reflection 02 - the reflective cause

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  *

  Jeb smirks.

  Jacky glares.

  Beth barely holds back her laughter. “It's fine that Jacky doesn't want to shower with you Jeb.”

  “I'm not interested in males. Especially now,” Jeb says, giving Beth a significant glance that instantly makes her uncomfortable, wiping all traces of humor from the moment. Her new status of declared soul mate and the uneasy climate they found upon their return to Papilio—she can't come to terms with any of it.

  Jacky shrugs. “You guys can take long showers together here, but back on Three… there's no dropping the soap, if you catch my drift.”

  Jeb blinks.

  Beth can't restrain her barking laugh and slaps a hand over her mouth.

  Jeb turns to her with a frown.

  “I'm sorry—it's so funny,” she says.

  “Beth, please.”

  “You're a serious dude. You need to chillax.”

  “And you're homophobic.” Jeb's eyebrows cock, and he folds his arms over muscles that stretch beneath a T-shirt so snug, it's criminal. Beth simply doesn't have male clothes lying around her domicile. Both the men, if Jacky can be classified as such, had to make do.

  Beth considers their wardrobe a form of comic relief.

  “I'm cool with gay dudes, bro. I just don't want to travel the Hershey Highway myself.” He thumbs his chest and grins. “I dig the chicks. The vagina is where it's at.”

  Beth's breath leaks out of her like helium from a deflating balloon.

  Jeb glowers, and Maddie rolls her eyes. “Kinda homophobic, Jacky. And verbiage. Duh.”

  Jeb pushes away from the wall. His skintight shorts, which leave very little to the imagination, force Beth to look away, a flush rising. She's become too aware of Jeb Merrick’s body.

  She likes it—and she doesn't need the complication right now. He seems to sense her feelings and studies her with half-hooded eyes.

  Beth looks everywhere but at him. She swears she can feel his self-satisfaction

  Jacky glances between the two of them and opens his mouth.

  “Shut up, Jacky,” Maddie warns.

  “What?” he asks indignantly. “I was—”

  She whips her head in his direction. “I know. Don't.”

  “Fine, God.” He stuffs his hands underneath his armpits, and challenges them all with his presence.

  “Let's make a plan,” Beth says to break the uncomfortable silence and steer the conversation from body parts and sexual orientation. “We've eaten, cleansed, and had five hours of rest.”

  Jeb looks at all their faces, his eyes fastening on Beth's last. He nods in apparent agreement. “We will move to TCH then see what order, if any, Kennet and Calvin have restored, and join them in those efforts.”

  He looks at Jacky and Maddie. “This does not concern you directly. Neither of you are Reflectives, and you are foreigners here. You might want to sequester yourselves. Beth and I will reconnoiter our position and assess what's needed and by whom.” Jeb plants his feet wide apart, hands crossing the flat planes of his chest.

  Three seconds of heavy silence pass.

  “Fuck that, Merrick,” Jacky spits out in disgust. “You need all the help you can get in this crazy takeover bullshit. Count me in.”

  Beth holds her breath for Jeb's reply.

  A smile ghosts Jeb's lips. “That's what I was afraid you'd say.”

  Beth releases the breath and looks at Maddie's thin body and too-long hair. “I'd like to give Maddie's hair a trim and bundle her up a little better. She's been surviving on garbage and thievery. It'd take longer to braid all that hair than to just cut some off.”

  “Okay,” Jeb agrees slowly, surveying Maddie's condition with eyes that miss nothing. “Jacky and I will get clothing from my domicile and return here within the hour.”

  Beth's eyes sweep the second-skin shorts that Jeb wears.

  He catches her eye and his lips quirk.

  The bastard knows she was admiring the view.

  They leave before she can think of anything clever to say.

  Maddie says it for her. “Jeb is hot.”

  She doesn't say anything when Beth blushes beat red. That was exactly what Beth was thinking.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Merrick

  Jeb studies Jacky with a critical eye. He is not built like a Reflective, but he is not small of stature, either.

  Jeb circles the youth, noting the too-long cuffs at the sleeves of the borrowed shirt and the pants that drag the ground.

