by Brindi Quinn
At least she had a lead now. Jobe and Foster and Rye standing together somewhere in the wilds beyond St. Laran. Jobe. Foster. Rye. Soon she’d see Jobe again, and she wouldn’t stop until she got something out of him. Something that could help her understand how Foster and Rye had at one time been able to smile together, side by side; soul not shared, but split in half. She’d figure it out. For Rye. And also for Foster.
Tide took the photograph into both hands and held it away from her face, and it was then that a strange feeling came over her. A forbidden feeling. A feeling of déjà vu. As the young princess studied the photo at arm’s length, somehow, someway, it felt as though she’d been the one who’d taken it. True or not, the notion was enough to send the demon after her. Catching her around the waist, it brought her into the same darkness that empty Rye was swimming through.
The Second and princess slumped together on the cushion-littered floor of the living room, vacant but content.
A ways away, in the apartment above the timepiece shop, Jobe was receiving a fax through a machine that was even crankier than Tide’s.
C-
I let them find something. A snapshot. Be prepared.
-F
Jobe read the note and kicked the foot of his desk.
“Damn it, Foster! I thought we just talked about this! You agreed to make sure it stayed forgotten!” Jobe realized just how selfish he was, of course. He knew he was only a small piece in the continuing saga of their drama, but even so, he wasn’t ready for them to know. He wasn’t ready to move on yet. It’d only been two years. He needed more time. He needed . . .
The hunter’s lip curled at the realization that there might very well be hope for him yet. It would include betraying Foster, but that was fine. His ultimate goal still hadn’t been reached, and until it was, he wouldn’t let things progress.
“All right,” said Jobe. “I need this to last a little longer. For that, I’d sell my soul.”
Chapter 12: The Hunter’s Confession
Patching together a fragmented past was the first stage of the plan. In order for something to break, it first had to be whole. That was what the hunter was counting on. For his prince, that was what the hunter needed.
On a day without sun, the judge called for them. He called for the very unique pair of newbie hunters.
He’d analyzed the girl and found her to be something extraordinary. Even if she’d avoided detection, his ancient eyes knew. His eyes born in the time of the boom could see through her skin. She was something worth straining.
The judge waited for them. In the dome that was mostly empty, he paced. They’d arrive. Surely they’d arrive. And when they did, he’d offer them a deal.
~
When Jobe reached the Weighted Dome, Ink was already there. Early. Perky. He rolled his eyes. He’d deliberated his plan for hours, but there was still too much uncertainty surrounding the whole thing to make a move. Foster had asked why he’d chosen her. That was disheartening. It meant he couldn’t even fathom the possibility that Jobe’s goal could come to pass. That he couldn’t comprehend an ending in which Ryon . . .
But while it was disheartening to the hunter, it was also a good thing because it meant he’d be able to stay under the radar.
“Oy! What are you staring at, girl?” Jobe stretched his arms behind his back. “Can’t resist, huh?”
That was far from it. Really, the young girl was trying her hardest to hold back her questions. To hold back her accusations. She didn’t know Jobe’s personality well enough to know how he’d respond to a direct approach, and since she didn’t want to lose his intel, she’d have to play tactfully.
“Yes, Jobe. Your charm is irresistible.” It was half-hearted. She turned to shield her face before it could give her away.
Jobe folded his arms. That wasn’t nearly the reaction he’d hoped for. He wanted to make her flustered. Or angry. Or hot. Trying a different approach, he marched over and threw an arm around her neck. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go see if Old Smokey’s ready to see us.”
Tide squirmed away from his muscled grasp. “Sure.”
Keeping her back to him, she headed toward the registration desk. Jobe raised a dusty brow. There was something wrong with her. She was fretting over some insignificant, spoiled-girl problem. That was okay, though. He could work with fretting. With fretting, he might be able to arouse the emotions he needed. That’s what it was all about in the end, wasn’t it? Emotion. A sinister grin made its way onto the face of the plotting hunter. Stifling it the best he could, he followed the girl around the heap.
