Only the oldest and most experienced Soul-Breathers could practice the lesser kinds of connections—breathe out a specific memory or piece of information or use their touch to sense and intensify a certain kind of passion.
Very few had mastered the skill Mikel possessed—connecting just enough to produce an effect without the other knowing what happened.
He’d done this sort of thing before, and most women were putty in his hands as soon as he brushed their bare skin, especially after the adrenalin of being mugged and then rescued by him.
Not Riana.
It was a good thing his instincts had told him not to push too hard or come on too strong. He would have spooked her for sure. He would have to be a lot more subtle and think through strategies to draw her to him.
To his surprise, he was almost looking forward to the challenge. Not just because it wasn’t easy. But also because he would get closer to Riana and her spicy, untouched spirit. She felt—tasted—new in almost every way. He couldn’t wait to see her again.
He was a Soul-Breather by genetic makeup. He was one of the Union’s covert agents by trade. He was good at his position, and he made a lot of money doing it. He had power by nature and more power given to him by the government.
But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to a job.
***
The next morning, Smyde gave the entire Office of Readers a lecture on being careful and not making mistakes like Riana had the previous day.
Readers—like all other government employees—weren’t trusted implicitly by the Union. Their work was randomly checked to make sure nothing slipped by them. Most Union officials couldn’t read so they relied heavily on Readers to keep track of subversive information in covert circulation. The Front, the most organized of the underground movements in the country, had been disguising messages in written texts for four years, following the example of other anti-government groups in earlier decades.
Looking for suspicious messages was top priority for a Reader. Everything else—collecting valuable information from the past, archiving fragments of literary art, sorting through documentation from the Union’s early history—all fell second to tracking down possible threats.
Riana tried not to cringe as Smyde used her “error” as an example for her colleagues on what they should never do. After five minutes of humiliating her, Smyde finally moved into a more general rant. “The Union counts on us. Every employee has a role to perform in protecting its sanctity and security. Our job as Readers is vitally important. We have this maniac calling himself the Librarian…” He made a face as if he tasted something foul. “Using written language to stir up discord and raise rebellion. Plus, the Front isn’t the only threat the Union is facing.”
Riana knew this to be true. The Front was the most powerful and the most influential, but there were other underground movements forming every day. Some, like the Front, challenged Union values by espousing free thinking and personal liberties. It was ironically fitting that the leader of the group—whether real or mythical—called himself the Librarian, since the movement upheld the archaic ideals of a world when libraries had existed.
Other groups held up the other side of the equation, objecting to Union compromises and demanding a more absolute commitment to traditional Union values—to the point of being scarily extreme. These fanatics were popularly called Zealots. In Riana’s mind, the latter groups were more dangerous than the former.
She was Reader, though, and reading was one of the things Zealots wanted to do away with completely. She was probably rather biased on that particular issue.
“I will not allow any slack in my office to damage the Union. Remember that.” Smyde waved an arm toward Riana to remind everyone that she was the loser who had brought this lecture down on all of them. “Next time I find an error like this, someone will be penalized for it. Now get back to work.”
As they all returned to their cubicles in the huge cheerless office, Riana looked discreetly over to Jenson Talon, who was walking back to his cluttered desk. He was a quiet man in his thirties who generally minded his own business. She liked him fairly well and had always assumed he felt the same, but she never would have expected him to step up in her defense as he had the previous day, when he’d defended her claim that the diary in question couldn’t possibly hold a hidden code.
When Jenson saw her now, he flashed her a private, ironic smile—and she felt an unfamiliar sense of appreciation.
Flustered by being the center of attention for two days in a row, Riana settled back at her desk. Her desktop was nearly empty, with only an inbox spilling over with texts to read, a mug full of pencils, a notepad, and a framed photograph. Everyone else had personalized their cubicles, but she had never bothered.
She picked up the next text from her inbox. A crumpled piece of lined paper with a bulleted list scribbled on it—maybe torn from the school notebook of a student back when schools taught children to read and write.
The first word she landed on sent off warning bells in her mind. She stared at the word on the wrinkled page. It was probably just a coincidence, but all of her instincts screamed there was something important here.
She glanced over at the one photo on her desk—she’d been fourteen, just after she’d taken this job, and Jannie was eight. Both girls were grinning like maniacs into the camera. Before her sister had gotten sick.
It wasn’t even nine in the morning. Many more hours until she could go home to Jannie.
She saw again Mikel’s handsome face. He’d said he lived in her neighborhood. Maybe she would see him again.
