Seeker

by Veronica Rossi

  I want to disagree with him, but I just laugh.

  As ridiculous as he’s being, I’m comforted by what he said. And relieved. Mostly though, what I feel is the profound desire to stay right where I am.

  * * *

  “Remember Bas’s birthday cake?” Jode says as he finishes reading Sebastian’s note for the third time. He passes it to Marcus, who hands it back to me.

  Their earlier suspicion has eroded. As I look across the fire, the hope of finding Bas is tangible. It’s in the glint in their eyes. Their easy smiles. The way no one complained about trail mix for dinner.

  Bas knows we’re here. He could show up at any moment.

  We’re so close now. So close.

  We all feel it.

  “You mean our collective unbirthday cake in Germany?” I say. “How could I forget?” We’d been on a train somewhere near Frankfurt, running from the Kindred, when Bas showed up in our private car with a birthday cake. An amaretto-infused cake frosted with layers of white and dark chocolate. “I think about that cake regularly.”

  Not just because it was so good. Bas decided that, since it was none of our birthdays, we should celebrate our unbirthdays. We did it, too. We sang the song and everything.

  It was so Bas. Random and fun. He elevated ordinary moments.

  As the guys retell the story, I steal a few moments to write in my journal. Tonight has grown cold and my fingers feel stiff. I have to keep stopping to hold them closer to the fire.

  22. Fires, when it’s cold

  23. Riot, to start fires when it’s cold

  24. The note from Sebastian (Come find us, Bas! We’re here. We’re waiting for you!)

  25. Sebastian’s unbirthday cake in Frankfurt

  26. Home, on the horizon (I will go and I will apologize and I will be apologized to.)

  27. Gideon, I know you’re reading over my shoulder …

  He laughs. “I thought you said it was our list.”

  “It is, but you’re distracting me.”

  “Am I distracting you, Daryn?” He smiles, his eyes going heavy.

  He is a distraction. His smile. His attention. Everything about him. I’ve kissed him and touched him and I can do both now when I want to, just like I did by the lake a little while ago. It’s mind-blowing. If only we weren’t in a demon realm, I could really put this new development to good use.

  “Would the pair of you like to turn your backs so you exclude us more effectively?” Jode asks.

  “We’re just adding to the list.” I hold up my journal.

  “Daryn.” Gideon shakes his head, pretending to be disappointed. “It’s our list.”

  “A list?” Jode leans back, resting his head against his bag. “What’s this list about?”

  Rather than explain it, I just lean over and give it to him.

  Gideon puts his hand over his heart and winces. “I hate sharing, Martin.”

  I lean up, whispering in his ear. “Some things are only for you.”

  He gives me a long unblinking look that makes my face burn and my body feel light and hot.

  “This is an outrage,” Jode says dryly. “I’m in here once and Gideon is here … two, three, four times?”

  “Three,” I say. “The last one doesn’t really count.”

  “Oh, it counts,” Gideon says.

  “How many times am I in it?” Marcus asks.

  “Are you guys making this a competition?”

  “Of course.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Definitely. And I’m dominating.”

  “For real,” Marcus says. “How many times am I on there?”

  “Once, like me. For your winning smile.” Jode closes the notebook and tosses it to Marcus. “But don’t let it go to your head. Gideon’s arse has a spot on the list as well.”

  Gideon looks at me and winks. “Like I said, dominating.”

  “Dare, you got a pen?” Marcus asks.

  This catches me by surprise for a moment. “Yes.” I toss it to him, smiling. This is perfect. Whatever he adds, it’s already perfect.

  As Marcus writes, Jode leans back and gazes up at the trees. “You’re thinking it’ll be five for you after this. Aren’t you, Gideon?”

  “You know me well, Ellis.”

  Marcus finishes writing. He sets the pen in the fold and hands the journal to Gideon. I lean in and read.

  Marcus’s handwriting is elegant cursive—almost astonishingly elegant. And what he wrote is, as expected, perfection. Even better is that Gideon reads it aloud.