The silence between the pair of them was more awkward than ever before – amplified by the enormousness of the dome. A few wandering blood scouters loitered between the stands, sent on various minor maintenance and routine cleaning tasks, but none of them appeared to be under much of a time constraint. The next contest wouldn’t be for a while, and the stillness of the in-between period reached all corners of the place. It was a far cry from the frenzied atmosphere of their last visit.
When Jobe and Tide reached the side garage, the lady geezer was away from the window. They’d only have to wait five minutes, or so the sign there promised. Tide dropped her backpack and leaned against a cement wall that was stained with a tar-like substance. Jobe stood across from her and met her eyes, but Tide folded her arms and looked away. Dartingly. Suspiciously. That was when he realized:
Of course. Of course she’d be fretting!
How could he have forgotten? Foster had sent that message about a snapshot a few days earlier, and since then, Jobe had been so concerned with his own plotting that he’d forgotten all about the other side of Foster’s actions. What it meant for the others. For Ink. For Ryon. For . . . No, not for Ryon. For Rye.
Jobe stared at Ink knowing full well it made her uncomfortable. The snapshot had most likely contained something incriminating about him, and she’d probably been struggling with it ever since. Jobe’s grin returned. Now that he knew she was suffering, this would be fun.
“So, Ink.”
Tide pretended to look at him, but the best she could do was settle for his forehead. “Yes?”
“I ever tell you about my dear friend, Foster?”
“Ech-” Tide’s throat made a nasty sound and closed itself.
“Yeah, remember?” continued Jobe. “Your boyfriend’s Main? Foster. He’s a great guy. A little mopey nowadays, but he used to be a blast.”
Tide narrowed her eyes at him. This was her opening? Maybe. But a more likely scenario was that Jobe was just giving in to his cruelty. She’d been too easy to read? Even though she’d been trying so hard to behave normally? Apparently her acting skills were lacking. Still, she hadn’t expected him to bring it up so offhandedly . . . or at all, for that matter. If she wanted to secure something, anything, she’d have to use it to her advantage as much as she could.
“Really? A blast, huh?” said the princess. “When did you guys meet, again?”
“A few years ago.” Jobe scratched the stubbled chin that he hadn’t shaved since Foster’s fax. “Way before that thing showed up.”
Tide ignored the latter part, which was most certainly about Rye, and said, “In school, right? You mentioned that before. So . . .” She sought a way to sneak it in. “Did you have any other friends?”
“Of course.” Jobe smirked. “Who has just one friend?”
Tide flinched. After all, until very recently, her only friend had been Y. “What I meant, Jobe, is who were your other friends? What were their names? What were they like? You know, that sort of stuff.”
“Oh, that sort of stuff. Stuff you’re REAL interested in, Ink.”
“Just making conversation.”
Jobe stalled a moment to enjoy the girl’s failed attempt at hiding her eagerness. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you if you come here.” He patted his leg. “Come, girl.”
“I am ‘here’,” said Tide warily.
“No. Closer.”
&
nbsp; “No way! The last time I did that, you practically shoved my face into a pile of tartaroise shi-”
“Come.”
Tide sighed. Then, since she needed to play by his rules to get some answers, she obeyed. She stepped before the longhaired hunter and threw her arms out to her sides. “What now?”
“Geesh. No need to get all uppity. You want to know about my friends or not?”
Tide shrugged. “Sure.”
“And why do you care?”
“I told you: conversation. And also, why can’t I know more about you? Won’t it help us become tighter partners and all that stuff?”
“Fine.” Jobe placed a hand on her shoulder. If she wanted it so badly, he’d tell her something that would make her teeter. Something that would make her suffer. “We moved here three years ago, when I was fifteen,” he said. “I attended church school for a while. Near the big conservatory in Eastfelt. There was a group of us back then, a dozen or so, but three of us were always together.” He paused to smirk because the teeter was coming. “Me, Foster, and Ry-”
But Jobe stopped himself. He’d been staring into those muted eyes of hers, anxious to see them wince, but for just a moment, right when he’d been about to deliver the shocking blow, they’d looked . . . turquoise. Electrifying turquoise that sent a shiver throughout his body.
