Xave was the first person I told when I found out Luke was my brother. Now Xave’s not here to tell him it was a lie. The thought makes me explode. I whirl and scream toward the sky, tendons bulging in my neck, soul drifting into nothingness. I pound my thighs and rage, baring my throat to the heavens and cursing God for his sadistic streak.
The universe against Marci, or whoever the hell I am … Azrael after all, I suppose.
My chest feels as if it will split in two, overwhelmed by the deformity of the emotion trapped inside of it. How can one person bare so much pain? How can someone lose so much and still be able to find herself in the chaos left behind?
The world dips, then rocks back and forth. My head pounds with each backswing. Pain is a hammer and it falls, falls, falls, shattering my will into dust.
But I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I refuse to believe this! Karen never tired of telling me how much like Dad I look. Hell, I can see it myself in the pictures that are left of him. He is my father. I know it in my heart.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” a voice whispers in my ear.
Soothing words exist and they find their way to me, to the one who, since the night Xave died, has known nothing but the purest forms of agony.
I don’t know how long it takes me to realize that I’m on my knees, rocking, almost touching my forehead to the ground every time I move forward, that Aydan is kneeling next to me, an arm over my back, telling me that everything will be all right, that not all is lost.
When the storm passes, the shock of having him near me mixes with my other emotions. I look him in the eye and see something I have never seen in his black gaze.
Tenderness.
Disarmed by the warmth radiating from him, I press my cheek to his chest and cry more freely than I’ve ever done in years. I have always been strong, if only on the outside. It is how everyone saw me, how I used to see myself. This vulnerable child in Aydan’s arms is like a newborn in a new, terrible world.
He smooths my hair down my back. “We’ll find a way,” he’s saying. “We’ll make everything all right.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling away from him.
We kneel, facing each other without saying anything for a long moment.
“You believe me?” I finally say, even though I shouldn’t risk mentioning it. There’s no telling how fragile his trust is and how likely I am to break it.
“You are one of us,” he answers and gives me a small smile.
“Thank you.” The words come out clipped as I fight not to cry again.
“Well, the others … don’t get your hopes too high,” he says, not without some of that tenderness I saw in his eyes just a moment ago.
“I won’t. I’m just glad there is some hope, no matter how small.” I smile sadly.
“You’ll understand if I don’t tell you anything about our plans.”
I nod several times. “Of course. Of course. I don’t need to or want to know anything. If I’m eclipsed again, we can’t risk Elliot finding out any new information. Although, I’d die before I let that happen. Now, it will be his information coming your way, as soon as I go back.”
“Marci,” he shakes his head. “Going back is crazy. I don’t think you—”
“I have to. Having someone inside will give IgNiTe an invaluable advantage.”
He sits on the grass, worry shaping his face. “I know, but it’s too risky. What if—?”
“I have to do this.” The thought of going back scares me to the core, but I can’t waste this opportunity. “I have to redeem myself.” I sit cross-legged, facing the lake, looking into the distance.
“What happened wasn’t your fault. It could have happened to any of us.”
“No. I was the weak link. I can’t meditate on my own. If I’d been able to, I would’ve had better control of my agent.”
“We can blame James for that.”
I look at him. I don’t remember Aydan ever taking my side.
He shrugs. “He shouldn’t have kept you out. You needed our help. It was our job to protect you. You’re only sixteen. Not some sort of soldier in an army. He was so damn bent on secrets and rules.” He looks at the ground, wearing an angry frown.
“Clearly, he had a reason.”
“Well, he screwed up and he knows it. If he hadn’t pushed you away, you would have been with us when it all started.” Suddenly, Aydan seizes my hand and sets his intense black eyes on me. “Please, Marci, don’t go back. It’s too dangerous. Come with me.”
“You said it yourself, they hate me.”
“Not you, Marci. Not you!” His fingers squeeze mine so hard it hurts. “You can prove to them it’s still you.”
