by Jenny Martin
“You’re leaving.”
Someone pounds on the doors of the suite. Cash checks to see who’s there before opening. It’s Hank. He thrusts a helmet and a pair of spit-shined boots at Cash.
“You have big feet.” Hank smirks. “Took me a while to snag these. See you in a few?”
Cash nods, taking the gear. “Wait for me. I’ll be out in a sec.”
After Hank leaves, Cash meets me at the bottom of the stairs. We’re face-to-face, and playfully, he drives me back up, one step at a time.
“You have to go and get ready. And I have to blaze.” He puts on his best sad-face smile, the one I know he’s wearing to melt me.
“You can’t leave. The race.”
“I won’t be in the race.”
I snatch the gear from him. I’ve got a step’s advantage, but I still have to tilt to meet his eyes. “Who’s going to pace me? How am I going to win and make this work if you’re not even there?”
“You’ll have a pacer. I haven’t forgotten my promise. Bear will know what to do. The Larssens will be there. I swear it.”
I stare at Cash, lit up by the thought of my family, safe and waiting. I nearly drop the boots.
Cash takes them, sliding past me. He ducks into the bathroom, and I move into the doorway as he slips into the uniform. He’s more handsome than ever, even with the emblem of Benroyal’s Interstellar Patrol embroidered over his heart.
Cash stares at the mirror, frowning. But he looks the part. For the moment, he is all ruthless eyes and jutting chin, and I see a dangerous man. With his visor down, he’ll be another sleek soldier in polished jackboots, just another IP officer patrolling the capital.
When he turns on me, I balk. “Why do you have to do this?”
“It’s better this way. I can’t show my face in that rally. I need to go ahead and set some things up.”
“If you don’t show your face, Cash, everyone will notice. Look at the way the crowds were waiting for you, shouting out your name. If you try to sneak off, they’ll know something is wrong.”
Tenderly, he runs his fingers through my hair, then traces a path down my shoulders until our hands link. “That’s exactly why I have to go. The crowds. The feedcasters. The whole circuit complex will be crawling with security. Once the race starts, I won’t be able to slip away. And the longer I stay in Belaram, the more I put us all at risk. The whole city’s crawling with royal informants, hungry spies who’d love to feed my brother information for the right price. It’s better if I leave now.”
I sigh, resigned.
“My friends are waiting, Phee. They need me. Before we rendezvous, I’ll have my hands full. Evacuating hundreds of rebels isn’t easy work, and by the time you get there, we’ll have to be ready to move. To a safer base, closer to Cyan.”
I don’t answer. He wraps his arms around me, and I rest my cheek against starched cotton. “So all this”—I wave at the bottle-strewn room—“is just for show?”
“To make the Sixers believe what they’ve heard in the feeds. To show them I am everything they think and nothing more, just a spoiled amateur who stays out too late and gambles and drinks. Hank will confirm that I’m too sick and hungover for the race, and you’ll lock the bedroom doors. Standing orders. Do not disturb. By the time they catch on, we’ll both be gone.”
“And you’ll be?”
He touches my cheek. “I’ll be waiting. I’ll always wait for you.”
I start to argue, to stall him again, but he presses his lips to my throat and works his way up to my mouth. When my breath catches, we both know he’s won. “We’ll only be apart for a little while. I promise.”
I kiss him one last time before I mouth the words I stand with you.
Bidram arras noc.
After I’m dressed and my last pre-race interview is done, an Onyx arrives to take me to rally headquarters, the circuit complex near the starting line. Our motorcade crawls through the security checkpoints and we finally reach our compound made up of luxe quarters for Benroyal and a separate garage designated for our crew. Enormous metal hangars overshadow red poppy groves and ancient stone lodges. It’s a strange sight—Bisera’s past so crowded by the Sixers’ present.
When I walk into our garage, everyone is waiting for me. Billy and Arad. Banjo and Gil and all the rest. Every member of my team mills around my new slip-covered rig.
