Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles

by Brindi Quinn

  “But I’m alive,” whispered the shocked princess.

  “As I’ve repeatedly told you. Hmph.” Jobe crossed his arms. “One thing’s for sure, girl. They did something to you. To your scattered brain. And now, whenever you lose it, you faint. It’s actually a lot like a Second’s behavior, to tell you the truth. Weirds me out.”

  Jobe turned away and grinned because the lines had been delivered flawlessly. He’d told her just what she needed to hear.

  Tide held her head in her hands because it felt heavier than usual. Her skull was too hard for her sore neck to support on its own. “They altered my brain?” she said. “My memories? Who’re ‘they’?”

  “Duh! Your father and his team. Who else?”

  “But that’s . . .”

  “Hey, girl. If you want to know more, I suggest you speak to your father.” And then a thought crossed Jobe’s mind. Something that might spare the girl from his blade. “That’s why it’s really not necessary to listen to that coot of a judge. Your father’s the one with the answers.”

  But Tide hadn’t seen her father in weeks. And even if she were to see him before the foggy night, he wouldn’t talk about anything that’d happened around the time of her mother’s death. That was why –

  “No. I still want to do the challenge,” said Tide.

  “But-!”

  “Who knows when I’ll see my father again. Honestly, I really don’t know what to think of any of this. It’s not like I can just accept everything like, blam! I’m going to do the judge’s challenge. At least it’ll give me another option. Another opinion. Even if he doesn’t know anything in the end, it’s a lead worth following. Sorry, Jobe. I’m doing it.”

  The blade in Jobe’s pocket rested against his thigh. “Suit yourself, girl. Suit yourself.”

  He fell back into the fake grass and let out a relieved exhale. He’d been able to tell her. He’d been able to tell her everything without losing her again. Part one of his plan was over. Part two would be a little trickier, though. When she was weak – once she was physically strained, as she’d hopefully be after speaking with her father – he’d pull Ryon out. He’d convince her that she was worthless. He’d convince Ryon to reawaken. He’d betray Foster’s wishes, and the poor guy would never see it coming because, one way or another, whether it meant slowly refreshing her memory so that she’d return to him, or fading himself away so that she could be with Rye, Foster’s only goal was to make Ink happy. He had to. It was all he had left, and he was blinded by that fact. The one thing the gray boy couldn’t foresee was a scenario in which Ink disappeared completely. But Jobe knew better. He’d seen Ryon in her eyes. Somehow Ryon was in there, even if the logic-minded Foster couldn’t fathom it. Even if it was impossible for someone like ‘Ink’ to develop a Second, that was what had to happen.

  And Jobe would serve as ignition.

  For the return of his prince, the hunter would kill his princess.

  Chapter 13: The Wild South

  The true nature of the soul. The boy knew it. So did the judge and lawyer.

  “Come on, man! Help me out, here. I really like this girl!”

  A very frustrated Rye paced his living room and glowered at the ceiling. He’d been petitioning Foster for the last twenty minutes, but had yet to receive anything in the way of a response.

  “I know you can hear me; AND I know you remember more than I do from our time in that lab, so share the wealth, buddy! Is she a Second? Or what? You’ve seen it, right? The way she loses control? Just like me. Just like . . . Look, I want to help her, so just scribble me a hint or something! I’ll leave a notepad right here!” Rye closed his eyes and tried to disconnect. He was baiting the gray boy – urging him to take over – but nothing was working. Even speaking the forbidden name – “Foster.” – out loud, boldly, repeatedly, was no use! He couldn’t force himself to lose it.

  That was because, with each passing day, Foster’s life force was diminishing. The scales were nearly tipped in Rye’s favor. Rye could tell now. Something in the invisible thread binding him to Foster was confirming that it was really possible for a Main to disappear. It had always been a dream, but the way their spirit fit comfortably in his body these days verified it as true.

  Rye would soon be the proud owner of his very own soul. But he didn’t want that to happen yet. He needed Foster’s memory in order to help her.

