, then us arguing and fighting. I hate it.”
She walks away.
The siren sounds.
I move to the port mat, yanking the bands over my wrists as I go. Hannah slides her hand into mine and the last thing I see before I port out is Mae by the door, watching me. Her teeth worrying her bottom lip, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes locked with mine until the blackness of the void envelopes me.
We thud into onto a hard floor. Multicolored sunlight splashes across a slate tiles; red, green, blue, purple. Stained glass windows. By the smell of recently burning candles mixed with polished timber it’s gotta be a church. All hell breaks loose.
Gunfire.
The force of the bullet hitting my chest throws me back into the girl behind me, Hannah’s friend. It bounces off my protect-it, the tech bullet not causing any convulsions. My pulse pounds so loud I can hear it and my vision flicks to crystal-clear. These suckers won’t know what hit them.
“Out. We’re out of here, now!” someone yells. A Collective agent: male.
I pull my weapon and flick the catch. It springs open, the clarinium blade longer than my forearm.
Two of them. One crouched behind the pulpit, not like he’s hiding, but like he’s rummaging. The second, a young guy—maybe a little younger than me—dashes across the room, advanced-taser gun trained on me. I know him, one of Nik’s arrogant lackeys, can’t think of the name though.
“Don’t move,” he shouts.
I laugh. “Go ahead, shoot. Let’s see how well your tech works.”
He fires again and again. With legs set wide and muscles tensed, this time I’m braced for it, so the bullets just ping right off like he never shot me. The second agent pops up from behind the pulpit, back straight, expression alert, wild almost.
My heart fails to beat on time.
Nikias.
“Well, well, well.” A grin twists his lips. “My day just got more interesting.”
Now it’s beating too fast, a rushing, pumping roar in my ears.
The other guy looks frantic, his eyes wide and face pale. “We have to abort.”
No way in hell. I’ve been waiting for this moment. After everything the bastard put us through. Capture, torture, lies. Letting it go isn’t an option, hatred burns too strong. I raise the blade over my head, roaring at my brother, who whips out a blade twin to mine, its clarinium reflecting the colored light. We both run. My feet slide on the carpet runner and our weapons clash halfway down the aisle, making my blood sing a battle song.
Nikias lunges to the left and I parry down. He’s a step ahead.
Time slows.
Nikias knocks my weapon hand aside with the hilt of his not-sword and pain shoots through my wrist and up my arm. My grip holds.
“Where’s your girl?” He thrusts toward my chest. Out of your filthy reach. The slam of my shoulder into his knocks him off-kilter. “Not here.”
“Shame.” Lust creeps across his face. Bastard. My vision clouds for a split second. Nik’s foot connects with my stomach and I fly backward. My feet slip on the slate and slide right out so I fly head over ass. It slams into the floor and Nik towers over me, the tip of his blade piercing my shoulder as he growls.
The other agent grabs Nik’s arm while pointing his gun down the aisle. Nikias doesn’t care though, his mouth twists in a mock smile. “I’ve almost got the other two keys and when I do, little brother, I’m coming for your pretty little girlfriend.”
In a blink, they port out.
Like hell he will.
The sudden absence of his sword sticking me elicits fiery pain. I groan and Hannah rushes to my side, her slicked-back hair gleaming blond in the red-tinged light. She glances over her shoulder, “Shen, c’mon, Jax is hurt. We need to get him back to base.”
I push her off me and stand up, even though the movement hurts like hell. “I’m all right. Go, see what they were doing.”
Her brow creases; she’s going to argue.
“Do it,” I snap.
She scurries off toward the pulpit and as soon as their backs are turned, I press my fingers to the wound. They come away bloody, but only on the very tips, and not a lot. So, gritting my teeth, I follow them to the front of the church. Lucky he didn’t apply any pressure or it would have been far worse.
“There’s nothing here.” Shen shakes her head, whipping straight, dark hair about her face. “Looks like whatever was here, isn’t anymore.”
Leaning on the wooden podium, I peer over it. A hole fills the space directly behind. Well, a large slate tile sits on top of its neighbor, exposing a hollow gap in the floor where light glints off the metal lining of what can only be described as a safe box.
“What do you think was in there?” Hannah asks.
Hopefully not a frickin’ patriarchal key. With Mae’s pendant safe with Marcus, there are still two of the powerful artifacts unaccounted for. Pulling my weight off the support, a groan slips out, but I speak to cover it. “Whatever it was, Nik’s got it.”
“Was that . . .” Shen’s olive skin pales.
“Nikias Manvyke?” Hannah finishes.
“Come on. Nothing left for us to do here.” I close a hand around both of their arms and port us back to base.
As soon as we land, Sam jumps to his feet, ready for action.
I tell him, “Nothing serious. It was just Nikias fooling around in a church.”
“Weird, what was he up to?”
“Don’t know or care, but I need to clear my head.”
