“No, man.” Wes shook his head. “That’s not how it went down.”
He’d met Jules right when he’d gotten out of the service. She was already running the cards then, a real pro, and she needed some muscle, a driver, a getaway car, and she’d picked him for the job, having heard that he’d made his name as a death jockey and knew his way around New Vegas. Jules had been a few years older. They hit it off immediately.
Wes had never been in love until Jules, didn’t even know that’s what he’d been feeling, until he was in over his head. She loved him, too—he would never forget that. He would have done anything for her at one point, but she’d asked for something he couldn’t give.
“I never told you, but she wanted to get married, get the license, the whole deal,” Wes told Shakes. “She wanted to get out, too. She always talked about escaping to the Blue. She believed in it. But she was willing to make a go of it anywhere, in K-Town, or Xian maybe, she had some friends who lived in Shangjing.”
“And you didn’t?”
“No.” Wes shook his head. “K-Town’s not any place to live, and since we wouldn’t merit visas, I didn’t think we’d be able to hack it as illegals in Xian.” But there was more. His sister Eliza was out there somewhere, and he couldn’t leave without finding out what had happened to her, whether she was even still alive.
Juliet had said she understood, she hadn’t pushed it. So they stayed in New Vegas, and slowly, imperceptibly, whatever love had existed between them began to fade, and they fell apart. Jules had wanted out—and he’d let her down. Wes found he couldn’t live with her disappointment. It stared at him in the face every day. He couldn’t choose between them. Jules or Eliza. It ate at him, destroyed the love he felt, left him furious and stymied. Shakes got it wrong; Wes had broken up with her, not the other way around, right before the Dreamworks casino gig. After that, they stopped speaking and never ran a job together again.
He pulled out his wallet and stared at her photo again. He hadn’t wanted to feel close to anyone else after that. The crew began to call him a priest and joke he was celibate. He didn’t care. He began to think that maybe the boys were right about him, that he’d given up on that sort of thing, that he was no longer interested. But something in him sparked to life when he’d met Nat, and he felt the beginnings of something familiar . . . not just an attraction, but the embers of an emotion he had suppressed for so long. She wasn’t his girl anymore.
Natasha Kestal.
He couldn’t be with another girl who needed so much from him. He had nothing to give. His heart was as patched together as his ship.
Nat.
Jules.
When he heard that Juliet had died at the bombing, he didn’t want to believe it, but it had been at least a year since he’d seen her. A long, lonely year.
He wondered what would have happened if he’d kissed Nat, if he had risen to the dare—he’d seen the look in her eye, the invitation—and more than anything, had wanted to accept. He was glad he had restrained himself, had not let her win; she was playing with him somehow, and he wouldn’t give in to that game. He was playing one of his own, as Shakes reminded him.
“So, boss, you ask her about that stone yet?” his friend said. “Ask her where she got it? What it is?”
“In time, my friend,” he said, thinking of the sparkly blue sapphire Nat wore. “In time.”
Maybe he should have kissed her. Wasn’t that what he was after? For her to fall for him so he could take what he wanted? So why hadn’t he?
23
AFTER THEIR CONVERSATION THE OTHER day, they avoided being alone together. Wes kept himself scarce, eating his meals by himself and hardly leaving the captain’s quarters. Nat tried not think too much about it, or why she had instigated that almost-kiss in the first place. She had hoped he would take a shine to her so that he would think twice before messing with her. That was all it was, so why did she feel so strange? He was nothing to her . . . and yet . . . she had wanted him to kiss her because she had wanted him . . . If only they were already at New Crete, so she would be rid of Wes and his ship and her confusion.
She took to reading her book up by the transom in the afternoons, and for the next few hours she was engrossed in the story. Daran and Zedric came up as well and sat away from her, at the bow of the ship, their legs dangling over the edge. Daran gave her his usual smarmy smile, and asked if she wanted to join them, but she shook her head and went back to her book.
