It wasn’t her fault. It was theirs.
The ache in her chest was unbearable now. In that moment, she would have done anything to see her mom one more time. To tell her that she loved her. To tell her anything.
But she couldn’t. Would never be able to again.
Alton and his friends had seen to that.
“Rachel,” Alton said quietly, seeming to sense some shift in the air, “I’m not proud of—”
“Get out.” The bite in her voice surprised her more than it seemed to affect Alton.
He nodded and stood with slow movements, then ghosted toward the stairs. On the top step, he paused, as if intending to say something.
“Don’t,” she snapped. She couldn’t hear him talk right now, couldn’t stand looking at him one more second without putting him through the window. “Just … just get away from me.”
Alton nodded, and descended the stairs without another word.
For a long while, Rachel sat unmoving, head reeling with the new information that had dropped so suddenly, so unexpectedly on her grasp of the past. In hindsight, she wasn’t sure how she’d expected anything else out of this conversation. It wasn’t like there’d been any possibility of good news.
But this …
This was insurmountable. Unforgivable. Her mom—her poor, loving mom …
“Goldilocks!” came a cry from below—unmistakably Jarek. “You gotta come check this shit out!”
Fear rose in her chest at the thought of going down there, at seeing the others laughing and carrying on while her little world continued to quietly fall apart, unbeknownst to any of them. To any of them but Alton, that was. Alton who’d sit there quietly himself, pretending to feel remorse, to be something other than the cold monster who’d stood by and—
“Goldilocks?”
She narrowly caught the mindless yell that leapt for the top of her throat like an escaping prisoner. Slowly, carefully, she let out a heavy sigh instead.
There was no escaping it. Not now. She could go down there and put on a mask, or she could stay up here and risk Jarek’s impending checkup and well-meaning but ultimately unwanted questions.
So she grabbed her glass and headed for the stairs.
Four
It turned out that “this shit” Jarek had been so insistent on Rachel checking out hadn’t even actually gotten underway yet. As she descended the stairs from Pryce’s quarters, Rachel spied Haldin huddled over an empty beer bottle at one of the work tables, studying the glass cylinder with rigid attention. Across the table, Elise watched him with rosy cheeks and a loving grin.
“There you are!” Jarek cried up at Rachel, then he scuttled over to join Haldin and Elise.
Johnny and Lea were there as well, though they seemed somewhat distracted with Johnny’s attempt to teach her some manner of secret handshake.
Everyone looked like they were at least a few drinks in.
The adults—Jarek excluded, of course—had retired over to the benches of the other work table, not so curious as to hover around waiting for the big event (though Pryce looked like he was seriously thinking about it—his neck craned drastically and his gaze attentive).
What little amusement Pryce’s expression and the room’s energy tickled into her chest died the instant she realized Alton had stepped out. Or maybe it was more accurate to say the moment she thought of Alton at all, seeing as his presence probably would have only made her angrier.
Just give them a few minutes, she told herself. A few minutes pretending all was well, then she could duck out, go get some sleep—or some peace and quiet, at least.
“No way,” Jarek was muttering as Rachel drew close to the table and Haldin slid a hand over the brown glass bottle. “There’s no way.”
“For the record,” Rachel said, “drinking and channeling don’t mix well, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Haldin looked up with a guilty grin. Jarek made a shushing sound toward her and encouraged Haldin on.
Haldin shrugged and closed his eyes. The glass bottle in his hand began contorting and shrinking down like a plant decaying in fast forward.
“Holy shit,” Jarek muttered.
The bottle started stretching into a long, narrow stem, its motion smooth, liquid. The glass pooled at one end, forming a large lump that segregated itself into discrete chunks. A flower, she realized. He was making a glass flower.
In what little time they’d had to discuss the matter, Rachel and Haldin had come to the conclusion that their abilities operated around the same principles, yet she’d never seen anything quite like this, reshaping matter by will. Was that why they’d called it Shaping on Enochia? Watching the process unfold, ideas about how such a thing could be possible began to float through her mind.
