“Hey, can we talk?” he asks.
I nod. Connor grabs a seat at an empty table and waits for me to get my food. When I join him, I notice his uninjured leg bouncing up and down anxiously under the tabletop and his fingers twitching. He continues fidgeting until I take my seat. I’ve never seen him this jumpy.
“Well? Is something wrong?”
“A lot of people have been talking, you know. They say you’re planning on leaving Sweetbriar soon,” he says.
“Tomorrow,” I affirm.
He shakes his head. “When were you going to tell me? I mean, don’t I get a say in this?”
“Connor, I’m not forcing you to come. It’s your decision whether you stay or go, but I’m going.”
His hands ball into fists, and I can see the frustration growing on his face. “How is that even a choice if you’re leaving?” he snaps.
“How is it not? Look, Connor, I don’t care if you want to stay. In fact, I know you want to. I see how happy you are here, how well you fit with these people. If this is where you belong, I’m not going to take you away from it.”
“No, Nightshade, you don’t get it. Yes, I love it here and yes, I want to stay more than anything. But if you’re going, then I’m going too. I’ve spent the last six months of my life with you, and six months is long enough to know where I belong. You’re stubborn and hard-headed and impossible to deal with, but you’re my friend and I belong by your side. Without you, Sweetbriar wouldn’t feel like home.”
Although I fight to hide it, a smile spreads across my face. I was wrong about him. He has made his choice, and he has chosen me. “What about Savannah?” I ask.
He sighs. “Savannah will understand, and so will the kids.” He turns his head toward the table where his fellow teacher and his seven young pupils are sitting. When he faces me again, the pain in his eyes is visible, strikingly so. He loves that woman and those children. How can I let him leave them behind?
“Connor, why are you doing this?”
“Because I promised myself the moment I met you that I would stick with you no matter what you tried to do to get rid of me,” he says, smirking. “You saved my life, Nightshade. Without you I would still be alone, or dead, and I don’t really know which is worse. I could never let you leave Sweetbriar by yourself.”
“Why not? I do okay on my own, you know that.”
The smirk vanishes from his face, and he is silent for a long time, so long that I almost repeat the question to make sure he heard me. “Yeah, I saw how you were, and you survived—no, more than that, you thrived. But you were nothing like you are now. The old Nightshade would’ve left me to die when Roman’s people came after me, and she wouldn’t have felt any remorse either. The old Nightshade would’ve left Sweetbriar months ago and never looked back. The old Nightshade wouldn’t care about me or any of these people. But you aren’t her anymore. And if you go back to being alone . . . I’m afraid you might become her again, and I don’t want that for you.”
I stare at him, unable to find words. In that moment, I am sure that Connor really does love me. This isn’t an act of loyal devotion or repayment for keeping him alive for so long. No, this runs much deeper than that. He has helped me become the Nightshade I am today, and he will do whatever it takes to keep me from reverting back to my old ways. He’s right—I am no longer the Nightshade my father raised me to be, and though she has kept me alive till now, I’m not sure I ever want to be her again.
After we finish our meal, Connor tells Savannah about our discussion. Her disappointment is visible. It sits in the thin lines that crease her forehead and the subtle downward curl of her lips and the redness in her large green eyes, the same eyes that well with tears and threaten to overflow. She excuses herself from the table and hurries outside, covering her face with her hands as she goes. Connor follows. I remain there with the children, who stare at me questioningly, wondering what could possibly have made their teacher cry. Ash tugs on my sleeve to get my attention.
“Are you and Mr. Hawthorne really going away?” he whispers in my ear when I bend down to hear what he has to say.
“Yes, we are,” I say.
“Forever?”
“Yeah, kiddo. Forever.”
“But why?”
“It’s . . . complicated” is the only explanation I can offer.
He frowns, then hugs me tight, his head pressed against my stomach. I stroke his blond hair lightly and allow the embrace to continue for a moment. When he releases me, I send him back to his seat to finish his lunch. Connor and Savannah reappear just in time. Although the tears are gone from her eyes and a smile has returned to her face, it is not the genuine one I have so often admired.