  “‘Twenty-eight. The family you make.’” He looks at Marcus. “Damn right, bro. This is the best one here.” He looks at me. “Tied with fourteen.”

  “Ah, yes,” Jode says. “Gideon’s Super Lips.”

  Marcus shakes his head at me. “Why?”

  “It was a mistake. I wrote it before the list went public. What’s your addition, Jode? It can be anything. Anything that has significance to you.”

  “Full English breakfast,” he says, without missing a beat. “Bacon, eggs, sausages, baked beans, grilled tomato, mushrooms, toast, marmalade. With tea, of course. One of life’s undeniable pleasures.”

  My mouth instantly waters. “Well, it’s no trail mix, but all right.” I add “English Breakfast” to the list. “What else?”

  “Another?” Jode narrows his eyes in thought. “Well, I don’t think Super Lips will like it.”

  “Then don’t say it,” Gideon says.

  “Say it, Jode.” Marcus smiles. “You gotta say it now.”

  “Dude,” Gideon says. “No.”

  “Number thirty,” I say, as I pretend to write. “When Gideon. Gets. Flustered.”

  “I’m not flustered.”

  “Actually, you are.”

  “Actually, I’m not.” He looks at Jode. “Go, Drummond. Say your thing. Number thirty.”

  “Fine. Since you insist. But I have to explain a bit, so you understand.” Jode stretches his legs out and settles against his bag again. “Your sister is taking a course in studio art. Painting, oil on canvas. Her subject is the human figure, but her style is expressionistic. Semi-abstract. She’s been sending me photos of what she’s been doing. They’re fantastic.”

  The smirk hasn’t left Gideon’s face. “Okay? I’ve seen my sister’s paintings. They’re all over my house.” He looks at me. “Add it. Number—”

  “Hold on, I haven’t finished yet,” Jode interrupts. “In this course Anna’s taking, she’s been exploring the concept of wholeness in her work. Her figures are bold, vital, but each one lacks something physical. The painting with the figure lacking eyes, for example, conveys wisdom. The one with the figure lacking a torso possesses a sense of solidity. The one with no mouth looks as though it’s on the verge of breaking into song. They’re all quite excellent. But the painting of the figures with no hands is Anna’s finest. She thinks so and I do as well, and anyone else who’s seen it.

  “In that painting there are two figures. Mirror images, nearly. One is missing the left hand. The other, the right. Nothing is depicted overtly, but you can see that the figures are holding on to one another. They do not have hands but they are quite clearly holding hands. The feeling it communicates is love. It’s unity … and it’s art. In the highest sense of the word, that painting is art.”

  Jode scratches his jaw as he sits up and looks Gideon dead square. “So, for thirty, I propose adding that specific painting. The one she made of the two of you.”

  Gideon doesn’t move for a long moment. Then he sits up, propping his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. He laughs. “I’m flustered.” When he peers at me a moment later, his eyes are shining and his smile almost breaks my heart. The love he has for his sister is so evident. It makes me ache to see Josie. “Thirty,” he says.

  I add it.

  And we keep going, all of us calling up our own Reasons. I’m surprised by how much the guys get into it; we easily break the fifty-item mark. With every new addition, it
feels like we’re restoring ourselves. Reminding ourselves that the things that are meaningful to us belong to us.

  We choose what goes on this list.

  It feels, in some small way, like pushing against the power of the Rift.

  CHAPTER 22

  GIDEON

  In the morning, Shadow is missing.

  I’m not too alarmed, though. We don’t tether our horses because they don’t wander away. It’s their nature to protect us, so they never go far.

  But after half an hour of walking around camp and calling her, staring into shadows looking for Shadow, we decide it’s time to take her disappearance seriously and make a search plan.

  As Jode and I strike camp and pack up, Marcus and Daryn head to the lake. Daryn will wait where she and I talked last night in case she spots Shadow along the shore. Marcus will canvass around the lake in search of her, moving in a clockwise direction. They’ll stay within range of each other in case something comes up.

  After they’ve gone, Jode looks at me. “No sign of Sebastian, and now Shadow’s missing?”

  “Shadow could’ve found Bas. He could ride up with her any minute.”

