Rebel Heart

by Tee Ayer

  A woman sat at the desk, dark head bent as she studied a stack of paperwork while biting the end of an already chewed-up pencil. She looked up, a ready smile on her face and I had to force down my gasp of surprise.

  Jet black hair, milky skin, emerald eyes. The woman was a dead ringer for me! Her eyes widened and she got to her feet, clearly as surprised as I was at the resemblance between us.

  “Wow,” she said, approaching me with a hand outstretched to shake mine.

  “Wow just about covers it,” I replied, grinning. “Guess I should give up thinking I’m one of a kind.”

  The woman laughed. “Yep, I think we’re both going to have to swallow an icky dose of we’re-not-special. I’m Clancy McBride. You must be Kailin Odel?”

  I nodded as she waved at the nearest chair. We both sat and for a moment the silence was awkward enough that I wanted to tear out of there. But then she waggled a hand again. “So tell me, why do you want this job?”

  I schooled my features, aware now that no amount of resemblance to my supervisor would work on my behalf if she didn’t feel I was a suitable candidate. I cleared my throat then said, “I’ve always been fascinated with the way the mind works, and I’m passionate about helping people who need help, especially those who are vulnerable and who find it difficult to ask for help.”

  Clancy was nodding slowly, teasing her lower lip with her teeth. “Why should I hire you instead of one of the far more qualified candidates who’ve applied already?”

  I tilted my head and studied her face, really hating the question. I cleared my throat which suddenly felt as though a whale had lodged itself inside there. “I’m passionate and hardworking and I’m eager to learn.”

  Clancy was nodding again. “I admire your eagerness for the role, but I have to admit that many of the other candidates appear to be far more suited to the position than you are. Do you have any experience as a camp counselor?”

  I shook my head feeling my hopes plummet. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. My smile was wooden, skin pulled tautly over teeth, but with not a hint of disappointment in my eyes as I said, “Sadly, no. Would you be interested in a trial?”

  Clancy scrunched her forehead. “A trial?”

  “A couple days of work, voluntary of course,” I said taking a few steps closer as I waved my hand in front of me. “If I prove myself, maybe you can consider me in the running for the role?”

  The woman smiled, then smoothed back her hair. She got to her feet and headed to the back of the room to pause in front of her chair. Hands resting on her desk, she said, “Very well, Miss Odel. How does two days sound to you?”

  I blinked.

  I opened my mouth to ask her if she really meant she’d give me the chance but no sound left my lips. I must have looked like a goldfish, mouth opening and closing in silence.

  At last, I shook my head. “When do you need me?”

  Clancy was flipping through the files on her desk. She looked up and said, “Four-hour shift. Saturday afternoon. 1pm. Same on Sunday.”

  I nodded head bobbing up and down like one of those bobble-headed toys people used to put in their cars. “I’ll be there. I mean here.”

  I backed out of the classroom and almost tripped over one of the chairs. When I finally did exit the room, I well aware that Clancy was trying hard not to burst out laughing.

  Idiot. She’s definitely going to hire you for your ability to resemble a ditz.

  12

  R & R

  7 Months after Arrival in Chicago

  “Seriously, Kai. You have to stop this shit.” Anjelo was pacing the floor, his boots thudding impatiently, as he walked a short line in front of the narrow camp bed. “Excellent way for me to spend my birthday you know?” he muttered. I pretended not to hear.

  We were inside the closet of the office which I shared with Clancy, my supervisor, mentor and friend. We’d become good friends after I’d started my internship at the Rehab center, and I’d grown fond of her. Thankfully, she wasn’t pulling a late shift, something she did now and then, especially when we had group sessions and she had to write up her patient-assessment reports.

  I’d hauled my ass over to the closet after calling Anjelo and asking him to meet me there. He hadn’t spoken at all, simply listened and grunted before I cut the call and collapsed onto the narrow bed.

  I still hadn’t completed my secret renovation project on the closet, aiming to create a small hidden space behind a shelf filled with papers and envelopes, floor cleaner and sponges. I had to find a place where I could go to recover in case of injuries like the ones I’d just sustained. Grams wouldn’t be too happy to see the White Room covered in bright red bloodstains.

  I’d only just snuck the camp bed into the hidden space yesterday, which was probably some kind of premonitory action on my part. But then again, I wasn’t exactly up to anything good during my wraith assassinations.

  Now, the sheet I’d draped over the thin mattress was spattered with blood and both my arms still contained the short daggers. I grunted and shifted on the bed. “The knives need to come out. Or do you want me to try to get them out myself?” I asked, keeping all accusation and attitude out of my tone.

  He sighed and stopped to look down at me. Squinting, he studied the wounds. “You know I hate dealing with your injuries. I’m not a doctor. Never would have considered it.”

  I lifted my head off the mattress and studied his face. “I can try to figure it out on my own if you want,” I said, my voice gentle.