  Tide. Sweet, strong, fun Tide.

  Rye was afraid to tell her about the vacancy he’d seen. He was afraid to tell her his theory. He wanted to save her from anything that might hurt her state of being.

  “Please!” He sent one of the floor cushions flying at the window with a powerful, venting kick. “Tell me something, you stupid Main!”

  But when he finally received a response, it wasn’t from Foster. It was from the noisy fax machine on the counter, and the note it supplied made Rye’s adrenaline kick.

  Rye-

  I learned some crazy stuff last night. About that photograph. Meet me now?

  -Tide

  ~

  “She isn’t here, Mr. Yondo.” The orange-haired girl held the door open for the man who was Tide’s father. “She’s er- probably on my roof?”

  “It’s all right, Wynona,” said Nero. “I know she’s out. I actually wanted to speak with you.”

  Y wasn’t expecting anything like that. “Me?” she said, trying to remain polite in the midst of her surprise. “Uh . . . sure. Would you like to come in, or-?”

  “No. This will be brief.”

  “Oh.” That was a relief. Playing hostess really wasn’t Y’s thing.

  Nero continued, “I wanted to thank you. You’ve been a dependable friend for my daughter this past year.”

  “Oh! Right. No problem. Just, uh, you know, doing what I do. And you know how Tide is. She just does what she does. And, er- yeah.” Y was even less eloquent than usual. The guilt of covering for a disobedient daughter by lying to an overprotective father’s face was starting to put her on edge.

  Tide’s father propped himself against the wall and smiled sadly. “I’d also like to thank you for encouraging her to become a scrap climber.”

  Y’s knees buckled and her eyes bulged. “Shit! Er- I mean, e-excuse me, Sir?”

  But Nero wasn’t mad. He was reminiscent. “I was a climber,” he said. “Long ago. Before-” He gestured to the suit on his body. “All of this. I bequeathed that trait unto her in hopes that she’d use it on her own. I knew it would help her become strong. And I forbade it because knew that her disobedience would help her become independent. Her strength and independence will be her strongest crutches once I’m gone.”

  “Once you’re-?”

  “Never mind, Wynona. I’ve brought this. Take it.” Nero tossed her a small brown-papered package. Then he said, “Remember, confidence and inquiry are the keys to success. Don’t let my daughter forget that. I’ll be seeing you.”

  With that, the disillusioned king gave her a two-fingered wave, and without further explanation, he strode away down the hallway, leaving Y confused and clutching the mystery package.

  She opened it to find five thousand credits and a note:

  Every gang leader needs cash.

  “What the hell!?” squealed Y. “What am I supposed to do with all of this!?” She held the wad of money in her hand, stared at the wall where the man had leaned, and shook her head. The bizarre visits from Tide’s father always left the squat girl with a strange feeling in her stomach and a question on her lips:

  “Who are you, Tide Yondo? And who were you before?”

  ~

  Rye stared at the olive-eyed girl across the table from him for several lagging minutes and then – “Let’s just get out of here!” – he threw down a crumpled bill and shot to his feet.

  Tide didn’t move. “But-”

  “Your big climb is tomorrow night, right?” said the Second. “Then let’s go have some fun today!”

  Rye grabbed Tide’s hand and pulled her thr
ough the door of the café before she could protest further. The huntress had told him everything. Everything she’d learned from Jobe, she’d recounted for him, but Rye had yet to tell her his theory regarding her Second-like vacancies. He couldn’t bring himself to go there. With everything else they were dealing with, adding one more thing to the growing stack of mysteries seemed counterproductive.

  “Well, yeah, but still, don’t you think we should talk about this stuff?” said Tide.

  “What more is there to talk about? You had a Second and you were engaged to F-F . . . HIM and he worked for your dad . . . and . . . and . . .” Rye’s face fell. She’d been engaged to his Main at one point. That was probably why the two of them got along so well.

  Were their feelings just something carried over from that time? It was a possibility.