I stride straight past him, thump my palm into the door for the second time this afternoon, and let it slam behind me. Nik doesn’t deserve the headspace he’s hogging, but I can’t shift his arrogant ass from my thoughts. He’s more like Manvyke than ever, with that stupid mocking sneer and violent threats. If he’s hunting for the keys then Manvyke has a plan and no way in hell will I stand by and let them gather that kind of power. Or come after Mae. Neither of them will hurt her ever again.
Heading who-knows-where, I let my feet take me where they will. What the hell was Nik doing in a church, ranting about keys and Mae? My vision clouds again at the memory of his threat and that dirty look. He’s got no right to even think about her. Mae’s strong and can stand up for herself. Christ knows she’s proved it often enough, even against him. But still, Nik’s not getting anywhere near her again.
I don’t pass a single person as I make my way around the halls of the second floor to the staircase, which is probably a good thing. Being pleasant isn’t easy with so many emotions warring for control. Cl
imbing the stairs in long strides, I cover two steps at a time. When I emerge at the top, to the third floor, I wish I was running, but each step sears my shoulder. It’s irrational, but that damn tug is back stronger than ever.
Marcus charges out of a dorm and I dodge to the side, barely missing him. His arms flail in an attempt to right himself and he pushes his glasses up his nose. I don’t turn back even when he shouts after me. It’s like my feet know where my heart is because that’s right where they take me. I need to see her, make sure she’s here. Not locked up somewhere as Nik’s prisoner.
Sweat slicks my palms. I wipe them on my cargos.
The exit door stands ajar. A shove against it with my good shoulder pushes it all the way open, the movement spearing a throbbing pain through me, but I grit my teeth and swallow back a grunt as I push through the pain and the door.
Lilly can help me with the wound later. It’s not urgent.
Lying on the concrete roof, curled on her side, Mae’s wavy hair is fanned out over the ground. Her shirt riding up her back puts those mind-numbing dimples above the band of her jeans on display. All the fight seeps out of me, leaving only sorrow and I try to take a deep breath, but my lungs won’t fill. It’s like they’re stuffed with water, allowing me to take only half their capacity.
Mae doesn’t move.
Is she . . . sleeping?
I am an ass. I shouldn’t have been so pissed about her and Will. If she said it was nothing, then it probably was, but seeing him hold her like that when it’s all I’ve wanted for weeks. To be able to ease her pain. And now I’ve probably hurt her. Careful of my bloody shoulder, I lay on the ground behind Mae, curling my body around hers and placing my arm over her, gently.
Mae doesn’t move.
The breath she takes shudders.
“I’m sorry.” I speak against her head, my lips brushing her hair.
Never-ending silence.
“It’s so hard, Mae. I . . .”
It’s weird. This isn’t something I ever wanted, but the way I feel about her, it just kind of crept up on me, pulling me further in every day, and now I couldn’t climb out if I tried.
I wind her fingers through mine and pull my arm in around her. Her back presses against my chest and I don’t care about the blood anymore. The pain either, because right now she’s not pushing me away.
“Everything hurts, Jax.”
“I know, Cupcake.”
And I do. The ache inside me won’t go away. It’s been there my whole life, but when I met her it faded. Like it didn’t define who I was anymore; it shrank to just a tiny part of me. Before her, I used to be able to lock it away so it wasn’t all up in my face, but now it’s back worse than ever and eating me from the inside. Demanding to be felt.
“This war . . . innocent people are dying and for what? So the Collective can scare us into leaving them alone. It’s just so . . . so . . .” She takes a breath and I pull my arms in a little tighter.
“And my dad. He still doesn’t know who I am some days, you know. Other days he’s good. It’s like he’s himself again. Almost.”
“I’m sorry.” And really I am. Sorry for my manic father. Sorry for thinking this was about us, when she has so much more going on.
“And my mom . . .” Mae presses our hands into her stomach. “She probably doesn’t know who I am either. That’s if she’s not—”
“She’s not.” My father wouldn’t have let her go unscathed, so I don’t know why I say it like a promise, that she’s not dead . . . maybe because Mae couldn’t take that.
She sighs. “How’d you know to find me here?”
“It’s your place, Cupcake. This is where you always come.”
She pulls her legs up to her chest, curling into a smaller ball. And I move my body too, so that it cradles hers.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Sorry I yelled and got angry.”
“It’s okay.”
While we lay there, the sun sinks below the other buildings and the sky fills with pink and orange. As upset as I am, as she is, something makes this moment special. It could be the warmth of the sun-kissed concrete seeping through my cargos, could be our bodies touching for the first time in a month, or it could be because this is a goodbye.
It’s time to make a move and ordinarily I’d ask her to come, but not this time. Not after my father . . . after Nikias . . . what they did to both of us. My father can’t have those keys. Alone they’re powerful enough, but if he manages to gather more than one, the Collective’s threat we’re now facing will seem like child’s play. I’m leaving to stop him.
