by Rachael Craw
I shake my head, making myself dizzy. “I have you.” Even through the sedative it sounds too intimate but I don’t care.
“I don’t have her experience.”
“I trust you more.”
His eyebrows lift. “That is saying something.”
As he bends again over my wounds, I watch him with morphine’s freedom from inhibition. Storm-grey eyes. Bronze arms ringed in a language I don’t recognise. Latin? He really has the kind of skin that inspires touch and I ball my hands in the sheet, about to ask what the tattoos mean.
“Do you need me to stop?” He pauses, leaning over me.
“Excuse me?”
He touches his chest, frowning at mine. “Your heart is racing.”
I cover the faithless muscle. “You can hear it?”
“Can’t you?”
“Well, yeah. But it’s my heart. In my chest.”
“You haven’t noticed how your senses heighten … when you’re in the zone?”
I give him a narrow look. “Are you in the zone?”
He smirks but then his eyes move to my forehead and the humour evaporates. Almost tentative, he brushes his fingers across my brow. I don’t need KMH to tell me he’s remembering holding a gun to my head. His frown deepens as though listening for something and he strokes my cheek like it’s an experiment.
Whether by morphine or wishful thinking, the gesture doesn’t seem outrageous. My inhibitions are disabled to the point that I close my eyes for a moment and lean into his cupped palm, enjoying the electric pleasure of his touch. “Mmm.”
His face splits with a slow grin. “You’re stoned.”
Relieved he doesn’t pull away, I hold his gaze far longer than I would have dared drug free. I could look at him all night, if I could just keep my eyes open. “You are so …”
“Hmm?”
I hear the smile in his voice, my eyes closing in a long languid sweep. There’s no coming up. Sleep presses me down into warm, dark, oblivion.
ARROW
Forty-eight hours ago I nearly ruined everything. Seeing her through the kitchen window, alone, weak, with the brace on her neck, it drove me crazy, made me reckless. I should never have gone so close to the house.
Now, I keep to the forest, watching, waiting, fixated on the light shining behind her curtain on the first floor. I count the windows to the end of the balcony, where lamplight cuts through the crack. I bare my teeth; the other has moved in there.
I press my hands into the dead bark of a rotting tree, needing the distraction of every rough edge against my skin, something to drown out the noise in my head and the sick pull in my stomach. Tired. So tired. Closing my eyes brings no relief, only an increase in volume and bloody dreams.
Pine sap, damp earth, night air; the inhale is everything, one sense that tells me I am real. I can’t trust my eyes, I don’t recognise them – black holes in a pale moon. My ears ring with static. My skin is a lie. Something has taken up residence in me: a foreign voice and everything is wrong. I grip the trunk, the invisible umbilical twisting through the night, drawing poison from a well that won’t leave me. I grind my forehead against the tree and clench my stomach, wishing I could dig my nails through my flesh and gouge it out.
The spike of electricity slices up my spine and I shove away from the tree with a hiss. There will be no peace–
“Kitty!”
I thrash and sit up on the bed, fully dressed, disorientated by the warm room that isn’t mine, the slick of my shirt and the acrid smell of my own sweat. My feet feel choked in my shoes. I stand and stagger against the wardrobe, pressing my hand over the ache in my ribs. The alarm clock glows – two in the morning, but pain anchors me, giving me my place in time and space. “Kitty.”
I stumble out into the hall, trailing the wall for balance and make my way down to her room. The house is quiet. I wipe sweat from my palm and turn the handle, too afraid to trust the feel of the tether.
Careful, soundless, holding my breath, I slip through the door and shut it behind me. Thanks to Doctor Sullivan’s heavy-duty sleeping tablets, Kitty lies spread-eagled, her head almost off the mattress, one leg right out of the blankets, an arm flung over her face. I clamp my hand over my mouth at the rush of tenderness I feel. The tangible contrast to the sick hate of my nightmare gives me goosebumps and I shake, taking in the proof of life. She’s safe. The tether is strong. It was only a dream, a nightmare, as though I slipped into the skin of the Stray, the same dream I’ve had for the last two nights, since the chase through the forest.
