I shoved her away. Dragging myself down the boardwalk, my head low in case of another spray of bullets, I touched Lyta’s arm. “You have to let him go.”
“He had a chance, he was doing this to give us all a chance.” She rocked back and forth on her knees, Peter’s lifeless hand pressed to cheek.
I glanced at him. Soleil had been right—half of his head was gone. It was the kind of bullet wound her magic couldn’t even start to knit back together. And even if she could, his life source—his spirit—was gone.
Soleil crawled over to us, tears dripping off her chin. She sniffled ad held her hands to either side of his head.
Immediately, she crumpled down. “I can’t do it.”
“Fucking try.”
Tears flowed freely down her face, but she held her hands up again. Her eyes fluttered shut and she started murmuring a string of words I couldn’t understand. His skull bones started to fuse together, but it seemed like a painstaking process. Larger pieces went into place easily, but the smaller shards, the pieces destroyed by the bullet’s velocity, would take time to regrow. Time we didn’t have.
And he was dead. No matter what she did, he wasn’t coming back.
“It’s okay.” Lyta choked on her words. She reached out and grabbed Soleil’s hand. “He’s gone.”
“i—I can’t fix him. I can heal wounds and take out bullets, but I can’t restore a soul.”
Lyta’s expression changed; sorrow melted into rage. She ripped her hand away from Soleil’s. “You’re a witch. A healer.”
“I am, but—“
“You could have saved him before. You could have fixed his lungs so this didn’t happen.” Lyta turned to me, her hand clenched in fist. She swung at me; I darted backwards and out of her reach. She screamed, “This is all because of you!”
She was out of her mind from Peter’s death. I knew that, but I wasn’t going to let her blame me for leaving the park. “This was what everyone wanted. It was a majority vote.”
“We never should have left.” Lyta turned and pointed at my sister; she clawed at her. “I hope you’re proud of yourself. Your loyalty to that man, your insistence that we leave. If you’d fixed his lungs in the first place, we’d never have had to leave.”
“I didn’t know.” Soleil started crying again. She shrank backwards, like she was trying to slink away from Lyta’s rage. “Nobody told me what was wrong with him. I can’t fix what I don’t know.”
“You’re witches!” Lyta slammed her fists into the boardwalk. “God damn it, you lied to us, you hid things from us, and now you’re murdering us! You two should be dead—not Peter.”
Strong arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me backwards—Avi. He shifted his grasp on me, holding me with one arm, and grabbed my sister with the other. “Shut the fuck up, Lyta.”
His voice was at a near roar. She looked at him, her upper lip curled in a snarl.
“This is all on you, Soleil, and Peter. You wanted us to head for the refuge and that’s what we’re going. Peter’s dead—and that’s on you. Live with it or stay here and die. I don’t care anymore.”
Lyta watched us draw back. I knew the moment she saw Tone, healed and standing strong, because her face went blank. The emotions of before—the rage, the sorrow, the disbelief—melted away. She was calm; she had no expression.
And then she lunged forward, running down the boardwalk like an athlete sprinting to the finish line. At the last moment, she dropped to her knees and slid across the wooden planks, her hand darting out at us.
Avi sidestepped; he lost his balance and fell forward. His body blocked mine almost entirely, but I could see Lyta over his shoulder. She stood up. In her hand, was one of the pistols Grant had pulled from his pack.
“Jesus, Lyta, think this through.” Avi straightened, effectively putting himself in between her and me. “Don’t do this.”
She shook her head. Cocking the hammer back, she stuck the gun barrel into her mouth.
And fired.
Seventeen
It started raining as we walked back across the boardwalk, retracing our steps from earlier. Grant hadn’t said anything since he’d collected the pistol from the ground next to Lyta’s body. In fact, all he’d done was wrap his arm around Soleil and pull her to the front of the group with him. Where he walked, she walked. Their pace was matched, they moved as one.
