Seeker

by Veronica Rossi

  When we’re past the stalled car that caused the slowdown, I turn around. The other Suburbans with Jode, Cordero, Ben, and the rest of the team are obeying the law and have fallen behind.

  “Jode,” Marcus says, a smile tugging at his mouth. He won’t like being left with the slowpokes.

  “That’s what he gets for sucking up,” I say. But Jode doesn’t really suck up. He just happens to be Cordero’s favorite because they’re extremely compatible. I mean, I’m Cordero’s real favorite for sentimental reasons, but Jode’s her favorite intellectually. They nerd out regularly by discussing the latest studies in science, technology, medicine. Et cetera. It all sounds the same to me. Like Wikipedia talking to itself.

  The phone in Suarez’s hand rings. He answers on speaker. “Suarez.”

  “Hold at a staging location off property,” Cordero says. “Ben’s sending you the address now. We’ll regroup before we approach.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We were going to wait.”

  I don’t want to wait. I’ve been waiting months for this already.

  “Is that so?” Cordero says. “Then why roar past that traffic like your brakes don’t work?”

  Suarez looks at Low, who does a bad job of laughing silently. “We wanted to wait at the property.”

  “Tell Low we’re discussing his driving later,” Cordero says.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Suarez hangs up. “Morons,” he says, addressing all of us. Then he checks the GPS again, inputting the address Ben sent. “Fifteen minutes out.”

  I settle back in my seat, trying to relax.

  I’ve thought about Daryn a lot these past months. Pretty constantly. But I didn’t focus on how to handle seeing her again. I spent my mental energy imagining that things were good between us instead.

  I approached it like a math calculation.

  Take away all the times she told you she just wants to be friends because she’s afraid she might like you too much. I mean, what? How is that a reason? But it doesn’t matter when you’re imagining. Minus one confusing excuse—check.

  Take away the memory of the look on her face when she saw you with one less hand. Maimed. Incomplete. Don’t need that either, so. Get rid of it, too.

  Take away the fact that she left one of your best friends to die in a realm with your nemesis. Tougher to delete. More brainpower required but I could get there. I could imagine it never happened.

  Take all that out of the equation and what was left was good.

  Without it, Daryn and I are incredible in my imagination. Tons of chemistry of all kinds. Physical. Mental. Emotional. Physical. Straight-up chemistry lab. Highly combustible.

  I thought it would get old to picture us that way. Didn’t happen. Wasn’t able to get into hanging out with other girls, either. Anna brought her friends over. Marcus made an effort not to monopolize female attention. But being around other girls felt like killing time before the real deal. Before this.

  “G?” Marcus says.

  “Yeah, I’m cool,” I say automatically. I look at my hands. They’re in fists. Flesh and bone on the right, and magnesium alloy on the left. I open them. “Suarez, how close?”

  “Five minutes.”

  Shit. I need a plan.

  CHAPTER 5

  DARYN

  I have to be imagining this—it’s the only explanation.

  How else could it be possible?

  But she looks so real.

  So happy and real.

  “Daryn, honey. It’s me.”

  “It can’t be. You can’t be in here.”

  “I am, Daryn.” She rises to her feet and spreads her hands. Like she’s waiting for me to come to her, to hug her. Like she has nothing to hide. “It’s me.”

  “It is?” My throat’s squeezed up so tight, I can barely get the words out. And I still can’t move. After eighteen months, only two dozen steps stand between us—but I can’t even take one.

  Burbling into my thoughts are memories of Malaphar, the demon that could take the form of others. Who fooled Gideon and the rest of us in the fall. But Malaphar was slain then, and demons can’t see into my mind as a Seeker. How would they know about my mom?

  I can’t see how this could be a trick, so … maybe it’s really her? But if it’s really her, then how? Did Samrael bring her here?

  “Yes, Daryn, it’s me. I’m right here,” she says, her smile going wider. “You’ve gotten so beautiful. I can’t believe how grown you are.”