Connor and I use the rest of the lunch hour to say our goodbyes to our friends and acquaintances. He stays with the children and Savannah for the majority of the time, enjoying what few fleeting moments he has left with them and only getting up to thank Dr. Lam for her help these past few months. I meet up with the members of my hunting and patrol group to let them know the rumors that I am leaving are true. Sophia and Claire hug me and wish me well, telling me not to get into too much trouble out there. Sheppard, with a sad smile on his face, tearfully offers to have a ceremony for Connor and me after lunch to bless our departure, and although I’m not religious I gratefully accept his offer. Nate shakes my hand, thanks me for everything I have done for the group and for being such a great co-leader, and wishes me luck. The lieutenant’s hand lingers on mine for a second or two after the shake is finished, and I gently slip it from his grasp before wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into a soft embrace, which he sinks into with a long sigh. As Nate releases me, I look upon these four people I have spent nearly three months of my life with. It feels almost surreal to think I will never see them again as of tomorrow morning.
When lunch is over and the majority of the Sweetbriarans have filed out of the cafeteria, Sheppard leads a group of us to the church to begin the ceremony. The procession is made up of Connor and me, my four hunting companions, Mr. and Mrs. Sharma, Dr. Lam, and a few others who decide to watch. Although I’m sure Savannah would want to partake, she is unable to attend because of her responsibility to look after the children, who of course must come first. As we enter the old white church and everyone except Connor, Sheppard, and me take a seat on the wooden pews, I can’t help but think that this is probably the most occupied this church has been in years. The wood floor creaks and groans under the weight of the bodies like an old man stretching his back for the first time in a decade. Sheppard stands at the front, surveying the crowd, a smile playing on his lips. I wonder when the last time he performed a ceremony to an audience of more than a couple people was. Too long, I figure, judging by the look of elation on his face at seeing his church so full.
Sheppard lights a dozen or so candles, filling the room with a beautiful orangey glow. He then asks Connor and me to step forward and face the others, whose eyes bear into us with expectation. As we stand shoulder to shoulder and Sheppard prepares to make his speech, I notice a figure approaching the doorway, her frame black against the white sunlight that shines in from behind her. Before I can make out her face, the click of her heels against the floor gives away her identity. Reina’s brown eyes do a quick sweep of the room, and then finally settle on me. She remains in the back, arms folded across her chest, her usual unreadable expression worn on her face.
“Today, we say goodbye to two friends,” begins Sheppard, his rich voice ringing through the room and bouncing off the walls, echoing all around us. “Although they have only been with us for a few months, I think we can all agree that Nightshade and Connor will leave a lasting impression on each and every one of us here. It is with heavy hearts that we watch them go, but, my friends, this goodbye does not have to be a sorrowful one. While Sweetbriar is our beloved home, it was only meant to be a chapter in their lives, and while that may feel bittersweet to some of you, we must be thankful for the opportunity we have be
en given to get to know them. These two walked through our gate not by chance or mere coincidence, but by fate and God’s will. And although they were only with us for a short while, we must be thankful for every second we shared with them. Do not feel sad as they exit our lives, but instead reflect upon the memories you have made and the bonds you have created.”
The crowd claps. As I look around this room filled with all of the familiar faces I am leaving behind, I feel my first pang of regret, and it hits me that maybe I don’t want to leave Sweetbriar. It is a good life here. Maybe it is not ideal, and sure it is not what I am accustomed to, but it is a good life. These people have become ingrained in me—in my mind and body and soul—and to just walk away from them forever . . . But it doesn’t matter what I think or feel. I have no choice.
“Nightshade, Connor,” Sheppard addresses us, placing himself in front of Connor first. “All of Sweetbriar wishes you a safe and healthy journey. We will carry you in our hearts for the rest of our lives, and I hope you will carry us in yours. Go with God, my friends. Go with God.”