A stirring of blankets, a whimper and Kitty wakes with a start. I bump back against the wall, she gasps at the noise and I dart across the room to clamp my hand across her mouth, afraid she’ll scream and wake the house. “It’s me – it’s just me, Kit.”
Her face strains with terror and she grapples to take hold of me, jerking up in her bed. Muffled cries break beneath my palm. “He’s here! He’s coming!”
“No,” I whisper. “No, Kit. You’re safe. I’m sorry I frightened you. I couldn’t sleep. I was checking to see you were okay. He’s not here. You’re safe.” It’s like I’m rushing to reassure myself, trying to wash away the nightmare taint.
I’m surprised by the strength of her grip considering the sedatives in her system. It’s almost painful, her nails digging into the flesh of my upper arm but it’s her tear-stained eyes that cut me. Fear, split open, an arterial gush of it, the end, the end.
I hold her until she believes me and her tension gives out, a slump of faith. She leans her face heavily into my shoulder, the neck foam impeding a proper embrace, and I despise myself for her weeping. She’ll never sleep again because of me.
“This is what it’s going to be like, isn’t it?” Her speech comes muffled and slurred from my shoulder. “Me freaking out every five minutes and losing the plot.”
“I don’t want you to be afraid.” Achingly true but pointlessly stupid, said aloud.
There’s a hysterical hitch in her sobbing, not quite a laugh. “A little less skulking in the dark might help.”
I groan. “I’m so sorry, Kit. I can’t describe what it’s like. I feel better when I can see you, you know?”
She sits back, sniffing and wiping her eyes, her pupils so dilated she could pass for a Shield. “Jamie warned me you might get a bit mother bearish.”
It’s not a bad description for the feral protectiveness that’s overtaken me since Sparking. I shrug. “You will have had enough of me by the end of the week.”
She takes my hand in her cold, tear-dampened one. “Probably. Still, I’m glad it’s you.” She frowns. “Hang on, I mean, I absolutely wish it wasn’t you – for your sake, but for my sake I’m glad it’s you.”
Her words sound familiar but all wrong. She should be shaking her fist at the sky, wailing at the injustice of it all like she had the other night. Imagine being stuck with someone as cosmically useless as me. If I were in her place, I would probably throw myself off the roof to save time. But thinking this is treason, and I want her to believe that I can save her. I need her to believe it so I can believe it too. “Thanks.”
The treadmill rumbles beneath me in the Gallaghers’ gym – a room purpose-built beside the six-car garage, as a dance studio for Kitty when she was twelve years old. It has been overrun by workout equipment since then. I thump away at top speed, ignoring the ghost of pain in my side. That I can move so freely in less than a week blows my mind. Even the stitches in my scalp and arm are ready to come out.
Kitty sits on the weights bench with her journal and pen. It always seems to be in her hands, and I hate to think what her entries are about. Dear diary, some sicko wants to murder me …
As tired as I am from nightmares, training and the waking reality of my new life, Kitty gives me strength. Her meltdown after hearing there is “only one outcome” ended far sooner than it should have and then she pulled it together – probably for the sake of her parents. I can’t imagine where she finds her courage, but I l
et it fan my hope for a happy ending.
Seeing Kitty rally gave the whole household a sense of focused determination. Leonard upgraded the security system, installed guns in safes around the house, gave me codes to access them and taught me how to operate the panic room door. Its tomb-like walls of concrete and steel, built into the wine cellar beneath the kitchen, scare the crap out of me. Barb pours her emotion into creating vast quantities of food, which I can’t consume fast enough. Jamie collaborates with Miriam on training techniques to help rebuild my strength, bridging the gap created by my hostility like a proper diplomat.
I glance up at movement in the courtyard. Leonard comes from the house, carrying a metal briefcase, Miriam beside him. I hit the stop button, the motor groans and I hop off the treadmill, taking a moment to recover my land legs. “Kit, you wanna find Jamie and tell him I’m done if he’s ready to run drills?”