  I knew this wasn’t his kind of thing but honestly, I just wanted to shake him hard until he started making himself useful. The longer the blades stayed inside my flesh, the longer it would take to heal.

  Walkers healed fast enough, but as with humans, the older the injury, the lengthier the process is of repairing cells and muscles.

  Anjelo sighed and came to squat beside the cot. He rubbed a hand across his face and studied the blades one at a time. “It’s okay. Chances are you’ll just damage your arms if I left you alone.”

  I didn’t reply, just let out a relieved breath, but ensuring I did it so slowly that he wouldn’t notice.

  He knelt then and reached out for the hilt of the knife in my left arm. This was the one that had gone right through and something told me that the pain would be worse when he removed this blade. I cocked a chin at my right arm. “Do that one first. It’ll be less painful.”

  Anjelo didn’t reply. He got to his feet and leaned over me, placing a hand below the wound, he pressed gently against my arm. I watched as his fingers closed around the hilt of the knife and I braced myself as he glanced at me in warning. I gave him a short nod and he pulled hard.

  The blade slid free easily and came away coated in blood. The moment the knife left the wound, blood bubbled to the surface and dripped down my arm and onto the sheet. Anjelo moved fast, pressing his palm onto the wound and holding it there while I breathed through the burning pain.

  The through-and-through was going to hurt even more, which wasn’t good news at all considering I was already drained from the fight, and from my near-death moment at the hands of the wraith. What in the heck had he tried to do to me?

  A few minutes later, Anjelo released the pressure and waited to check if he’d tamped the flow. Thankfully, the wound had sealed somewhat as my walker blood had already begun clotting, probably already begun knitting together flesh and muscle.

  He sat back and stared at his palms, then studied the remaining knife. The hilt was carved with strange symbols, which I was guessing were WraithWorld in origin, and it looked sturdy and well worn. Whoever the wraith was who had tried to end me must have used this weapon often.

  A hired assassin? Or someone with a personal grievance? I didn’t put much stock in his explanation of why he’d tracked me down. But it was a possibility that I didn’t prefer. It meant someone else out there knew who I was, and what I was doing. Which in turn meant someone else would soon come to finish the job.
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br />   Anjelo hunched forward, placing his palm against my hand just above the elbow. This wound was a little lower than the first one the wraith had inflicted, and I had to hand it to him, he’d known exactly what he’d been doing, where to injure me so I’d let go.

  I steadied my breath as Anjelo wrapped his hand carefully around the carved blade. Before closing his fist, he looked up at me, asking permission to pull. I gave him a bleak nod and took a breath.

  As I inhaled, he pulled with all his strength. For a few seconds the blade held, but just when a ripple of fear ran through me at the thought that I’d need surgical removal, the knife shifted and left my arm with a slippery sucking sound.

  Anjelo stumbled as he stepped back, then hit the wall hard sending the knife flying from his hand. We both stared in silence as it hit the wall, making a burgundy smudge on the pale blue paint, then fell to the floor fast. The weapon was well made, proving its excellent design as it tilted and hit the floor blade digging deep into the bare wood.

  Silence wrapped around Anjelo and me as we watched the knife sway back and forth, its point securely embedded in the floor, its carved hilt gleaming as though laughing at me.

  Then liquid warmth surged from my arm and Anjelo rushed into action. I paid little attention to him as he put pressure on the wound, then cleaned the area and bandaged me up.

  My attention remained on the dagger, a silent sentinel, a warning of things to come.

  13

  Tattletale

  I lay on my bed, cursing myself for something I knew I really had no control of. I’d killed a man today, a human being. And even though logic reminded me that he was dead already, had been dead for a while now, my heart wasn’t listening.

  I’d killed over a dozen of the wraiths so far. And I’d only done it when I’d had proof that the demonic being was causing pain and mayhem. I’d found a pattern in the last months, as though the wraiths had come to the EarthWorld with a purpose—to inflict pain on whoever they wished to.

  It was silly though, drilling down to that one single fact. Because I knew there was something else going on here that was behind the sudden rise in wraith possession.

  Or, maybe it wasn’t that sudden?

  I’d only understood a few months ago what my ability really was, what I was capable of doing, and had I not run into the first wraith purely by accident, I probably would never have figured it out.

  And I only had a limited timeframe of knowledge to use as a reference. I’d tried to learn more about their vulnerabilities, ways to take them down. And I’d found very limited information on the creatures.

  Worse, it wasn’t as though I could go around telling people what I was doing. Who knew how Storm or Grams would react? As it was, Anjelo gave me a hard time whenever I even mentioned the wraiths. And I was more than worried that one day he would refuse to help just to teach me a lesson, to force me to remember I had nobody else to turn to.

  Both my wounds were neatly bandaged, courtesy of Anjelo’s steady hands. The off-white fabric was already soaked through on the front my arms and I knew the one wound where the blade had gone right through would be leaking blood onto the sheet beneath me.

