Night Forbidden

by Joss Ware

  No.

  He closed his eyes again, the wave of panic rushing through him like a whistling train, leaving him shuddering and rattled in its wake. His chin dug down into the tops of his knees as he kept his face toward the waft of sea breeze, eyes squeezed shut.

  You have to fight this, asshole. You have to get over this.

  What happened the next time someone was in danger? This world was filled with threats and danger. People counted on him, relied on him to guide them, protect them . . . but here he was, with a deathly liability.

  Sure, I’ll keep you safe . . . unless you fall in the water. Then you’re on your own.

  Fuck.

  Something damp rolled down his cheek, and it was not, was no fucking way, a tear. But his breath caught suddenly, shockingly, in his lungs and he fought the deep, dragging lurch of a sob, tightening his fingers into the arms he clutched around his thighs. No. Stop. It. Stop—

  “Are you all right?”

  The sudden voice and presence shocked Fence like a dousing of ice water. His eyes flew open and he looked up at her—Ana; he’d recognized her voice before he saw her—then bolted to his feet. Shame and anger swamped him and he said, “What the hell do you want?” before he could stop himself.

  His fingers were shaking and his insides rolled, but through the momentary tunnel vision of mortification, anger, and weakness, he saw her jerk back as if slapped.

  “Nothing,” she said, stepping away quickly and awkwardly.

  Her foot landed on a loose stone, and he had just enough time to note that her hair and clothing were wet as she lost her balance and started to fall.

  Fence reached for her automatically, but Ana managed to catch herself before she landed on the rough ground. His fingers brushed against her damp arm just as she moved back.

  “Forget it,” she said, now that she’d recovered. Annoyance and embarrassment gave her a cold, closed expression. “Sorry I startled you.” She turned completely around this time before she started away.

  Fence swallowed hard, struggling to contain his confusion, shame, and fury—all of which was pointed inward—and tried to think of something to say. But she was already stalking as well as she could stalk on a bad leg over uneven ground, away from him.

  Goddammit.

  Frustration blazed silently through him, but he made no attempt to go after her. He was too out of sorts right now . . . and she was clearly displeased with everything, from his reaction to her own clumsiness.

  And then he remembered that he’d been looking for her.

  Dammit.

  Ana fumed all the way back inside the big old building where, it seemed, almost everyone in Envy lived and ate. She wasn’t certain which emotion gave her the speed and unusual agility to get away from him: anger at the big jerkwad or mortification that she’d once again nearly fallen on her ass in front of said big jerkwad.

  I can go for months without stumbling or tripping, but the two times I do, I have to be in front of that man.

  Grrr.

  How the heck was she supposed to know he didn’t want to be bothered? She’d surfaced from her swim and seen him sitting there on the other end of the beach. He looked like he was enjoying the gentle breeze, watching the slow, easy rise and fall of the waves.

  And, despite an internal warning bell, she had approached, drawn to the solitary, solid figure swamped by the salty water as it lunged and eased around him. She admired the rich warm color of his skin baking in the sun—imagining how it would feel to touch it—the breadth of his shoulders and, as she drew closer, even the wide, angular feet, digging into the sand.

  But when she padded silently in front of him and saw his expression—the eyes squeezed closed, the anguish furrowing his brow and crumpling his face . . . and even a damp streak down one cheek—she knew something was wrong.

  She should have just left. Instinct told her to do so, for she remembered the last time she’d found him in distress. But she couldn’t just leave him there.

  And now she wished she would have.

  Just as she’d left Darian’s seaflower with its crystal still sitting in its cubbyhole in the ocean.

  She could always go back tomorrow, she’d reasoned, and leave a response. But before she did, Ana wanted to think about the risk and whether she dared make contact with Darian again. And how she would protect herself if he tried something.

  Should she tell George too? He’d been married to her mother, he’d lived with the Atlanteans longer than Ana had. Even if his memory of those times had been clouded after their escape, he could still offer advice.