“Tell him yourself.” She screws her nose up. “I’m stopping here.”
She won’t be kept out of the loop. I sigh.
Leonard pushes through the door and smiles a fleeting, weighed-down smile. “This arrived from Jeremy.” He swings the briefcase onto the workout bench and unclips the latches. Miriam stands at Leonard’s shoulder with the same even mask she’s been wearing since I found out she’s a liar.
“I thought he was against all this.” I can’t hide my disgust. Jeremy Gallagher didn’t believe in breaking protocol. When he’d found out Jamie had not only told his parents about the Affinity Project, but broken his uncle’s cover, things had got ugly. There had been more shouting in the study the night before as Leonard argued with his brother during yet another long-distance call.
“Jeremy’s pragmatic enough to accept the damage is done. He supplied us with an expert doctor and he thought these might be of use.” Leonard opens the lid on a set of six watches and phones. “They’re all linked. Satellite communications. You two will be able to send an alert at any sign of trouble.”
I slip the cold metal watch over my wrist and shiver. “Have you heard from Doctor Sullivan?”
Leonard purses his lips. “That was my next bit of news, or non-news.”
“No ID,” Kitty mutters.
“He managed to map past the synthetic gene to find the pre-modified markers, but there’s no match in police records.”
My stomach sinks.
“It was never fail-safe,” Miriam says. “Only the signal matters and you’re doing everything you can to strengthen your frequency sensitivity.”
I grit my teeth. I don’t need a pep talk from her.
“In the meantime,” Miriam says, “school starts in three days and you’re all going to Gainsborough.”
Kitty pales. “School?”
I sit winded on the bench. In the future I picture, we stay holed up on the estate like survivalists, amassing arms, awaiting Armageddon. The idea of letting Kitty loose in an uncontained environment spins me out.
“A Stray won’t touch you there,” Miriam says. Her gentle assurance grates my nerves more than the whispering.
“And too bad if he’s sitting next to her in math?” I mutter. Kitty frowns and I instantly regret not holding my tongue.
“It’s the safest place you can be,” Miriam says to Kitty as though she had voiced the concern. “A Stray’s instinct for self-preservation is our greatest advantage. Evie will be in all your classes and it will be better than hanging around home.”
Kitty knots her fingers. “Boot camp is looking a bit tedious.”
“And what about training?” I say, thinking of the wasted hours in a classroom.
“There’s plenty of time before and after school,” Miriam says. “It’s really what’s best for Kitty.”
She may as well have poked me with a stick. “You don’t get to tell me what’s best for Kitty. If it had been up to you, I’d still be across town, waiting for–”
“Evie.” Kitty gives me a scolding look. Even Leonard frowns, but Miriam keeps her hurt behind her mask.
I drop my gaze. “I can’t afford Gainsborough.”
“I can,” Leonard says. I start to argue but he squeezes my shoulder, all final and brooking no disagreement so I shut my mouth. He closes the case and turns to the door, Miriam behind him.
“School together. It’s what we always wanted.” Kitty drops onto the bench next to me and bumps my shoulder. “When are you going to make up with her?”
I sigh. She had reached out to Miriam and can’t understand why anyone else wouldn’t. Her generosity makes me feel like a miser.
“You’re so rude to her all the time and she never fights back.”
“Give it a rest, Kit.”
“Barb made up with her.”
I snap my head towards her. “Since when?”
“Since this morning. They were hugging it out in the kitchen.”
My one ally gone. “Great.”
She taps her pen on the soft moleskin covered journal. “Miriam loves you.”
Logically, I know it. Logically, I know I love her too. Being at odds with Miriam makes me uncomfortable and I don’t take pleasure in my power to hurt her. But her violation of trust has formed a block in my mind that I can’t get past. “School, huh?”
She narrows her eyes at the change in subject. “I missed out on Lila’s road trip, school might actually be fun.”
The thought of trying to function in a social setting while playing bodyguard sounds exhausting.