That was fine by me. I was tired of fighting with her. This was what she wanted—to be with Grant—and that’s what she got. The rest of us were just collateral.
I leaned against Avi, tucking my face against his chest. Maybe we’d been wrong to leave. Maybe we should have ignored the promises of a refuge and just went on living. At least we were dry and warm there, not shivering and lost.
“It’s going to be okay.” He rested his cheek against the top of my head for a moment and then planted a kiss on my temple. It was like he could read my mind. “We’re together. We’re alive. What more do we need?”
“An umbrella?”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.”
“I’ll second her motion.” Tone wrapped his arms around his torso, hugging himself to try and retain body heat. “We don’t have rain for three months back at trailer town, but here it’s monsoon season. The fuck is that about?”
“It’s just a little further.” Grant turned, looking at us over his shoulder. “I know the way now.”
I ran my wrist over my temple, trying to blot away the rain. It was pointless. This was a clusterfuck, this was worse than surviving the blast at Distant and the fallout at Vale. Peter and Lyta were dead. We should have stayed at the park, we should have been happy with what we had and not lustful for what we wanted. Maybe Avi was right, maybe things would still be okay.
But why did it feel wrong, like we were walking the path to our own execution?
Yards turned to miles, miles into hours. My feet throbbed from the wet leather of my boots rubbing against my heels; the blisters had broken and were like individual pressure points—like someone heated up a drill bit in the fire and was grating it against my flesh. A little further was a lie. Even the boardwalk was gone.
The rain gradually stopped and the wind picked up in its place. It stirred up loose dirt and sand, it stung my eyes and clogged my nose. I tucked my chin to my chest, squeezing my eyes closed and fluttering my lashes—anything to get the gritty feeling out of my skull.
The tip of my boot connected with something solid. I squinted, trying to see through the swirling filth around me. It was iron—no, not just iron. I’d seen that form before, the layout of two slabs of iron connected by wooden planks.
It was a railroad track.
Grant waved his arm at us, motioning for us to follow him. “Come on, this way!”
I looked at Avi and Tone. We didn’t have a choice.
As I stepped onto the railroad track, using the iron rail to guide me through the storm, my brain seized. White-hot pain burned my skull; my knees wobbled and I dropped to the ground. I couldn’t suck in a breath, I couldn’t even move—all I was was pain and blinding, searing white light.
And in that light, I saw a room. The walls were covered in deep blue fabric, every spare space of countertop and stand were covered with metal tools and probes. I’d seen this room before—I’d seen the figure strapped in the chair. She was screaming; I was screaming. Pain was everywhere, death was unreachable.
Run.
“Wren.” Avi was crouched down in front of me, his hands cradling my face. “Can you make it to the train?”
I frowned. Reaching up and taking hold of his arms, I tried to steady myself. “You said to run.”
“No, I said Wren.” He hoisted me up, supporting my weight with his body. My head lolled forward and I tried to step forward with him; all I did was trip.
He tightened his grip around my waist. “You’ll feel better once you’re warm.”
What he’d said earlier finally sank into my brain, registering with a clarity that made my stom
ach turn. The train. We were headed to a train.
No sooner did I realize what was happening, did I see it: a black, steam locomotive, like the kind once used to blaze a rail system across the country. The front of the engine was pained red and, in the center of the stack, a number three was etched in gold paint. It wheezed and puffed, smoke billowed out everywhere.
A man burst through the smoke, quickly making his way towards us. “Thank god—we were just about to leave. This way, come one, there’s no time.”
Grant pushed Soleil into the man’s arms. “Is there room?”
“Plenty of room. And always for you, Specialist.”
My knees buckled; I tried to stop my forward motion, but Avi was still walking. Specialist? Grant said he hadn’t been to the refuge yet, that he wasn’t sure of the way. Why did this man address him like he knew him?
“Avi.” I ground my elbow into his ribs. “Avi, I don’t think we should do this.”
