Riders

by Veronica Rossi

  “Were you? Prepared when you got to Fort Benning?” she asked.

  “As much as I could be. More than a lot of other guys. All the PT we do in RASP? The physical training? Grueling. But it could’ve been worse.”

  “You look like you’re in good shape.”

  My brain took a quick vacation. When it came back I had to crank the wheel to keep us on the road, which was embarrassing. And confusing. Because why? I didn’t like her. I mean, I didn’t think so. But still.

  “How about you?” I asked, trying to keep words happening. “Play any sports?”

  “I might have.”

  “Instruments?”

  “No.”

  “Did you grow up in a state that starts with the letter A, M, or T?”

  Her lips did this twisty thing to the side.

  “Isn’t that how we’re doing this? Process of elimination?”

  Daryn brushed some sand off her jeans. “The less we do of this, the better it’ll be for both of us.”

  I started laughing. I didn’t know what had just hit me. Daryn laughed too, more at me than with me, but it didn’t matter. I enjoyed it.

  “You run a pretty good defense, Martin. You know that?”

  “I’ve gotten better.”

  “Does this mean you’re not going to tell me about the downloads you get? Or how often you get ’em? Or how long you’ve been doing this? Like, is this your first assignment, or have you been seeking—seekering?—your whole life? And, like, when you saw me—you said you saw me—was I excelling at protecting secret powerful objects? Doing epic War shit? How amazing was I, is basically what I want to know. But in specifics. Did I look really-really awesome or just kind of good? Wait, wait—I looked prime. Didn’t I, Martin?”

  “Are you done?”

  “With my opening questions?”

  She shook her head. “Wow.”

  “You don’t have to answer.”

  “I know I don’t.” She reclined her seat and put her feet up on the dash. I thought the subject was closed because she shut her eyes, but then she said, “It’s not often you meet people who are so persistent.”

  “How often do you meet people who are War?”

  She peered at me and gave a little shrug, like you’re really not all that special. Then she closed her eyes again. “I can’t tell you what they’re like. Seeing the things I do. Knowing things I can’t actually explain. You’d never understand.”

  “Okay.” I got that. It was like telling someone what jumping out of a plane felt like. I could describe how it felt when your feet left the deck and the air came up and hit you. How the world looked spread out below you. I could try to explain the feeling of falling. Of being so far up you felt protective of the earth, proud of it, of the entire planet. I could talk all day but it was nothing like actually experiencing it. Some things you just had to live through.

  Daryn looked at me. I think my reply surprised her, the fact that I understood that I couldn’t understand, and this cool sort of vibe happened, both of us connecting over things we could never really share.

  I hadn’t been joking when I said I’d only just scratched the surface of the things I wanted to ask her. I had questions about the Kindred. Samrael, specifically. I wanted to know if I was mortal. Could I even die? Fast healing was one thing. Being immortal was a whole different ball game.

  I also wondered about the red horse and whether it had really been on fire, and if I controlled when it showed up or not, and what its purpose was in everything because I didn’t need a horse. I’d never ridden one in my life. And riding something that was on fire seemed like a truly bad call. Really, no thanks. Pass.

  I had an endless amount of questions. They were all I had. My world felt like it had entered a zero-gravity chamber. Things that had had weight my entire life suddenly seemed to be floating around me, moving without reason or order. There was so much to try to understand. My level of confusion was so extreme that answers didn’t seem like they’d even cut it. I was on overload and Daryn was done handing out intel, so.

  I reached down and pushed the Pearl Jam cassette into the player. The song that came on was “Nothingman.” Hands down, my favorite. Even on cassette and through crap speakers, Eddie Vedder’s voice laid down the law.

  He sang to us the rest of the way to LA because it turned out Daryn loved Pearl Jam too, which was a cool coincidence. No one our age loved Pearl Jam. I only did because of my dad, and I didn’t ask why she did. I didn’t want her to ask me that back. But it was okay. It didn’t need qualifying. We were rock solid on it.