  “True. Things do seem to always go our way here.”

  We get everything packed up. I’m not even sure it’s the right move. If the message really was from Bas we should be staying put, but being mobile instinctively feels better.

  “What do you think?” Jode asks, swinging into Lucent’s saddle. “Did we lose Marcus and Daryn, too?”

  “Don’t joke, man.”

  “It worries me when you’re worried, Gideon,” Jode says. “To the lake?”

  “Yeah.” I tie Ruin to Lucent’s saddle and we leave, our count down to two horsemen, three horses, no Seeker.

  “They could be there having a grand time, oblivious to our concern,” Jode says.

  “If that’s really what’s happening, they won’t be oblivious for long.”

  We reach the lake. Daryn’s not here.

  Her backpack sits on the shore. The backpack with the orb, which she never lets out of her sight.

  I grab it, quickly checking to make sure the orb is still inside.

  “Is it there?” Jode asks.

  I nod.

  He exhales through his teeth. “Now what?”

  As I climb back into the saddle, Riot’s amber eyes watch me with unusual intensity. Because he’s so focused on me, I become focused on me.

  “Jode, headache.”

  “Me too.”

  “Shit.” We head away from the exposed lakeshore, back under the cover of the trees. I have no idea what kind of threat we’re dealing with. Another nightmarescape? The Harrows? The freaky relics we’ve been passing? Am I going to ride past a shoe or am I falling through the ground? “Let’s move clockwise like Marcus. Maybe Daryn went with him and—”

  An ear-shattering sound rings out, filling the air. It reminds me of when the plane appeared, but this is more constant, a continuous crackling. And it’s coming from the lake.

  We wheel around, charging back to the shore we just left behind.

  Before we’ve even come through the trees, we see the ice forming on the lake.

  It originates from the center, a patch of white spreading over blue water. The sky’s reflection vanishes from the lake’s surface. Replaced by frosted white.

  It happens fast.

  By the time we barrel up to the lakeshore, the water lapping against the gravel has frozen solid.

  That’s when I realize Riot’s moving too fast.

  I jam my heels down and throw my shoulders back, wrenching on the reins like I never do. “Riot!”

  But he’s a hundred times stronger than I am. The reins strip the skin of my right palm. He doesn’t slow down. The lake’s suddenly right in front of us—and we go airborne.

  We clear fifteen feet before his hooves smack down.

  For an instant.

  He slips, lurches. Staggers right, then jerks back.

  I launch from the saddle, flying over his ears. I hit the ice—elbows, chin, chest. Teeth slamming. Then I go sprawling on my stomach, frost kicking into my face.

  I’ve barely come to a stop when I feel Riot’s fall—a tremor on the ice. Hear the crunching sound behind me and his deep grunt.

  I shoot to my feet, boots slipping, and I touch my chin. Bleeding, and pretty well. I’ve left a red strip on the ice.

  I turn to look for my horse.

  For a second, as Riot and I try to stay standing, it’s almost funny. Like we’re in some epic tap-dance battle. Then we stabilize, kind of, and every detail registers.

  The powerful muscles in Riot’s legs and chest tremble like he’s being electrocuted. Big fogging breaths push from his nostrils. Dragon breaths. His amber eyes are huge and I can see white all around them.

  I hear a sizzling sound. The dusting of frost on his red coat melts in a second. It rises into the air as steam and drips off of him as water. A few flames struggle through on his knees. Then I see his hooves, deep red with heat.

  They sink like he’s on quicksand, melting into the ice.

  If he goes through the ice, he’ll drown. He’ll never get back through the crust. I’ll lose him. And I’ll lose me too, because I’ll go in after him.

  Riot lifts his head and makes a low sound, his rear hooves sliding.

  Gideon, help. What do I do?

  “Okay, Big Red. Steady.” We’re twenty feet away from solid ground. But since one step seems impossible, the distance might as well be a mile.

  I step toward him. White spiderwebs crackle away from my boots, and I freeze. Riot’s weight is immense. His fall has created big fracture lines across the ice. White veins directly in our path to each other—and to safety. Every move I make will stress the ice.

