“I didn’t say anything to them about us, Daryn. They’re just idiots.” Gideon winces slightly with self-awareness. “I didn’t mean that there’s anything to say.”
“Isn’t there anything to say?”
Something settles in his eyes. A sincerity. A promise, like this moment is his and mine. Only ours. When he steps closer, my entire body buzzes to life. I feel actual voltage.
“I wasn’t exactly sober last night,” he says, pitching his voice low. “You may have noticed. But I wanted to say that I remember everything. And I meant everything.”
“So did I.”
He grins, and it’s true and breathtaking. A smile I’ll see again in daydreams and night dreams, I’m sure. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“Gideon, whenever you’re ready to get your horse,” says Jode. “We need a flame. This campfire won’t start itself.”
“Set us on fire, G.” That’s Marcus.
Then it’s Jode again. “Yes, Gideon. You’re so hot.”
I laugh, but Gideon doesn’t. “Be right there,” he replies without looking away. He bends close to my ear. “This is going to be good, Daryn,” he says. “I promise.” Then he brushes a kiss against my cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
* * *
We claim spots around the fire and unpack blankets, fruit, crackers, cheese, and water, and then set to eating industriously.
There’s no enjoyment. We need food, water, and sleep. We’re just refueling before we can get back to searching. I’m hungry, but not hungry. Chewing is work.
The mood is subdued. My stolen moment with Gideon is like a brilliant canary in a cage. Nowhere to go. But still beautiful despite the grim context.
When we’re finished we wrap ourselves in our blankets and stare into the fire with longing on our faces. For home. For Bas. For resolution.
The darkness presses into our golden circle and I keep imagining the Harrows out there beyond the light. Crouching on branches. Peering around the thick trunks. Watching us.
You won’t succeed until you fail … Your only hope is surrender.
The words of the Harrow I slung to the tree circle in my mind like a riddle.
Then Samrael’s. He’s with me. He’s safe. Sebastian is well.
Was he telling the truth?
Finally, I hear the echo of Isabel’s words from the last time I saw her. Evil is its own undoing.
They’re pieces of a whole I can’t quite fit together. A kaleidoscopic view of what’s right in front of me.
Gideon shifts beside me, reclining on an elbow and crossing his legs at the ankles. His pose is unconsciously seductive. An athlete in repose. His face is painted in flickering amber and gold. Contrary to his serene posture, he’s concentrating intensely. Somehow I know that whatever he’s thinking, it’s in the service of someone he cares about. All the intensity in him comes from love.
And from passion.
Heat builds on my cheeks at my own thoughts. It’s so strange to feel this—whatever it is that’s growing between us—in this place, at this time. How can something this good be happening in here?
Gideon becomes aware of my attention on him and his mouth lifts in a subtle, private smile. Caught, all I can do is smile back, my heart aching and stretching and expanding to make room to accommodate moments like this in my life.
Jode scratches the pale stubble on his jaw. He clears his throat, and I realize it’s the first sound I’ve heard in a while, aside from the crackle of the fire.
“I’ll keep first watch again,” he offers. “I’m overtired. I haven’t got much chance of sleeping anyhow.”
No one argues. It wouldn’t work anyway.
After a few minutes of willfully pressing my eyelids closed, I accept that sleep isn’t in my near future either, and give up trying.
Sitting up, I pull my journal from my backpack. Marcus has disappeared into his blankets. Across the fire, Jode winks at me, then goes back to panning the woods. Gideon is asleep eighteen inches away from me. But who’s counting?
I turn to a blank page and write Sebastian’s name a few times in all its variations.
Sebastian. Bastian. Bas.
Seb, which he once told us was what his brothers in Nicaragua called him.
Then I write Famine. And then hunger, and I don’t even look Gideon’s way, but my heart starts racing anyway.
I page to “Reasons.” It’s become a habit to add to this list. Going to sleep without reflecting on the day’s Reasons would feel incomplete. I reread the last few lines. I add to it.