  Pearl Jam?

  Awesome.

  It was something. One thing that still had gravity.

  Right then, I needed it.

  * * *

  As we approached the LA area, Daryn sat up and twisted her blond hair into a knot on top of her head. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

  I wanted to tell her that was the worst possible way to keep someone from freaking out—aside from just screaming in their face—but I nodded and said, “Okay.”

  Her hand drifted over the silver necklace, then came to rest on the dash. She watched the freeway, studying the exits, the buildings in the distance, her stillness and concentration growing more and more intense.

  “We should take the next exit,” she said.

  I did as she instructed.

  Her directions continued. Take a right here. Left at the next signal. Stay in this lane.

  How was she doing this?

  I kept having to consciously relax my grip on the steering wheel. Awe didn’t begin to cover what I felt. I’d seen a lot I couldn’t explain over the past days, both with regard to me and to Samrael, but this was my first direct experience with Daryn doing something that was literally unbelievable.

  We ended up at a high-rise in Studio City, where I pulled into the underground garage and parked. In a short amount of time, everything had changed. No more long sunny stretches of highway with the roar of my tires, the rattle of the soft top, Pearl Jam playing. Now the quiet hummed in my ears and we were surrounded by concrete lit by the glare of fluorescent lighting.

  On the road, the part of me that scoped out danger had been able to take a break. It’d just been me and Daryn and we’d been moving. Not much I could do but drive to keep us safe. Not anymore, though. The second we ventured into the dense population of the city, the threat factor would multiply. The Kindred could be anywhere. They could track Daryn, so we had to move quickly. The faster we located Famine and got to a safe location, the better.

  “You know where he is in the building?” I asked. The things I’d been learning as a soldier came up, quick and clear. We had a lot to go over. Knowledge of terrain, routes to and from our objective, contingencies.

  “Yes.” Daryn yanked my sweatshirt off, tossed it in the backseat, and hopped out of the car.

  “Daryn.” I shot after her. “You can’t barrel in there without a plan.”

  “We don’t have time to plan. We have to move fast, before Samrael finds us.”

  “Fast doesn’t mean reckless. Fast should be slow—efficient. We need to move in a coordinated—” The garage elevator door opened. I was tempted to physically keep her from entering it, but a humming in my arm distracted me.

  The cuff.

  Magic metal was talking, sending energy flowing into me. I pulled my sleeve down, covering it.

  Daryn pressed the button for the eleventh floor. “I know we’re rushing but we have to get to him before Samrael does.”

  “Hold up. You said the Kindred track the object. That’s what they’re after. Are they after us, too?”

  Before she could answer, the door slid open on the lobby level and a flood of humanity poured inside. I grabbed Daryn’s arm and swam against the tide, keeping us right up front by the door as I checked every face that went past us for Samrael. Bad enough we were in a metal box. I wasn’t going to get cornered in the back.

  A guy in a pinstripe suit crashed into my shoulder as
he rushed through the closing doors. “Dumb couriers,” he muttered, shooting me a look. “Use the service elevator next time, moron.”

  “Gideon,” Daryn said quietly. I still had her arm. I let it go. “Just ignore him.”

  Easier said than done. The lid on my anger had started to clatter the minute she’d jumped out of the Jeep. As the elevator went up, so did tempers. People started getting huffy, their griping filling my ears.

  “—never heard of the concept of personal space—”

  “—way over capacity in here and it is just rude to disregard the safety of others—”

  “—idiot up there thinks he can use the regular elevator—”

  I knew it was my effect on them. Daryn kept looking at me, but I couldn’t ratchet it back. We were making a blind charge. This was a bad idea.

  Finally, we reached the eleventh floor. I launched through the doors like I was back in jump school. Then I followed Daryn down a hallway, around a corner.

  Moving was helping mellow me out. Not being trapped was helping too.

  The cuff was buzzing. Noticeably more voltage now.

