Outcast

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “Kat . . .”

  “What?” I reached for the deck of tarot cards and started to shuffle. “I promise not to step a single foot through that door,” I said, nodding in the direction of the condo’s front door. If I could make my own, magical window, I wouldn’t have to.

  “Good.”

  I shuffled again. “Now hush.” Another shuffle. “I need to concentrate.”

  What’s in the cards for me today? I let the question roll around in my mind, let it saturate every cell in my body, let it flow from me into the cards. They wouldn’t tell me exactly what to do or what would happen, but they would give me an idea of what to expect. They’d help guide me in maybe not the right direction, but the necessary one. I honestly didn’t know how it worked, but somehow I would feel when the cards were ready. A little zing of power, of energy. When I felt that, I just knew.

  I set the cards down on the coffee table’s black-stained surface and cut the deck. I didn’t always cut, and almost never into three piles like so many tarot readers, but today had the potential to be a big day. An important day. I wanted to make sure I heard whatever messages the universe had for me, loud and clear. So, I cut the deck once more and let my hand hover over each pile for a few seconds, first the leftmost, then the middle one, then the one on the right. I returned to the middle pile. It hummed with an almost electric charge.

  “Loud and clear,” I murmured, picking up the middle pile and stacking it on top of the others. I flipped the top card and set it on the table.

  Justice. I wasn’t surprised to find that the major arcana card had altered itself, as my cards so often did. The Justice card currently showed Dorman, the unofficial leader of the Tent District, standing in front of a chain-link fence topped with razor wire—the perimeter surrounding his kingdom. His expression was stern, and he held a sword in his right hand—my sword, Mercy, with her silver pommel and crystalline At blade—a set of scales in the other, weighing a dripping heart against a pristine white feather. A creature with the body of a lion and the head of a crocodile lurked at the very edge of the card, the Egyptian god Ammut, waiting to eat the heart of the judged should it prove unworthy.

  I took it as a good sign that this card showed up first and that Dorman was the central figure. The Justice card itself represents balance, objectivity, and accountability. In general, it’s a positive card, especially since it was currently appearing in a time of relative chaos. To me, it suggested that following my current path, seeking salvation and justice for those under Dorman’s care, was the right thing—the necessary thing—to do. It meant that finding a solution to the problem Dorman had lain at my feet would ensure that universal balance, or ma’at to my people, was maintained.

  I slid the Justice card to the side and flipped the next card from the deck.

  The Hermit. Traditionally, this card represents healing, self-exploration, and a general need for self-reliance and alone time. While I thought all of that sounded kind of nice for me, I didn’t think it was talking about me—or, at least, not just me. The card depicted Nik, shirtless so his tattooed torso was displayed in all its glory. His side was to the viewer, his head bowed and his arm outstretched, like he was reaching for someone or something just out of frame. He stood on a polished floor of At, my sword held in his grasp, the tip nearly skimming the floor. The crystalline blade dripped with blood.

  Mercy showing up twice was far from a coincidence, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she represented something more than her pure, deadly self. I couldn’t shake the sense that she represented me.

  A little unnerved, I drew the next card and flipped it over.

  Queen of Swords. Once again, Constance Ward, the Chairman of the Board and CEO of the Ouroboros Corporation, stared out at me from her throne. The only difference from how the card had looked when I’d drawn it back in the library was that Constance now had a sword sticking out of her chest. My sword. Did it mean I would kill her after all? The thought spurred images of her children in my mind, and my chest tightened. There had to be another way.

  I moved my hand to the deck to draw another card, but the electric hum had faded. The magic was gone. The universe had shared all it would for now.

  With a sigh, I relaxed back into the couch and stared out through the nearest window at the cityscape gleaming in the light of a gloriously dreary Seattle morning. Dorman as Justice, Nik as the Hermit, Constance once again appearing as the Queen of Swords, and Mercy showing up on all three cards—what did it all mean?