He makes the sign of the cross in front of Connor’s face, then claps him on the shoulder and embraces him in a hug. After he releases him, Sheppard positions himself in front of me. The preacher smiles down at me, cupping a hand gently against my cheek. I shut my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his touch upon my skin, enjoying every second of it and wondering how long it has been since someone touched me so affectionately. When I open them, he has removed his hand and raised it in front of my forehead, preparing to bless me.
Sheppard hasn’t made it halfway through the sign of the cross when two deafening gunshots ring out.
Panic erupts. People scream. A few duck under the pews for cover. I lock eyes with Reina, whose face has completely drained of color. Somebody outside cries out a warning. Without skipping a beat, Reina flings open the doors and heads in the direction of the noise. The majority of us follow right on her heels.
As we emerge into the street, I draw my swords. There is no doubt in my mind about where those shots came from—beyond the wall. All of Sweetbriar seems to have emerged from their homes and workplaces to see what is happening, and the terror in their eyes only grows as they watch us hurry toward the iron gate looking about as clueless as they must feel. They call out to Reina desperately, asking for an explanation, but they are provided with none. Unsure of what else to do, they follow in our wake.
Two bodies, those of the guards, lie at the entrance to our camp, their faces pressed to the cobblestone and their garments soaked red. Just behind the gate stands a pack—no, not a pack, a gang—of maybe twenty-something men and women, each and every one of them equipped with a firearm. At the head of the group, a large man with long, stringy black hair stands with his narrow chin held high and his thick arms wrapped around a hunting rifle. His black eyes settle on me almost immediately, and a wicked, yellow-toothed grin spreads across his scarred face. As my heart drops in my chest, I can’t help but wonder if this is what fear feels like.
“Good afternoon, folks,” Roman shouts, his deep voice reverberating through the entire town. “Don’t be alarmed now, we just wanna chat.”
Chapter 44
“So who here is the leader of this fine establishment?” he shouts, staring expectantly at the Sweetbriarans.
“That would be me,” says Reina, taking a step forward, her voice full of fire and her glare scathing.
Roman looks her up and down slowly, grinning. “And what’s your name, ma’am?” he purrs, his voice taking on the same charming tone it possessed during our first encounter.
“Reina Urbina,” she says. “And while we are getting acquainted, just who might you be?”
“Name’s Roman.” Then, taking a sweeping look around at the lines of gray houses, the looming stone walls, and the heavy iron gate that bars his path, he smiles and remarks, “Quite a remarkable fortress ya got here.”
“Sweetbriar is not yours for the taking.”
“Oh, no, no, miss, ya got me all wrong,” he insists. “I got no intention of claimin’ your home as my own—as nice as it is—” He pauses, examining the camp like a dog presented with a fresh piece of meat, practically salivating. “My friends and I, we come to ya peacefully.”
I stifle a laugh. Here this man stands with a gang armed to the teeth with enough guns to massacre this entire town in a matter of minutes, and he claims to come in peace. The two dead men on the ground a few feet in front of him say otherwise.
“Peacefully?” exclaims Reina, pointing toward the murdered guards. “You call that peacefully? Those were my men.”
As Roman looks upon the two bodies, his face darkens. “Collateral damage. I tried to tell ‘em we didn’t mean any harm, but they wouldn’t listen, threatened to shoot my men if we came any closer. I had to protect my people. I’m sure ya would’ve done the same.”
I glance around at the others, whose faces are pale and bloodless as they gaze, terror-stricken, at their dead. Collateral damage, he called them. As if they did not live and breathe, as if they did not have names, families, friends.
“What do you want?” asks Reina flatly.
“Like I said, I just wanna talk. See, I’m here to warn ya. Ya got a pair of murderers within those walls, my dear.” His eyes lock on me and a sinister smile creeps upon his lips. “Those two refugees ya so kindly and generously welcomed into your home, they’re dangerous. Ya see, the two of ‘em ambushed my people, butchered some of my best men completely unprovoked. They took my baby brother’s life, shot him like a dog and left him lyin’ out there in the road. The machete that hangs from the girl’s waist there, that belonged to him. Those two killed eleven good men—my men—picked most of ’em clean of their belongings and took what they wanted for themselves. And now we’re here to take ‘em off your hands before they can do the same to your people. Consider it a favor.”