He pulled his hand from her shoulder and patted her atop the head.
Confused, Tide frowned. “And? And who?!”
“And that’s all for now.” Jobe pointed to the desk behind her where the lipsticked woman had taken seat.
Tide let out a defeated sigh. She hadn’t gotten anything in the way of an answer after all.
Jobe turned from her and held his gut because, for the first time in his life, he fully believed what he’d been telling himself. That his goal was really, truly possible. That there WAS a way to do that which Foster couldn’t foresee. A way to make things go back to the way they’d been. A way to bring back Ryon. He’d need Ink’s cooperation, though. If not with cruelty, maybe with gentleness?
But how could he do that when telling her the truth would push her away? Would force the soul from her body? The hunter brooded.
“Thank you.” Tide was speaking to the lady at the counter. Jobe hurried to be included.
“All right, all right,” he droned. “Enough chit-chat, flat chest. Let’s see what the old man wants.”
Tide rolled her eyes and brought an arm across her chest that was only somewhat flat.
One page over the intercom later and the newbies were escorted again to the judge’s chamber.
When they arrived, Tide noticed that geezer’s brows had gotten longer. Or maybe he’d just forgotten to trim them. Aside from that, the scene was the same as it’d been before – except that this time, the princess was without fog. Not even a trace of the white distraction remained.
The judge started in right away. “So, Mountain and Stabby, how’ve our two newest hunters been?”
“Fine, thanks,” said Tide. “And how ha-”
“On with it, Judgey,” interrupted Jobe. “What’s the deal with you suspending our marks?”
Tide frowned. So much for respect for the elderly.
The geezer cracked a smile. “You want to know, eh?”
“That’s kind of why we came, pops,” said Jobe. “And if it’s all the same to you, can we get this over with quickly? I’d really like to get back out there. You know, things to kill. Credits to earn. Yada yada.”
Tide’s frown turned into something that was more like a scowl. She reached over to pinch her partner in the side, but when he flexed at the last moment, filling the little amount of lax skin there, she was left with nothing to grab but muscle. It only annoyed the princess even more.
The judge, on the other hand, didn’t really care what the punk kid had to say or do. He was more concerned with . . . He flicked his eyes to the girl – the remarkable, fantastic being before him. She was the one that mattered. She was the one that meant something. “Right to it then,” he said. “Why have I suspended your marks and convened this charming meeting? Why has someone as important as me taken an interested in a nothing like you? Because, dear boy, I’d like to make a deal with you . . . in regards to your partner.”
Tide, who’d been distracted with Jobe, swiveled her head to find the geezer’s lingering eyes upon her in the same way they’d been during the contest. Repulsing. Intruding. “Huh? Me?”
“That’s right,” said the judge. “I’d like to make a deal with you.”
“How so?” said Jobe, taking a step nearer to Tide. It was the same sort of impulsive, protective response that’d made him climb the tree ahead of her during their first hunt. It was surprising. To both the hunter and his princess. That sort of behavior from him was rare. Something carried over from a past life.
“Oh?” said the judge, eyeing them. “Puppy love?”
“Blegh,” was their unanimous reply. It was far from something like that. Tide’s feelings for Jobe? Tolerant friendship. Jobe’s feelings for Ink? Even he couldn’t clarify what those were, but they definitely weren’t ‘love’.
“There’s something unique about you,” the judge told Tide. “There’s something special.”
Jobe choked. That was the last thing the hunter wanted to hear from the decaying man. He feared whatever knowledge the judge had; he feared what would happen to his partner if it were released carelessly; but most of all, he was afraid of the outlash he might give the geezer once the knowledge was shared – once Jobe’s plans were compromised. He sized up the gray-whiskered man. What repercussions would there be for slugging the elderly? Jobe shook his head. That couldn’t happen. That would accomplish nothing. He knew that, so he held his jaw in his hand, prepared to hold himself back and ready to make excuses. But all of that only lasted until the judge added, “About your climbing skills, Miss Mountain. They appear to be innate, don’t they?”
