by Ella James
I squeezed Nick's fingers and looked at his face. It was better. He was better.
“How are you feeling?” I murmured.
He sat up straighter, blinking heavily. “We're just past Casper?”
“How did you know?”
“GPS.” His lips curved up, like it was an old joke, and he squeezed my hand. “You okay?” he asked, his voice raspy with sleep.
I nodded, and he turned to Vera. “Thank you for helping.”
She nodded, silent for once as she hunched over what I thought might be a book.
“Anything happen?” Nick asked me.
I glanced in the rear-view, but Vera didn't look up, so I said, “No. We passed one state trooper but they didn't even slow down.”
“What about the chopper?”
Now Vera's head tilted up, and she answered him in her quiet, pretty voice; it was a crisp, clean voice—one that might have reminded me of a machine, were she not raising it so often. “You successfully distracted their instruments,” she said. “I double checked when you lost consciousness.”
“Good,” Nick murmured. He stared out at the thin road, a dark ribbon cutting through the grassy, hilly terrain; I stroked my fingers over the top of his hand. I loved him so much right then, I would have done anything to change the way things were. My longing overwhelmed me, so at first, when Nick spoke softly, I didn't catch his words.
“What did you say?” I asked, blinking at him.
His eyes were guilty, his face grave. “Nothing.”
I watched his brows draw together, and a troubled look took over his face. His clenched his jaw for a long moment, and then whatever sadness had him in its claws released him. His shoulders relaxed. He glanced behind him and asked casually, “Anything else, Vera?”
She didn't look up from her book as she slowly shook her head.
“Are we ready for a party?” Nick asked with fake enthusiasm.
“Heck yeah,” I said, equally unenthusiastic.
“I want to smoke some of cousin West’s pot.” That was Vera. I spun around so fast I almost hit a Honda we'd come upon.
I laughed, and I caught the world's smallest, close-lipped smile before Vera sat up straighter and snapped, “Don't laugh at me, human. I could crush you with a thought.”
I glanced at Nick, who rolled his eyes.
“Easy on the charm, Vera. Save it for the college boys.”
THE NEXT FOUR hours were strangely cozy. Nick and I switched seats about a quarter to five, and he swung into a fast-food joint for dinner. He and I ate our burgers while listening to the '90s hits I'd bopped to in kindergarten, and Vera just kept whipping through what turned out to be a book of Sudoku, munching on her burger and fries as she gripped her pen with greasy fingers. We took lots of pictures with the disposable camera, too, and even Vera agreed to be photographed once.
We were passed by three more state troopers, and every time I held my breath, but Nick would tweak their radars, and they'd either flash their lights and speed away, driving even faster than we were, or they'd pull someone over, and we'd leave them behind.
“What about the truck!” I asked, when we were about an hour outside Denver. It had just occurred to me, “How come no one’s noticed it?”
“It looks different, remember?”
“Oh, duh. And how exactly did you do that?”
His brows arched. “A slightly inaccurate explanation would be that I changed the way it appears on the light spectrum.”
“What about those molecular detection things? What if we come across more of those.”
He smirked, shaking his head. “We can manage it.”
“If you're sure,” I said quietly.
“Milo, trust me on this: There's not anything on this planet that can overpower Vera and me.”
I wanted to be reassured, but I couldn't. He had been a little alarmed himself, right? What was with the sudden confidence?
Vera. He had mentioned them in the same sentence, like they were a team. She did seem to be warming up to…everything.
But even she, with the top-shelf faux body, seemed tired by their exertion.
I'm sure my nervousness must have been all over my face, because Nick squeezed my hand. “Milo, no one is going to hurt you. You're my mission. I won't rest until you're out of danger.”
I glanced into the rear view and found Vera's head tipped back against her headrest. She looked asleep, so I whispered, “Can you tell me what happened with that bubble-shadow thing from earlier?”
“The alternate universe?”
I nodded, feeling slightly nauseated at the surreality of that.