19. Humor, in the face of the frightening and bizarre
20. Conviction, in times when hope is scarce
21. “This is going to be good, Daryn. I promise.”—I promise, too. I won’t let fear stop me.
I close my notebook and stash it in my backpack, double-checking to make sure the orb is safely tucked at the bottom. Then I twist my hair up, piling it on top of my head.
“For the record,” Jode says from across the fire, “I think the recent developments I’ve observed are excellent.”
I smile. “Thanks. I do, too. And who knows? Maybe he’ll lighten up on the Anna thing now.”
“One can hope,” Jode says, in a wry voice, devoid of all hope.
In the interest of newly added entry number twenty-one, and of the bravery it’ll require from me to keep my promise, I move to Gideon, lift the edge of his blanket, and burrow right against his back.
His armor isn’t bulky—it’s much tougher than leather, though just as thin and flexible—but it still makes him feel distant. I can’t feel the life in him at all, but that’s not the point.
The point is I’m here.
Gideon stirs, his body flexing with awareness. Cool metal slides over my hip, and he relaxes again.
For a while all I notice is his prosthetic on my hip. All I feel is surprise at how much I like it—this adopted part of him that makes him so unique. Then tiredness washes over me in waves. As I drift off, a blurry, brilliant happiness fills me.
He told me this would be good, and it will be. I won’t run, like I usually do. Even if he hurts and I can’t make it right, or even if I hurt and he can’t make it right, I’ll stay.
This will be good.
CHAPTER 20
GIDEON
“Did I miss something? Did you ask them to leave?” Daryn asks, tipping her chin at Jode and Marcus.
“No. I didn’t say anything.” Instead of sitting with us by the fire this morning, they’ve wandered off about thirty yards to eat. I think they’re giving Daryn and me some time alone before we get going again. There’s no other logical explanation. “But, pretty cool of them, right? This is practically our first date.”
She laughs. “It’s certainly memorable.”
“What do you want for breakfast?” I reach into one of our supply bags. “Trail mix, trail mix, or a granola bar—trail mix that’s glued together? Keep in mind that we should probably get going in about five minutes.”
“Hmm. Tough one.” She squints at the sky in thought. “I’m going to have to go with my favorite. Trail mix.”
“Good choice.” As soon as I try to open the packet, I realize my mistake. The plastic is thin and slippery, but thick enough to be hard to tear. Level-ten challenge with only one working hand, and I’m not going to rip into it with my teeth.
I try to pin it with Robohand and tear with my right. I drop the packet a few times. Tug at air a few times.
Nothing’s working and embarrassment’s hitting hard. I feel the heat on my face and the rush of my heartbeat. I’m starting to sweat. And I’m hyperconscious of Daryn watching my hands, not saying anything.
Please don’t say anything. Don’t ask if I need help.
Just when I’m about to smash the entire thing, the plastic tears.
I hand her the open packet.
“Thank you.” She leans over and kisses my cheek, then pours the contents out onto her palm.
Just accepting how things are.
How I am now. In here. In general.
It’s the best thing. The best thing she could’ve done. A surge of gratitude and wonder sweeps over me. Too much to hold inside. I suddenly want to tackle her, kiss every bit of her, but she’s hard at work picking out M&M’s and sorting them by color. I can’t make myself interrupt her.
“What’s your order?”
She smiles. “Red first, of course. Then blue. Then usually yellow.”
She goes through it all. The entire hierarchy of how she eats the trail mix. I start to zone out at cashews. She’s just so pretty, all sleepy-eyed. And smart and cool. Generous and funny. A little weird. And tough. It just keeps hitting me how she’s this incredible combination of all these different qualities.
Like trail mix.
I make myself laugh.
She laughs at me. “What?”
I’m about to tell her. I think I even open my mouth to tell her, when I realize my head’s pounding. Headaches are our warning.
“Gideon, what is it?”
The flames in our campfire leap higher—suddenly, like someone threw gasoline on them.