  Reflexively I look down, like I’ll be able to see myself through her eyes.

  Have I changed? I’ve never thought about it. I’ve only thought about the things that were changing at home. The things I’ve missed.

  “I’ve … I’ve seen a lot since I left.” I only recognize the double meaning in my words after I’ve said them.

  I have seen a lot in the past year. A lot of the world. Of people. Of suffering and pain—and of love, and grace, and good, too. And, as a Seeker, I’ve seen.

  Mom’s smile wobbles and her eyes well with tears. “I’m sure you have. You’ve been gone for such a long time.”

  “I know, Mom.” When did I accept that this is her?

  “I’ve missed you so much, sweetie.”

  “Me too.” I’m about to step toward her, about to explain, to apologize, to hug her and start to bridge all the days and months we were apart, when her expression hardens.

  “How could you do that to me, Daryn?”

  The question steals the breath from my lungs.

  “Where have you been?” she continues. “What could have been more important than me? More important than your sister and your father? How could you have left us? Didn’t you think we’d worry? Where did you go?”

  “Mom, I—” In my worst nightmares, these are the things she says to me.

  “You thought I’d be better off without you.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were wrong. I needed you. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

  My heart shatters into pieces.

  I want to run to her. I want to feel her hold me, and I want her to forgive me, and I want her to be okay, and me to be okay, but I can’t move, can’t take a step toward her because do I even deserve a chance? Do I even deserve her forgiveness?

  “Daryn, you have to go. Right now.”

  “What? Mom, no! I’m not leaving you again.” I don’t understand her abrupt tone until I notice that the branches around me are shaking. Finally, there’s a breeze here—no, stronger. Leaves rustle as wind sweeps past, and the begonias’ white petals shudder.

  “Listen to me. You need to leave.”

  “No,” I insist, noticing that Shadow is braced, standing at high alert. “I’m not going without you—” When I look back at her, the white flowers at her feet are fluttering like butterflies. They’re moving. Not just from the wind.

  They rise up off the ground and settle over her white dress. Covering it. Blending in. White dissolving into white. Quickly reaching her waist and then moving higher. I don’t understand what’s happening, or why she’s just standing there.

  I drop my backpack and run.

  Faster than I ever did when I ran track. Faster than I did when I was running for my own life in the fall.

  I’m too late.

  The flowers cover her. They wash her away like a wave. By the time I reach the spot where she was, they’re receding. Returning to the patches along the forest floor.

  I look down at the crushed petals under my boots.

  They’re all that’s left.

  I drop to my knees and rip, tugging them out of the dirt like I can bring her back, my vision blurring with tears. I want to let myself cry, but I’m afraid I won’t stop.

  And the wind is still rising, turning into powerful gusts. They shear through the branches and carry an acrid, wet smell that coats my throat like sludge.

  Fear slices through me, bringing me to my feet.

  All around me branches groan and toss, shedding their leaves. The gusts see
m to come from every direction.

  I sprint back to Shadow, snagging my backpack by one strap and grabbing the horn of the saddle to swing myself up.

  Shadow squeals and jolts forward.

  My shoulder yanks, nearly tears out of its socket. I miss the saddle, dragging beside Shadow before my grip gives and I hit the dirt.

  Turning, I see the horror that scared her.

  From the branches above where I’d just stood, a dark figure drops to the ground.

  It lands on all fours. Soundlessly, like a spider. Then it straightens slightly onto its hind legs.

  It’s a haunting thing, cloaked and hooded, with a drawn face that’s darkly wrinkled, a slack mouth full of razor teeth, and no eyes that I can see—just sockets that are fathomless pits. Its black cloak is ragged and swirls around it weightlessly, fluidly, like it’s underwater. Its bony hands are tipped with long curved nails that are more like talons. They’re the moldering yellow color of death.

  Maybe it was human once. Not anymore.

  It takes one step, and then another, hunkered as it comes, like it’s preparing to spring at me. A low, purring sound gutters from its mouth.

  “Stop! Don’t move!”