  I started when the bedroom door opened. I’d been so caught up in thinking about the reading that I hadn’t heard Garth moving around in the bedroom.

  “Morning,” he said, strolling into the living room in only his underwear. He stopped beside the couch and bent down to kiss the top of my head.

  I reached out to snap the compact closed, but not before I caught Dom’s raised eyebrow. “Hey.” I tilted my head back, offering Garth my lips.

  He kissed me, gentle as ever, his fingertips caressing my neck. I felt him smile against my lips before pulling away. He headed into the kitchen and started fiddling with a coffeepot. “I’d offer to make breakfast”—he craned his neck to glance at the clock on the microwave—“or lunch, but I really have to get to the station.”

  “No worries,” I told him, standing and following him into the kitchen. I stopped at the island and leaned on the counter with my elbows. “I can fend for myself.”

  Garth laughed, low and throaty. “I have no doubt, but I’m trying to impress you.”

  I snorted. “Stop trying,” I said. “I’m thoroughly impressed. Honestly, I had no idea you were so . . . creative.” It was the best word I could come up with to sum up all we’d done the previous night.

  He glanced at me over his shoulder, eyebrows dancing.

  My neck and cheeks heated.

  “I’m going to hop in the shower while the coffee brews,” Garth said, turning and making his way back to the bedroom. “Join me if you want . . .”

  I grinned. Oh, I wanted.

  10

  Garth was out of the condo by eleven. He left me his personal cell phone, taking only his work phone with him. He also left me with a key to his place, along with the warning that I should only leave the condo if it was absolutely necessary. Like, emergency necessary.

  I can be rash, but I’m not stupid. I was fully aware that lying low had to be my top priority, and it was a little annoying that both Dom and Garth expressed concern over me leaving the condo. Like I just wouldn’t be able to resist frolicking out the door and gallivanting all around the city. Like my self-control was nil. But I had zero plans to gallivant. I mean, come on, I’m not even the gallivanting type.

  Even so, I wanted to get the inside scoop on that meeting between Nik and Dorman. The longer I pondered the three cards I’d drawn, the more I thought that maybe, just maybe, I needed to be included in the meeting in the Tent District, even if I was only there remotely. Both Nik and Dorman had been incorporated into the designs, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that their appearances were significant, like they were pointing me toward the meeting. It was more of a whisper from the universe than a scream, this time, but that didn’t make the message matter any less.

  As soon as Garth shut the condo’s front door, I rushed to the sectional to retrieve my backpack and unzipped the front pocket to dig out a black Sharpie, then I grabbed Dom’s compact and crossed to the kitchen island. I set him up on the corner, giving him a good view of the wall beside the TV. If I didn’t let him watch what I was attempting, he’d bug me nonstop.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, and I shushed him. Case in point.

  Barefoot and wearing only Garth’s T-shirt, I stood before the blank, white wall and uncapped the pen. I pictured the room in the back of the makeshift hospital, recalling exactly what it had looked like through that doorway with all those cots and the poor, sick kiddos. My drawings could be realistic, verging on lifelike, but I had no idea if this would work. D
idn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

  I started by drawing a tall rectangle on the wall. That was the doorway in the hangar. I added rows of occupied cots, spending a few minutes giving each sick kid some memorable details. I closed my eyes, imagining what the scene would be like when Nik was there, collecting blood samples from the infected humans. I drew him crouching down at the second cot from the doorway in the middle row, his head bent over the kid lying there, blessedly asleep.

  Eyelids remaining shut, I continued to draw, my hand moving with a mind of its own, the ink directing it. The universe directing it. I gave myself over to the magic, let the universal energies flow through my sheut, saturate the rest of my body, and pour into the drawing. The marker started to hum with power, the wall giving off a sizzling electricity that made the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. I was used to a gentle zing of power while drawing or doing a reading, but this was something else altogether. This was massive, a torrent compared to a trickle.