Daryn and I lunge backward.
The logs shift. Instead of the ashes rising up, the logs sink down. The fire’s burning a hole—through the ground.
The earth beneath our feet begins to rumble and break apart. Crumbling and giving out.
And we’re going with it.
Daryn yanks my arm. “Gideon, go!”
We backpedal together, feet churning, but the dirt falls away. We have no chance of escaping this.
We’re going into this sinkhole.
“Gideon! Daryn!”
Jode and Marcus stand above, looking down from the edge of a cliff that becomes steeper by the instant. Embers and ashes fly past, stinging the skin on my face and arms. Avalanches of roots and dirt scratch and fling themselves into my eyes and nose.
Marcus whips the scythe around and extends the base down to me, but I’ve got ahold of Daryn with my good hand. I’m not letting go of her.
Then it’s too late. They’re a hundred feet above. A thousand. Gone.
I can’t see them anymore. Can’t hear them yelling.
Darkness closes over us, but we keep falling. I wrap my arms around Daryn. Her body is rigid with fear. Seconds turn to minutes.
“When will it stop?” she yells, and starts coughing.
“I don’t know.”
I look down and there is no down. I don’t see anything.
Falling is how my dad died. It’s how I died, too.
A legitimate fear of mine. But now I know what’s worse than falling to your death: falling indefinitely. Falling for the rest of your life.
Five minutes of this and I feel like I’m going insane. No power to move, to stop. Nothing but this gut-dropping descent. Then I see a shape shooting toward us from the darkness below.
As it speeds closer, I see that it’s a sphere. Golden. Huge. We’re going to smash into a planet. I see mountain ridges, then valleys. Then the ground speeding up.
“Hold on to me. Don’t let go.”
“I won’t. I won’t let go.”
As we’re about to hit, the same brutal thoughts shoot through my mind as last time, after my parachuting accident.
Wanting more of life. Wanting to do better at life.
I see grains of dirt, and then a jolt shoots through me.
Daryn and I rip apart, but there’s no pain.
I’m blinded. I can’t see anything. Can’t feel anything. Then blurred images appear and begin to solidify around me.
Pressure builds across my chest, and I realize I’m sitting in a truck. Passenger seat. Seat belt on.
My dad’s work truck.
Shit. Not this.
The air-conditioning in the truck is blasting, but I can still feel the outside heat of the summer day coming through the windows.
I’m wearing faded jeans and a sweaty T-shirt and in my hand is the cell phone I owned almost two years ago.
Daryn sits next to me in the driver’s seat. The steering wheel in front of her is cracked and faded with use.
She looks lost. Confused.
There’s no dirt on her, no ashes. No sign of the fall we just experienced on me, either. It’s like it didn’t happen.
We’re parked in a residential neighborhood. The houses are small, tidy. Flower boxes under the windows. Newspapers on driveways. No people, though, like there were on that day. No birds or other cars, either.
I’ve seen this scene a hundred times. I’ve relived it each and every time. But not like this.
“Gideon,” Daryn breathes, like someone will overhear us. “This is how your dad died.”
“Yeah.” We’re parked in front of the yellow cottage where it happened. My eyes drift past the porch, past the two small bikes leaning against the wood rail, stopping at the spot on the brick walkway where Dad fell. He’s not there.
I look up to the roof. Not there, either.
All I see is the warped shingle roof. Above it, clear blue sky.
“I saw this in a vision,” Daryn says. “I saw this before I ever met you.”
I always wondered if she had. As a Seeker, there were lots of things I thought she knew and kept to herself. But I don’t know how to respond.
My body is still adjusting to not falling. I feel seasick—the falling equivalent. And I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or dead or if the Rift just upped its game significantly.
“We were here to bid on that roof,” I hear myself say. “See the bend in the gutter above the window? He was standing right there when he had a stroke. I was in here texting my buddies when it happened.”
“I know,” she says.
