I really want to give them something they can use, something that can make a difference in this fight. “There’s a file server I’m still trying to reach. It’s giving me fits, but I’ll get it. Whatever they keep in there must be important, ’cause the security around it is tight.”
“Sounds promising.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“I know you are.”
Angling my body in his direction, I clear my throat. He tears his dark gaze from the rippling lake and watches me take two chocolate bars out of my jacket pocket and place them on the bench between us. He frowns at them.
“I was wondering,” I say, “if you could help me.”
He cocks his head to one side. A strand of black hair falls over his pale forehead. Moonlight catches his eyes making them look like mirrors for an instant. Goose bumps erupt on my forearms and travel up to my neck as it occurs to me that this may not be Aydan anymore, but a cynical Eklyptor who—taking advantage of his pale skin—has decided to morph him into a vampire or some other creature of the night.
I shake my unease, telling myself that if he’s not Aydan anymore, humans are one step closer to extinction, and there’s nothing the likes of me can do to save us, so it wouldn’t matter.
“Help you with what?” he asks.
“Meditating.”
“Here? Now?”
“Here. Now.” I say firmly.
Aydan angles his body in my direction until our knees almost touch. “Do you think that’s a smart idea with what you’ve been through? The agent has to know more about you, now. What if it isn’t safe?”
“I won’t lie and tell you it doesn’t scare me, but I have to try. I want to be able to control my telekinetic powers. They’re so unpredictable I can’t rely on them at all. Meditation is the only thing that will help me do that.” One meditation session unleashed my skills, if I can manage a few more, maybe it’ll get easier. “Besides, I beat the agent, and since then the shadows seem to be easier to keep at bay. Please, help me get the hang of it. After that, I’ll do it on my own.”
My gaze wanders to the chocolate bars resting on the bench. Asking for help is such a foreign thing that it makes heat rush to my cheeks. “I brought pick-me-ups.” I point at the chocolates, trying to drive his intense eyes away from my face. “They’ll help me bounce back, if I fa … fail.” I was going to say faint, but I’ve already dragged my pride through the mud enough tonight.
“You’re right about one thing,” he says. “Meditation does help and quickly. Though you have to keep doing it. All the time. Once or twice isn’t enough. If you stop, the effects go away. But it does the trick.” Aydan extends a hand and holds it between us. He squints, a fringe of long, blank lashes hooding his eyes. His breathing slows and becomes audible. After a few beats, a ball of blue light crackles to life on his palm. Miniature lightning bolts flash and strike his fingers, dancing and skittering in a small, contained universe of their own.
“Wow,” I say. “That is just … wow.”
He raises his hand, bringing the light toward his face, catching the storm in his eyes. Mesmerized, he watches as the colors shift from white to yellow to blue. He frowns and seems to ponder for a moment, then flicks his wrist and sends the ball of energy flying above the grass and into the lake’s ever-shifting waters. As Aydan’s tiny storm touches the surface, it hisses and spreads over the small waves, making a dazzling pattern. My breath catches as I’m reminded of that 4th of July a few years back when I watched the fireworks reflect off the mirror-like lake. It’s hypnotizing.
“Did you know it would do that?” I ask.
“I shouldn’t have, but I did,” he whispers.
“It’s beautiful.”
We watch in silence as the pattern slowly dissolves. When it’s all gone, Aydan looks at me, a small, satisfied smile stretching his too-red lips.
“Let’s do it, then,” he says. “You need to know how to control your powers. It’s—I don’t know how to explain it—liberating. It feels so right, like all the pieces falling into place.”
“Yeah? I don’t think I would know right if it bit me on the ass. It’s seems all I ever get is the broad side of wrong.”
“I had a head-on collision with wrong. So don’t expect me to feel sorry for you,” he says, using some of the spunk and banter from when I first met him. And, even though he used to drive me crazy with those snide comments, I smile, feeling a strange relief wash over me—like he’s comfortable with me, like it’s okay to be ourselves, like we can finally be friends.
I dare hope and wonder about his life, about all he’s been through. And, suddenly, I want to know everything, but I know it’s too soon, so I just keep hoping.
Chapter 40
“Hey, hey,”
Someone pats my cheek three times. I moan and shrink away, squeezing my eyes.
“Marci, you did well.”
My eyes spring open. Aydan is hovering over me while he holds my head up, a hand at the nape of my neck. I’m on the ground, moist grass tickling my arms. I blink, trying to understand why we’re in this awkward position.
“You did well,” he says again.
I clear my throat and paw my way back to the bench, away from this closeness.
“Here.” He tears the wrapper off one of the chocolate bars and hands it over.
I take a huge bite and let it melt on my tongue. “I feel weird.” I crack my neck. “I felt in the zone for a little bit there, then I just … I don’t know.”
Aydan walked me through it all, instructing me to wipe my mind clean, to focus on my diaphragm and the way it moves up and down. Little by little, I cleared my mind, dismissing every thought that tried to push its way through, feeling lighter as nothingness reigned. For a few moments, air was the only thing that mattered, as it traveled in and out of my lungs, cleansing me, making me feel infinite and absolutely at peace.