After her eyes tired, she put it away and looked down at the ocean. It was black and oily as usual but underneath . . . she saw a glimmer . . . a flash of color? What was that?
A fin?
A fish?
But there were no more fish in the seas, everyone knew that.
But it was a fish. It had to be. She saw its brilliant red flash flit through the water. “Did you see that?” she asked, pointing.
Daran squinted at it. “A redback!” he said. “It’s got to be! I’ve seen photos of ’em from before. That’s crazy—nothing’s supposed to live in this water!”
“Nah, it’s not a redback. It’s one of those eels,” Zedric said.
“No, it’s a redback, jackass, that’s not an eel; that’s a fish, or you’ve got frostblight.”
Daran was right, it was a fish. It looked like pictures she had seen of salmon in facsimisushi restaurants.
Nat marveled at it. “How did they get that coloring?”
“Got me,” Daran grunted.
“It’s camouflage,” Zedric informed him. “When the water was green-blue the fish were, too, to blend in, but now that the waters aren’t blue, neither are the fish. They’re changing along with the water.”
Daran chuckled. “I don’t know where you get this stuff, bro.”
The three of them sat in companionable silence. Nat was glad; the Slaine boys gave her the creeps, Daran especially. She was about to return belowdecks when she heard Zedric yelp suddenly. She turned and saw that there was a white bird perched on the ship’s antenna.
“What is it?” Zedric asked.
“It’s a bird,” Nat explained, wondering how he knew the name of an obscure fish and yet had no idea what a bird was.
“He’s never seen one,” Daran explained, a bit embarrassed for his brother.
“Neither have I,” Nat breathed. Aside from the polar bears, the only animals she’d ever seen were from the old newsreels on the nets, or in surviving picture books. Pets were an indulgence, a rarity, and zoos were nonexistent in New Vegas. Supposedly the government kept animal and nature preserves in the enclosures, costing hundreds of thousands of heat credits while the rest of the population froze, but she’d never been to one.
The small white bird was beautiful, its feathers fine and lustrous, its black eyes bright with curiosity. As it spread its wings, it suddenly changed color, turning pink, yellow, and turquoise, the swirl of colors bright against the gray fog. Magical. It jumped onto Zedric’s arm and began to dance on his shoulders. Nat smiled.
It was a miracle to find such vibrant life in the refuse and swill of the dark, polluted ocean. The bird hopped from Zedric’s palm to Nat’s and greeted her with a friendly peck. Then it unfolded its wings, puffed up its chest, and began to sing a wondrous song, echoing across the water.
A beautiful song, and Nat was enchanted. But the boys heard the song differently. They held their hands to their ears and howled in pain. Zedric was doubled up and Daran’s face was red.
“STOP IT! STOP THAT THING!” Daran cried angrily. “It’ll call the wailer!” He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out his pistol, aiming for the bird.
“NO!” Nat cried, trying to protect the creature. But it was too late. Daran’s bullet met its mark, and the bird let out a plaintive cry as it fell to the deck, blood flowing from its white breast.
Nat knelt to revive it, but its small lifeless body
was already cold. Dead. It had been so beautiful, and now it was gone. She looked up and glared at the soldier. “You killed it!”
“Hey—” Daran said, stepping back.
But Nat was upon him. She had only meant to push him a little, but without her laying a hand on him, he flew across the deck, nearly tumbling over the edge.
“Daran!” Zedric yelled, and he pulled his brother back to safety. He dragged Daran onto his feet, breathing heavily. “What happened?”
“She did it,” Daran said, pointing to the girl in their midst.
The two soldiers stared at Nat, who was still holding the dead bird in her hands. She was cooing to it. Come back to me, come back to me, my little friend.
“Downstairs, now,” Daran said. Nat looked up and saw that the two of them had their guns pointed her way.
“Move it!” Zedric yelled.
As gently as she could, Nat dropped the bird into the ocean and marched downstairs, wondering how she would get out of this one.