“We’ve got her fixed up and ready,” Gil says. “Made a few cosmetic adjustments.”
Navin, our detail man, pulls off the slipcover so I can take a look. My new ride is supposed to be identical to the one I wrecked, but this one could not be more different. The sweep of gold paint, the side racing stripes, the crimson blush of the hood—it’s all gone. My rig is drenched in black. Everything, from roof to wheelbase, is a glossy midnight mirror.
“What about my number, the Benroyal mark?” I ask, surprised.
“It is there, spitfire girl,” Auguste says. “Look closer.”
As I walk around the rig, I see it. The phoenix crest and the side detailing are barely visible, painted in a quicksilver, iridescent finish. The wings on the hood seem to move, a ghostly shimmer against the pitch-black.
The paint scheme is killer, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I’m speechless.
“Auguste thought we should capitalize on your dramatic finish in the last race,” Gil explains. “The smoke and ash. Rising from the wreck and all that.”
Yes. The hint of light in the dark.
“You might wanna take a look inside,” Gil says.
I lean through the driver’s side and check out the interior. Everything is the same, save for one detail. A mechanical throttle. No more touch-screen triggers.
“Yesss,” I growl, high-fiving Banjo.
“Took the fabricators three whole days to get it right,” he says.
I crack a real smile for the first time today. “Thanks, you guys.”
Looking around at my crew, I see the pride and excitement on their faces. I feel the weight of it. They believe I’ll take the lead today and win the race.
In a few hours, I’ll be nothing more than smoke and skid marks on a hairpin turn and they will be left to answer for it. I can only hope that Auguste and Gil have enough wit and clout to deflect Benroyal’s wrath away from my crew.
I’m in such a daze—awestruck and anxious—that I don’t notice right away how quiet it’s gotten. Everyone on my team is gone. Auguste has silently ushered them all out of the garage. “Another surprise,” he says, escorting three more people inside. “One last detail . . .”
The Larssens. Here. In this room.
“Bear,” I gasp. Without thinking, I run to him and put my arms around him, but he is frozen. With his hands still at his sides and every muscle tense—he might as well be made of stone. I pull back and look up. He is staring through me, as though I were nothing. Right now, I wish I were.
I focus on the concrete floor. His parents rescue me, surging forward while Bear is unmoved.
Hal squeezes the life out of me, and then Mary does too.
“My Phee,” she whispers. When she takes my hands in hers, I feel the warmth and care in her calloused fingertips. This woman’s patched me up and taken me in a hundred times. She will always be a mother to me, and I will always be her south side girl.
“I’m so sorry,” I answer. “I wanted to tell you.”
“We know. Your friend the Dradha boy came by the apartment, the day after—when Bear came home.” She’s kind enough to leave some things unsaid.
Cash kept his promise, and I can only imagine how hard it was for him, after all the insults and hits he’s taken for me. I look in Bear’s eyes, desperate to find some trace of the bond we once had. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”
“I’m here for them.” Even his voice sounds far away, as if he’s disconnected his heart and there
’s nothing left inside but empty space.
Mary’s smile tells me not to give up hope. Give him time, her eyes beg.
Auguste offers her his arm. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we are running out of time. Barrett and Miss Vanguard must prepare for the event. May I escort you and your husband out? I believe James has already arranged transportation for you.”
Mary nods, then embraces me again. “Stay safe,” she says with a knowing look. “And we’ll see you after the rally.”
Unless something goes wrong during the race. Unless I don’t make the rendezvous. Unless we fail to escape.
Finally, I’m alone with Bear. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to say to him. Turns out that won’t be an issue; he can hardly wait to leave.
“I’m going to go change,” he says. “I’ll be on the headset.”
“How are we going to work this out?”
“Got here yesterday. I’m ready.”
“You were already here?” I ask, more than a little upset. “No one told me.”