  Still, he is every bit of one hundred eighty-five centimeters. A good height, though somewhat short for a Reflective.

  Stop that, Jeb. He is not a Reflective—he never will be.

  Beth is short, and she was hades on wheels as a Reflective. Jeb winces at the thought. He now loathes the idea of her fighting. He doesn't care if TC needs her.

  Jeb is bonded to her. And he knows deep within his being that he could not go on without Beth.

  She remains blissfully ignorant of the scope and depth of his feelings due to the bond. That knowledge fouls his mood.

  “Do I pass the test?”

  “Huh?” Jeb looks up. He'd stopped moving—his eyes were at his feet.

  Beth undoes him. All the conventions and things of importance disappear when countered by the soul bond.

  “You're fine,” Jeb says.

  “What is your major malfunction?” Jacky’s question comes across as a goad.

  Jeb reins in his temper. “I'm clearly distracted. My home world has been turned upside down. My former partner is now my soul mate—yet she doesn't ken to it. And I have two Threes I'm responsible for, and I don't know the first thing about tending them.”

  “Pfft! We're not pets, Merrick. We can ʻtendʼ to ourselves. I never signed up for babysitting, and I don't think Maddie needs your charity.”

  Jeb's mouth parts.

  “As for Jasper? She's going to just have to let that internal timepiece of hers keep on ticking until she finds out what's what. Personally, I think it's a dose of karma come to kick you in your ass.”

  Jeb leans forward. “Is there anything else you can divulge yourself of?”

  Jacky cocks his head, tapping his chin for a handful of seconds. “Now that ya mention it—”

  “Shut. Up.”

  Jacky's mouth closes.

  “Listen here, miscreant.”

  Jacky's eyebrows fly up. “I know that's not a nice word.”

  “Ah!” Jeb yells into his domicile and stalks off. He takes several deep breaths and finally walks back to where Jacky stands.

  “Papilio needs you. Maddie needs you. Do you think it would be too much trouble to just—if you would control your impulses?”

  Jacky shrugs. “Sure, say the magic words.” He mimes polishing his knuckles on his ill-fitting shirt.

  Jeb wants to hit him. Instead he hisses, “Please.”

  “Nope,” Jacky says, giving him a look of anticipation.

  Jeb's lived a long time. He's been to Three many times. His brows collide when he hits on what Jacky might want.

  “I need you.”

  “Bingo!” Jacky says, moving to the door. He swings it wide. “Coming?”

  Jeb follows the boy, glaring at his back the entire way back to Beth's domicile.

  *

  Jeb is amazed there's any health left in the nearly black tendrils of Maddie’s hair, living as she has on whatever she could find.

  Beth rounds the corner, butterflies hovering around her body like a halo of color.

  She has yet another full plate of food stuffs.

  “Hi,” she greets him, smiling.

  Jeb's chest tightens.

  Her face falls. “What is it?” She scans him and Jacky, obviously seeing nothing superficially amiss.

  It's not superficial.

  Jeb lets his hand drop from where he was rubbing his chest.

  “Nothing,” he answers.

  Their eyes lock, and Beth slowly moves toward him. S
he places the tray on the table; Maddie and Jacky sit down and begin eating.

  “We always eat last,” Jeb murmurs, more for something to say than to convey valuable information.

  Beth nods. She reaches for his hand, and he resists at first.

  He wants her to choose for herself.

  “No, Jeb, let me help you.”

  Beth slides her arms around his waist, and he sighs, feeling the painful knot loosen.

  “Better?” she asks.

  He nods.

  Jeb has heard the rumors—he just didn't believed them.

  Soul mates need to be in the presence of the other for optimal ease.

  Jeb holds back a snide laugh. Ease of who?

  Because Jeb thinks there's nothing easy about this mess.

  He turns his head and lays it atop Beth's head, inhaling her sweet fragrance.

  *

  “How come they didn't make you right away? Didn't Ryan know you'd stayed with Beth?” Jacky asks Maddie.

  Jeb admits he's curious, and gives Maddie an inquisitive look.