“Vera made it, and it was my job to move it. A bigger job than I could handle, I guess.” He gazed at me for a moment, then thumped my fingers. “I'm sorry I upset you.”
“How do you know you did?”
“Just do.” His hand squeezed mine, and he looked at me with that sad, drawn look again. “I'm so sorry, Milo.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This whole situation…it just sucks.” I dropped my voice a notch, glancing back at Vera's sleeping form. “There’s no outcome that doesn’t make me feel…really bad.”
He shook his head, his wavy, coppery hair dark in the dim glow from our headlights. “This will get better. I'm working on deleting you from everywhere they’ve got you. We'll get information from this cousin of yours, and we'll figure out what to do next.”
“What about Vera?” I dared whisper.
“I think she likes it here,” he joked.
“And your…‘The Rest’? The gold? Nick, I can’t stand to think of something happening to you. I just can’t.”
“Then don’t.” He caressed my temple, smoothing back my hair.
“I'm worried about my mom,” I said, nearly choking on the words.
“They won’t hurt her. They’re just using her.”
I nodded, but I still felt like crying. I imagined the aroma of her home-made perfume and the smell of her molding clay. I remembered the way her slim arms squeezed me in a hug, and how her eyes looked clear and accepting as they listened to me talk about my day. Sure, things had been strained between us since she'd thrown herself into Dad's work, but she was still my mom, and I would never stop needing her.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and breathed deeply as I focused on the road. When I had myself together, I glanced at Nick, who was giving me a small, sad smile.
I gave him a small smile back. “Will you be able to get us to Market Street?”
“Can you tell me the name of the building?”
I told him the name of the building—The Edge, where I’d mailed West a birthday card a few months back—and too soon, we were exiting I-25, driving by the Denver Children’s Museum, which I remembered from childhood field trips; past store fronts and parking lots and gas stations and fast food places. I was struggling to figure out which day of the week it was, but things were happening here in downtown Denver. I worried every dark-colored SUV or car was the FBI.
“No one's after us?” I asked Nick, feeling breathless. “Can you tell?”
Expertly navigating his way down a semi-residential side-street where everyone was parked along the curb, Nick gave a single nod. “I don't sense anything like that.”
Thinking about what he was doing made me feel slightly breathless; he was pushing his body way past what any human could do. But was he getting everything?
I chewed my lip as traffic lights and stop signs held us up, and when we passed a police car, I nearly had a heart-attack—but finally I saw Market Street on a little green sign, and after we passed a few houses, some sort of little city office, a TV news station, and a parking garage, Nick gave a low whistle, and we were looking up at West’s modern, several-story apartment building. It looked like it was made of huge sheets of tin, and there were tons of big windows reflecting nearby traffic lights and headlights. This was a neighborhood near LODO, so it looked trendy, a mix of residential and commercial rea
l estate.
Nick parallel parked faster than any human I'd seen, and when he cut the truck’s power, my heart pounded with a blend of relief and suspense.
Nick's lips twisted as he squeezed my hand, then let it go, and when I looked in the rear-view at Vera, I found her once again playing Sudoku.
“I'm not going in.”
“Yes you are,” Nick said. “And you're changing your appearance, too.”
“What's the point?” she asked without looking up. “You two love birds don't need me.”
Maybe she could feel the heat of Nick's glare, because she looked up at him, pushing her bangs out of her face. Her expression hardened. “I need some time to myself.”
“Vera, please? I need you to go in first, in disguise.”
“What do I get?”
Nick's face twisted. “Are you asking for a reward?”
“Whatever,” Vera growled, throwing her door open and sliding out of the cab. I got out, too, and I was, like before, a little unnerved to see the truck looking like a SUV. As I came around the front of it, I glanced over at Nick, and my stomach flipped.
A tall, trench coat-clad man stood beside him, arms crossed, bearded face set in a menacing expression.
“It's Vera,” Nick said, unable to resist a little grin.
“The name’s Cleaver,” she said in a gravelly voice.