  “Don’t move!” Jode yells from shore. “Don’t move or you’ll fall through!”

  “Thank you, Jode! I got that! Any ideas?”

  “Riot, here! To me!” he yells.

  Nothing happens. Riot doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even look Jode’s way.

  “Other ideas, Jode?”

  “Not yet.” Ruin’s rattled by Riot’s predicament, pulling at the lead tied to Jode’s saddle. Jode hops off and sets her loose. Marcus’s bronze mare immediately tears up and down the gravelly shore. Everyone recognizes the suck of this situation. And every second, it’s getting worse.

  “Gideon.” Jode’s expression goes hard with fear as he looks past me. “Look.”

  I follow his line of sight and finally understand why Riot ran out here.

  Shadow stands in the middle of the lake. Tall and still. Stark against the ice. She’s watching us. Waiting.

  Seeing that she’s won our attention, she turns and walks away on her long, careful legs.

  Away.

  To the opposite side of the lake.

  When I look toward where she’s going, time stops.

  Someone’s there. Too far away for me to see clearly. But he’s tall and still. Lanky, like his horse.

  “Gideon, do you see that? Is that him?” Jode waves his arms. “Sebastian! Bas!”

  I can’t tell if Bas reacts. If he does, it’s not obvious. He doesn’t shout back or wave his arms. But I’m sure it’s him.

  And he’s not alone.

  A figure stands beside him. Samrael. I’m sure of that, too.

  Every cell in me, every fiber, feels like it’s incinerating.

  Riot blows a hard exhale, pulling me back to the immediate problem.

  “Come on, Riot. Come on.” I take a step toward shore. Then another.

  Riot takes a tentative step after me.

  We go five steps before it happens. A huge chunk of ice breaks off, right where he’d just stood. Water splashes up, spraying Riot, and he scrambles back instinctively, startled. He gets going too fast, and that starts another slip-and-slide situation. He’s going the wrong way, too. Away from shore.

  I’m powerless as I watch his back legs wash out. Watch him clamber back
up and slide almost ten feet on rigid legs.

  His coat lights up with fire as he grows more terrified. His hooves. I see it—a terrible spiral. Him descending into panic, torching brighter, melting the very ice he’s standing on.

  I run after him, pushing off as quickly and lightly as I can.

  There’s a trail of broken ice separating him and me now. I have to jump the last stretch. I land, slide, and slam into his side, unable to stop myself.

  He roars and stamps, and I almost lose my toes.

  “Whoa, boy! Whoa!” I grab the reins. “It’s okay, Big Red. You have to move, Riot. You have to move now.”

  I love this horse as much as I’ve loved anything. He gave me my life back. He healed my soul. I look for a way through the maze of broken ice. I don’t see one.

  “Gideon!”

  Jode is jogging a wide path across smooth ice, coming toward our position. A length of paracord is slung across his shoulders, glaring green against his white armor. Far behind him, Lucent follows, his great head bowed low, like he’s smelling the ice.

  I don’t see anyone on the far side of the lake anymore. No Bas or Samrael.

  “Jode, what are you doing?” I yell.

  Ice cracks nearby. Riot and I step back. Any second he could lose his balance, wipe out, and fall right through. Any second the ice beneath us could give.

  Jode stops about twenty feet away. A perfect hockey stop, like he grew up on the ice. He pulls the rope over his head and starts tying a knot. “I’ll pull him out!”

  “It’s not going to work!” It’s a terrible idea. Lucent is well back and struggling to stay upright. Hardly any better than Riot. “He won’t even make it out here!”

  Jode turns and sees his horse. “Oh, hell! Lucent, get back!”

  “That wasn’t part of your plan? Were you going to pull Riot out?”

  “Yes! I was! Can we argue about this later?”

  A crackling sound shatters across the lake and water arcs into the air. To the left and right. Behind me. Beneath me. The ice jolts sharply as the sheet Riot and I’ve been standing on separates, becomes its own island, twenty feet by twenty feet of floating frozen platform.