“We’ve got warm blankets and coffee on the train, this way, come on now. We have to stay on schedule. Child, you look hungry. When did you last eat?”
Soleil opened her mouth to answer him, but he brushed back her blonde curls and talked over her. “Lovely girl. So fetching and innocent.”
My head throbbed. Why was Avi not seeing this? I tugged on his sleeve, I leaned close to him and pressed my lips to his ear as I spoke. “We need to run.”
The man stopped beside a box car. It was painted red and gold, the lettering on the side displaying EXPRESS in bold strokes. There were no windows. He motioned at the box car and said, “Everyone in, quickly now. There’s no time to waste.”
“How far to the refuge?” Tone grasped the bannister leading onto the train, his foot resting on the bottom step. “Our clothes are soaked.”
“You’ll be provided with clothes.”
“Yes, but when? Will we be there tonight? We’re cold—“
The man put his hand on Tone’s back and pushed him forward. “Just board the train.”
Tone nodded. There didn’t seem to be any fight left in him; either that, or the draw of the warm boxcar outweighed his curiosity. He climbed the steps, disappearing into the dark.
Grant pulled my sister away from the man and leaned forward, awkwardly kissing the top of her head. “Go on. You next.”
She nodded, smiling so broadly at him that her dimples punctuated her cheeks. She said, “I’ll wait for you inside.”
He didn’t respond. Soleil smiled at him again and then climbed the steps.
And for a split second, I swore I heard her cry out in surprise.
There wasn’t time to debate it, the nameless man grabbed my arm and yanked me away from Avi. He clamped my chin with his hand, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes were green; the seemed to gleam through the sandstorm. “Aren’t you a dark little angel?”
“I don’t think I asked for your opinion.”
“And sassy.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and turned my face from one side to the other. He was grading me, studying me like one would a side of beef ready for purchase. He said, “There’s a market for everything, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if you fetch more than her.”
I wrenched away from him and stumbled backwards—slamming right into Grant. His eyes were cold, emotionless. He gripped my upper arms and shoved me forward. “Get on the train, Wren.”
I braced my feet against the bottom step, trying to propel my body backwards. I’d figured it out too late—it was a trap. From the very start, it had been a trap. “What have you done?”
He was stronger than me, he picked me up and pushed me onto the steps. “I didn’t expect to find you and Soleil there. Souls are souls, though, Wren, and worth less than the food I’ll get for turning you in. It was the same when I sent my parents there. Not everyone can survive—just those strongest and the smartest. You’re neither.”
I turned and spit in his face. “There is no refuge, is there?”
“No. Just the faction.”
I felt myself tugged forward, lifted off the bottom step and dragged into the boxcar. Metal shackles were slapped over my wrists and I was shoved down to my knees. A presence was behind me but before I could react, cold metal snapped around my throat. A collar.
The faction. I had no idea what that meant, but it seemed synonymous with hell.
Eighteen
We were herded off the boxcar like cattle. I couldn’t even take a full stride to keep up with the man dragging me forward; my arms and legs were chained, the collar around my throat was fastened to my leg shackles, pulling my torso down in a hunched over position.
It was impossible to tell where we were, or even how long we’d been on the train. Everything here was frozen, ice and snow, but something about it didn’t seem right. It was different, it was muted and faded like a painting bleached by the sun. I could hear other people around me, I could hear Soleil crying behind me—but I’d never felt more alone. We’d been fools. I should have fought harder, I should have demanded we stay with the trailers.
And then I was yanked to the side, off my feet, and pushed into darkness. My eyes adjusted to the low light quickly; it was a warehouse. Even with my head pushed low to the ground, I could see individual stations set up throughout the open bay. I couldn’t tell what they were doing—but I heard muffled screams.
Someone hoisted me up to my feet and unhooked my collar from the chain connected to my shackles. He shoved me around and, using the chain like a leash, dragged me over to a wall. His was muscular and tall, his green eyes blank to any motion. I could tell I didn’t matter to him, that I was just another soul in a long line of the damned.