  Never one to rush into a decision, she went back to the room Fence had arranged for her to stay in while she and her father were here in Envy. She supposed she had to give the guy credit for getting them here safely and quickly, and for providing a place for her to sleep. But beyond that hospitality, and a quick, melting smile, and—oh, all right, that kiss on the beach had been amazing—there wasn’t any other reason to hang around Fence anymore.

  In fact, if he was in his funny, flirtatious, sensual mood, it would be darn dangerous to hang around him.

  She frowned. It was as if he were two different people. Just like she was.

  She didn’t like that thought, so she pushed it away and dressed in dry clothes. She toweled her hair to damp and let it hang over her shoulders, then went to visit George . . . all the while considering what, if anything, she should tell him.

  Her dad looked pink and healthy when she came into the infirmary. He was sitting up in bed talking to Elliott and an older woman with strawberry blond hair that had a wide white streak in front; a nurse, she assumed.

  “And so I’ve been working on separating that strain of penicillin to see if I can make a stronger medicine,” George was saying. From the flush in his face and the light in his eyes, Ana could tell he’d been talking for quite some time. Lecturing, most likely. “If I could just find some old resources from one of the medicine factories they had, I might be able to reproduce some of the other treatments.”

  The woman, who seemed as comfortable as a plump pillow, looked remarkably fascinated by George’s explanations—more so than Ana could comprehend. Either she was a scientist herself or was simply a good listener.

  “I might be able to help you with that,” Elliott was saying. He flashed a guarded look at the woman, then looked back at George. “We have some old books and information that have been saved from libraries and old bookstores over the years. I would find it immensely helpful to have not only an alternative to penicillin, but also some efficacious painkillers.”

  “I’ll be happy to help look through some books for you,” said the nurse eagerly. “If you’ll show me what to look for.”

  “Well, it looks like you’re feeling much better, Dad,” Ana said, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “You’ve got some color in your face now.”

  “I told you, I was feeling just fine,” George said. “Really was no need for me to come here. Elliott says I’ve just got to watch what I eat.”

  “Someone’s got to make sure he eats enough red meat and spinach,” put in the nurse with a measured glance at Ana—as if to blame her for her father’s dietary deficiencies. The plump pillow had turned into a stern guardian.

  “Now, Flo—” Elliott started, but before he could continue, they heard a loud, urgent voice.

  “Now who’s raising a ruckus?” Flo glared at the wall. “Heaven help me—it’s not time for Zoë’s next appointment is it?” She shook her head, pursing her lips. “She was just here last week, raising a fuss when you started laying down the law—”

  But Elliott had risen and Ana turned toward the door. She’d heard it too: someone calling urgently for the doctor.

  “I’d better go see what that is,” Elliott said.

  Ana didn’t know why, but she started to follow him out into the hallway. Maybe she thought they might need help, maybe she was just curious. Or maybe she somehow knew.

  And when she heard th
e voices, urgent and excited, and fragments of sentences—“washed up” . . . “from the ocean” . . . “think he’s dead”—her heart began to race.

  “I’ll be right back, Dad,” she said, poking her head back into the small room, causing his and Flo’s to turn toward her from some intense conversation.

  But she didn’t have time to think about the implications now. She hurried down the hall toward the voices. When she reached the small room, the door was still, thankfully, open, and she was able to look inside.

  Several people clustered around a bed. There was Elliott, of course, along with a man and woman Ana didn’t recognize, and Fence. Ana was aware of a little jolt of relief that the body found on the shore hadn’t been Fence, but she didn’t examine that odd reaction . . . especially now that her other fear seemed more possible. Instead, she tried to peer through the small crowd without drawing attention to herself.

  Those in the room happened to be standing so it blocked her view of everything except two pale, bare feet that were large enough to be a man’s. She needed a better look, for anything that came from the sea—whether someone had been killed or injured by some aquatic creature, or any unusual substance like the gray sparkling glop—was important to her and could give clues toward what was happening.

