by Mara, Devi
"Keane's campaign revolves around a system of harsh reforms in The Corridor," Tradis remarked.
Farran glanced over his shoulder to see his second scanning the documents in the file. He grunted an acknowledgement and thumbed through the files. February 23rd, 2024. He paused.
"His plan includes production work and greater amounts of solitary. Up to 90% for what he calls 'severe cases'. He intended to use us for free labor. This report contains a list of fifty companies…" Tradis' voice trailed off.
Farran looked up to find his second watching him. He turned back to the file and flipped it open. His gaze swept the first page. Nothing of importance. He frowned and flipped to the next page. His eyes narrowed, as he read.
"...an exchange of power between a Dem and human..."
"...could be a possibility. With the marks, a human could become immortal as..."
"...find a way to convince a Dem to mark a human. Though, there seems to be an inherent weakness in the practice. If a human can gain power from the marks, why could a Dem not grow weaker..."
"...a way to destroy the Dems. The concept was presented to Handler Keane, who believes the idea to be sound. He mentioned a handler..."
"...strange behavior. The Dem appeared pale just one day after being separated from the handler..."
"...monitoring to see if the handler has been marked. Handler Williams noticed dark bruising on the wrists, but the next day they had faded..."
"…has been researching the Dems. Sheriff Robinson found the city archives disturbed and documentation displaced. An obscure book written by Arthur Mackenzie…
"…to be aware of recent activities. Steps will need to be taken to prove or disprove the theory…"
He slammed the file closed. They knew Sarah had been marked. He snarled to himself. Keane, Williams, Robinson, the City Counsel. All of them knew. His eyes landed on the file.
"Burn all of the files in this office."
"Sir?"
He turned to growl at his second. "I said, burn them!"
Tradis nodded. "Yes, sir."
He paced to the door and back. He felt Tradis watching him warily. He glanced at him. "They know about Sarah."
He ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. His mind rolled over the information about Arthur Mackenzie's book. The fool wrote a book. He shook his head at the stupidity. He raised his eyes to the twilight beyond the window. The book did explain Sarah's sudden knowledge of etiquette. His lips quirked.
Tradis raised an eyebrow. "We will exterminate them. Crisis averted."
He almost smiled. "I would be pleased with that outcome. Are there any other important documents?"
Tradis turned back to the desk. "Several death certificates in the third drawer, inconsequential city council meeting notes in the second." He jerked the drawer out and dumped it on the desktop. He flicked through the papers. "Receipts."
Farran watched him dump the third drawer. "And the death certificates?"
Tradis dug the papers from the bottom of the stack. "Jeanne Carroll, Kenneth Montgomery, John Mackenzie, and..." he trailed off. Tradis' eyes met his. "Sarah Mackenzie."
Fury rose in his mind like a storm cloud. He stared at his second through a red haze. "What is listed as cause of death?"
Tradis dropped his gaze. Farran watched his eyes scan the form. He looked up. "Industrial accident. There is a note from the sheriff." At Farran's nod, he dug through the papers on the desk until he found the accompanying form. He scanned it.
"Read it," Farran snarled. He spun and continued pacing.
"Sarah Mackenzie. Middle initial 'J'. Handler Mackenzie, age 19, found in Corridor One of The Corridor. Bruising of the wrists, face, and throat consistent with Dem brutality seen in the past. Handler Mackenzie, often ignored protocol in dealing with the Dems." Tradis looked up at him.
"Continue," he snapped. His fist clenched and unclenched. He tried to ignore how much the thought of Sarah dead bothered him. He stopped beside the door to the hallway.
"Handler Williams reported seeing bruises on Mackenzie on several other occasions-"
"Several!" Farran slammed his fist into the wall beside the door. "When I find that human, I will do far more than break his leg."
Tradis nodded. He continued to read. "Other sources report a domestic violence issue in the Mackenzie home. Sarah Mackenzie has been seen by the hospital emergency room on several separate occasions."
The cruel words he had spoken to her, came to his mind unbidden. He shook his head.
"Mackenzie's is the last in a long line of accidental deaths. Her death strips the Mackenzie family of their duties in The Corridor. It is assumed they will be asked to leave the city, and the Dem responsible for the heinous crime will go into solitary for the foreseeable future." Tradis looked up. "That is all."
"I will not stop until every one of them is dead."
...
It was strange to see the streets so empty. The city was almost eerie in the falling darkness. She pulled her hood up around her face with one hand. She clung to her waistband with the other. The sweatpants she borrowed from the hotels lost and found dragged the ground. The fabric itched against her legs, but she tried to ignore it.
She pulled her eyes away from the dark houses to stare at the back of the Dem in front of her. He had not spoken. Farran gave him a dark look before they left. The Dem looked terrified. She frowned. Farran's behavior had changed drastically since the last time she saw him. She wondered at the meaning of the marks.
He said her health affected him. She chewed on her bottom lip in thought. That explained his order to the Dem to take her to get her clothes. She shook her head to herself.
"Excuse me," she called, before she could change her mind.
The Dem froze. He slowly looked over his shoulder at her. "You require something?"
She started to shake her head and stopped herself. She nodded. "I have a question."