Then, an image of Xave filled my vision and all the peace turned to loss and chaos. And, after that, I guess I passed out. Still, maybe some benefits will come out of trying, even if I ended up twitching like a half-dead bug.
I put a hand over my forehead and squeeze.
Aydan pushes my other hand toward my mouth. “Take another bite.”
The bittersweet scent of chocolate fills my senses.
“You managed to hold on for a few minutes,” he says. “Much better than the last time. What broke your concentration?”
I shake my head, not wanting to discuss it, afraid of the pain and its sharp, sharp edges. “Was it like this for you?” I ask.
“It’s been like this for everyone, even James. You know that.”
They told me this before, but I can’t help feeling it should be easier.
“How long before I can try this on my own?” I ask.
“A handful of times. That’s not so bad.”
A brackish breeze blows from the lake, making me shiver. Aydan pulls his hoodie’s zipper all the way up.
“You know, I still have your backpack. It’s been in my car since they took you. I haven’t looked in it,” he adds in a hurry.
“Do you mind keeping it? I can’t bring it with me. There’s only one thing in there that really matters to me. It’s a book. It was my dad’s.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this.
“I’ll keep it safe.” He never questions how a simple book can be so important to anyone.
“Thank you.” His offer moves me, and I find myself wondering about him again, wanting to know who he truly is. I know little about Aydan or anyone else in IgNiTe. When I was with them, I was so focused on understanding Eklyptors and what it meant to be infected that I never spared a moment to think of anyone else but myself.
God, how selfish.
Suddenly, I’d like to change that, except I’m not sure how. I’ve never known how to be open with people. I grew up keeping secrets even from those closest to me, and I think it must be the same for all Symbiots. Secrecy as a way of life. But what else is there to hide a
t this point? I’m tired of it.
“How, how is your family?” I ask, then regret it. I don’t even know if he has a family.
Aydan gives me a sideways glance and, for a moment, I fear my lame attempt won’t go anywhere. But in the end, he seems as willing to come into the open as I am.
He stares at his hands. “I wish I knew, but I haven’t seen them in a while. I left before they decided to disown me, or lock me up.” He chuckles sadly. “After I was infected, I became a big disappointment to them. You know how that goes.”
I nod, finding that—for the first time—I understand someone one hundred percent.
“I’m the youngest of three brothers,” he continues. “They both excelled in college, and when I couldn’t stay on that path, my parents weren’t very happy with me. My father came from Italy when he was five years old. His parents struggled—not knowing the language and all. Dad never got a chance to go to college, had to start working at an early age to help out. When I couldn’t follow in my brothers’ steps, he didn’t know how to deal with it. I was seventeen when I was infected by a teacher, someone I was supposed to trust. I tried to cope but, at first, I had no idea how. I did my best, but my parents freaked out.”
Aydan pulls up the long sleeves of his hoodie to expose his arms. Even in the dim light I can see the scars criss-crossing his forearms. There are hundreds of them. He puts his head down, embarrassed and with a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s remembering his family’s reaction to his self-inflicted injuries. I had suspected this, had imagined he’d used pain to keep his focus, but hearing him talk about it leaves me feeling raw inside.
He pulls the sleeves back down. “They sent me to so many doctors I lost count. When nothing worked and my grades kept slipping, they started talking about this place where people with problems go for a while. Even as confused as I was, I knew a place like that wouldn’t help. I knew that wasn’t the answer, so one night I left. All I took was my laptop and the clothes on my back.
“I spent a few months in homeless shelters. When I was having a good day, I’d go anywhere with a free Wi-Fi connection and try to find others going through the same, but …” Aydan shakes his head to indicate how futile that was. “There are so few of us,” he says in a quiet, dismayed tone. “So very few.”
Without thinking, I lift a hand and rest it on his shoulder. I understand him so perfectly. I feel the loss of his family, his despair, the struggle he went through, as if they are my own. Because in a way they are. I know exactly how he felt every step of the way.
He accepts my touch, acknowledging it only by slightly turning his face in my direction.
“I gave up looking and instead started using my moments of clarity and control for other purposes. I did small jobs online to earn some money. Hacks, you know. I saved every penny I got and eventually got enough to rent a little place of my own. Coding helped me. I became more stable, almost … functional. I lived like that for a little over a year. Then Silica Rush had a hacking contest. Whoever got through their firewall first got a job with them. By then, I’d gotten really good. The agent helped, I guess. So I won. That’s where James found me.”
“Impressive,” I say, then feel like an idiot for not offering something better than that.
“You would have gotten through, too,” he says.
“Before you?”
He shrugs. “Probably not.”
I laugh and he does, too. We’re quiet for a moment, until I finally decide to give something back. “I hope your family is okay. They would be proud of you now. I’ve lost everyone, too,” I say, trying not to choke on the knot in my throat.
“Not everyone.” Aydan looks me in the eye and holds my gaze. For once, I don’t feel so alone.
“Thank you.”
I gaze at the distant electric skyline of a city that looks normal and perfectly ours. We made this place, this world. Not Eklyptors: the damn cuckoos who want to steal our nest.
“What will happen to our city? To the world?” I ask. “It seems so hopeless.”
