“Back off.” I raise the poker an inch away from his chest. A risky move, I know. He’s most likely a Blade, although he’s nowhere near as intimidating as Gray. Especially when his hands fly up in immediate surrender.
An odd burn mark shaped like a jagged line tags his left wrist. I don’t recall that mark on any Awakened, Blade or otherwise.
“Chill. I didn’t mean to cross a line.” He rests a mud-crusted boot on the couch and tightens his laces. “Just thought you’d want company instead of reading boring stuff like”—he picks a thin, red leather book off the coffee table—“The Prince.” He tosses it back in the pile.
“Machiavelli?” I had that same book at home. I step closer to confirm the title.
“Just pretend to read that sixteenth-century garbage.” He waves a dismissive hand in front of me while, in one smooth move, he simultaneously slides the weapon from my slack grip. It takes a split second too long for me to realize what he’s done. When I whip around, he’s already returned the poker to the stand. “Foster makes all Awakened study Machiavelli.”
He might have disarmed me, but it doesn’t mean I’m defenseless. I stare him down and wield the words that seem to shake everyone else. “Yeah, well, I’m a Blight.”
He smirks. “Sounds hot.”
The library door swings open. “Cera,” Devon calls from the hall.
“Nice to meet you, Cera.” The guy slinks around me with catlike reflexes and swiftly slides something out from under the cushions before Devon enters. I only get a quick glance, but it’s enough for me to see the glistening, vine-etched blade.
Paradise Steel.
“Time to go.” Devon, in full military mode, studies Fedora Guy straightening the hem of his jeans. The knife is nowhere in sight. “The lieutenant made a decision.”
“Go . . . where?” I hobble over to Devon.
“The War Room.” He eyes my leg. “I’ll have Harper look at that wound again. She’s working on more serum with Lina.”
“Forget about my leg, Devon. What did the lieutenant say?” He won’t look at me. “You’ve got my back, right?” I follow him across the hall. “You won’t let Gray, you know, get rid of me or anything, will you? I mean, he can’t. That’s murder. The Alliance can’t get away with that. Someone will know—”
“The Alliance is everywhere. Including places you’d never imagine.” Devon’s hushed tone is thick with warning. “So remember what I said. Control your outbursts.”
I swallow hard and enter the vast room.
The lieutenant stands in front of the conference table, waiting. Pop is seated in one of the upholstered chairs. Maddox is nowhere in sight. Neither is Gray, though I can hear him. His berating lecture on Alliance protocol echoes near the entry hall. Devon nudges me closer to Lieutenant Foster, whose expression is unreadable. No surprise.
“Miss Marlowe.” Foster motions to a chair in front of him.
Tension winds inside my chest, curling tighter and tighter. I carefully lower myself on the edge of the upholstered seat, remembering to sit upright. When I do, the itchy bandage pulls away from the skin. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to pass on getting more serum.
Foster folds his hands neatly in front of him, covering a silver wedding ring, and waits for me to settle before he begins. “As you know, the Alliance has uncovered countless messages embedded in classical works from Awakened artists over the centuries. However, some pieces contain indecipherable or incomplete messages crafted by artists we believe may have been undetected Blights, such as yourself.”
Blights like me have stayed alive long enough to create famous works of art? I quickly take inventory of the room. A large tapestry with a gruesome battle hangs over the crackling fire, but nothing in particular stands out. Tiny artifacts are lit in a glass display case near the entry hall but are too far away for me to really see. Then there’s the painting of the girl in the blue dress . . .
Foster regains my attention. “I believe your unique ability to interpret these messages could prove a tremendous benefit to Alliance intelligence. It is for this reason, until the admiral returns and states otherwise, I agree to offer sanctuary within the Garden in exchange for your cooperation.”
I exhale in relief. They won’t terminate me. Yet.
Lieutenant Foster continues. “During your stay, you will have limited access to the grounds and shall be provided with an escort, as well as monitored with a Cord, or traceable wristband, to ensure you remain within close proximity to this building.”
