My vision blurs. I can’t think about him.
With a forced breath, I go over my loose plan. Head in the rear entrance (because there’s bound to be a rear entrance) and take my time luring the hunters one by one. Quick deaths. No flash and flare.
I consult the list again. Five of them. Worst case, I can take on two at a time. Three tops. No, I think, scaling back. Don’t get overambitious.
I’ve got a knife at each ankle, another in the sheath at my waist, yet another tucked into the small of my back. My bracelet is made of six feet of paracord. Two metal sticks secure the bun in my hair, filed sharp.
I resist the urge to creep half into the bushes as I follow the sidewalk. Finally, I spot the rundown Victorian surrounded by a cheap chain-link fence missing one section. The gate is open. I keep walking, careful not to pay it too much attention. The hunters inside cost me everything, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m protecting the cluster. I roll my shoulders to mitigate the tightness.
I didn’t tell Talia what I was up to today. I didn’t tell anyone. I’m done being selfish. I’m doing this for the cluster, I tell myself yet again, though, like the other times, the words don’t quite settle into truth.
I wish Christopher was here.
The passing thought of him sends a flurry of emotions through me. I’ve burned through most of my anger. What’s left is sadness. Disappointment. I glance again at the page I’m holding with the hunter’s names and descriptions on it.
I remember those brown eyes the color of abandoned things, the fear in them when he realized I knew what he’d done. The way his voice cracked when he swore he was only trying to help, and how he’d never put me in danger. He asked me if I thought he could ever hurt me and the truth had burbled out of me like word vomit. Yes. Yes, he could hurt me, but I didn’t say it was because I care about him, because he means something to me. I should have told him I don’t know how to do any of this… Maybe he doesn’t either.
I hope he’s safe.
No sooner does the thought leave me than I correct it.
I hope he’s gone.
I’m not an idiot. I’m filling this hole inside me with vengeance and wrath, and I’m fine with it. Or I will be.
Hand digging into my pocket, I pivot and hurry back toward the hunters’ lair. When I get there, I shoot one property past to do recon on the neighbors’ house—no car, no blinds on the windows, and no art on the walls. From the state of it, probably abandoned. I go up the neighbor’s driveway as if I own the place. I’ve got my apartment keys out, a prop to anyone peeking through the windows of my target house next door.
I check things surreptitiously as I walk. There’s a dull gold beater car blocking in an antique SUV. Chances are, only a couple of the hunters are inside. I’ll have this cell wiped from Fissure’s Whipp before they’re aware of what’s happening.
I keep my attention on the cracked asphalt. Weeds spring through here and there. Tilting my head, I make a visual sweep of the small fenced-in backyard. No one’s on the back porch. If I’m going to do this, now’s the time.
A sudden flood of nerves catches me off guard. Not a bad feeling, just the rush of what’s coming. Blood. Sweat. At least one of them will put up a fight.
It won’t matter.
Now, I think to spur myself on, but my feet stay fixed to the driveway. Go!
I rocket forward, leaping over the row of boxwoods planted to divide the properties. My toes skirt the outside edges of the porch stairs to guard against creaks. The unlatched screen door opens easily.
I’m inside.
The place is dusty with disuse. A quick look to my right reveals a fraction of the kitchen. The hum of the refrigerator proves it’s at least casually occupied. I head left.
The narrow hallway leads to an entrance parlor and from there, branches off in several directions. I don’t take time to choose. There’s a fine layer of plaster dust and other detritus on the floor. All I have to do is follow the fresh footprints in it.
Except the room the smudges of footprint lead to, some sort of small study, is empty.
On the desk is a closed laptop, a notebook next to it with a pen abandoned on the lined paper. I lean closer to read. On it are details about me, my life, places I frequent, the address of the gym where I meet Talia. Christopher doesn’t know where Talia and I work out, so if they have this information, it means they were tracking me on their own, the dangerous bastards.