  My breaths came faster, my heart beating harder, stronger. A surge of energy passed through me, a pulse like lightning compared to the steady current I’d been channeling before.

  “Mon Dieu . . .” Dom’s voice was filled with awe.

  My eyes snapped open, and I stared at the wall—at the thing that was much more than simply a drawing of a doorway on a wall.

  “What—how did you do that?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, eyes glued to the thing on the wall. Or, rather, in the wall. It wasn’t just a picture of the sick room at the back of the makeshift hospital; those were actual cots with actual sick kids lined up in rows. I could hear their moaning. Their sniffles and muffled cries. It worked. It really worked. Somehow, I’d created a window to another place entirely.

  Slack-jawed, I stared through the window. A man knelt beside the second cot in from the doorway in the center row. It was Nik, just as I’d drawn him. His head was bowed over a slumbering little girl of maybe six or seven, and he was collecting a sample of her blood in a vial at her elbow. He raised his head, focusing on something within the room, just to the side of the doorway. “Is there any way to get a sample from Sammy? Having patient zero’s blood might make all the difference.”

  The left half of Dorman came into view as he shifted his feet. He’d been standing beside the doorway. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he still wore that baseball cap. He shrugged. “You’re welcome to try.” He was so close, I felt as though I could reach out and touch him.

  Cautiously, I brought my hand up to the wall. I held my breath and pushed forward. And met no resistance. I pulled my hand back and stared at it. It had passed straight through the wall up to my wrist.

  This thing I’d created—it wasn’t merely a window to the Tent District. I wasn’t restricted to watching Nik and Dorman’s meeting; if I wanted to, I could go there.

  Nik must’ve spotted the movement, because he was suddenly staring at me.

  I sucked in a breath and froze.

  “What?” Dorman glanced over his shoulder, then returned to looking at Nik. “What is it?”

  “I thought I saw—” Nik shook his head, but his eyes didn’t leave the doorway. “It was nothing, I’m sure.” So it seemed that they couldn’t see me, even though I could see them. Could hear them and, if I wanted to, reach through and touch them. It didn’t seem possible.

  A slow grin spread across my face. “Holy fucking shitballs.” It didn’t seem possible, but it was.

  I spun around and ran to the closet housing the washer and dryer, yanking the doors open and pulling my clothes from the dryer. I dumped them all on the floor at my feet, picking up first a pair of underwear and pulling them on, then doing the same with some jeans. I hopped on one foot, then the other as I put on my socks, then strapped on my bra and topped it with a tank top. I shrugged into my sweatshirt, zipping it up as I hurried to the couch to grab my leather coat. I retrieved my boots from the bedroom and shoved my feet into them, doing a hasty job of tying the laces.

  After shutting Eva away in the bedroom, I rushed back to the doorway on the wall, snagging Dom’s compact and snapping it shut before stuffing it back into my pocket. I paused at the wall, staring at the drawing that was so much more than that—it was an actual gateway to another place—and took a deep breath. And then I lunged through the wall.

  Almost as soon as I crossed the impossible threshold, Nik was on his feet, a vine of At shooting out of his palm. That vine of opalescent otherworldly material wrapped around my waist, holding me back.

  Nik’s eyes rounded, a tentative smile touched his lips. “Kitty Kat?” A second later, he let out a bark of laughter, dissolving the vine of At and releasing me at the same time. “I knew I saw something.”

  I smoothed down my sweatshirt and coat, patting the pockets to make sure everything that had been in there still was. “Nice greeting,” I said, not meeting his eyes. I felt the extreme urge to not make eye contact with him, though I didn’t know why. Instead I looked at Dorman, who was staring at me, eyelids opened wide and a hand to his chest. “Sorry if I startled you,” I told him.

  Dorman laughed nervously. “Startled is putting it lightly . . .”

  I flashed him an apologetic smile.