  Suddenly, Elliott looked up and saw her. Ana flushed and started, and began to duck back out of the room, but he said, “You can come in. I might need your help. Shut the door so we don’t have a whole crowd in here.”

  Wondering what sort of help she could provide that the others couldn’t—or wouldn’t—she nevertheless accepted his offer and did as he requested as Elliott turned back to the bed.

  Fence had looked up at his friend’s words, along with the other man and woman. His eyes met hers, and there was neither apology nor humor in them. It was almost . . . suspicion?

  Ana straightened her shoulders and turned away from Fence’s penetrating look, focusing on the figure for the first time. It was all she could do to hold back a gasp.

  No, it wasn’t Darian, as she’d feared.

  But she knew him anyway, despite the damage to his face and the mud and blood streaking it. His name was Kaddick, and, like her former lover, he was from Atlantis.

  From the amount of blood and the deep slashes across his torso and abdomen, she knew he was dead—and likely so before he even came out of the ocean. Fear and unpleasantness gripped her belly. If he’d been following Darian, had he been discovered and a fight ensued? Or had he attacked Darian first?

  Was Darian injured or dead too?

  Or had some slashing stingray or whip-tail fish sliced into Kaddick and killed him?

  The latter was the least likely, for there weren’t many dangerous sea creatures that attacked without cause.

  Ana moved closer to the bed as thoughts and questions raced through her mind. As soon as Elliott examined Kaddick, or even removed his clothing—which already was different than anything seen on land—he’d know the victim was not merely a man.

  “Do you know him?” Elliott asked, and Ana realized with a start that he was looking at her.

  Why would he think she knew him?

  Her heart lodged in her throat as she tried to decide how to respond.

  “There’s a lot of blood,” Fence said. “Are you all right, Ana?” He was watching her closely.

  She latched onto that excuse and clapped a hand over her mouth as if about to be sick, turning her face away and trying to look pale and wan. Evading an answer was her best option right now.

  “She needs air,” Elliott said, and the other woman moved quickly to open the door. Ana gratefully walked out as she heard Elliott continue, “He’s not from Envy. I thought she might recognize him if he happened to be from Glenway.”

  “What the hell is he wearing? What’s that made out of?” asked the third man. “We could tell right away that he wasn’t from around here. But I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Ana leaned against the corridor wall as the door closed behind her. She could have told him that the fabric was made from the white seaworm’s threads woven with a milkweed-type plant that grew in Atlantis. Together, they created cloth that was lightweight, shiny, and warm, as well as one that didn’t swell and absorb water. It also carried a scent that repelled electric eels—most of the time—and the little sea scorpions that could kill with one small sting.

  She knew all about the clothing, and more. But what should she tell them? Anything or nothing?

  Nothing.

  George had always cautioned her—needlessly—not to tell anyone about her parentage, but also not to even acknowledge the existence of Atlantis and her mother’s people. Although all humans had descended from the same race more than two millennia ago, the Atlanteans were very different from those who’d continued to build their civilization on land. Her father was afraid that Ana would be ostracized, blamed, or even hurt and killed if the truth about the Atlanteans became known to those who lived on the land.

  His words were unnecessary anyway, because Ana, no matter how much she’d loved her mother, had neither respect or affection for her mother’s race. She knew who they were and what they’d done, and she wanted no part of them. She was ashamed to have the blood of Atlantis running in her veins.

  If anyone learned she was Atlantean, and word got back to them . . . if they found her, they’d take her back there. Make her stay. Make her live with them.

  She drew in deep, slow breaths. She wasn’t going back there. No one was going to take her back. She and Dad had risked their lives to escape.

  But if there was something happening, something threatening Envy—or anywhere else on land—because of what was occurring beneath the sea, didn’t she have a responsibility to tell someone what she knew?

  In case they could prevent it?