I flip a page. “Ploy” is written in the margin, each chunky block letter decorated with stripes and half-filled in polka dots. Dates are noted, starting over a week ago. Next to some are the places he went downtown and several of the more touristy areas. At one point there’s a note that simply says “train car place?” and in my head I picture the path into the woods. They must not have followed him farther. To the right of the page, there’s a column and at the end of each day, a box with a check mark in it. I trace them up to the top. In neat letters it says “stayed night at Allie’s?”
They were tracking him, too, then, testing whatever he told them to see if it held up. Sure enough, beside three of the check-marked boxes are notes, each one underlined. Lied.
I got him out before they confronted him. I shouldn’t feel relief, but I do.
With a finger, I flip through the rest of the notebook pages, but there’s nothing other than what appears to be a class schedule and then, on the back cover, a sketched heart. In loopy scrawl in the center is the name Ploy. A dozen tiny stars and little doodles decorate the surrounding space.
My first instinct is humor rather than jealousy. I remove the paper Christopher left me at the apartment from my pocket and go down the list of hunters. The last one listed is Keeley and beside her name is a guess at her age, a thirteen with a question mark next to it. Thirteen.
At thirteen, I was well versed in combat and weapons training, the basics of resurrecting, human anatomy. In addition, I carried a vial filled with poison, ready to ingest it to keep my blood out of the wrong hands. I have my vial now, in case this goes bad. It’s tucked into a tiny pocket sewn along the under wire of my bra.
Point being, if this thirteen-year-old is half as deadly as I was at that age, I’m taking her as a threat. Not to mention, judging her notes on me with this additional information, she’s the one who followed me.
Baby viper, I think with quite a bit of appreciation.
I’ve spent enough time here. I need to get moving, to find them. To end this.
Instead of following the footsteps along the floor, I head in the opposite direction, into the shadows hiding a staircase off the main path. I’m guessing servants used the less-flashy staircase when this house was new. Now, I’m going to use it to sneak onto the upper level.
A woman speaks, then the rough baritone of a man. With each step I climb, the din of voices grows clearer. I still can’t quite make out the conversation. Someone laughs. I can’t be sure if it’s a third person. When I was coming up to the house, three was my limit. I need to draw one away, separate them in a way that won’t have them investigating and on edge.
I’m still tucked into the relative safety of the servants’ staircase. I know myself. If I wait too long, I’ll get second thoughts over this entire plan. Instead, I do the reckless thing and lean around the corner to take a quick scan of the upstairs hallway. The trampled carpet will muffle my steps, but there’s no cover and I can’t be certain which room the voices are coming from.
I skate along the edge of the wall, trailing my fingers over the tattered wallpaper, the patterns decades-old and sun-faded. I pass two rooms with closed doors before I make it to my first open one, but it’s unoccupied and the voices are further down the hall.
Three voices and then in chimes a fourth.
Four, all in the same room. Shit.
I freeze, as if with my lack of movement, they won’t spot me as soon as they exit. For some reason it’s Christopher chastising me in my head. You never stop to think. You just charge in and hope f
or the best. You’re going to get yourself killed, Allie.
I’m not a grenade. There’s time to rethink this. They haven’t seen me yet.
If I can make it to the staircase, I can retreat to the porch where I came in and be down the driveway before anyone notices I’ve breached their stronghold. I’ll confide in Talia, tell her everything Christopher discovered about the hunters, and we’ll come back with reinforcements, stronger.
Unstoppable.
“So!” The woman’s voice startles me enough to make me gasp. I clamp a hand over my mouth, silently praying before she goes on. “Basic text for help or something more elaborate?”
And then I hear Christopher. “Your call, Nico,” he says.
“No.” The denial slips out between my fingers. He can’t be here.
“Hurt,” Nico says. “Bleeding bad and need help.” I can’t follow the conversation. Did they hurt Christopher? He sounded fine. There’s a pause. “Sent!”
The vibration drones in my pocket a split-second before my text message notification chimes loudly. I groan, not bothering to hide my blown cover.