“I was busy. Scouted the terrain. Double-checked all the pace notes for your route.”
The detachment in his voice, the way he stares past my shoulder; it stings. I try again. “Is there anything we need to talk about? Are you sure we’re okay?”
“Cash told me what to do.”
“So we just need to go over the route.”
“I’ve been briefed.” When he steps toward me, I read his eyes. He can hardly stand to be near me. But he moves in anyway, so no one else can hear. “I have to go. Now, before the race starts, or we won’t have time to get ahead of you. I’ll be waiting with Hank.”
And then he’s gone. I sag against the exit doors. An hour until I slip into my rig, and I’m alone. Outside this compound, a million eyes watch the feeds, ready for us to perform, but my thoughts keep wandering back to the family I’ve lost and the one I’ve found.
Before the race, there’s one more person I need to see.
On my way inside, I run into Goose.
“Are you ready, ma chère?” he asks. “It’s almost time.”
“Where’s Mrs. Benroyal?”
He shrugs. “I suppose she is in the lodge, entertaining Mr. Benroyal’s guests.”
“Can you take me there? I don’t want to be seen. I mean, there’s something I need to tell her.”
Flustered, he backs away, palms up. “We do not have time for this.”
“It’ll only take a second. Please. Come with me. I have to see her.”
He sighs and offers his arm. “Quickly, then.”
We cut through the grove behind Benroyal’s lodge. We’re halfway up the steps to his private terrace when I hear the hum of chatter and music. A party’s in full swing. Through open archways, I catch the flicker of giant flex screens, all fixed on the latest circuit coverage. Seeing it all does nothing to help my pre-race jitters. My stomach’s in knots because of the rally, but for Benroyal and his friends, it seems the victory celebration has already begun.
Auguste waves me back. “Wait here. And stay out of sight. By now, you should be preparing for the race, and I am not going to answer for this foolishness.” He leaves and I pace the lowest risers, shaded by the balm-leaf trees.
A few minutes later, he returns, but this time he’s not alone. Goose escorts a pale, thin woman onto the terrace. A fragile Sixer doll, weighed down by a train of ruby silk.
My mother shuffles down the flagstones.
“You have two minutes,” Auguste says. “James is here, and I do not need him asking questions.”
“I can handle James,” I say.
He guides her to me. I look up. Her silhouette’s haloed by late-afternoon glare. As a little girl, I dreamed of this moment. I imagined how she’d take me into her arms and tell me how much she loved me and how sorry she was that she had to give me up.
But James was right. This isn’t a fairy tale.
She stands an arm’s length away, in the shadow of the grove, and I see a shrunken, hollow version of myself. A storm front gathers in me. I hate her. I hate her so much that I need to hold her tight, until she drowns in my tears. I need to shake my fists and demand all the reasons why.
But I can’t. Now that we’re face-to-face, I’m paralyzed.
I was so young when she abandoned me, too small to hold even snatches of her memory—an image on my father’s flex is all I’ve ever had, and it doesn’t match up with the weak, vacant-eyed stranger standing here now.
She looks at me, puzzled and lost, a sap-brained mad woman too far from her last fix. “You’re a pretty girl,” she says.
I open my mouth to ask a million questions, but Auguste stops me. “Tread carefully. Some days are not as good as others. She is easily upset. Be delicate.”
“Can you give us a minute?” I say.
Auguste nods. He heads back up the stairs, leaving us. I know I don’t have much time. “Do you know who I am?” I ask her.
“Of course I do.” The uncertainty in her voice doesn’t match her words.
“I’m your daughter, Phoebe Van Zant.”
Her fragile smile melts. “Don’t say that name. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Tommy is gone. He’s not coming back and I have to . . .”
I reach for her, to calm her down, but she touches her throat, flinching away. “They give you things to make you forget,” she pleads hysterically. “But I remember. She’s out there. You have to find her. You have to keep her safe.”