  Beth continues walking but is silent.

  “I found a trapdoor thingy.”

  Beth whirls. “That's how you avoided entrapment.”

  “Yes—they came all the time, at first. I could hear them… talking.”

  Jeb slows, turning to her. “About what?”

  Maddie bites her lip and sucks back a sob. Beth squeezes her thin shoulder. “I'll tell you what I can repeat.”

  “Those fucktards,” Jacky seethes.

  “Jacky,” Jeb warns.

  He slaps his thighs with his palms. “Disagree with me, Merrick.”

  Jeb can't. “Go on, please,” he encourages Maddie.

  “They wanted to find me, especially Ryan. He wanted to use me first.”

  Jeb doesn't think she's even aware she shivers at the mention of Lance Ryan's name. His jaw clenches.

  “He didn't hurt the butterflies,” she offers as if it is the only good thing she experienced during the siege.

  “No Reflective would harm a papilion,” Jeb states.

  “Oh, I don't know, Merrick.” Maddie expels a shaking breath.

  She tosses her thick braid behind her back, and Jeb allows a small smile. Beth wasted no time in taming the young woman’s hair.

  “But after the first year, they only came once a month. It's been two years since they came last.”

  “You must have been terrified,” Beth says.

  Maddie scans their faces. “I still am.”

  “Hey—Mad, nobody's gonna getcha now. It's you and me against the world. It's not great, but it's better than Chuck, right?”

  Maddie looks at Jacky then away. “It's kinda like Chuck in a way. Always looking over my shoulder, wondering when he would find me and kick my teeth in.”

  Jacky laughs, startling Maddie.

  Jeb wonders what the hades is so funny.

  “I think Chuckie-boy is worm feast.” His mossy-green eyes land on Jeb, who gives a grim nod.

  “Five years now.”

  “Rotting?” Jacky presses with a knowing smile.

  A slow grin overtakes Jeb's face. “Oh yes, positively ground sludge at this point.”

  Maddie laughs.

  It's good to see a smile on her face, regardless of the reason.

  Jeb views Jacky in a new light. He possesses no tact, but the boy is as shrewd as a fox.

  He lifted the oppression from Maddie like an unseen veil. She steps forward, looping her arm through his, and they begin walking again.

  Jacky looks at Jeb in profile and winks.

  *

  It's deeply troubling that Rachett has not been found. There is no effective Reflective leadership without him.

  Interim leadership will fall to a vote.

  Calvin and Kennet are worn and filthier than even Jeb's lackluster group had been. But they've accomplished a lot in the day and a half since their jump to Papilio.

  They've scoured The Cause Headquarters. Blood and bullets have been cleaned away, and the broken butterfly sculpture has been repaired and remounted. After all, it is the metaphorical flag of their world.

  Jeb’s eyes cut a swath in the general vicinity of the sculpture.

  The money changer is gone, and the treads of marbled cream and apricot are pure again. A little bit of blood is visible only if one looks for it.

  Jeb strides to Kennet and claps him on the back. Calvin’s eyes widen at the sight of Maddie. Wisely, he doesn't comment on her obvious frailty.

  “Good Principle, how is it a Three survived this?”

  Jeb lifts a shoulder. “It is her tale to tell, and a longer one than we have time for at present.”

  “True,” Calvin agrees.

  Strained silence tightens between them. “What—how do we assess things?” Jeb asks.

  “While you were getting prettied up—” Kennet says in a mocking voice.

  “I am not, and will never be, pretty. But I am fed, bathed, and have five hours sleep underneath my belt.”

  Calvin palms his chest above his heart. “Oh, the envy!”

  “Report,” Jeb commands dryly, softening the word with a smile.

  Their faces smooth to seriousness and Jeb's heart accelerates. In his experience, no pause is a good one.

  “There have been some papiliones women spared, but too few,” Kennet speaks to the ground. “The Reflectives have returned to the domiciles they once had, but…” He spreads his hands away from his body.

  “Many were destroyed,” Calvin finishes quietly.

  Hands clenched into fists, Jeb closes his eyes against the thought of their women being used in that way.