The glass ceased its wriggling and resumed its existence as normal, albeit flower-shaped, glass. It wasn’t exactly a masterpiece sculpture, but considering the focus she suspected it would take to pull something like that off, it was pretty damn good.
“Damn, dude.” Jarek jerked his head in Elise’s direction. “If she doesn’t sleep with you tonight, I might.”
Hal was busy frowning at his creation. “It, uh, got away from me a little there.” He held the flower out to Elise, his eyes a touch cloudy, and gave Rachel a guilty grin. “You were right. Shaping and whiskey …”
“It’s perfect,” Elise said, taking the slightly rough flower, and she looked like she really meant it. “Thank you, love.” She leaned over the table to kiss him.
For some reason Rachel didn’t care to fathom right now, the loving display only itched at the growing irritation in her chest.
“How come you never make me flowers?” Jarek asked Rachel with an exaggerated frowny face.
She couldn’t help but laugh, troubles momentarily forgotten. Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was just the way he was leaning on the table with both elbows, chin propped between his palms.
“Follow me across the galaxy first, and we’ll see,” she said.
Jarek’s eyes didn’t leave hers for a second. “Maybe I will.”
“Make sure you bring movies,” Johnny said, leaning in around Haldin. “Lots of movies. What?” he added when he turned back to the look Lea was shooting him. “It’s a long-ass trip.”
Rachel hesitantly accepted another small pour of whiskey and retreated step-by-inconspicuous-step to Pryce’s workbench as the youths resumed their game of drink and the older crowd continued discussing whatever they were discussing—probably something along the lines of a thousand questions, Enochia edition, if the riveted look on Pryce’s face was any indication.
She pulled herself up to sit on a section of workbench, taking care not to disturb any of Pryce’s precious tools. She leaned against the wall and watched as Jarek adopted a paternal air and led Johnny and Hal through the act of shooting their next round of amber fire in one go. It was a crime according to Pryce, but Johnny and Hal traded a glance, shrugged, and followed Jarek’s lead.
Rachel almost smiled as the three celebrated their victory over the dastardly liquor. Jarek had been uncharacteristically somber when he’d returned from Japan, despite having landed what sounded to her like a big win. Her own shit aside, it was nice to see him acting like himself again.
But then he had to go and call after Alton, wondering where the raknoth had wandered off to, and the sick anger crept back up to play.
What did Jarek care where Alton was, where any raknoth was? She’d already been weary enough of the way he liked to act all buddy-buddy with Drogan and Alton, but now …
Jesus, she should get out of here, go do something else.
Michael. She should be spending time with Michael rather than sitting here, drinking booze she no longer had any thirst for and watching her allies have entirely too much fun for their current circumstances.
Her brother’s nightmares had become all too common ever since he’d been front and center for the giant telepathic blast of escaping messengers a
few weeks ago, which was especially unfortunate since he seemed to do little but sleep the days away lately. Michael had always been fond of his sleep, but this was well beyond that. He’d even had a few more violent episodes—seizing and screaming and flailing, remembering little afterwards.
It was terrifying to watch. Worse, she didn’t have a damn clue what to do about it.
The nightmares may have just been nightmares, but she had a feeling the bad attacks had some external trigger, probably messenger-related. In what scraps of conversation she’d managed with them, Alton and Drogan had both wagered the messengers were too … incorporeal for Rachel to be able to shut out of Michael’s head completely.
That hadn’t stopped her from trying. She’d added half a dozen glyphs to enhance her brother’s telepathic shielding, both with external devices like the cloaking pendant she wore on a chain at her neck and with tattoo-style glyphs like Jarek and many Resistance fighters had. Nothing seemed to make a difference. Maybe because messengers were still creeping past her defenses, as the raknoth had suggested they might.