A stealthy shadow slinks into the room, lingering somewhere behind me. “Welcome to the club, Blighty.” Fedora Guy stands at the archway and lifts his sleeve. I study the thread wrapped across the jagged burn on his wrist. I’d seen the mark but don’t recall the thread. At least I don’t think.
“Mr. Hendrick Colton Tripton III. Your timing is impeccably. . . late.” Lieutenant Foster’s tone sours.
“Cole.” The guy lifts his chin in my direction and then collapses into a chair near the archway. “Mr. Tripton makes me sound like an old man, Lieutenant Errol Ernest Foster.”
“Lieutenant, who is this kid?” Devon asks, looking both bewildered and annoyed by the guy’s presence.
“Mr. Tripton is a new member of the Alliance, a Blade with firsthand knowledge of Sage and his practices, which makes him rather indispensable. He was fortunate enough to escape, although he came quite close to dissenting.”
Cole sits up. “Only because I woke up on my seventeenth birthday all tripped out and couldn’t come down. Started seeing things no one else could. None of you compadres were around to explain what was happening. Sage was the only one.”
Cole has met Sage? My skin prickles as a million questions form in my mind.
“You’re a new bloodline.” Devon pierces him with the same intimidating stare he gave me when I first met him. “Makes sense. Most Dissenters are.”
“I didn’t dissent.” Cole yanks back the collar of his shirt. His neck is void of the flaky red mark. “If I did, I wouldn’t be behind the Wall, would I? I was just hanging with the guy. Had no clue what he was after.”
I face Cole, hoping to get a better read on him, but his eyes are still shaded under the hat. I forget I’m not supposed to speak. “I was told anyone coming face-to-face with Sage dissents.” I quickly shut my mouth.
Luckily, Lieutenant Foster responds without seeming bothered. “In most cases, yes. Which is what makes Colton another integral part of Alliance intelligence. His time with Sage has given us an extraordinary advantage.”
“And now I’ve got to stay behind this Wall like I’m under freakin’ house arrest.” I marvel at how Cole wanders to the drink cart with such causal nonchalance in Foster’s presence. Maybe having firsthand knowledge of Sage gives him special status somehow.
“Only until it is safe for you to venture outside the perimeter.” Foster’s tone is firm but also sounds a little paternal. “Until then, you shall take part in Miss Marlowe’s training.”
Fedora Guy shoots me a lazy smirk. “I’m down with that.” Ugh. I wish he’d take off that stupid hat so I could see his eyes.
I’m suddenly struck by Foster’s words. “I get training? With the Paradise Steel?”
Pop clears his throat, and his disapproving lips flatline.
Foster doesn’t look annoyed. But then again, it’s hard to tell with him. All he says is, “Any assault training will most likely be withheld.”
“Then what’s my part in the battle? I can control the creatures, maybe even hold them off but—”
“Miss Marlowe,” Foster says dryly. “Our desire is preservation, not destruction.” I’m not following. The lieutenant must see the confusion on my face. “Our sole responsibility is to defend our power—or the source of that power, rather. We do not engage in offensive tactical strategies.”
It takes a moment for what he’s saying to sink in. “Wait. You don’t attack? But you have all the weapons”—my voice rises—“the training, and second-r
ealm knowledge to take down Sage. People are dying because of him—his creatures. He has to be stopped. If the Alliance doesn’t do it, who will?”
“The Alliance has its ways, Honey.” Pop’s warning is clear.
Foster lifts his left brow with a micro-shift, but it’s enough for me to read his dissatisfaction. “Is your desire to comply with the Alliance, Miss Marlowe?”
I get the feeling the only right answer is yes.
“Sir.” I imply the “yes.” I don’t want to lie. I’m determined to cooperate and do what’s right, but letting people die? How can I go along with something so wrong?
Devon speaks up. “Cera has proven her loyalty.”
Pop nods in agreement.