She shook away the thought. She shouldn’t waste her time daydreaming about such things. She might as well figure out this anomaly so she wouldn’t get in trouble again.
Snatching up the page, she left the main office and hurried into the hallway.
Local Readers should be housed in the main Union administration building in Newtown, but they’d been moved a few years ago when the administrative offices had run out of room. The new building, on the north edge of downtown, was officially named after a previous Union President, but everyone just called it the Annex. Riana had liked the old building better, even though it was constantly under construction. The clean walls and shiny floors of the Annex always struck her as stark and barren.
As she turned the corner to reach the elevators, she saw a familiar face.
“Hi, Ghent,” she said to the stringy-haired young man who was waiting to go down. Ghent worked in the Regional Archives, the fancy building a few blocks away. They’d met several times, and he’d always been friendly. In fact, she suspected he might have a crush on her. “What brings you over here?”
Ghent glanced over at her greeting but then turned away as the elevator doors slid open. He didn’t smile. Didn’t even acknowledge her presence. When Riana stared at him in confusion, he purposefully looked away.
She’d just been snubbed. For absolutely no reason. They weren’t close friends, but she’d thought Ghent liked her, and she had no idea why that might have changed.
It left her feeling oddly hurt, so she forced the feeling aside the way she always did when something made her uncomfortable. She visualized squeezing the discomfort and embarrassment into a tiny space at the back of her chest until it just poofed away.
It worked—at least well enough to focus again on her purpose. She went the rest of the way down the hall to the storage room, where completed texts were filed or discarded. She quickly flipped through the stack of texts that had been sorted that week, the ones important enough for the Union to archive. It didn’t take her long to find the one she was looking for—the copy of one of the speeches from an election ten years ago.
She scanned the speech and saw the word just as she had expected to see it.
Then she went to the bin in the far corner and started digging through the pages that had been discarded recently. They were kept for at least two weeks before they were recycled so Union o
fficials could do their random checks of the Readers’ work.
Fortunately, the page she searched for was printed on pale blue paper—an old-fashioned invitation to a birthday party. It had been trendy several years back for affluent families to use written invitations, even though few people could read them. A couple of days ago, she’d quickly glanced over the invitation and tossed it into the discard pile.
But now, after reading over the scripted lettering on card stock, she confirmed what she remembered and had just now connected to two other incidents.
There was definitely an anomaly here. It must be significant, but she couldn’t begin to guess what it meant.
Or what she should do with it.
The obvious choice would be to alert Smyde, particularly after what had just happened. She didn’t feel comfortable calling attention to herself, though, unless she was sure of her conclusions. She wasn’t inclined to talk to Smyde anytime soon anyway—not after how he’d embarrassed her a few minutes ago.
But what if this incongruity really was something important?
She normally kept to herself at work, aside from some casual banter, but right now she needed advice. For the first time in months, she wished Connor was still here. He’d been the only real friend she’d had in the office, and it was at times like this she missed him most.
As she walked back into the main office with the three sheets of paper, her eyes drifted over to Jenson’s desk. Noticing he was watching her, she decided it was worth a try and headed over in his direction
Readers came in two forms. Those who pursued the line of work temporarily as a step toward more lucrative administrative positions within the Union. And those who did it for life.
Riana was a lifer. She’d loved to read ever since her grandfather had taught her the alphabet, and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She wasn’t interested in power, and money wasn’t a strong motivation for her. She didn’t really like the Union, and she had no desire to move up into the inner ranks.
It had been years since she’d entertained any dreams of the world offering more than she had at the moment—a decent job, her sister, and a quiet, undisturbed life.
Jenson was a lifer too. While she’d been a Reader for eight years, he had been one for twenty. Connor wasn’t here anymore, but maybe Jenson could help her with this puzzle.
His dark eyebrows lifted as she pulled a chair up next to his desk. Jenson was attractive in an unconventional way, with brown hair, deep-set blue eyes, and slightly craggy face with high cheekbones. He’d been her mentor when she’d first started on the job.
“I appreciate your sticking up for me yesterday,” she said by way of greeting. “But there’s no sense in your getting on Smyde’s bad side too.”
Jenson shrugged. He’d taken off the brown tweed jacket he wore every day and hung it on the back of his chair. The sleeves of his dress shirt were now rolled up to his elbows. “It wouldn’t be the first time. And it’s not like they’re going to fire me.”
Jenson was the best Reader the Union had in Newtown—perhaps anywhere. The number of codes and secret messages he’d found in innocuous texts was legendary. His job was secure, if anyone’s was.