  Knowing something like that made Rye feel brittle. Tide didn’t notice.

  “I get why you wouldn’t want to talk about it,” she said. “It’s about your Main, so it can’t be a comfortable topic, but it’s too strange not to talk about it a little. It explains the box and key situation, and if you think about it, it’s my fault that Foster is . . .”

  “Fault? Ah-ho. I see.” Rye brought a hand to the tattoo beneath the striped scarf – the scarf he wore just for her.

  “No!” Tide immediately rued her careless choice of words. “Rye, I’m not saying it was a mistake that you were created! I just wish there was some way to keep you both around. It’s not that I’m particularly attached to Foster. It’s not like I know him anymore. It’s just that he was so down when I met him, and if everything Jobe said was true, then I’m the one that did that to him! So it’s like I’M the one killing him! Argh! I wish it wasn’t so confusing!” After finding out it had been Ryon in the photographs instead of Rye, Tide had lost hope of splitting Rye and Foster’s shared soul. That had been her strongest lead, and now that it was gone, she didn’t know what to do, but she wanted to make it right more than ever. “I mean, how the heck can it be true, even? How can I not remember any of it!? What’s wrong with me!?”

  Rye looked down at the pretty girl with the lost expression. She was right. How could it be true? How could they even begin to accept it?

  “This is why, Tide,” said Rye, squeezing her hand. “Why we should let it sit. We can’t do anything about it, and thinking on it too hard will just make us- . . . er . . . make me lose grounding. You’re doing something way dangerous tomorrow, so let’s wait until after that to sort through all this muck. I can’t afford to go vacant. I’ll miss all the action.”

  “All the action?” Tide tipped her head to the side. “Wait, you aren’t thinking of coming with tomorrow, are you?”

  “Of course! I can’t miss a chance to see you in action, Miss Huntre-”

  “But you can’t!” snapped Tide. “You definitely can’t!”

  “Er?” Rye dropped her hand. “I see.” So that’s how it was. She didn’t want him to go. Because she thought him less of a person now? His ties to the ground loosened at the thought. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like having his confidence waver.

  But that wasn’t it at all. With a scoop, Tide returned her hand to his. “You can’t, Rye, because Jobe’ll be there. And you look just like his old . . . Truthfully, I was going to have Y come along to take the photo because I thought that Jobe might be distracted having you around. . . . Ugh! That’s something else I feel guilty about. Because I’m here, someone really important to Jobe isn’t. It’s so sad.” It was Tide’s turn to lift from the ground a bit. A silent growling was calling to her.

  The demon trailing behind them shook his head and licked its lips. His job would be easy if they kept questioning themselves like that.

  “No! At least you’re real!” said Rye. But saying it that way implied that he wasn’t. The distance between the boy and the earth became even greater.

  “You’re real, too!” insisted Tide. “And who knows about me, anyway? There’s something seriously wrong with my head. Even if I’m real, my memories aren’t. There are at least a few of them that are corrupted!” And she floated away into slithery darkness. She was a balloon on a string, held back from black space by only the limp boy below whose hold on her hand was growing looser and looser and . . .

  “Stop!” Rye dug his heels into the ground and tugged on her arm. “See? This is why we shouldn’t talk about this.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” muttered Tide. “But Foster . . .”

  Rye gave her a shake. She was losing it more quickly than he was these days.

  “Tide.”

  “Hm?” she said, focusing on him.

  “Listen, I wouldn’t worry about HIM. I was a teensy bit concerned since I hadn’t really felt him all day, but if talking about all of this with you still uproots me, then he’s got to be okay. I say we leave things how they are, have a stress-free day, and then tomorrow, after you kick butt at your hunt, who knows? Maybe the judge really will have something good to tell you? He did say it was a secret about the ‘nature of the soul’, right? I figure someone as influential as him has got to know a thing or two. And if that doesn’t work, you can always ask your dad.”

  “My dad. But I haven’t seen him since . . .” Tide rubbed her temple. “No, you’re right, Rye. We should have a fun day.”