“We can only hope,” Foster says. I may not have won him over completely, but at least he’s giving me a chance. “The more disconcerting issue is whether her connection to Sage will be greater than we anticipate. For that reason, a Blight’s power is unquestionably incalculable and perilous. If she shows any aggression toward the Alliance, or utilizes any powers that may aid Sage in any manner, eradication orders will be issued. Her mother will be tried for treason against the Alliance, and any aid currently provided shall be withdrawn.”
He says all that without a change in inflection or expression. I’m nauseated. I hadn’t thought about what coming to Council would cost Mom. If I mess up in any way, not only will they kill me, but they won’t heal her. And I’m not sure what punishment Council gives for treason, but judging by Gray’s comments to Maddox, it can’t be good.
Cole inspects fruit in a wooden bowl and selects a black plum. “You’ve got it rough, Blighty.”
My life is on the line, so is my mother’s, and he acts like it’s a joke? I suddenly want to chuck the fruit bowl at his head.
“Our decision to harbor an emerging Blight behind the Wall is unprecedented,” Foster says, keeping his unwavering eyes on me. “For that reason you will be removed from the Garden on the eve of your seventeenth birthday. If you fail to show signs of dissension and the admiral agrees, then your training may continue in a less fortified location.” Less fortified? I thought this was the only location secure from Sage. “The unpredictability of what may happen when a Blight acquires full Dissenting powers puts the Garden—and our power source—at considerable risk.”
“Why is that?” Cole takes a bite of the plum. Juice runs down his chin, which he wipes away with the back of his sleeve.
Surprisingly, it’s Pop who answers. “He believes that if Honey gains full Dissenting powers while locked in the Garden, it might sense her as a threat, and the Circuit Wall could spark from the inside.”
“We can only surmise that conclusion, since we are uncertain of her effect on the Garden,” Foster adds.
Great, the one place that’s supposed to be secure, and I’m a ticking time bomb inside it, threatening the lives of everyone around me. Again.
“How much time we got ’til you blow the whole place apart, Blighty?” Cole looks down, inspecting a stain on his shirt. “Two, three weeks ’til you turn seventeen?”
I hesitate and glance up at Devon, standing beside me. “Three days.”
Cole lets out a long, low whistle. “That’s not much time to train in any Bent.”
“Miss Marlowe’s training will focus solely on strengthening her Bent as a Seer. Doing so will allow her to accurately decipher the embedded messages in the encoded artwork,” Foster tells us.
“That’s it?” Cole frowns.
So do I.
What good could that training possibly do? I try to hide my frustration. They only want me to look at artwork and tell them what I see? And after the third day, I’ll be kicked out of the Garden so I don’t blow the place apart; and as long as I don’t act out, I’ll get to live in a “fortified” location, which is probably jail. I’m not seeing much of an upside here.
It’s clear I’m their prisoner, and my cooperation is the only thing that will keep me alive. And Mom safe.
“Tripton!” Gray’s assaulting voice shoots through the room. Every nerve bristles at the sight of him standing in the archway with his broad shoulders pulled taut and hard lips locked with a scowl. Lips I want to permanently glue shut. But this time his glare isn’t aimed at me. “Where have you been?”
“Around,” Cole says casually.
“Your Cord wasn’t reading.”
“Not my problem. It’s still on me.” Cole lifts his sleeve as proof. “Must be a weak transmitter.” Somehow I doubt that.
“Sergeant Carver, please secure Miss Marlowe with a Cord and assign her an escort.” You mean a prison guard, Lieutenant.
“I’ll do it,” Maddox enters the room. His expression is flushed with the anger of someone rising from a fight. The flames from the fire burn brighter as he walks my way, the heat warming my skin even from this distance. Through those tangled bangs, his eyes greet mine with a promise. One my heart races to remember.
Gray blocks his path. “I’m assigning Cole.”
“Then tell Global Council I’m done training so I can have a weapon.” Cole tosses the fruit pit at a nearby trashcan, missing by a foot. “Can’t guard a Blight without Steel.”
Doesn’t he have a weapon? I sneak a quick glance at the hem of his jeans.
“Let’s see how you do with the Blight.” Gray’s tone is almost a challenge. “Then I’ll talk to the admiral about assigning you one. If you’re lucky.”