"What is it?"
She steeled herself. "What is the place of a marked person in the hierarchy."
His eyes widened. He looked away. "I am unsure if it is my place to inform you."
She tipped her head to the side. "But, I am the general's marked, right?"
He nodded. His eyes scanned their surroundings. He shifted in obvious discomfort.
"So, I should know," she finished.
"The place of the marked is completely dependant on the rank of the Dem," he said briskly. He glanced at her and then quickly away. "We should continue. Is the dwelling near?"
Sarah nodded and pointed to Luke's house. "That one right there."
He stalked away.
She watched him go, her mind whirling over the information. He paused at the front door and turned to stare at her. She jogged across the lawn.
"This is your home?"
She shook her head. "But, my things are here." She turned the doorknob and shoved.
The door swung open without a sound. She scanned the foyer, half expecting Luke to appear from the kitchen. The house was silent. She stepped inside. The Dem followed her.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'll be right back."
He gave her a sharp nod and crossed his arms.
She hurried to the guest suite. Her bag was where she left it. She glanced around the room. Her eyes landed on the closet. She bit her lip. Her bag felt light in her hands. She quickly snatched a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt and stuffed them in her bag with the new under things.
"Hey!"
Her head jerked up at the sound of Luke's voice. He yelled something else, but the words were distorted. She yanked her bag closed and rushed down the hall to the foyer. She froze. Luke pressed himself against the wall beside the door. His wide eyes stared at the Dem in confused anger.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" he shouted angrily.
"Luke!"
His eyes swung to her and the gun in his hands dipped. "Sarah? What are you doing? You have to get out of here!"
She look
ed back and forth between Luke and the irritated Dem. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words would come out.
Luke inched down the wall toward her. He gestured for her to come to him. "I got him covered. My uncle has a safe place-" he started.
She scowled. "Your uncle? You mean, Keane?"
He shook his head. "That's not important, now. Please, Sarah. Just come with me." He moved closer.
She could reach out and touch him. Her gaze swung to the Dem. He stared at her blankly. She shook her head.
"I can't."
Luke's face crumpled. "Sure you can. Here, look!" He pointed the gun at the Dem's head and cocked it.
"No, wait!" She stepped toward him, eyeing the gun.
"It's fine. I can protect us," he insisted, grasping her hand and pulling her against him.
She struggled not to flinch at his touch. "Calm down, Luke."
"I'm calm!" He pulled her to the door, keeping the gun fixed on the Dem.
"You will not leave here with her," the Dem finally said.
"Like hell!" Luke yelled. She saw his finger tighten on the trigger.
"No!" She threw herself between the two men.
The bang hit her eardrums, before she felt the impact. The bullet slammed into her chest with the force of a bomb blast. She felt herself fly backwards. Someone screamed. Light flashed behind her eyelids. Eight more muted bangs echoed in her ears, before everything fell silent. She heard a faint pounding, then nothing.
Chapter Twelve
The Twisted Throne
She swam up through the darkness. The black gave way to a bright blue haze. She tried to move, but something warm and heavy pressed her down. The blue swirled around her, interspersed with shimmers of light. A pleasant spicy scent filled the air, and she turned her head toward it. A deep rumble vibrated against the right side of her body. She shivered.
"Wake up, Sarah."
She frowned and tried to open her eyes. The blue haze slowly faded. She blinked open her eyes.
"Has the wound vanished completely?" she heard a familiar voice ask from somewhere behind her.
She pressed her face against the warm skin in front of her. The weight vanished from her stomach.
"I believe so. The ator has faded," Farran's voice said from nearby.
She squeezed her eyes closed. Something warm brushed her cheek, lifting her hair away from her face.
"Open your eyes, Sarah," she heard Farran demand. Something about his tone made her eyes pop open.
She blinked at the chest an inch from the end of her nose. She frowned.
"Look at me." His voice sounded different than usual.
She tipped her head back.
"Awake, at last," he murmured. His eyes scanned her face.
She stared at him. "What-"
"You are a foolish woman." He did not sound angry.
"But-" she studied his expression.
His eyes were a bright jade, as he watched her. His tan skin appeared almost pale. Something nagged at the back of her mind. His lips curved up slightly.
"Do you often taunt death?" he asked.
She frowned. He appeared almost amused. She shook her head. Her eyes wandered away from his face to take in the room. Striped wallpaper in beige and light blue. An expensive dresser with a mirror, reflected Tradis and another dark-haired Dem behind her. Her eyes dropped to her reflection and widened.
She lay on a bed. With Farran. Her eyes snapped to his face. He seemed to see the question in her gaze. He shook his head.
"It was a grievous wound. The ator functions best in close proximity to its source."
She stared at him in confusion. Her mind tried to make sense of his words. The Ator. She vaguely remembered the word. She searched her mind until she found the information. The energy that animated the Dems. The same energy that had been transferred to her with the marks. She looked down at herself.
"It is absent," he answered her unasked question.
A heavy bathrobe wrapped her body in a cocoon of terrycloth. The front gaped open enough to show the front of her dress. The red cloth darkened over her chest. She gasped.