“Don’t touch her!” Daran warned as they hustled Nat into the crew cabin and shut the door.
“Everyone, calm down,” Nat said, thinking fast. “That was an accident—it wasn’t me—the ship lurched.” She’d never been alone with them before, and Wes was nowhere to be found. Where was he? And where were Shakes and Farouk? In the engine room, she realized, where they would never hear her.
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Yes, you did!” Daran said, waving his pistol, his face menacing. “I felt it. You pushed me—but with your mind. I should’ve known.”
“We never should have taken up with this crew; everyone said Wes was crazy—soft—and now we know for sure!” Zedric was close to hysterics. “What are we going to do? We’re all going to die!”
“Shut up!” Daran urged his brother. “Calm down, no one’s going to die. But we have to make sure.”
“Make sure what?”
“That she’s marked.”
“I don’t—I swear—I’m not marked,” Nat said, horrified. “Look at my eyes!”
“You could be wearing lenses,” Zedric said. “I heard about those, they cover up the colors, turn marked eyes gray.”
“I’m not!”
“Prove it,” Daran said. “Show us you’re not marked.” He leered.
“What do you mean?” Nat asked, feeling shivers up her spine. She’d noticed Daran had locked the door behind him; she was alone with them, and Wes was all the way at the other end of the ship. She was so freaking stupid. It was true what she’d said—she hadn’t meant to push Daran—she didn’t know how to control her power. She wasn’t even sure if she could summon it now—the voice in her head was silent; it had abandoned her once again.
Daran glowered. “I said, prove it.”
“No. No. No way.” Nat shook her head. “Are you serious? Is this a joke?”
“Go on now . . . show us you don’t have it,” he grunted menacingly, ripping her jacket off her shoulders, and his brother actually grinned.
“No!” She tried to appeal to them in a different way. “You guys don’t want to do this. You know what they say about what happens when you come in contact with—”
“Hold on. My, my, what is this?” asked Daran, zeroing in on the stone around her neck that had come into view when her jacket was torn. “What do we have here?”
“You heard what Shakes said,” Zedric said.
“Oh yes, we did. Old Shakes talks too loudly, and we heard him ask Wesson about the stone. You can hear everything they say by that railing. Wind carries sound up to the helm, don’t it, Zed? What did Old Shakes say? ‘Did you ask her about the stone, boss?’” he said, mimicking Shakes’s voice in a cruel fashion. “And we all know what stone it is, don’t we?”
Daran was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, and she shuddered in revulsion. “Oh, I get it, you don’t like me, but you’d hand out the lot to him, wouldn’t you? Hand yourself on a platter, most like, to our fearless leader,” he said, and stepped even closer, peering at the stone. “Just like Wesson to hold out on us again, right, Zed? Not much of a boss, is he? Keeping this from his boys? When we could be back in Vegas now, rich as kings—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nat said, covering the stone protectively, taking a step backward.
“Give it here,” Daran growled. He reached for the stone—
“DON’T TOUCH IT!” she screamed, and in an instant, she was fire and flame, and her eyes blazed green and gold, burning away her gray lenses, and Zedric was screaming and Daran was holding out his hand, which was on fire.
Someone kicked the door open and Wes stood at the entryway. “What’s going on in here?” he asked, and when he saw what was happening, with one powerful move, he slammed Daran hard against the wall.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Wes growled, his voice soft and dangerous.
“Taking what’s rightfully ours,” Daran sneered, his hand smoking and red. “Look what she did! LOOK WHAT SHE DID TO ME!”
“She’s marked! She’s a monster!” Zedric cried, cowering from the corner.
Daran grunted and Wes stared him down, his dark eyes flashing with a piercing anger. He slammed Daran against the wall again, so angry he couldn’t speak.
“You knew what she was and you brought her anyway,” Daran accused. “She got a treasure greater than god and you let her keep it!” he seethed. “You didn’t even try to take it away from her! What kind of runner are you?”