  It keeps coming, step after step.

  Knife. I have a knife in my backpack.

  The backpack I dropped. The backpack that’s closer to the nightmare than it is to me.

  Shit!

  Beside me Shadow grunts to get my attention.

  Get on my back. Get on, get on, let’s go!

  In a fraction of a second, I judge how close she is, how fast I am, how high I can jump—and then I leap.

  My legs used to have the speed and strength to run hurdles.

  They don’t fail me. I grasp the horn and pull up, landing squarely in the saddle.

  Shadow’s turning before I jam my feet in the stirrups, accelerating in three powerful strides.

  When I look behind me, the nightmare is bounding after us, cloak flapping, bony limbs churning.

  It’s fast—so fast it catches up, and launches into the air with that spidery weightlessness—the pounce of a predator bringing down prey.

  Shadow sees.

  She jumps to the side as I duck, wrapping my arms around her neck.

  Something hooks into my lower back and drags across. Heat slashes over my skin, but I stay in the saddle as the thing flies past me.

  Shadow keeps going but the creature doesn’t pursue.

  Why did it stop? Where is it going?

  Dread hits me in the gut when I realize it’s going after my backpack.

  The orb’s in there. I’ll never get out of here without it.

  I turn Shadow and grab the lariat tied to the saddle, the hemp smooth with use from lassoing teddy bears.

  Dear God, really? This is what I’m doing?

  As I get the rope circling over my head, Shadow rides true and smooth, like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

  The nightmare sees us coming and sinks down in self-defense, but my throw is good—perfect.

  The lariat slips right over the creature’s head and falls past its shoulders. I yank hard, both of my palms burning as I draw it tight. Then I pitch the slack over a thick branch, catch it, and wrap the end around the horn a few times. Shadow does the rest, using her immense power to pull until the thing is hanging from the air, arms pinned to its sides, wicked feline hisses spraying from its mouth.

  When I jump to the ground, my legs are shaking so badly that I almost collapse. I run to my backpack, pull out the knife, and throw the pack on. Pain flares in my lower back and blood runs a warm trail down my spine.

  Holding the knife in front of me, I step closer. The creature stops struggling and swings gently, its black cloak oblivious to gravity, drifting on invisible tides.

  This close I still don’t see an end to those hollow eyes. It’s like looking into two wells, so deep the bottom is unseeable. In appearance, the thing isn’t a skeleton and it’s not human—it’s somewhere in between. But its movements are too eerily twitchy and sharp.

  “What are you? Why did you attack me?” I ask the questions without expecting a response. The sounds the creature has made are too animal; there’s no way it can speak. But speak it does.

  “You won’t find him,” it says in a rasping voice.

  Before I can think, I press the knife right beneath its jaw. “Sebastian? What do you know about him? Where is he?”

  A wicked grin spreads over its face. The stench emanating from its mouth is like breathing grave. “You won’t succeed until you fail. You won’t win until you lose.”

  “What does that mean? What are you saying?”

  “Your only hope is surrender.” Another gust stirs past, shaking a million leaves. “Have more rope for my friends?” asks the creature, its attention moving past me. “Shame, shame. I fear you don’t.”

  The smell carrying on the wind hits me again—that stale burnt stench. It’s too dark to see beyond twenty feet in any direction, but I sense movement all around me. Sense it drawing in.

  “Where is he?” I back away from it. “Is Sebastian alive? Is he all right?”

  “Alive? Yes, more than me. All right? Perhaps, more than me.”

  Reaching Shadow’s side, I mount up. Then I lay the edge of the knife on the rope. I have to cut it loose if I’m going to get out of here. But cutting the rope feels like it’s also cutting hope.

  The rustling of the trees is still growing louder and I hear coarse hissing sounds rising in the air. There must be dozens of them.

  I can’t face that many. I barely survived one.

  I dig the blade into the hemp and cut the rope.

  The creature drops, landing on its feet. It looks at me almost expectantly, showing no sign of wanting to attack again. But then it doesn’t have to.