  Jeb opens his eyes slowly, inhaling deeply. “Rachett?”

  They shake their heads in unison.

  Jeb turns to let Beth know what is happening, then he feels a pluck at his sleeve.

  He turns back.

  “The news is grim, my friend.”

  Worse than what's happened to our world for the last five years?

  “Before we killed the defected Reflectives, they anticipated our coming.”

  Jeb leans into Calvin, their eyes meet. “And?”

  “They Reflected the women.”

  Jeb jerks back as though burnt, his face as tight as a mask. “Where?” he whispers.

  Kennet shakes his head. “Everywhere.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Slade

  “I do not believe for one minute that Dimitri has tasked you with a Sector Ten jump for the sole purpose of reconnaissance.” Gunnar nods at the young woman.

  She smiles. “Thank you so much, sir.”

  “No. Thank you.” He smiles, revealing fangs tinged pink with her blood.

  Slade rolls his eyes, giving a hard sigh.

  Three papiliones stand before them, staring blankly.

  “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.” Gunnar tosses his finger from one to the other. “I've had you first.” He gives the young woman a brief nod, and she shines a face-breaking smile upon him.

  “And now I shall have—”

  “Gunnar,” Slade says.

  “Hmm,” he replies, hand palming his chin.

  “Stop this. Take the blood and be done with it.”

  Gunnar looks at him, deep eyes regarding Slade with barely contained tolerance. “I will have my fill and fun at the same time.”

  The young woman shivers.

  Gunnar notices, grinning wider, if possible.

  “And look…” Gunnar slowly spins. “No more gaping wounds.”

  “Yes, and I'm sure that all will get stalled on the wounds.” Slade's eyebrows rise. “It wouldn't possibly be your Bloodling good looks.”

  “Yes, well, I do make a fine specimen.”

  Gunnar stalks forward, grabs the next woman, and strikes her hard in the throat—for the second time.

  The young woman, who shivered earlier, takes a step back. Seeing so much blood probably gives her pause.

  Gunnar puts her aside and delicately wip
es the blood away with the back of his hand, smearing it like the lipstick some females wear.

  “You don't seem insane,” Slade comments.

  Half a day's travel is not enough time for Slade to know for certain, but Gunnar acts like any other Bloodling, with a greater appetite.

  “I am not.” He moves to the third woman.

  Slade gives him an incredulous expression. “You haven't had your fill?”

  He smirks. “No.”

  After he bleeds the final Papilio, he walks to a nearby tree and leans back against the trunk, one leg bent, the other planted at the base.

  He parts his lips and barks a hearty belch into the still forest. “That was excellent.”

  He points his laser gaze at the three Papiliones women, so deep under his thrall, they probably couldn't recite their own names.

  “You are dismissed.”

  They startle as one and begin to mill around. One bumps into the next.

  “Gunnar…”

  He chuckles, then his face becomes serious as he shoots Slade a hard look. “All right. You're no fun.” His expression becomes speculative. “You will return to your…” He cocks his eyebrows, glancing in Slade's direction.

  “Domiciles,” Slade replies dryly.

  “Yes—and not remember your encounter with myself.” He looks to Slade again, his lips curling. “Or my colleague.”

  They nod, looking first at him then at Slade. They walk off, more or less in the direction of where Slade assumes their homes are located.

  “That went well,” Gunnar says.

  “Not really.”

  Gunnar exhales, pushing off the trunk. He saunters over to where Slade stands. “To answer your earlier question: I am quite sane, despite my unjust incarceration.”

  They square off.

  “I worked for your sire as captain of the Bloodling guard for three centuries, Slade. I know the tenor of my position—my mind.” He taps his temple.

  “You killed thirty nightlopers.”

  He swings to face Slade. An ebony strand of hair comes loose from its binding and falls across his face. Gunnar flicks it away. “Only the ones associated with Lucinda.”

  “No matter how vague the tie to her rape and murder—they all suffered by your hand. There is not a spot in our history that speaks of a greater mass murder than the one you committed. That is why you were in prison.”