Hooking the chain to a beam overhead, he shoved me against the wall and held me in place by my throat. His eyes flicked across a series of tick marks on the wall. “Five foot five.”
A voice called back, “Five foot, five inches.”
He unhooked the chain from overhead and pulled me forward. I lost my footing and dropped to my knees, skidding forward with his momentum. I flailed my arms at him and tried to steady myself. “Wait, let me get up.”
He reached down and grabbed my hair, jerking me to my feet. “Shut up.”
“But I fell—“
He snapped my head backwards, nearly lifting me off my feet by my hair. “I said, shut up. The sooner you learn to keep your mouth shut unless you’re spoken to, the better off you’ll be.”
He forced me forward and onto a metal plate on the ground. Hooking my collar to a pipe over head, he wrenched my arms up and secured them in place; he jammed his index finger and thumb into my mouth.
I blanched. His hand was salty and dirty, sour from likely doing this over and over again. Bile bubbled up in my throat, I choked it back.
“She has all her teeth.” He reached into his leather apron and pulled out a small light; he flashed it in my eyes. “Irises are blue, hair is black. Weight…one hundred and ten pounds.”
“She’s a bit small, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “She’s above standard. She passes.”
“One hundred ten pounds, blue eyes. Black hair.”
The green-eyed man dropped the light back in his pocket and then grabbed a hold of my tank top. He ripped the fabric off of me and, again reading into his apron, pulled out a knife. Sawing through my bra straps and band, he pulled it free from my body. “Age in earth years?”
“Excuse me?”
He leaned over and yanked the front of my pants open, dragging the knife down the legs. The leather gave way, he pulled it aside and then cut my underwear free from my body. “How old are you?”
I was humiliated. “Twenty. Almost twenty-one by now.”
“Twenty earth years.”
“Where am I?”
He straightened up and backhanded me. My mouth filled with blood, tears pricked the backs of my eyes. The fact he’d hit me was worse than the actual pain—did he get off on degrading me?
“Don’t make me tell you agai
n.” He pulled another tool from his apron and dropped to his knees. I heard a mechanical sound and then, abruptly, felt his hands between my legs. He jammed a finger inside me and then withdrew it, instead shoving the metal probe into my body.
Tears spilled over my cheeks. What was happening to me? What was this? Maybe Lyta was right—maybe death was better than this.
He pulled it out and stood up, unhooking my chains from the pipe. “She can breed.”
“Group two.” The disembodied voice was louder now; another man stepped forward. His hair was a mess of brown curls, his eyes downcast. Physically, he was slighter than the man who stripped and violated me. But unlike the green-eyed man, he seemed overcome with guilt. He slapped a paper into my captor’s hands. “Block one.”
I had no idea what that meant; I wasn’t sure if that even mattered. The man pulled me forward by my throat and to the far end of the warehouse. Two other men met him him there, one taking hold of my arm shackles and the other yanking a white, shift dress over my head. The sleeves were separate and they easily threaded both the chains and my arms into him. The paper was marked again.
And this time, I was shoved to the floor, my arms wrenched forward and around a oblong, stone pillar. One man clipped by collar to an iron hook at the base; another secured my wrists behind my back, attaching the chain from my arms to the chain at my ankles.
I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe, but from the position I was in, I could see a black, iron furnace in line with the exterior warehouse wall. Metal rods were sticking out of the burning red and orange coals.
Someone swept my hair over my face and held it in place; another tugged down the back of my shift.
My heart leapt into my throat. They were rods sticking out of the fire—they were brands.
My captor examined the handles of each and then plucked one out of the fire. It was circular; it glowed almost translucent red.
And when he pressed the brand between my shoulders, searing my flesh, I screamed.
Claimed: Faction 3: The Isa Fae Collection Page 15