  “For real?” It’s what he’d been hoping for all along. “Awesome pie! And I know just the place to take you. Come on!”

  Desperate for distraction, Rye took off in a trot down the sidewalk, pulling Tide alongside until, after a block or so, he stopped and wrinkled his nose. “Ur, which way’s Dentra from here?”

  Tide laughed. “Dork. This way.” She turned around and pulled him down the street that would take them there.

  The sky was sunny. The air was pleasant. It was hard to believe that a heavy fog would be rolling in the following night. Tide and Rye walked in silence. Though they’d agreed not to bring them up, the prohibited topics weighed heavily on Tide’s mind. She tried not to let it show. She swung her free arm and pretended to study the patches of cloud while Rye whistled something simple and low. She checked on him every once in a while, but he appeared to be happy. He appeared to be normal.

  Really, though, he was suffering greatly. Tide was his anchor, and if she stopped believing in him – if she started questioning his existence – it would be all over. That was the real reason he wanted to avoid it: He was scared.

  Pushing that away, Rye concentrated on the very real feeling of Tide’s small hand in his. The real sensation of bone beneath flesh held tightly against another. Thinking about it did the trick, but it also made his palms sweaty. Still, he didn’t release her. Still, he held her securely and rubbed the knuckle of her pointer with the pad of his thumb. Slowly. Controlled.

  Tide shivered.

  They continued down the road that was dirty. The buildings there weren’t coated in shining Bororore. They were adorned with the vulgar artwork of street-dwelling ruffians. Tide scanned the walls, unsure as to what most of the painted words meant, and pretended they said nice things even though she knew better. She squinted and appreciated the contrasting colors, the blended textures, and the letters that turned from round to jagged without warning. Her eyes that were antiquely colored pulled in the vibrancies found in the paint. They drew everything in and at the same time, the overhead sun lit them up and turned them bright. It turned all of the young girl bright.

  She drew it in.

  “Tide,” Rye said, voice soft. He was watching her, and when she realized so, her cheeks turned warm, but not because of the spying sun.

  “Er- yeah?” she said.

  In a place somewhere along a long stretch of vacant street, Rye’s walk slowed to a stop. “You’re great.”

  “Rye? Are you trying to make me emba-”

  “I have to tell you something,” he said. Dropping Tide’s hand, he turned his body to hers and cupped her face. Tide, who definitely hadn’t expected anything like that, stiffened as the veins b
eneath her skin screamed in reaction. The sun’s shadows played with Rye’s face, following closely the lines of his hair and casting impishly their shapes along his neck, jaw, and face. He continued,

  “Even before hearing what Jobe said, I knew it was possible. I could feel it, and I can still feel it. It’s only a matter of time before I get strong enough to erase him completely. I’m stronger now than I ever have been before. Strong enough to take the soul for myself. Strong enough to be really real. And it’s because of you.” He brushed an ink-colored lock from her cheek. “Look, I know you feel guilty. I know you want to be some kind of savior. So do I. That’s how people are. Everyone has at least a small dose of self-righteousness inside, but it’s not realistic. That’s the world we live in. I want to have hope, and I’ll still believe that the judge of the dome might know something, or that your father might know something, but if they don’t – if you have to choose between him and me – choose me. Choose ME, okay? I want to exist so that I can be with you.”

  Tide didn’t blink. “Rye, you’re . . .” He was serious? The princess stared into the blue eyes before her that looked so concerned, and couldn’t help herself. There was something about it that was too much. Too enticing to ignore. Giving in –

  “You’re kidding!”

  – she laughed, not just once, but several times.

  Rye didn’t release her face. He was serious. Seriously pouring it out, and she was . . . laughing?

  “Thanks a lot, jerk!” he said, embarrassed that he’d gotten all sappy. She looked way too cute that way for him to really be mad, though. Tide continued laughing, and Rye continued to regret what he’d just said, but when Tide managed to control herself, what she told him made it all make sense.