  “I thought you might show up,” Nik said, winding around the cots to come to me. “Though not like that. Neat trick.” He stopped a few feet away, and I finally forced myself to look at him, a spike of some unsettling emotion making me feel uneasy. “I brought something for you, just in case.” His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, and a slow grin spread across his face. He schooled his features a moment later, going from wicked to innocent in a heartbeat. “You look tired.” He tilted his head to the side. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

  My eyes narrowed to a glare. “Stop sniffing me, you pervert.”

  He smirked. “I can’t help it. You reek of one-night stand.”

  “It wasn’t a one-night stand,” I snapped. At least, I hoped it wasn’t.

  Nik’s eye twitched, but his smirk remained in place. “So Kitty Kat has a boyfriend. Isn’t that sweet.”

  Unease turned to slight queasiness. “Shut up.”

  Dorman cleared his throat, and we both looked at him. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but . . .” He swept a hand out, gesturing to the infected kids lying in the cots. “I’d prefer it if you got the samples to Bainbridge as soon as possible. There’s been a bit of a development in the disease, and I don’t think we can afford to waste time.”

  I took a step toward him. “What happened?”

  “Around midnight, Sammy entered what we’re calling the ‘final phase’ of the infection.” Dorman sighed and shook his head, worry shining in his hazel eyes. “He became violent, almost rabid, attacking any and every person he could. It was . . . shocking, to say the least.” Dorman’s shoulders slumped. “He got out and infected thirty-seven more people. I’d never have imagined that someone so small could do so much damage, but . . . at least he didn’t get beyond our fences.” Dorman sighed. “The only upside is that the disease seems to progress more slowly in adults. That buys us a little more time.”

  “Not much of an upside,” Nik muttered.

  I realized my hand was covering my mouth, and lowered it. “Where’s Sammy now?”

  “Dead,” Dorman said, his voice resigned. “The last person he attacked managed to break his neck. Maybe we could’ve brought him down sooner with a gun, but we’re a firearm-free zone.”

  The news of Sammy’s violent demise hit me like a punch to the gut. If I hadn’t wussed out at Constance’s house, I’d probably already have the cure. Now, thirty-seven more people might die—and might infect gods knew how many more people on their way out—all because I’d given in to weakness and spared Constance and her family. I gritted my teeth and pushed through the flood of failure. “Might need to change that rule,” I said.

  “Or at least invest in some tranq guns,” Nik added.

  Dorman nodded, but I thought
it was mostly to himself. “A few more people have entered the final phase.” He looked at us with lost, sad eyes. “We’re using sedatives on them, but it’s taking triple the amount it should to keep them down—more, in some cases. They’re burning through our supply.”

  “I’ll bring what I can back from Bainbridge,” Nik said.

  Dorman nodded a thanks, but his stare fixed on me. “We need a cure, Kat. Have you made any progress?”

  “I—” I cleared my throat. “I’m working on it.”

  I understood now why the cards led me back here—for motivation. For resolve. I had let Garth distract me, lending a sense of blissful normalcy to a situation that was anything but normal. Dire was more like it. If this disease spread beyond the Tent District and remained unchecked, it would cause chaos and mayhem, not to mention unfathomable loads of destruction. I had the ugly suspicion that that had been the point of Sammy’s “escape” all along. The Ouroboros Corporation or the Senate or whoever was ultimately responsible was even more demented than I’d ever imagined.

  And if I was right, it begged the question—what happened to the other six kids the Ouroboros scientists had separated out? Had they been guinea pigs for some other twisted project? Or were there more infected kids out and about, spreading the disease with abandon?

  My hands balled into fists. “Are there any other new developments?”

  Dorman shook his head.

  “Alright.” I turned to the open doorway, then glanced over my shoulder. “Next time you see me, I’ll have some answers for you.” I marched through the doorway, fully expecting to find myself back in Garth’s condo.

  Yeah, not so much.

  Instead, the doorway transported me right where it was supposed to—straight into the rest of the hangar-turned-hospital. I stopped and turned around, eyebrows scrunched together.