Cole’s knife is stolen? No wonder he wears that hat. The truth must be obvious in his eyes. He catches me looking him over. So does Maddox.
Cole smirks, amused. “Sure. Whatever.” He picks up the pit and tosses it at the trashcan. This time he makes it.
If I call out Cole about the hidden weapon, maybe it will help prove that I’m on the Alliance’s side. They’ll see I’m not a threat. And maybe it will wipe that cocky grin off Cole’s face. The confession comes to my lips, but one look at Gray and I smother the words.
Despite Foster’s promise of keeping me safe inside the Garden for the next three days, an icy chill courses through my veins as Gray studies me with soulless indifference, a vacant glare that says, no matter what I say or do, I’m dead.
It’s simply a matter of when.
After having a Cord fastened around my left wrist, which is nothing but a thin wire bracelet that monitors my location during my stay, Lina assesses my leg. Once that’s done, I’m forced to sit on the leather couch in the library while Lieutenant Foster steadily grills me with a bazillion questions to determine if I’m truly worth the risk.
When was I Awakened? Age seven.
How did I grow up? Moved every year.
Extended family? None alive, that I know of.
Past friends? Dead.
Past boyfriends? Nonexistent.
Pets? Never.
It’s a wonder he doesn’t take a blood sample. Every now and then, Pop, sitting in a wingback chair to my right, makes an affirming sound of encouragement, while Cole reclines in a chair across the room. His feet are propped on the window ledge, and his hat is pulled down over his eyes. He’s obviously asleep. At least I hope so, with the slew of embarrassing answers I’m forced to give.
I endure the interrogation, doing my best to cooperate, even though it’s way past lunch, probably close to dinner, and my stomach is caving in. At least when Devon grilled me at Hesperian, he offered me a burger and a milkshake.
After exhausting the list, the only big “trigger” Foster identifies is my mother, which is no surprise. And the stream of bodies I’ve left behind from my visions—particularly Jess. Then Foster puts down the notepad and asks a question I knew would eventually come, but I’m still not prepared to answer.
“What about your father?”
I run my fingers over the raised cords of a decorative pillow in my lap. “He was a Dissenter, I guess. But you already know that.”
“What do you recall about your time with him?”
I bring the pillow to my chest. “Not
much.”
Only that he smelled of beer and campfire. That he’d pat my head as he stumbled to the couch where he’d pass out, only to wake up screaming. That he’d grip his hair and writhe on the floor until he puked dinner and beer. That I’d get the bucket and rags from under the sink. Scrub the worn carpet and scoop out empty beer bottles from under the couch while Mom would walk him to bed. Then there was the night he left . . .
“Did he ever talk about or mention Sage?” With absolutely no emotion, Foster might as well be asking the time of day.
The seat turns uncomfortably hard. “I first learned about Sage from Gladys only a few days ago.”
“Did your father ever mention anything you now believe could have been a reference to Sage, even though he may not have used his name?”
I weave my finger through a loose thread in the pillow and twist until it chokes purple. Dad talked about a monster . . . but he wasn’t referring to Sage. “No.” I release the thread and push the pillow aside.
Pop grunts and rubs out his knee. “I think it’s ’bout time we stop. Let Honey get something to eat.”
I’m thankful for the break. “Can I call my mother?” I ask. “I haven’t spoken to her since . . .” Since I ran out to save Jess and left her in a coughing fit. “Devon told me they transported her to Hesperian. I’d like to know if her fever’s come down.” And warn her about what I’ve gotten us into.
“I will arrange an opportunity. In the meantime, Lina should have the ointment ready to heal your wound.” Foster removes several stout hardbacks from the shelf. “And I suggest you eat, Miss Marlowe. Hunger has a way of making us rather cross.”
I’m not cross. Okay, maybe a little. But I am starving.
“Colton.” Foster’s voice is stern.
Cole drops his feet to the floor, dazed. “What?”
Realms of Light (The Colliding Line Book 2) Page 4