It’s very tempting. I’m scared enough to want to go with him, but it isn’t an option. Not even close. “I can’t. Maybe in a different life, but in this new world, I have a responsibility. Everyone who’s still human does, and you know it.” I pull my hand away and stand. “I should get back before anyone notices I’m gone.”
Aydan stands. The clouds have moved and moonlight reflects on his black hair. There are circles under his eyes and he looks years older than he did a week ago. Each day has been a lifetime since The Takeover, even for him.
“At least tell me, is everyone all right?” I ask.
“It’s been rough, but we’ll get through it. We will.” Certainty shines in his eyes and, for an instant, he makes me believe everything will be all right. He gives me strength—just what I need in this moment.
I take a step back. “Take care.”
“Please be careful. And if you don’t find anything or if you find something big, just get out. Promise me you’ll do that.”
Promise him? Why would he demand a promise? We were never friends, and promises aren’t something acquaintances, teammates, or whatever we are, demand from each other. Yet, when I give him my word, it feels strong and definite. Truer than anything I’ve ever said.
It seems that, under the circumstances, we humans owe each other a great deal. More than ever, we owe each other respect. We owe each other honesty.
We owe each other survival.
Chapter 38
I sit in the mess hall, staring at a mound of mashed potatoes. They’re cold, topped with chives—not much different in appearance to what they used to have in the school cafeteria, though a lot tastier.
My eyes burn from another sleepless night. As if I didn’t have enough worries to occupy my mind, now I’m trying to figure out a way I can sneak home to find a picture of Dad. I’m even wondering if there is anything at home that might contain some of his DNA: an old army uniform, a lock of baby hair saved by his mother. Anything to provide concrete proof to back what my heart already knows. For the nth time, I push the thought away.
Eying the Eklyptors sitting at the next table, I wonder when they’ll start serving raw steak or live bugs. They certainly look as if that type of menu would agree with them better. The guy with a nose as shiny and black as a bloodhound’s sniffs his food and seems disappointed.
I smirk at the thought of a roach leg sticking out of Gecko Man’s mouth. He has emerald green bug eyes that stick out of each side of his face and, instead of lashes, he has these weird little spikes that travel over his nonexistent eyebrows and continue over to his forehead, temples and thinning hairline. A long, fleshy tongue flicks out of his wide mouth and practically licks his eyeball. My stomach churns and the smirk dies on my face.
“Where’s Redbone?” Gecko Man asks his table companion.
Bloodhound’s nose twitches and dips to an inch of his plate. “Dead.”
Gecko Man grunts. “That bad?”
“Those fuckin’ Igniters are going to pay,” Bloodhound says.
I seethe. Bloodhound loves nothing more than to discuss their hunting expeditions and to recount his favorite ways of dispatching humans. When he does that, I have to leave, which isn’t easy—not when I want to undo him with a butter knife.
“I’m more worried about Hailstone,” Ge
cko Man says. “It’s all so counterproductive.”
Good! This is the third conversation I overhear that carries news of the state of things out there. IgNiTe keeps fighting and defeating Eklyptors more often than expected. What is more surprising, though, is the fact that territorial disputes between factions are also taking a toll. Eklyptors thought the city was in their pocket right after the initial Takeover. They were so sure of it that the different factions started fighting each other before they had a true foothold on the population. The idiots.
“Something the matter?” Lyra asks, taking the chair across from mine.
I look down at my dinner. “Hate mash potatoes,” I say. “The human liked them, ate them like candy, so I hate them. Really, really hate them.”
“I thought you might be malade, sick,” she says, taking a bite of roast in a manner too dainty for someone with such huge canine teeth. She sounds as if she wishes I was malade. Back at you, bitch.
I bite down my anger. “Sick of potatoes, yes!”
The sound of silverware against plates fills our silence. I’m surprised these creatures actually use utensils rather than lick their plates in circles, except everyone in Elliot’s private army has all the right parts to handle a fork. Maybe he grew up too posh and can’t handle slurpy eaters. Perhaps the better question is: why don’t we have a pastry fork and a caviar spoon?