Or maybe because Michael’s exposure to such a raw, powerful psychic power had simply left him traumatized. Psychologically scarred. Objectively, it might have even been a better explanation. She just didn’t want to believe it.
An external source like the messengers triggering Michael’s episodes was a problem that feasibly had some solution. If his psyche had simply been overloaded until something had broken, on the other hand, that was much murkier territory.
Alton had originally suggested Michael’s symptoms should fade with time, but, all things considered, she wasn’t so sure Alton had a firm grasp on the concept of psychological damage. Hell, maybe none of the raknoth did, for that matter. To live as long and take as many lives as a raknoth did without going batshit insane, she was pretty sure some amount of psychopathy was required.
Whatever the case, she had a feeling she’d feel better about spending her time with Michael right now.
Before she could work up the will to make her excuses and slink off, though, Elise broke away from the young crowd and glided over her way, her normal eloquent grace only slightly marred by the drink.
Great. Just what she needed right now.
Still, Rachel couldn’t quite bring herself to completely turn down Elise’s friendly gesture and jet out as the younger Enochian hopped up to the bench top beside her.
Rachel nodded toward Elise’s empty glass. “How are you feeling?”
“Warm.” Elise wrinkled her nose and smiled, her cheeks flushed. “And kind of fuzzy. It’s nice.”
Over at the table, the boys were downing another shot of whiskey, each holding a beer as well now—aside from Jarek, who was holding another whiskey. Apparently he needed one for shooting and one for sipping.
“They’re really going for it,” Elise said.
“Yeah … Guess Jarek has that effect on people sometimes.”
She felt Elise’s glance and tensed, immediately regretting the direction she’d just opened up, but the Enochian didn’t say anything.
Maybe she liked Elise after all. Except …
Except now that she was sitting here next to her, all Rachel could think about was that Elise and the other Enochians had lived aboard a small ship for almost an entire year with one of the raknoth who’d willingly participated in the murder of her family. They were roommates with the bastard. Friends, even.
“Why did you even come here?”
Elise was looking at her as if she’d been slapped before Rachel fully processed that the words had indeed left her mouth.
What was going on with her? Why was she this … this … lost? This angry?
She’d known what was coming, had a pretty good idea what had happened. She’d made peace with it. The details about her family’s final hours were just that. Details. They didn’t change anything, really.
So why did she want to scream when she thought about their little floundering human-raknoth alliance?
Elise was still watching her, looking like she was wondering if she should just buzz off and leave Rachel to her thoughts.
“Sorry,” Rachel said. “I’m just …”
Wondering how the hell you people convinced yourselves befriending a raknoth was a good idea?
Maybe a touch strong. Something told her she’d be making a mistake to start questioning the raknoth, and Alton in particular, too strongly in front of the Enochians.
“I guess I’m just wondering why you were all willing to give up your lives on Enochia just to maybe help some people you don’t know from another planet. I mean, I get it. You find out there are more humans in the universe and that they might be in trouble, and you want to help. I probably would too. But you guys have a whole planet to go back to. You’ve seen what’s coming for us.” She turned to Elise. “You don’t have to …”
What? Die here?
“It’s not your fight, is all I’m saying.”
Elise studied her silently for a stretch. “And it is yours?” she finally asked. “We have some space on the ship, you know. We could take you and Jarek with us. Michael and Lea too. Pryce and Alaric. But I’m guessing you’d all have the same answer as us.”
Rachel said nothing.
“And maybe we do have a planet to go back to,” Elise said slowly, “but maybe not for long. If the rakul roll through Earth, I doubt it’ll escape their notice that their raknoth seeded another planet with humans. Enochia would probably be their next stop. We can’t let that happen.” She shook her head. “We can’t leave any more than you can.”
Elise’s gaze drifted to Haldin, her vibrant blue eyes looking worried.
Worried about what, though? Their lives? The safety of their planet? Or was it something more?