All the anger and bitterness rage through me again, yet every time I look at her, pity overcomes it. She wasn’t the mother I wanted, but I got the family I needed. I see her haunted eyes, and I realize that I’m the lucky one. I’m Hal and Mary’s daughter.
A soft cry rises in my throat, but I quickly smother it. She is broken down and lost, but I am strong. I am strong enough to face her without lashing out. I stare forward, waiting until her gaze locks with mine. “It’s okay,” I soothe. “I found her. She’s safe. I promise.”
The words don’t taste like forgiveness, but I don’t hate her anymore.
She sucks in a breath and stops struggling. When she smiles, it’s like a break in the clouds, a brief moment of peace between tempests. She reaches out, takes my chin in her hand. “You’re a pretty girl.”
Auguste comes back down the stairs. “Ma chère, I’m afraid you must say good-bye.”
No. He hasn’t given me enough time. There’s so much I need to know. I close my fingers over hers. I have seconds left to build a memory, linking the grove’s red blossom scent with the fragile softness of this woman’s hands. Wildly, my mind reaches for a better ending to the story. Maybe I can take her with me. I can find a place for her. I can save her, even though my father could not.
“Who’s down there?” a voice calls from the terrace. “Phee?”
It’s James. He hurries down and takes me by the arm. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here.” He stops himself when he sees we’re not alone. “Auguste, will you take my sister back inside? I’ll see that Phee makes it to the hangar.”
Goose nods, but suddenly, I don’t want him to leave. It occurs to me that I might not ever see him again. “Will you be at the starting line?”
“Go. Immédiatement. See you on the feeds, spitfire girl. You must be brave. The race is a long one.”
If only he knew.
As I watch him walk my mother back, James lets go of my arm. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he says quietly. “If Benroyal sees you talking to her and suspects something . . . What did you tell Auguste?”
The urge to snap at him is almost overwhelming, but I resist. “I didn’t tell Auguste anything. No one else saw us. I needed to see her. I thought maybe we could take her with us.”
James shakes his head. “He’ll never let her go. And I can’t risk everything.”
“But—”
“She built her own prison years ago. She chose Benroyal, Phee. And in his twisted way, he loves her more than anything else.”
“Who needs that kind of love? It will kill her.”
“He’ll keep her safe enough. He has to. If anything happens to Joanna—”
I finish for him. “He gets nothing.”
He nods, but I’m no more relieved. My mother . . . I feel our ending slip away, like a thread cut too soon. The race is about to begin, but I am so drained.
James must see it in my face. He braces me, holding me at arm’s length. “I know this has been hard on you. I haven’t always given you credit, but I want you to know . . .”
“What?”
He doesn’t answer right away. I trail as he heads back for the hangar. “It’s going to work out, Phee. No matter what happens today, Cash, Hank, all of us will do whatever it takes to protect you.”
For so long, I thought I had James figured out. He was the survivor, the man who stood by and looked out for himself. But I’m staring at him now, and suddenly, I don’t think I know him at all.
“If something happens, I’m prepared,” he says.
“Stop it. I don’t want to talk about that, James.”
“Listen. For once, I need you to hear what I’m saying.” He leans in, forcing eye contact. “Locus and all that our family’s built—it’s our legacy to you. There may be dark days ahead, but I want you to know it’s all set up, most of it sheltered in accounts Benroyal can never touch.”
“It’s not like that, James. I don’t want your money.”
“Phee, this isn’t about what you or I want. Someday, you’ll understand that. Things weren’t always the way they are now, and they can be different again. You and Cash . . . one day, you can make room for the Magna Carta, for everything Benroyal’s tried to keep only for himself.”
I open my mouth, but it’s as if he reads my mind. “I know you’re not a Sixer, Phee, and that’s what makes you the best heir. You can use your inheritance for good. There are ways to out-game Benroyal and there are tools to repair the damage he’s done. Come what may, I’m going to make sure you have them.”