“Well,” she continues, “it’s got to be better than sitting around all day watching you and Jamie circling each other.”
I sit up straight, heat in my face. “Circling?”
“You heard me. Circling.”
As though summoned, Jamie appears in the courtyard. I stand up, my back to the door, tucking my hair behind my ears. Kitty clicks her tongue. I scowl but when the door opens I adjust my expression and turn. Jamie strolls in looking too good in long shorts and loose shirt, buoyed and ready for action. His mood has lightened with each day’s evidence of my swift healing – a sign of my “promising” development. I know he draws hope from it the way I draw hope from Kitty’s optimism. But it makes me nervous that the whole house of cards will give out, and I swallow the urge to confess my horrible dreams. They’ve become worse each night, like I’ve tapped directly into the head of the Stray.
“School, then?” Jamie raises his eyebrows, that disarming up and down bounce.
“Apparently.” I will Kitty not to say anything that’ll embarrass me.
She rises beside me, rubbing her hands. “What’s on this afternoon?”
“Actually,” Jamie inclines his head, “I figured Everton deserves to see me on the receiving end of some target practice.” Yesterday’s “training sessions” involved paintball guns and me getting shot in the ass.
“Oooo!” Kitty brightens. “Jamie showed me this when I got home from the hospital. It’s brilliant, Evs, you’ll love it. I’ll get the crossbow.” She drops her journal on the bench and scoots out back to the storage room, the invisible tether stretching with her. I make the automatic reach into the bandwidth like I always do whenever she leaves my side. Now I can do it with my eyes open, though I tend to grow still and stare into the distance. But with nothing more than static in the signal I give my attention back to Jamie, who watches me with approval.
I fold my arms, self-conscious that he knows what I’m doing. “No dice with Sullivan then?”
He shakes his head, his expression resigned. “Would have made things a lot simpler.”
We both sigh.
I frown. “Did she say crossbow?”
“Just some fun.” He grins. “A good bit of Rapid Kinetic Learning for you.”
I don’t like the sound of it and when Kitty appears with the crossbow and a quiver of arrows, I definitely don’t like the look of it.
“We should probably go outside,” Jamie says. “Kitty’s aim can be a little off and Barb won’t like it if she breaks another mirror.”
Kitty
levels the crossbow at his head. “You should have done this as one of your coming out tricks – would have convinced us you weren’t completely barking.”
I shiver, imagining the conversation Jamie has had with his parents. It makes me grateful to be an only child. The thought of a brother or sister in the mix is more stomach-churning than the threat of what Affinity will do about the break in protocol. Who would sit back and do nothing, let their sibling wander around unprotected with no promise of an emerging Shield and no way to tap into their signal to scan for a threat? Screw discretion. I would have done the same thing if I were Jamie; though, for his sake, I worry about what Affinity Project discipline looks like.
“He told us everything, after I was discharged. We thought he was raving, till he took us out on the lawn and we saw him move. Course, I still refused to believe it.” Kitty hugs the crossbow. “Then he showed me his back–”
Jamie brings his hands together in a sudden loud clap. “Come on. You can shoot me, that’ll cheer you up.”
Out on the front lawn, Kitty strides away from us, swinging the crossbow. Jamie stops by the stone wall and nods me to the side, but I stand there looking back and forth between them. He really means for her to shoot him. Something clicks inside me and I stretch my hands out with a fierce rush of feeling. “This is not remotely funny.”
Kitty ignores me and loads an arrow into the shaft. She holds it between her feet and pulls back the line with a grunt. I don’t like it. I could hiss with how much I don’t like it but it’s the direction of my concern that baffles me. Why would I be anxious for Jamie? “Kitty. Stop.”
They’re actually going to do it.
She balances the weapon before her.
“Jamie. Stop her!”
He just winks. “You might want to step aside, love.”
That last word gets my attention; casual, English, familiar. I’d worry at it for meaning but the let-down of adrenaline demands all of my attention. “I don’t want to see this! Seriously!”