I tried not to blanch as I took Nick’s hand and we walked toward the entrance of The Edge. Nick waved, and Vera walked ahead of us through the glass door, emerging a couple of seconds later to say, “All clear.”
Four glass doors led into a sleek lobby, with gleaming marble-like floors, minimalist furniture, and post-modern art played across the walls. To our left was a shiny, metallic desk, where a college-aged girl sat at a Mac, wearing headphones. As we scrubbed our feet on a star burst-patterned rug—'The Edge was stitched in the center in a modern-looking font—the girl leaned around her wide monitor. Her face twisted and her brows gathered in what looked like a grumpy expression, but she didn't beckon us over; I didn't figure apartment buildings required sign-in, either, so I led the way through the lobby.
In front of the elevators was a tall, metal block with a large speaker and dozens of small, square buttons, each one bearing a room number. I had to think hard to remember West's. My finger hovered over 224 for a second—I remembered it only because February 24 was Halah’s birthday—and when I felt fairly sure, I pressed it. I stood there waiting to hear West's voice, but instead the elevator simply swished open, and the three of us walked inside.
I pressed the second-floor button, then stepped back into one of the corners.
“That was easy.”
Nick smiled, and Vera, who had returned to her usual appearance, asked, “Are these things usually difficult?”
The elevator doors opened onto a hallway with hard, shiny, faux marble floors, metallic light fixtures, and sleek, gray mats in front of sleek, metal doors. The walls were cement bricks, and some (brand-new looking) pipes were exposed. The blended scent of sweat, beer, and perfume greeted us as we stepped into the empty hall and followed it to West's unadorned door.
After I knocked, I wondered what Vera would think of West. He was cute, in an intense, super geek kind of way. Of course I didn’t even know if her “vessel” was human in that way. Surely it was.
My stomach did a quick roll as I heard scuffling behind the door. I glanced at Nick; surely the DoD didn’t beat us here, but what if they had? I was ready to bolt when someone chuckled and the door cracked open the length of a chain lock.
Then a sliver of West's face appeared, blue eyes wide, mouth pulled open, and through the crack, a big, stinky cloud drifted out into the hall.
“MILO?!”
I widened my own eyes. “Uh-huh.”
West blinked, the door shut, then swung open, enveloping Vera, Nick, and I, in the thickest pot cloud I'd ever seen. West gave a low whistle. “So the reports of your kidnapping have been greatly exaggerated.”
His over-relaxed grin spread across his face, and he waved us inside.
I DIDN’T THINK it likely that Sid or Diego were hiding in such a smoky apartment, but when I saw the freckled face smirking from the couch, I almost gasped. In the thick haze, I thought it was Diego. Then the guy broke into a big grin and strode over to slap West on the back.
“Dude—this is Emily?” he asked, nodding at me.
West, still standing in the foyer with us, turned to the freckled guy. “Of course not, dude. This is my cousin, Milo.”
Freckled guy grinned like a kid in a candy store. “So she’s available.”
West shoved Freckles in the chest. “And in high school. Now bounce. I’ll call you about that other thing.”
Freckles had the decency to hang his head a little as he walked past Nick and I, in the little foyer, but when he saw Vera, he said, “DUDE” again before stepping out into the hallway.
West shook his head disgustedly. “That guy...” He shut the door behind his friend and turned to me with a proud grin. “Milo, woman. You’ve gone wild.”
“Um, is anybody else here, West?” I’d heard he had a few roommates.
“Just me,” he said, turning and waving us to follow.
Nick shot me a skeptical look as West led us past a small, mostly stainless steel kitchen and into a spacious, hardwood living area.
“This is a good thing,” I whispered. “He probably won't even remember we came by.”
West looped around a leather recliner and walked past a white mod coffee table, where a huge, rainbow-colored glass bong rested, just a foot or so in front of the couch.
He scooped up the bong, which looked kind of like a curvy elephant's trunk, and collapsed onto a love seat perpendicular to the couch.