"I-" she looked up at Farran. "I don't-" she tried again. The words would not come.
He shook his head. "You are confused how you survived." It was not a question.
She nodded hurriedly.
His gaze moved over her head and his grip tightened. "The ator ties your life to mine. A strong bond can negate any injurious occurrence."
She blinked at the new knowledge. "We have a strong bond?"
He looked at her sharply. "No."
Her eyes dropped to his bare chest. "Why are you-"
"There was extensive damage. When I reached you," he broke off. She watched him scowl at nothing. "The marks need time to mature. Years, decades, centuries. Not days. The healing was sluggish."
"I was dying?" she whispered.
He did not look at her. "You were."
Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked hard.
"The nature of the marking is, in itself, physical. A weak bond can be strengthened temporarily by close contact."
She dropped her gaze. "So, that's why you're..."
"Close to you. Yes. Your death would weaken me," he answered, in an emotionless voice.
She bit her lip at his words. "Oh."
His arm around her waist loosened, then left her completely. She shivered.
"The human is dead."
She looked away. "It was an accident. He didn't mean-"
"Do not defend his actions!"
She flinched at his sharp tone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" His eyes narrowed. "I mean..." she trailed off. She watched him roll away and sit on the edge of the bed, his back facing her.
"Are you in any pain?"
She slowly scooted back until her back hit the headboard. "No."
He nodded without looking at her. "The clothing you retrieved is in the bathroom. I suggest you dress yourself." All the warmth from earlier was gone, leaving his tone cold and harsh.
She nodded quickly. She crawled to the edge of the bed. Tradis and Motlin gave her a quick nod, as she rushed past them to close herself in the bathroom. She pressed her back against the door and scanned the room. Her knapsack sat on the floor in front of the sink. She started to cross the room, when her gaze fell on the small stack of clothing on the counter.
She paused. A pair of dark jeans and a black sweater. Clothing she picked out at the store the day before. She tipped her head to the side. She left all her new clothes in the bags at Luke's house. Someone had to have picked through the bags and selected the two on purpose. She stepped up to the counter and ran her hand over the soft sweater.
The sign at the store had labeled it cashmere. It was one of the few things she had selected for herself. She tugged on the belt of the robe. It fell open to reveal her stained dress. She tried not to stare at herself in the mirror, but morbid curiosity got the better of her. Her eyes scanned her pale face and dropped to her chest.
Flecks of blood covered the skin above her neck line. Her eyes slowly wandered further down. The dark stain started a couple inches lower. It spread across her chest from one side of her body to the other, stopping just above her waist. She closed her eyes and turned her head away.
She let the robe fall from her shoulders. It heaped around her ankles on the cold tile floor. She pulled the dress over her head and tossed it away, before she opened her eyes. Red stained her skin. She glanced at the shower, and then back at her unmarred chest. The urge to scrub away all evidence of the accident burned in her stomach. She hurried over to the shower stall.
Water so hot it was almost scalding, poured down over her head. She tensed, then slowly let herself relax. The heat released the tight knot in her spine that held her upright. She slouched against the wall. Her eyes slowly wandered over the collection of soaps and shampoos. She finally forced herself to reach for something, an unscented bar of soap, and slowly rubbed it over her skin.
The water w
ashed away the pink-tinged soap suds. She set the bar back on the shelf and grabbed a tiny bottle of shampoo. It smelled faintly of lavender. She wrinkled her nose, but dumped it into her hand and lathered her hair. A door slammed. She jumped and glanced over her shoulder. A voice spoke from just outside the bathroom door. She quickly shut off the water and stepped out of the shower.
Farran's voice replied to the first speaker. She snatched a towel from the rack. He continued to speak, and a moment later, she heard Tradis' voice join the conversation. She could not make out the foreign words, but Farran sounded annoyed. She patted herself dry, listening to the tone of the voices. A new voice, she thought it was Motlin, grunted a few words and fell silent.
She flung the towel over the shower railing and reached for her clothes. An unfamiliar voice spoke after a short silence. The tone was tentative. It reminded her of the Dem who had taken her to Luke's house. She bit her lip.
"You must speak to him, General," Tradis said in English.
She paused in the middle of dressing and stared at the door.
Farran snarled something in the foreign language. She heard heavy footsteps cross the room toward the bathroom door.
"Come out here, Sarah."
She jerked the sweater over her head and buttoned her jeans. "Coming." She glanced at the mirror and pulled the door open.
Farran's eyes scanned her from head to toe. He met her eyes. "Come. Sit."
She hurried to follow him. He crossed the room to a small sitting area. She stared at him. His movements were sharp, as if he were irritated. He pointed to a chair that faced the door.
"Sit there." When she sat, he turned his back to her. "Bring him."
She followed his gaze to a brunet Dem. He gave Farran a quick nod. His gaze dropped to her, for a fraction of a second, before he turned and left. She sat back in the chair and watched Farran start to pace. He stalked back and forth between the bathroom and the dresser.
Tradis muttered something in their language. Her eyes widened when Farran let out a short bark of laughter.
"Indeed. It is never so easy." He paused and glanced at her. "Do not speak." He stared at her until she nodded.