A shocked silence rolls through the room. In the scramble after, I race for the stairs, tumbling when I lose my footing before I catch myself on the wall and peal down the warped wood of the treads.
“What the hell?” someone says from below me and I yank my attention off my feet to find a girl about my age with jet black hair making her way up the same stairs I’m descending.
“Get her, Zen!” another yells.
Two hunters at the top landing look at me. I see a third behind them. A young girl I can only assume is Keeley edges around torsos to get a better view. I ease another step.
“Get out of my way,” I tell the raven-haired girl, Zen, as I draw the knife from my waist. Above, the stairs creak as the other two move to pin me. I swing toward them, gesturing with the blade. “Back off,” I warn.
Zen’s unarmed and three steps below me. I kick. My foot slams into her throat and she’s doubled over before anyone above reacts. I dart forward, but though she’s gagging out horrific sounds, she’s conscious and blocking my way. I stab and catch skin near her collarbone, draw a trickle of blood. It’s enough that Zen reconsiders and pitches herself against the wall, giving me space to rocket past.
In the chaos, I hear the thump of palms, an oof behind me, the unmistakable sound of a push. A body slams against me and we tumble, a mass of limbs and cries until we come to rest at the bottom of the staircase, me on top. Christopher, dazed, stares up at me. If he wanted, he could put his arms around me. Instead, he splays them against the walls and winces in pain.
“Are you hurt?” he asks. “Allie? What—”
Before they pull me off Christopher, I lean close and whisper, “They know you lied to them.”
My hands are yanked violently behind me. The snick of what can only be cable ties sends the sharp bite of plastic digging into my wrists.
A burly asshole sets me on my feet. He’s a textbook ’roid rage jock from his angry growl of a face to his bulging biceps and so I wait instead of fighting, biding my time for an opening. They didn’t straight up kill me, which means I’ve got a shot at escape.
“Is this how you treat all your gu—”
My quip cuts short as Zen’s punch slams into my jaw.
Ploy
As East yanks Allie backward and off me, I force a grimace. They know I lied to them? About what? Her? Jamison’s death? Corbin?
One of Allie’s ankles rolls and her shoe digs into my stomach before it slides off the side. She stands defiant, arms locked behind her, her smirking presence like a mirage I both crave and fear. My brain spits through scenarios, each more wild than the last as to what the hell she’s doing here.
Her lip lifts in a sneer. I miss the start of her snarky comment watching Zen’s curling fist, and everyone misses the end as Allie’s cut off by Zen’s vicious right hook.
Allie groans. Her shoulder lifts in instinct as she tries to bring her hand around to cup her jaw, but the zip ties keep her from moving.
She gives Zen a once over. “Don’t look so satisfied,” she says. “You couldn’t draw blood until I had both hands tied behind my back.”
Before Zen can take another shot at Allie, Nico grabs her.
Once it’s clear Zen’s being restrained, Allie tongues the inside of her lip. “Didn’t even draw blood then,” she says.
I’m trying to catch Allie’s notice from where I sit on the floor, sending her psychic warnings not to antagonize them. After Nico’s little “zip ties” comment earlier, and the proof she has them ready to use, I need to play my cards exactly right if I have any hope of getting both Allie and myself out of here. Now that they have her, they’ve got no use for me.
Allie’s attention snaps to me. “You double crossing asshole!” she screams and my brain skips before I realize she’s padding my cover. “The entire time?”
She might hate me, but I’m her best chance at escape and she knows it.
“Since day one,” I snarl.
Keeley offers me a hand and I grip her wrist, using the leverage to drag myself off the floor. I pulled a couple muscles, and I’ll sport some bruises, but the fall didn’t cost me any broken bones. I’m pretty sure I don’t have enough healing ability left from when Allie resurrected me to make a difference.
“Holy shit, Nico,” Quinn says. “She came right to us!”
Nico’s beaming with pride. “This will be the easiest cash we ever made.” She signals Quinn. “Send him a DM. Tell him we got her. Ask when he can be here or what happens n—”
“Wait,” East cuts in.