Nick, Vera, and I took our seats on the couch, and I felt sick with fear that maybe West knew what Nick and Vera were. He was in cahoots with the DoD. Freckles had gone to get the commandos. I held my breath as I watched him check out Nick and Vera, wondering how much of his brain was actually functioning. He looked at Nick, sitting between Vera and me, and tilted his head with a frown. “Do I know you, man?”
Nick, looking surprisingly nervous, shook his head.
“Yeah I do, man. You're Milo's other ‘cousin.’” West flashed me a knowing smile. A moment later it faded, and his blue eyes narrowed; with his frizzy brown hair sticking up in a semi-fro, he looked like a curious owl. “Wait a second, are you the dude who scored with Annabelle?”
“What!” That was Vera. She shot Nick a scandalized look, and West nodded, smiling. “Your boy was getting it on with a high school hottie.”
“Actually, I wasn't,” Nick said sharply.
West shrugged, tapping his foot to some invisible beat. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first deny it.”
“He’s telling the truth,” I said pointedly, and West slapped his knee, with the exaggerated slowness of manner some stoners have. “Oh, I see now. Milo, this is your boy.” He fished a lighter out of his pocket and planted the bong in his lap. As he leaned over to place his mouth over the hole at the end of it, I watched him give Vera another once-over. He used a cigarette lighter to do something I couldn’t quite discern on one side of the bong. Then his shoulders rose as he filled his lungs and held the smoke there for a few seconds before slowly releasing it. My mind raced with different ways I could bring up the question I needed answered. The question whose answer I wasn't sure I was brave enough to hear.
When I had finally mustered up the courage to ask about my mom, West placed his palm over the hole where he'd inhaled from the pipe, and held it out to Vera. “You want?”
My jaw dropped when Vera nodded. Her bangs flapped a little, and her mouth tipped into a smile I swear looked almost coy. As she stepped toward West, Nick grabbed her wrist. “Ver,” he said, with wide, imploring eyes, “you can't.”
“You underage?” West asked her.
“No,” Vera snapped.
“Well, technically I am too.”
He shrugged. “You have to be twenty-one. But it’s cool.”
Vera glared at Nick. “You're not my keeper.”
“C'mon, let her try some.” West held up have a sandwich bag full of marijuana. “This is the bomb. It’s…the bong.” He giggled at his…joke, I guess is what it was.
Vera raised her eyebrow. “The bong…” she said as she looked down at it.
“Milo, you should have some, too,” West said as Vera stood beside him. “Have some,” he urged, looking from Vera to me, “then tell me your story of intrigue and espionage.”
My throat constricted, and I thought I might throw up. Intrigue and espionage. Shit—he knew. For a full second, I couldn't draw a breath. “You tell me,” I finally managed to rasp. “What have you heard, West?”
With a final glare at Nick, who was shaking his head at her, Vera sulked back over to her side of the couch and sank down into the leather, crossing her legs.
“Nothing much,” West said. “Just that these two kidnapped you, and then burned down a cabin.”
“So just what the news is reporting?”
He shrugged. “Actually, Dad told me about it when he called a couple of days ago. He said your mom's been crazy looking for you, that you ran off with some sketchy guy.” He gave Nick a surprisingly lucid look, and I crossed my arms over my stomach.
“You've been gone a while now, right?” West asked me. “A couple days?”
I nodded, the tears in my eyes threatening to spill over.
West looked from Nick to Vera. “You want these guys to hit the road? I can have them bounced, just say the word.” He looked and sounded like a protective older brother, and I felt grateful for our friendship.
“No, it's cool. Nick and Vera are my friends. The truth is—”
“I did it,” Nick cut in. He straightened his shoulders and held West's gaze. “I was smoking a cigarette and I threw it down without stamping it out. Burned most of the house before they put it out.”
West frowned at me, like he needed verification. “So you just split?”
I shrugged. “Mom and I have been fighting,” I offered lamely.
I was surprised when West nodded. “Aerie, too. Girls and their moms.” He arched a brow at Vera. “Same for you?”