“Where were you last night?” Lyra asks, pushing the carrots to the edge of her plate.
I stick my fork in the mash potatoes and swirl it around, avoiding eye contact. “Last night?”
“Oui, I woke up and you were not in your bed.” Lyra takes a sip of milk, then licks her lips. Her left ear twitches.
“Bathroom, I guess. Had to pee like thirty times. Pee and pee and pee, couldn’t hardly sleep.” I figure exaggerating is my best bet.
“Mmm,” a sound in the back of her throat that seems neither approving nor disapproving.
To make a point, I pick up my can of Mountain Dew and guzzle it all down.
“Maybe you should not drink so much soda before bedtime.” Lyra offers this advice in a neutral tone that makes me think she believes my excuse.
Last night, sneaking back in was surprisingly easy. I parked the van—my bike stuffed in the back—where I found it, then hurried back to the delivery entrance. To my immense relief, the door was still open and the guards drunk and passed out on a crate. Nothing else seems to go my way, so I am grateful for small favors. By the time I got back to my bed, it was 3 A.M. I lay down just for pretense. I knew I wouldn’t sleep, not with all the questions about Luke and Mom—Karen—making endless circles inside my head.
This afternoon, however, more than its fair share has worked to my advantage. It took me over two hours, but I gained access to the building’s security system, so there will be no more sneaking out for me. I can waltz out of here whenever I want to. Now, all I need to do is make a few adaptations to the smartphone I just swiped, then Elliot’s small world will be mine.
“Azrael.” Lyra sets down her fork and cleans her furry black hand on a napkin. I examine the orange stripes on her arms and notice they haven’t made it past her elbows. I wonder how far she intends to go with them. “Are you good at anything?” she asks.
“Good? Good?” I say, knowing where this conversation is going. Lyra is meant to find me a job around here, but she hasn’t had time. I wonder why, all of a sudden, she’s decided to find out if I’m good at something.
“Oui, do you have useful skills?” Her green eyes are hard and unreadable.
I think for a moment, unsure of what to say. I don’t want to be assigned any tasks that will take time away from my plans, but, if I don’t pull my weight, they might get rid of me. Mind racing, I try to think of things that wouldn’t bind me to one spot and would, instead, allow me to roam the building unmolested and unsuspected.
“I—I can clean,” I say, making circles in the air with one hand. “Deliver things. envelopes, tools, food, drinks, Mountain Dew.” I sound eager to do these things and work myself into a sort of frenzy, listing random things that pop into my mind as if I’m thought-jumping. “Organize, I can organize. Sharpen pencils. I can do that, too. Yeah, yeah!”
“Ça suffit!” Lyra snaps.
I think she means that’s enough or something equally biting.
“I will see what I can do. If you want to stay, you have to contribute.” She holds my gaze to make sure I get the message.
“Stay, yes. I want that.” I let my eyes wander toward the exit and try to look afraid of leaving, even as every fiber in my body wants nothing more than to bolt out the door, plans be damned. “Stay with you and go out and kill more Igniters. I’d love to do that.” I can’t forget to mention that. Not with a name that means angel of death.
“I hate to burst your bubble, but I doubt you will get a chance to do that.” Lyra resumes her dinner.
“Why?!” I whine so loud that several heads turn my way.
“There is no point in lying, so I will tell you straight. You are not squad material, Azrael. Most around here cannot decide whether to trust you or hate you. As for the ones who have decided, it is a toss. I think,” she says, think sounding more like zeenk , “you’d do much better here.” She puts a special sort of emphasis on the last word that makes my skin prickle. She sounds as if she knows what I’m up to.
I pull back, observing her body language, trying to understand her meaning.
What do you know, Lyra?
Yeah, Azrael isn’t squad material. I agree with that. She is insane, but so are the majority of Eklyptors from what I can tell. So why does she think I should stay here? Maybe she wants to keep an eye on me, wants to catch me doing something that will undoubtedly involve my fingers deep inside the cyber jar, just where Elliot seems to be hiding some very tasty morsels.