  In moments, I’ll be surrounded.

  “Look, Seeker,” it says, empty eyes panning the woods. “More than me.”

  There’s only one option that doesn’t get me killed.

  I trade the knife for the orb. Then, faster this time, I coax the orb to unravel, praying it’s not too damaged to still work.

  It’s not.

  The spinning tunnel of limitlessness forms before me—a passage out of here that swirls with threads of all that’s possible.

  As I hurriedly lead Shadow inside, I brace myself for the tumbling, tearing feeling that will assault me. When it does, I tell myself over and over that it will end, that I can survive this.

  I find the place where I came from—the thread linking to rain and melting spring snow. To Isabel, and the high peaks of the Tetons, and the little Smith Cabin with the noisy screen door, and even that black wolf out there somewhere.

  Though I know it’ll break my heart, I reach for it, doing the only thing I’d sworn not to do.

  I leave without Sebastian.

  CHAPTER 6

  GIDEON

  Because of the confidential nature of things, Cordero has Suarez direct the team in setting up a security perimeter when we reach the cabin.

  The property is substantial, so this takes fifty minutes. I hate every one of those minutes, but at least they give me a chance to solidify a plan.

  This mission is one hundred percent about getting Sebastian back, so. Working with Daryn is exactly that—work.

  No more and no less.

  Simple enough. Clear enough.

  With the perimeter set, Cordero finally gives me the green light to approach. Marcus and Jode come to the door with me but they let me do the honors.

  We set off a motion-sensor light as we step up to the porch.

  With most of the team watching, I feel like I’m on a stage.

  As I reach up to knock, I hesitate and go through a lightning-quick debate—prosthetic or right hand? Which makes no sense because I’m way past this. I stick with robohand, knocking a little harder than necessary.

  Seconds pass.

  I look at my boots, noticing the worn doormat.
<
br />   There’s a bear image on it, beneath which it says, Please pause to wipe your paws.

  It’s something Bas would love, this doormat. Guy never met a pun or a play on words he didn’t appreciate.

  “Gideon,” Jode says.

  “Right. I’m going.”

  Cordero has pulled the requisite clearance for us to enter, so I check the doorknob. It’s unlocked, which is good and it sucks. Safety, Daryn? Give it a try.

  Turning it, I step inside.

  “Daryn? Isabel?” No answer again. I flip the lights. As Jode and Marcus slide past me to check the rest of the house, I take in the small living room. The faded furniture and stuffed bookshelves. The hunting trophies on the walls—elk, bison, buck, and so on. Lots of formerly living things in here.

  Marcus and Jode return, confirming the house is empty. Relaying that to the rest of the team with radios.

  I’m still stuck in the same gear—checking out this living room like I’m an anthropologist trying to figure out what kind of human lived here.

  Except I know.

  Daryn grew up with money. She never said so outright, but it was easy to pick up. Connecticut. Chief surgeon for a father. Mother who spends her time fund-raising for others instead of earning a living to care for her own kids, like my mom.

  What did she think of these tired carpets and wood-paneled walls? All these hunting trophies staring down at her with shiny dead eyes?

  The rest of the team starts to arrive. Cordero. Two of the MI Trio—Sophia and Soraya. We fan out, looking around in silence. Checking the notes on the fridge, the stack of bills on the coffee table. Searching for clues as to Daryn’s whereabouts.

  The roof is thin enough that I hear the rain drumming. The wood floors squeak as the team sweeps the cabin, but it’s otherwise quiet. Until Ben storms through the front door.

  “I found Isabel Banks!” We don’t react quickly enough for him. “Daryn’s mentor? Isabel? I know where she is right now.” He pulls off his glasses and dries the lenses with a corner of his shirt as he talks. “She works at a nearby ranch as a waitress. A city-slicker-type place. Kind of fancy? I couldn’t track her down there at first. She’s not supposed to have the night shift, but—”

  “Good, Ben. Great work.” Cordero looks at Jode, then Low. “Go with him.”