“Right. You would know if you saw it.” I’m struggling to draw air into my lungs. The street is wobbling up ahead. The lawns and trees, too. They undulate like they’re behind heat waves in the desert. Checking the rearview mirror, I see that it’s the same behind us. And above us. The shimmering is happening all across the sky.
“Any ideas on what’s next?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know. We fell through the ground into one of my worst memories. What’s next can’t be good.
Daryn shakes her head absently, her attention elsewhere. She leans toward me, ducking to look at the roof of the yellow bungalow. “Gideon…”
I turn to see what she sees.
Someone is up on the roof, standing right at the edge where Dad stood that day.
It’s a woman I’ve never seen before—but I know who she is.
Daryn’s mother is in a white dress that blows in the breeze. Her shoulder-length hair is a lighter blond than Daryn’s. Her complexion’s lighter than Daryn’s honey-colored tan, too. But she has Daryn’s long legs and straight posture. And like Daryn, there’s a quiet challenge in her eyes. Not hostile. Just daring you to put anything less than your best foot forward.
She steps to the very edge of the roof. She looks ready to jump.
“Mom?” Daryn says. “Mom!”
Fear crashes into me. Daryn yanks at the door handle. “It’s locked! Gideon, it’s locked!”
My side is locked, too. The lock is mechanical but it won’t give. I slam my shoulder into the door. Daryn is screaming and hitting the driver’s-side door, and there’s no sound worse than the raw fear in her voice.
“Gideon, how do I get out? How do I stop her?”
I don’t know. It kills me that I don’t know. I keep throwing myself against my side, smashing my shoulder into it. It feels like it’s made of concrete, and suddenly I know we’re not meant to get out. Nothing we do will change what’s going to happen.
Huge black clouds are tumbling across the sky. They come like waves, casting shadows across the street and the house, plunging us into instant twilight. Gusts roll past, lifting leaves and blowing them across the lawns.
In just seconds it’s growing dark. The houses at the end of the street disappear. Then the ones closer to
us.
“Don’t do this, Mom,” Daryn pleads. Her mom has inched closer to the edge of the roof. “I’ll come home. I’ll come home. I’m coming home, Mom.”
I grab Daryn’s hand. I’ve never felt more useless.
The last thing I see before darkness takes everything is the flash of her mother’s hair as she steps off the edge—a gold flame that burns bright, then snuffs out.
In the silence of the truck, all I hear is Daryn’s breathing and mine.
“Oh, God. What just happened?”
I can’t answer that. I reach over and pull her onto my lap.
“Gideon, I don’t understand. What happened? Did she jump? I didn’t see. I didn’t see her fall.”
I bury my hand in her hair and bring her forehead to mine. I’m glad she can’t see my face in the darkness. I went through this. I lived this. I did see my father fall. I don’t want her to feel this. I don’t want her to know this pain, too.
The truck begins to shake. We instinctively latch on to each other.
Here we go.
I hear the sound of metal bending and groaning.
Something rough and dry snakes over my wrists. Then my ankles. The smell of dirt invades my nostrils.
Roots. I’m being shackled by roots.
They twist around my legs and arms. Twist around Daryn, too. I feel us being plucked up. Lifted off the seats of the truck. I hold on to her and we keep rising, up, up, up. Like the hellacious fall, but in reverse.
Dirt falls over me. Into my eyes and my mouth.
Daryn coughs. I’m hacking too, trying to clear my throat, when we’re thrust up violently.
We push through a wall I can’t see—a wall that hits me everywhere. Then we break into air, cool air, daylight surrounding us. Trees all around.
Airborne for an instant.
A lifetime.
Then we come down hard. Daryn lands square on my chest; my back hits earth that’s sealed shut behind me. Around us roots slither into the ground like retreating eels, disappearing.
Jode and Marcus run up, weapons drawn, cursing. Ready to do anything to help.
I’m still trying to make sure it’s over. Whatever it is.
Daryn rolls away from me, still coughing. She brushes her hair out of her eyes and sits up, looking at me.
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