ACT II
The Tempest
Chapter Six
Mae
I feel different tonight, more relaxed. Maybe it’s the decision not to waste more time waiting or perhaps it’s finally clearing the air with Jax. Explaining that it’s not about him, it’s about me. That I’ve cracked inside and just can’t take anything extra, that I can’t be the fissure between my friends.
I drag the brush through my damp hair then set it down and scrunch the ends in my palms making them curl. Lilly’s reflection appears in the mirror just over my shoulder, her caramel skin making me look deathly pale. With the smattering of freckles on my nose brighter than ever, the dark circles under my eyes look like they’re etched in permanent marker. The look kind of matches how I feel; tired.
Lilly’s dark eyes meet mine in our reflection. “So, what did Will say?”
I struggle to grasp what she means.
“You know, about your mom.”
How did I forget that? Our whispered discussion in the hall feels like it was days ago, not hours. Probably because of the nap I had on the roof. I dozed off and when I woke it was ten, and Jax was gone, leaving me with a sense of peace. But we’re not talking about that, this is about Will.
“He’s in.”
“Good,” she says, “Although I expected he would be. He wouldn’t want you out there without his overprotective rear watching over you. Do we have a plan?”
“Not yet. Come on, let’s go find him.”
I grab my cardi off the pile of clothes I discarded before my shower and tug it over my arms. The days might be warming up, but the nights are still cool. It’s like I totally missed winter, which in a way I did, thanks to Manvyke. Almost missed my birthday too, not that it was a big deal.
“And Jax?” Lilly asks.
“I haven’t mentioned it to him yet, but he’ll want in.”
“Of course. Jax is always in.”
Lilly pushes through the door and I follow.
“You know where he is?” I ask.
“Who, Jax? No idea.”
“No. Will.”
“He’ll be in the workshop, or the mess that passes for one. It’s where he always is.” The surprised look she gives me should make me feel ashamed.
Sorry excuse for a best friend I am. Lilly shouldn’t know more about his routine than me. This place has sure lodged a wedge in our friendship and that just isn’t right. I need to make a bigger effort.
Side-by-side, we stalk through the halls and downstairs to the second floor. The resistance are a resourceful group: old warehouses, rundown buildings, anything big and abandoned and they’re on it. And this place sure is big. It took a while, but I’m finally starting to know my way around, so when Lilly leads me to a small room somewhere between the weapons store and the port room I know exactly where we are: the workshop.
She waltzes right through the wide open door.
Will and Marcus are both huddled at a table in the corner of the room, an array of screws and wires and stuff I have no name for lying scattered around their work space.
Will looks up and gives me a nod in greeting.
“Oh, hey.” A huge smile pops Marcus’s glasses higher on his cheeks. “I haven’t seen either of you in ages. These attacks sure are keeping everyone busy.”
“Hi, Marcus.” His disheveled look of flyaway dark hair and rumpled clothes seems almost normal.
“We’re stealing Will.”
His attention cuts to my friend who drops the tool he was using and wipes his hands on rag. “Oh, we were just about to breakthrough.” Marcus’s huge eyes blink behind thick lenses as he pushes the black-rimmed specs up his nose. “Can’t it wait a bit? Will’s not here that often since Beau stole him to go on shift.”
“It’s cool, we can talk here. It’s just about my mother.” It wouldn’t be the first time Marcus heard our plans, or helped us.
“Your mom? Isn’t she dead or something?”
“Marcus!” Lilly hisses. “No, she’s not.”
Will studies his feet, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Well . . . umm . . .”
His words blaze so brightly I can easily read between them. “It’s cool, I’ll catch you later, Will.”
“No, let’s take a walk.”
What’s the point? To tell me no? It’s obvious he has second thoughts about us taking action, probably thinks it’s not worth the risk. Whatever.
He waves toward the door, and says to Marcus, “I’ll be back later. Not sure when though.”
Marcus tosses the piece of tech—whatever it is—on the bench then jerks up the zipper of his knitted jacket. “Don’t bother.”
“Whoa, I said I’d be back.” Will holds both hands up.
With a quick spin, Lilly leaves the room, and I’d rather not cause any problems for Will so I rush to follow her out. That was the strangest two minutes. Marcus generally isn’t that moody, and Will seems . . . well, weird. Slouching against the wall beside her while we wait, Lilly twists a braid around her pointer finger. If I was a better friend I’d ask her what she’s thinking, but I’m scared she’ll say Garrett and that will just make her feel worse. A few moments pass before our friend strolls out, looking completely unruffled. Whatever went down between them must be smoothed over.
Lilly pushes off the wall and runs her hands over the tiny braids in her dark hair. “What was that all about?”
“Dunno.” Will shrugs like he couldn’t care less.
Man, he doesn’t have to help. “Look, if you’ve changed your mind, I understand. It’s risky and with no guarantee she’ll be happy we found her—”