  Kinda hard to ignore. Kinda wished I knew what it meant.

  Daryn stopped in front of double glass doors with frosted letters. “He’s in here.”

  “What—here?” I had to read the sign again. “Herald Casting?” I didn’t know what I’d expected from Famine. A guy who worked in a soup kitchen maybe, or a homeless man. But this? “He’s an actor?”

  “Gideon.”

  “It’s okay. It’s fine.” I wasn’t going to spin on this right now. As I quickly considered what I knew about entering potentially hostile situations, Daryn pulled the door open and strolled right in.

  Inside it was a waiting area like at a dentist’s office only bigger and sexier, with photos of perfect people on the walls, plastic chairs around the perimeter. Lots of white and chrome.

  And Samraels. Samraels sitting in every chair. My entire body went tight. Then I relaxed. The room was filled with guys who were around Samrael’s age and build. They had his same dark hair and general look. But he wasn’t here.

  At twelve o’clock, the receptionist peered around her computer screen. “Hi there. Come on over and sign in.” She dropped the smile when she saw Daryn. “Sorry, hon. This is a closed audition.”

  “But I’m a relative.” Daryn took a step my way. Half the guys in the room had stopped reading their stapled pages in favor of looking at her. “I’m his sister.”

  “And?” the receptionist said. She had high penciled-in eyebrows already, but now they went even higher. “Were you planning to deliver his lines for him?”

  “Well, no. It’s only that”—Daryn tipped her head my way—“he can’t read.”

  Amazingly, I was able to keep from thoroughly losing it.

  Okay, Blake. Options. Any other options? Negative.

  “Actually I can read, it’s just—” What the hell was it just? I pointed at my face. “I had a minor equipment issue. Lost a contact on the way here.” Then I stood there and tried to look like a guy who could only see out of one eye.

  The receptionist shook her head. “Ohhh, bummer. One of those days, isn’t it? I’m having one myself.” She looked back to Daryn. “But it doesn’t change anything. You still can’t stay.”

  Daryn stepped closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear. “You’ll have to find him on your own. I’ll meet you at the Jeep in an hour.”

  “No, Daryn. I can’t let you leave.”

  “You have to. We need him. You’ll be fine.”

  “That is not—” Breathe. Try again. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “I know. I’ll be fine, too.”

  Then she was pushing through the glass doors and I was standing there. Watching her go.

  Nope. This wasn’t going to work for me.

  I took two steps after her, and then stopped.

  The cuff.

  Magic metal was hitting me with a significant and striking flow of energy. Not just a buzz anymore. There was more to it. A kind of … knowing or presence … a signal that felt here.

  I looked to my right and there he was, looking right back at me.

  Famine.

  CHAPTER 17

  There was one empty chair in the room and it was next to him, so. I took it.

  “How’s it going?” I said. Having just watched Daryn leave, I wasn’t exactly calm but I tried to focus on the task of getting him on the team.

  “Good.” He sat over his knees and rolled up the papers in his hands into a scroll.

  My first impression was that he fit the bill. Even sitting I could tell he was tall. Over six feet. Lanky. He looked a touch underfed, but it gave him that model look more than anything else. Like he belonged on one of the photos on the wall. His brown hair reminded me of Wyatt’s—long and shaggy—except Famine’s was more natural, like it just was that way. He was my age or a little older, I guessed.

  After a second of wringing the papers, he narrowed his eyes at me like he was trying to work something out. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “I’m Gideon Blake.”

  “Sebastian. Sebastian Luna.”

  We didn’t shake hands, which was awkward. We’d obviously avoided it. But considering all the insane stuff that’d been happening, it wouldn’t have surprised me to see lightning slice down from the ceiling if we had.

  I glanced at his wrist. Sebastian’s cuff was different from mine. His looked like glass, smoky black, and was webbed in a way that reminded me randomly of tendons and Halloween. It was freaky looking. I liked mine better.