All eyes shift onto Connor and me. A few people stare at the black machete and begin to whisper. He’s trying to paint us as a menace, as killers. I stare at the tips of my swords, wondering what they would look like dyed crimson with his blood.
“Nightshade and Connor are not going anywhere,” says Reina firmly. The threatening growl of her voice is almost powerful enough to raise goose bumps. Her thick red lips curl in a fierce snarl, and suddenly I’m not sure which of the two leaders is more deadly.
Roman laughs a deep, hearty laugh, pressing his hand to his chest and tossing his head back as if Reina has just told the funniest joke he has ever heard. When he is finished, he pretends to wipe a stray tear from his eye. He smiles at her condescendingly, as if she is some meddling child he is being forced to entertain.
“No, ma’am, I don’t think ya understand,” he says, the smirk never leaving his face. “Ya see, my beef ain’t with you or your people, not in the slightest—after all, ya seem like nice, civilized folks, not like the groups of savages we’re used to encounterin’. But those two in their are our enemies, and you know how the sayin’ goes—‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ I like to think the reverse is also true. Now I’d like to be friends, since you all seem like lovely people, but if you ally yourselves with those murderers, you’re gonna make one hell of an enemy. The way I see it, protectin’ ‘em from gettin’ what they deserve makes ya just as bad as they are.
“Now you’ve got two options: ya either let us do what we came here to do, or my friends and I are goin’ to open fire on your camp until there’s not a single man, woman, or child left behind this gate. Now, I’m a patient man, so I’ll give ya until daybreak tomorrow to decide—that’s a rough twelve hours, give or take. I think that’s fair, don’t you? The choice is yours, my dear. We’ll be waitin’ right here.” Still grinning, he takes a few steps back to join the rest of his group, who wait patiently behind him with bloodlust in their eyes.
At first the silence is deafening. Then, the entire town erupts into a chaotic mass of screaming, shouting, crying. Reina takes a step in front of Connor and me, y
elling at the Sweetbriarans to quiet down, but for the first time they don’t listen. Suddenly all of Sweetbriar is engulfed in one giant heated argument, and the three of us are standing at its core, unable to do anything but watch helplessly as chaos unfolds around us. Reina waves her arms and stomps her heels, trying anything and everything to get their attention, but they blatantly ignore her.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I whirl around to confront its owner, finding myself practically nose to nose with a large, red-faced man. He grabs me by the shoulders, but Connor dislodges him with a forceful shove, the sight of which only seems to anger the Sweetbriarans more. Soon they are swarming us, reaching and grabbing at our clothes and our hair in an effort to restrain us by any means possible. As the rush of the crowd threatens to overwhelm us, I hit one woman over the head with the butt of my katana and thrust my swords out in front of me to drive them back. Recognizing my threat, the Sweetbriarans spread out into a tight circle about a katana’s length away from us, each and every one of them searching for a way to infiltrate the safe zone I have created. In the corner of my eye, I see Sheppard and Nate trying desperately to calm them, but it is futile; this is a frenzy, and these people want blood. I glance at Connor, who holds his knife out in from of him, his wide blue eyes darting back and forth wildly, daring someone to come at us again.
Finally, Reina loses it. As if summoning all the volume she can produce, she takes a deep breath and screams, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, ALL OF YOU!” The Sweetbriarans, presumably having never seen their leader as livid as she is now, are stunned into silence. She stares at the petrified throng with wild eyes, her plump lips curled back threateningly, her shiny black curls in disarray, her manicured hands clenched into fists, and her chest heaving. In this moment, she looks and sounds like a rabid animal—had she been foaming at the mouth, half the people here would have collectively shit themselves at the sight of her. “Town meeting, now!” she yells, pointing in the direction of the assembly hall. Then, gesturing toward two people I recognize as sentries, she shouts, “You two, watch the gate.”
The Deadly Nightshade Page 22