A ripple of trepidation runs through me at the hungry look he’s giving Allie. She watches him, leery.
“This Doctor guy, he won’t care if we take a little of her blood for ourselves,” he says.
At the first three words, the color drains from Allie’s flushed cheeks. “Doctor,” she stammers. Then her gaze rips to lock on mine. “The Doctor?”
Opening my mouth, I hesitate, not sure what I’m allowed to say.
“So, you’ve heard of the dude,” East says when I’m quiet. “Guess he’s got himself a reputation.”
Any hate in Allie’s expression flees, replaced with chaos. She’s blowing our ruse and doesn’t even seem to care. “Christopher, please, don’t do this. You can’t let them do this.”
“Your name’s Christopher?” Keeley asks, her tone curious and all wrong for whatever’s going down.
“Yeah,” I say distractedly before going back to Allie. “Who is he?”
She presses her lips together as her head shakes.
“Allie, I—” I’m sorry. I can’t say it, though. She stares at me in horror before she leaps forward toward East. She’s put all her power behind her thrust and her head twists just enough to the side to bash expertly into his nose. East reels and then goes down hard. With Allie’s hands still zip tied behind her, the momentum costs her balance. Zen grabs her hard by her latched wrists as she falls and Allie yelps.
“Stop!” I yell. I’ve got to break this up before they hurt Allie even worse. She’s wriggling, desperate to break free of Zen’s grip, but the girl holds strong.
“Please,” Allie moans. “You don’t understand.”
Nico shoves me, desperate to get to her brother who is unmoving on the floor. “East?” she screams.
Allie’s struggling against Zen, but Zen hooks her elbow around Allie’s neck and tightens her hold. Allie battles for air and gains only a sharp, shallow wheeze.
“Ease up,” I beg Zen as seconds tick by into a minute. “You’ll choke her out!”
Zen doubles down and I watch Allie’s eyes roll into her head as her struggle weakens.
My fingers dig underneath Zen’s arm until I pry it loose. Allie manages a gasp. Her knees buckle and I lean to catch her, feel her breath against my neck. For a second I wonder if she’ll use her teeth, the only weapon she has access to, chew a hole in my neck. But all
I hear is an unnervingly terrified whisper pleading for help.
“What the actual hell,” Quinn says from behind me.
The thought crosses my mind to take off, Allie over my shoulder, and rush into the street, hoping no one here is bold enough to confront us once we’re in public. It’s too late though, as East starts to stir on the floor, his eyes already swelling into angry slits searching for Allie. Blood pours from what’s clearly a broken nose.
I need to get her away from East. “Where do you want her?” I ask.
I’m watching Nico reassess as her attention bounces between me, her injured brother, and where Allie’s leaned against me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nico so rattled. She clambers to her feet and I’m not sure what she’s doing when she takes her phone out of her pocket. She holds it near to Allie’s face, and there’s a shutter sound effect as the camera takes a picture. Instantly, she’s typing. Whatever message she’s writing, she shoots off before nudging the phone into her pocket.
“Take her upstairs,” Nico says to me.
East has a grip on his sister’s waist, struggling upward on unsteady feet. As soon as he’s standing, his fist rears. It’s headed for Allie.
I don’t think. Shielding her, I catch the blow myself in a dull smack of knuckles against my side. It’s painful but doesn’t have nearly the power it would if East was more than semi-conscious.
“Dick,” I say. Then, before anyone puts together that I just took a punch for a girl I’m supposed to have been eager to sell mere minutes ago, I throw Allie over my shoulder and start the climb upstairs.
Nico directs me to the room they picked to use as my own possible holding area before I passed my test. I’m hopeful those drawers in the dresser have something Allie can use as a weapon, even with her hands restrained. Her fingers are already shaded an ugly purple, but it’s not like I can ask them to loosen the zip ties. As if reading my mind, Nico approaches the old dresser, rifles through the drawers, and tosses a few articles of clothing to the hardwoods.
Something Grave: The Resurrectionists Series book two Page 21