  He lowered his head, his longish hair falling in front of his eyes. Probably secretly trying to spot my cuff. My sleeve was covering it but I realized it didn’t matter. Magic metal was still sending a steady hum into me. Judging by the way Sebastian kept strangling the script in his hands, I was pretty positive his cuff was providing him with the same feedback.

  I wondered what he knew. Did he know more about what was going on than I did? Wouldn’t have been tough, considering. But then he hadn’t met Daryn yet.

  Daryn, who was Samrael’s target and currently alone.

  I had to keep things moving. “Did they already start?”

  “A little while ago,” Sebastian replied. “I heard what your sister said. I’ll run lines with you, if you want.”

  “My sister? Oh, right. That wasn’t my sister. She just said that ’cause she was hoping to provide moral support. I’m new to this. First audition.”

  “First one, really?” He cracked a smile. “You don’t seem that nervous.”

  “Actually, I’m way out of my element.”

  “You’ll do fine. First one’s the hardest.” He glanced at the receptionist. “I’ve been to a ton of these. I shouldn’t be nervous, but this one’s different. A big-budget cable series like this is a career maker. It can completely change your life.”

  “Definitely,” I said. “Life. Changing.”

  Sebastian stretched out his legs. He seemed to be relaxing. I got the feeling he’d talked himself out of worrying about me. Either that, or he really was a good actor.

  I wasn’t relaxing. I needed to drop the horseman thing on him and get out of there, but I couldn’t find my way in.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way or anything,” he said, “but you’re not exactly what they’re looking for, you know? Young Latino cop?”

  I took another look around. He had a point. “Yeah, I guess I’m not a perfect fit.” I brushed a hand over my blond buzz cut like I wished it was different. “But I’m going for it anyway.”

  “That’s the right attitude, man. Half the time, I don’t think they even know what they want. Sometimes I don’t know how anyone makes it in this business.”

  “Exactly. It all just seems so arbitrary and political and”—come on, Blake, finish strong, puritanical, pathological, perforated, Panamanian—“weird.”

  “You said it. This
business is weird.”

  Annnd that was enough small talk for me. “Hey, so.” I dropped my voice, trying to manufacture some privacy. “We should probably talk. I’m War.” I couldn’t think of a good follow-up comment after that—where’d you go from there?—so I pulled up my sleeve and showed him my cuff.

  “You’re…” Sebastian had stopped blinking. “You’re what?”

  “War. I know. It blew my mind too.” He was starting to go a little pale so I kept talking, using my calmest voice. “Look, it’d be better if we could talk confidentially. I don’t know how much you’ve figured out, but I think I can give you some answers. We need to bounce, though. Kinda now ’cause there’s a real possibility—”

  “Next group,” the receptionist announced. “Head inside, please.”

  Sebastian shot to his feet. The guys around us were a little slower to stand, but not by much. “You should get out of here,” he said, sounding almost sorry. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He walked into the audition.

  I got up and went right after him.

  Five of us filed into a conference room, one wall of which was a floor-to-ceiling window that showed a hazy, sort of pretty view of the Hollywood Hills.

  Two long tables were set up in front of it. Four women and three men sat behind an assortment of coffee cups, water bottles, and papers. They were talking and passing around head shots. Only one of them was paying attention to us—the man on the far right. He was backlit by the gloomy glow of the day, so his face was in shadow. All I could really see of him was a shiny bald head and round-framed glasses. The kind John Lennon wore.

  “Form a line, please,” he said, in a pissy-bored voice. “When we call you forward, deliver the first lines on page three, up to ‘drowning in a sea of gray.’”

  I took my place, then realized I was standing at parade rest and had to unsoldier my stance. Since I was on the end, I’d be either the first or the last guy to go.

  “This is going to be interesting,” I muttered.

  Sebastian’s head swiveled over and I saw genuine horror on his face. “Get out of here. I told you. I don’t want to get involved.”

  “You’re involved. All I need’s five minutes.”