Wes punched him in the face and Daran crumpled to the ground.
“SHE’S ROTTING!” Zedric screamed.
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” Wes ordered. He turned to Nat, who was back on her feet and had put her jacket back on. “You okay?”
She nodded. Wes moved to help just as the boat began to heave sideways. Boxes slid across the metal floor; the hammocks and lamps swung wildly.
“Trashbergs that weren’t on the map, has to be,” Daran croaked from the floor.
“Shakes can’t hold the wheel alone,” Zedric said nervously, eyeing his brother, who shrugged.
Wes glared at his soldiers. “LEAVE! But we are not done here,” he promised, as the boys brushed past Nat on their way back up the stairs.
24
“YOU ALL RIGHT?” WES ASKED, WALKING slowly toward Nat, keeping his balance as the ship lurched starboard. “He didn’t—hurt you—did he?”
“No,” she said bitterly. “Don’t worry, I’d never let him touch me.”
“The boys only know what they’ve seen on the nets. I could toss them overboard now, but they’re the only crew I’ve got,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t do more than promise I’ll make damn certain they keep away from you for the rest of the trip.”
She shook her head. “How long have you known about me?” she asked, her fingers shaking a little as she zipped up her jacket, making sure the stone was hidden underneath many layers once more.
Wes gazed to the ceiling. “I didn’t know, but I suspected.”
“You didn’t care? You don’t think you’ll—catch it? And rot?” She pulled her jacket closed, zipped it to her neck.
“No,” he said softly. “That whole thing is bunk anyway. You can’t catch the mark. Either you’re born with it or you’re not, right? It’s not a disease.”
She was still shaking from the heat and the fire—she could have killed Daran. Worse, she wanted to kill him, wanted nothing more than to set him ablaze, and she felt the shame then, of being who she was, a monster. She didn’t say anything about the stone, although Wes knew about it, that was clear. So why hadn’t he tried to take it from her like Daran had?
“That’s why your friend—Mrs. A—tried to get you out of the country, wasn’t it? Because you were marked.”
Nat raised her green-gold eyes to his dark ones. “I was three years
old when I understood people were afraid of me.” She told Wes about playing in the neighbor’s apartment that day; Mrs. Allen sometimes left her there when she went to work. Nat didn’t like the boy she was meant to play with—he was older and mean, pinching her when no one was looking, making sure she never got the cookie she wanted, telling her she had to stand in the corner for a myriad of trivial infractions. She was scared of him, and one day he told his mother a bald-faced lie, that she had been the one who had thrown the ball through the window and let the cold in. Then when his mother left the room Nat pushed him. She hadn’t laid a hand on him, but she had pushed him with her mind—slammed him across the room, so that he hit his head on the wall and he crumpled to the carpet, wailing.
“She did it! She did it!” he’d screamed.
“I didn’t touch him!” she’d yelled in her defense.
“Did she push you?” his mother demanded.
“No,” David had said. “But she did it.” He’d looked at her with those mean black eyes. “She’s one of them.”
After that, Nat was no longer welcome in their home, and when Mrs. Allen found out what had happened, the old lady began planning their escape.
• • •
“They sent you to MacArthur, didn’t they? When they caught you at the border?” Wes asked, lifting her chin with his fingers and softly wiping away the tear on her cheek. His skin was rough against her smooth face, but she found comfort in his gentleness. “That’s where you’re from. You broke out.”
“Yeah.”
He whistled. “I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t put me in there.”
“So that’s why we couldn’t find anything on you,” he said. “Farouk’s pretty good on the nets; I thought it was strange you didn’t have an online profile.”
“They keep us off it. It’s easier to disappear someone if they’ve never existed,” she said.
“MacArthur’s a military hospital. You were part of the gifted program?”
She looked up at him, startled. “You knew about that?”
Frozen: Heart of Dread, Book One Page 12