I throw my hands up in the air and make a sound of disgust. “Bunch of selfish bastards. Wanna get all the glory to themselves. All of it. But they don’t know those Igniters like I do. They know nothing.”
“Do not take it personally,” Lyra says, jamming a large piece of meat in her mouth. “It is a hard situation,” she mumbles, waving a hand to let me know this conversation is over.
I stand in a huff, snatch my tray and march to the conveyor belt. Looking over my shoulder, I give Lyra a dirty look. She lifts her cup of milk in a toast, her eyes smiling as if to say “you’re welcome,” like she’s doing me a favor. I turn and frown at the dirty dishes as they glide away on their way to being washed.
What’s with the look?
She definitely suspects something and is trying to make me nervous. I take a deep breath and crack my neck. If she thinks she can intimidate me, she’s wasting her time. After what I’ve been through, only a few things scare me. They scare me shitless, sure, but I plan to do something about one of them. And I hope Aydan will agree to help me.
I head toward the exit, stomping my feet. As I push the door open an angry voice echoes through the mess hall. “Where the hell is my phone? Did anyone see my phone?”
I pat my front pocket and smile.
Yep, thank God for small favors.
Chapter 39
This time Aydan’s car is in the parking lot, so I’m not surprised when I seem him waiting on one of the benches that faces Lake Union. I walk purposefully to make sure he hears me coming. As soon as he does, he stands and turns. His shoulders are tense, his face shadowed by his hoodie. I know he’s nervous, but I’m glad to see him, glad to be out of Elliot’s lair, if only for a little while, glad to be with someone who’s still human.
The night is clear, unlike the time we met last week. A full moon shines directly above, scattering glimmering stars over the water. I stop several paces away from Aydan. He drops his hood and gives me a single nod.
My throat is dry and stiff. I feel the need to prove myself all over again, to scream at the top of my lungs that I’m still me. But trying too hard would only accomplish the opposite. I wish there was som
e sort of proof I could give him every time we meet. Maybe a secret that the agent couldn’t get to. No such luck. Everything I know, Azrael knows, whether I want her to or not.
I wonder why it doesn’t work the other way around. Why I don’t know anything about her besides what I witnessed when she took over. I guess there isn’t much there, just a cluster of cells that needs me to think, store memories or be anything at all.
Words escape me at the moment, so I pull the new thumb drive I’ve prepared and hand it over to Aydan. He takes it without saying anything and slips it in his front pocket. Sighing heavily, he sits back down.
“I wish the test would work,” he says.
For some reason, the sound of his voice reassures me and the stiffness around my throat goes away. I slump next to him. “It’s a damn thing,” I say, “to pretend I’m not me most of the time. And then, when I can finally be myself, to have no one believe me.”
“I want to believe you,” he says. “But it isn’t easy.”
“I know, and I thank you for that. I know we never quite saw eye to eye, so it means a great deal that you’re here … trying.”
“Sorry I was always such a jerk.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I say with a smirk. He was a jerk, and I don’t mind agreeing with him.
“Ha, ha.”
I chuckle and, placing a hand dramatically over my heart, I add, “I’m glad you’ve changed.”
Aydan ignores my theatrics and responds in a serious tone. “Well, it’s a different world. I have to be a different person with those who warrant it. The person I should’ve always been.” He exhales. His shoulders dip and stay down, letting go of all the tension I first saw.
The mood between us grows somber and heavy once more. Will we, humans, ever be able to laugh freely again? Will we ever feel the careless abandon we took for granted?
“I’m into Elliot’s security system,” I say. “The new thumb drive has the schematics in it. I can leave any time I want now, so it will be easier to meet, if we have to.”
“Good,” he says in a flat tone that makes me think security schematics for one Eklyptor building means nothing to IgNiTe—even if said building is Elliot’s lair.
Eclipse the Flame Page 21