Whatever it was, Elise seemed to shrug it off as she turned back to Rachel with a somber look. “It’s not fair or right or anything else along those lines, but it doesn’t matter. This fight belongs to all of us now.”
Jesus. How old was this girl, again? Johnny, Haldin, and Elise couldn’t have been older than nineteen or twenty, but to listen to them sometimes—or to Haldin and Elise, at least—their souls might have been triple that.
Mature beyond their years or not, though …
“So that’s it? One of the raknoth terrorizing Enochia tells you guys there are bigger fish to fry and you all hop on an alien ship out of some sense of civic duty?”
Elise studied her. “One begins to wonder if their efforts and good will are unwanted.”
Rachel tried to bring herself to indicate that that wasn’t what she was trying to say, but her throat and mouth seemed especially uncooperative where anything apologetic or reasonable was concerned right now.
Maybe Elise sensed and accepted that Rachel was dealing with something bigger than trust issues over their motives. Or maybe she was just some manner of matronly saint. Either way, she was calm and open as she continued.
“I guess it’s fair to say we’re not all shiny heroes who wake up every day thinking of nothing but saving the world. Or worlds. Left to our own devices, I don’t think any of us but Hal would’ve ended up here.” She cocked her head as if acknowledging some outside point. “Or have survived the raknoth’s original plans on Enochia. But Hal’s …”
“On a mission?”
Rachel wasn’t entirely sure why she picked those particular words beyond the fact that, with the exception of tonight’s festivities, Haldin always seemed to be walking around with the weight of a world or two on his shoulders—the quintessential picture of a man on a mission.
Elise bobbed her head in agreement, the beginnings of a sad smile stretching her mouth. “He is certainly that. If there’s one shiny hero among us, it’s him.”
While every thought of Alton still seemed guaranteed to spike her blood pressure, hearing Elise talk about the enormous enigma that was Enochia was at least partially beginning to calm Rachel’s nerves. When she spoke, the hard edge was fading from her tone. “And wha
t does that make you guys?”
“We’re his family,” Elise said, without hesitation. Her gaze took on a distant quality. “He’s lost people. I mean, we all have, but …”
Rachel watched Haldin turn over the glass flower in his hands with a dark frown. “He doesn’t seem like the type to forgive himself so easily.”
Takes one to know one, right?
“No,” Elise said. “He’s never really stopped blaming himself for the one. For any of them, really. He’s learned to deal, but it’s always there.”
Takes one to know one indeed.
“It’s good he’s had you through all of it, then. I’m sure it helps.”
Elise’s expression suggested it wasn’t quite so cut and dried, but she said nothing.
Across the room, Haldin and Jarek had begun debating defensive hand-to-hand tactics now, complete with wobbly demonstrations.
“Great,” Rachel said. “Graduating from drunken channeling to drunken sparring.”
Elise’s smile only looked gently pushed rather than forced. “Aren’t we lucky?”
“Ringside seats,” Rachel agreed. “Not bad. The Soldier of Charity versus the Enochian Enigma.”
“The Demon of Divinity.”
Rachel glanced at Elise, sensing it wasn’t just a random nickname.
“It’s what they called him back on Enochia,” she said. “The people who wanted him hanged after the first execution went sideways.”
“Oh.” Rachel hesitated, unsure whether she should ask more. Then, “Sideways?”
Elise smiled for real at whatever she read on Rachel’s expression. “It’s definitely been an adventure, I’ll say that much. I keep telling Hal we should start writing some of it down. I think it’d be good for him. For us.”
“I think I’d read the shit out of that.”
“So why Soldier of Charity?” Elise asked, after a marginally more pleasant silence.
“I still don’t know the whole story. I just know he joined up with some mercenary outfit back in the day and they didn’t turn out to be the world-saving do-gooders he’d thought they were. He decided to stop them, and I guess shit got messy. After that, I guess he developed a reputation for helping the people who needed it instead of the ones who had something to give him for it.”
Reaping Day: Book Three of the Harvesters Series Page 5