She adjusted in her chair, feeling strangely self-conscious. She was used to being independent and self-sufficient. She wasn’t entirely comfortable when people went out of their way to help her.
“What do you have there?” Jenson asked mildly, evidently sensing her discomfort.
Riana showed him the three sheets of paper she’d brought over. “I’ve noticed an anomaly and was wondering if you’d noticed it too.” She spread the pages out on his desk and studied his face as he looked down at them.
Because she was watching his expression, she noticed the slight tightening of his thin lips.
“Do you see?” she prompted, pushing one of her braids back over her shoulder.
He didn’t answer. Just raised his eyes to study her face with a disturbing kind of intensity.
“Wordless,” she said, glancing down so she wouldn’t have to hold his gaze. She noticed that the hair on his forearm was dark—distinct against his skin. “It’s used out of context in all three of these pages. Once might just be bad writing. But this...”
Jenson still didn’t respond, and his silence was starting to spook her.
Because she was nervous, she started to babble. “Have you seen it recently? The word ‘wordless’ slightly out of context? I think I’ve noticed it before but didn’t pay any attention until this week—when I saw it three times. It has to mean something, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” The one word sounded stretched.
Her eyes jerked back up to Jenson’s face. He was staring at her again but didn’t appear to really see her.
“Jenson?”
He swallowed so hard she could see it in his throat. “Riana.”
For some reason, the sound of his saying her name made her squirm. Very few people bothered to call her by her name. Very few people spoke to her personally at all.
“Riana,” he repeated, “I’m wondering if you’ll do me a favor.”
“I guess so. What is it?”
Jenson paused a moment before he responded, and his face twisted as if he were struggling to make a decision. “Can you forget you’ve noticed this? For the moment, anyway?”
Riana’s mouth went dry. She didn’t like the sound of this at all. “Why?”
He reached out and touched her arm. His hand felt warm and heavy on her wrist. “I can’t explain right now. Perhaps you can just trust me.”
Riana didn’t trust anyone except her sister. She’d learned not to bother, since she’d only be disappointed in the end. Jenson had never given her any reason to doubt him, though, and he was such a good Reader.
Readers were different from everyone else.
“Why?” she demanded again.
His eyes never left hers, and this time she couldn’t turn away. “Riana, please. It’s just a random word. Nothing for the Union to worry about.”
They both knew this wasn’t true. Obviously there was something going on with the word that Jenson didn’t want the Union to know.
Riana had no idea what to do. She didn’t like this at all and wished she’d never bothered to talk to him. Who cared how smart and perceptive he was or how he’d helped her out before?
He was just going to get her in trouble.
Her parents had gotten in trouble, and they’d been killed.
Her grandfather had always been in trouble and had suffered for it until the last day of his life.
Biting her lower lip, she grabbed the pages and got to her feet.
Jenson stood up too, his hand tightening around her arm. “Think about it. I know you, Riana. You’re better than all of this.”
She gaped at him for a moment, having no idea what he meant by that. Then she pulled away and hurried back to her desk. Shoving the sheets to the bottom of her inbox, she pulled out another page and stared down at it blindly.
Her heart pounded in her throat, and she felt uncomfortable and jittery. Her life was usually lived on an even keel—nothing ruffling her nerves or surprising her because her world was so small and unexceptional.
Now two things today had upset and confused her.
She didn’t like the feeling at all.
***
That afternoon, she was poring over a text when she heard a rustle behind her. Nelly. Another lifer. A thirty-something woman with a maternal attitude and a mischievous wit.
Nelly rolled her chair over toward Riana, leaned forward, and whispered into her ear, “Are you and Jenson lovers?”
Riana blinked and stiffened her spine. “What? No!”
“Just asking. It looked pretty intense between the two of you this morning.”
Riana swallowed over her dry throat. She’d tried to put the incident out of her mind and didn’t want to be reminded of it again. “It was nothing.”
“Do you have a lover?”
The blunt impertinence of the question was startling and unexpected. For a moment, annoyance and amusement vied in Riana’s mind.
Amusement won. It just wasn’t worth getting offended over Nelly’s brazen question. With a dry chuckle, she asked, “How long have you wanted to ask me that?”
“For months. It’s no fun not knowing any interesting tidbits about you. You can’t be as boring as you act.”
“I am as boring. I don’t have a lover.”
Nelly gave her a lop-sided smile. “Do you believe in marriage? I can see you as a secret romantic.”
Word and Breath (Wordless Chronicles) Page 2