Jobe furrowed his forehead, unsure as to where the conversation was going. Still, he held his face.
“Innate? I . . . guess,” said Tide.
“You’re a natural,” continued the geezer.
“Ur, ‘kay? And?”
“And I’ll tell you why.”
Jobe’s eyes reached a widened state. “We aren’t interested,” he said, voice harsh, palm white against jaw.
“Jobe!”
“Nope, Ink. It’s not important. This old guy’s creepy and . . . well, old. Let’s just go.” He grabbed her around the wrist and gave her a yank toward the office door.
“Jobe! That’s SO rude! Stop! I want to hear him out.”
Jobe stopped and scowled but didn’t release her arm. She was so scrawny – her wrist like a chicken bone. He could break her: easily. He could wrench her from the room: effortlessly. He could –
“Steady, there, son,” said the judge. “I see that you understand what I’m suggesting. Don’t worry. I won’t give anything away now. I will, however, offer the girl my deal.” He turned to a very confused Tide. “If you can climb to the top of the Gustway with your partner by your side, I’ll tell you a secret. A special secret. About the nature of the soul.”
“Secret?” Tide looked from the geezer to Jobe and back to the geezer. “Another one?!” She still hadn’t found out Jobe’s – though she’d come to the conclusion that it had something to do with the sepia photograph. With Foster and Rye. With whatever had happened in the past that Rye had forgotten. It was all more than frustrating. “What the heck?! What are you talking about . . . er, Sir?”
The geezer drilled his eyes into her neck. “I’ll tell you the truth, if and only if you can climb to the top of the Gustway with your partner two nights from tonight.”
“What?” Tide shook her head and rubbed her temple. “Why two nights?”
“Because. Every game needs rules. It isn’t truly a game without them, is it? Two nights from tonight, a heavy fog is to roll in. It’ll make it a bit more of a challenge for you. Or maybe I shoul
d say, ‘It’ll make it a challenge for you, period.’”
“Eh?!” Tide let her mouth open. “You want us to climb the Gustway in the fog AND the dark?”
“That’s right. And I’m sure it goes without saying, but I’ll be needing photographic proof of the feat . . . should you survive.”
“To hell with that!” said Jobe. “WHY SHOULD WE?” The hunter didn’t fear the challenge. Not the least. But he DID fear to what extent the judge’s knowledge of Ink went. There was no way to be sure. One thing was certain, though. He couldn’t let her hear whatever the stranger had to say.
“I don’t get it!” said Tide. “What are you talking about? Why I’m a natural? Well, that’s just because!”
The judge shook his head. “OR, Miss Mountain, it could have something to do with the death of someone.”
Tide blinked. “Someone?”
“. . . Someone close to you.”
The princess’ murky thoughts immediately went to the person she’d lost so tragically. The person she’d lost too soon. “M-mom?” she whispered, turning white. “How do you know-?” But that was it. She was hooked. Even if the geezer’s proposition made no sense, Tide’s mother was one of her greatest weaknesses. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
“What?!” Jobe’s scowl deepened.
“We’ll do it,” Tide said again, determined.
“Excellent!” said the Judge. “Oh, and one more thing. Dome’s rules apply. Bleed, and the deal’s off.”
Jobe’s head had been down. Shaking. Fuming over the old prune’s interference. But at the last rule, he looked up with a smile. Sinister. Corrupt. Maniacal. Any of those would have suited the smile he bore. He just had to make her bleed. It was so simple. It was such a simple loophole, so kindly left by the decrepit man.
“Fine,” said Jobe. “I’ll accept.” And the switchblade in his pocket felt heavier than usual.
“R-really?!” said Tide.