  Of course she did. But she didn’t have to tell them who she was. Or how she knew.

  Ana turned resolutely from the small room and realized that at least one decision had been made for her: she was going to have to respond to Darian’s message.

  “Will you look at this?” Fence said, helping Elliott tear away the rest of the smooth, shiny fabric of the dead man’s clothing. “Dude’s got more piercings than the guy from Hellraiser.”

  Even through the ribbons of flesh and the shine of white rib bones, he could see that a dozen or more pea-sized crystals had been embedded in the man’s skin. Fence hadn’t ever seen one of the Strangers and their crystals up close, but he knew Elliott had—and that the Strangers only had one or at most two glowing stones. And instead of being in the torso, between and around the ribs as they were in this guy, the immortalizing crystals the Strangers wore were always set into the soft flesh just south of the collarbone.

  Dude looks like a fucking disco dancer. Saturday Night Sea-ver.

  Damn, he cracked himself up.

  Fence looked up at his companion, keeping the joke to himself this time. “Damn good thing you sent Wendy and Herb out of here before they saw this,” he added.

  Elliott nodded briefly. “I had a feeling . . . and we don’t need stories being passed around until we figure out what’s going on and just who—or what—this man is.” He wasn’t scanning the man yet, using his hands like a full-color human MRI machine. Instead, he just looked down at the body, wearing a pensive expression.

  Other than the crystals, the man appeared completely normal—at least from outward appearances—once he was fully stripped.

  Fence was acutely aware of the irony that he had no problem digging in and taking care of a body fairly shredded into ribbons, but that the very whisper of an ocean wave against his feet was enough to send him into a full-blown panic attack. He merely dismissed the knowledge, because it pissed him the hell off, and tried to conjure up a joke about the guy’s junk . . . but even Fence couldn’t find any more humor in the situation. The guy just looked pitiful and pathetic.

  Probably just how he would look after he drowned: all floppy and wet and gray.
>
  Not a happy thought, bro, for God’s sake.

  So he said, “Why did you really invite Ana to come in here? There’s no damn way you thought she’d recognize this guy.”

  Even though she had.

  Elliott looked up at him, and Fence saw that his friend had noticed Ana’s reaction as well. “She was too curious. And there’s something odd about her father. When I scanned him, I found some weird markings in his lungs . . . as if they’d been altered or something. They seem to work fine, but there’s something different . . .”

  “She practically lives in the ocean,” Fence told him. “And I’ve been wanting to tell you and Vaughn that when I was at their place, I got a look at George’s lab. Dude’s got some of that gray sparkly stuff there. I don’t know where he got it from, but I’m fixing to find out.”

  Just then, there was a knock at the door. Fence opened it to admit Quent and Zoë, as well as Vaughn Rogan.

  “Jade went to find Marley,” Vaughn said as he closed the door behind him.

  Fence nodded. That was good. If anyone knew what these types and placement of crystals meant, it would be Marley.

  “He looks like fucking Elvis in that white suit,” said Zoë, who must have seen the iconic photo once upon a time. “What the hell’s with all those damned crystals? He afraid of losing his way in the dark?”

  “Maybe he’s like my father,” Quent replied. “He kept adding crystals because he thought they’d keep him alive.”

  “Those are much smaller than the ones the Elites wear,” Zoë reminded him.

  “I’m going to scan him now,” Elliott said, positioning his hands over the man’s head.

  As they watched, he slid them down over the inert body, from head to toe and up and down each limb, his eyes closed in concentration.

  When he opened them, he drew in a deep breath. A little furrow between his brows disappeared as the door opened to Jade and Marley.

  “Everything all right?” Jade asked, moving to stand right next to Elliott. Her face was tight with concern, and Fence knew it had to do with worry about the doctor more than anything. She was always trying to make certain he didn’t injure himself while caring for others—something that had happened more than once. He’d almost died saving Vaughn’s life when Elliott, Fence, and the others first arrived in Envy.