His gaze drifts over the lake with mine. The illuminated buildings reflect off the water, creating the silhouette of a submerged, phantom city. The moon, round and brilliant yellow, shines to the right of the Space Needle: a postcard-perfect view. So beautiful.
Except, it isn’t. The city is at war. Eklyptors are hunting the other half of the population, killing them if they resist, infecting them if they are captured. I fear the possibility that they already outnumber us, fear the day when everyone becomes nothing but a vessel.
But even if some people are naive enough to seek help with the “authorities” others aren’t going down without a fight. Several groups have formed, banding together to protect each other, militias whose members dig old weapons from under their beds, raid supply stores for ammunition, and engage in street fights where the law is kill or die. It’s all Elliot’s men talk about in the mess hall. Their conversations both excite me and terrify me.
“Everyone is trying very hard,” Aydan says. “Don’t lose faith.”
It’s hard to keep your conviction after you’ve lost everything. I think of Xave, and also Dad whom I might lose twice if I don’t hold onto him, to the memory of his strong presence and his love for me. “His eyes lit up every time he saw you,” Karen told me many times, jealousy thick in her voice. Even she could see the invisible bond between Dad and me. So if her coldness toward me means she knew I wasn’t her daughter, then Dad’s unconditional love must mean the opposite.
If there’s any faith left in me, this is what I choose to believe.
I face Aydan. His angular profile is stern and hard, but oddly comforting. “Do you? Still have faith, I mean?”
“We have Kristen.” A concise, confident answer that makes me feel steadier, capable of more. I imagine her in her lab coat, working tirelessly to find a cure, a vaccine, something.
Stuffing another piece of chocolate in my mouth, I stifle the many questions that crowd at the tip of my tongue. I wish I could learn all about IgNiTe’s efforts, but I can’t, and it would be unfair to ask.
So all I say is, “Keep her safe.”
Chapter 41
Slipping in and out is easy now. The building is huge, with many emergency exits, not all of them watched by a guard at every moment. They are relying on the security system—alarms that would blare if the doors are opened without authorization, something my swiped cell phone has no trouble providing.
I crouch behind a hedge, waiting for the guard on this side of the building to move on. He’s been leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and staring off into space—not doing a very good job at guarding, feeling as safe as houses. His chest is the size of a barrel, protected by a thick layer that makes me think of crabs and their barbed shells. I’ve seen him in the mess hall. He makes strange creaking sounds as he walks.
Through the leaves, I watch him take a deep drag, then flick the cigarette to the ground. He sighs, looking bored out of his mind, and resumes his patrol. As soon as he rounds the corner, I use my phone to trigger the lock at the nearest fire exit. As it clicks open, I leave my hiding place, run for the door and ease myself inside, then use my phone to activate the alarm once more.
The hall is dark, two of its overhead fluorescent lights have burned out, just the reason I picked this as my point of access. I sneak into a broom closet where I left my pajamas, put them on and ruffle my hair. Before leaving, I check the first floor security cameras through my phone.
I was gone for a little over an hour and it’s now 2 A.M. Nothing looks out of the ordinary until I check the cameras on my floor and spot someone walking down the hall away from the barracks—someone that moves with grace and stealth. Lyra.
I rush out of the closet and run down the hall. She must already know I’m not in bed and, if she’s looking for me, she’d better find me on our floor. Because, at night, the elevators and emergency exits are off limits, accessible only to those with security clearance.
As I near the staircase, I send an unlock command through my phone and rush in. Taking two and three steps at a time, I climb six flights of steps. My calves and thighs burn. When I reach my floor, I press my back against the wall and check the nearest cameras outside the stairs. My breaths echo against the concrete walls. My heart beats in my throat.
After making sure no one is outside, I ease the door open and step into the hall. Sweat glides down my forehead. I wipe it off with the hem of my shirt and begin walking at a careless pace. My legs itch to sprint back downstairs and out into the night, but this is the only place for me. I will either succeed or die trying.
As I pass an emergency box with a rolled up firehose inside, some strange feeling in my gut prompts me to stop. I open the small, glass door and, quickly, hide the phone inside. I’ve taken only a few steps away from the box when Lyra turns a corner into the hall.
Pretending not to see her, I shuffle forward, scratching my butt and doing my best to look like a zombie.
“What are you doing?” she booms.
I jump, looking surprised.
“Hey, Lyra, Lyra. Can’t sleep either?”
“Where did you come from?” she demands.
“Been walking around. I played some games. Wanna play?” I act all perky at the possibility of playing with someone else.
Lyra narrows her green eyes, shooting me a glare that feels like a laser beam. “I was down this hall already.” She takes my arm, twists me around and presses my face against the wall. After kicking my legs apart, she presses a hand to the nape of my neck, letting her sharp claws prick me.
“Whoa. Not a friend. Thought you were a friend,” I say in a half angry, half scared tone. “What’s going on?”
“You tell me.” Her hands move down my body, frisking me.
The emergency box sits only a few inches from my face. I make a point not to look in that direction.
Lyra takes me by the shoulders and whirls me around. “You are up to something. Where were you playing games? What games?”
Eclipse the Flame Page 22