  But blood was the least of my current concerns. Pain, fire, lightning, agony. Those were the only things on my mine as searing heat filtered through my injuries as my body did its walker thing and regenerated torn and broken cells and muscles and nerves.

  It was pretty damn cool if you didn’t think of all the pain that regeneration involved. But it wasn’t easy to avoid thinking about the pain when it was all-consuming. An older, more mature alpha would probably handle the agony much better than me, that was for sure. And especially since I was almost constantly at war with my walker side, I suspected my experience fell into the category of a newly shifted walker in their teens rather than an alpha with her twenties in sight.

  I tried to focus on something else and had almost succeeded when my phone buzzed. I lifted it gently off the mattress, trying not to jar the muscles of my bandaged arm as I scanned the message.

  “Damn you, Anjelo,” I whispered, gritting my teeth.

  I spoke to Storm and he gave me a number to pass on to you. He thinks you’d be better off with weapons and this chick is apparently the real deal.

  I messaged him back:

  Why the heck did you tell Storm? I told you I don’t want anyone to know about this!!!

  The phone vibrated in my palm with Anjelo’s reply.

  Don’t get your panties all twisted up in a knot. I didn’t tell him the details. Just that you needed more than your fists and your brains to help you out in order to avoid getting dead.

  I replied:

  And somehow you think that doesn’t tell him I’m up to something? If he finds out, so help me, kid!

  The phone vibrated again, almost sounding as annoyed as the message itself.

  I didn’t tell him, okay! I just said you and I need to find someone to train us for self-defense. But that knowing how you’re a magnet for trouble, you may need something more helpful. If he knows you’re up to something, he’s not about to pry. You know Storm. He watches out for us but he’s not nosy and he doesn’t interfere. So get a freaking grip and call the weapons chick. GO meet her and see what she can come up with for you.

  I blinked as I read the scolding and wondered when the tables had flipped on us. I was supposed to be the one taking care of him. I sighed and tapped out a response.

  Fine. I’ll go meet her.

  I could almost imagine the kid’s smirk as I read his reply.

  Good. And get some rest so you can regenerate and heal up those damn wounds. Some Alpha you are. You should be healed by now! And eat. I left some food in a cooler box beside the bed. And tell me what the weapons lady says!

  I shook my head at the overuse of exclamation marks. But though I was tempted to send off a snark-filled reply, I simply said:

  KTX. Will do.

  Then I dropped the phone on the mattress and slowly pushed myself to sit upright. At my feet sat a red and black checkered picnic bag which contained a tray of takeout sushi, a bag of potato chips and a single donut from a diner on the outskirts of town.

  I was hoping it contained a little magical pick-me-up, but I’d have to eat it to know since the bag didn’t name the flavor. Could I even trust Anjelo since he was so miffed at me?

  I sighed and wolfed down the sushi, keeping the chips aside for later. Then I tackled the donut which was slathered in hazelnut-chocolate sauce and drizzled with roasted nuts.

  One mouthful confirmed this was a feel-good flavor, probably laced with some calming magic. Humans had benzos, but I’d go for a Cinnamon & Sugar’s donut any day.

  14

  He’s been shot!

  6 months after moving to Chicago

  It was late although it wasn't as though I had places to be or people to see.

  The past six months had seen me fully focused on studying and completing my final year at Crawdon. Most of my spare time was spent either killing wraiths or working at the Rehab Centre. Clancy never failed to remind me that the only reason I had this job was because she'd been smart enough to recognize my unlimited potential and hire me.

  The fact that I did a damn good job all round seemed something my supervisor wanted to be solely responsible for. I gave her the accolades in spades too. Let her have the glory, even if it was all in jest. She and I had gotten along like we’d known each other forever. Clancy was a few years older than my seventeen, had been through rough times through her teens. She’d confessed that she’d struggled with addiction herself which was what had guided her to study the treatment methods and to help those who were unwilling or too afraid to help themselves.

  I’d have expected her to be jaded from so many years of treating patients in the worst possible heath, people mired so deeply within their addiction that it seemed impossible to help drag them out of their very own special hell. But Clancy was ever smiling, upbeat, and so positive it was sometimes enou
gh to make me scowl. Though I kept my feelings to myself. I knew where those feelings were coming from, and I preferred to not acknowledge them right this minute. I’ll face it someday.

  Maybe.

  I tugged my bag over my shoulder and hurried down the stairs. The handle of my dagger dug into my ankle inside my boot and I was tempted to stop mid-stride to move it to a more comfortable position.

  But I didn't. I'd have to endure the discomfort until I was inside the nearest powder room. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I scanned the reception area of the Rehab Center. The space was quiet, only soft whispers to be heard echoing down the hall and along the ancient pipes of the building.

  The dull yellow glow of the streetlamps streaming inside doing a solid imitation of moonbeams, complete with dust-fairies dancing around in them. I'd heard of the tiny fairies though I hadn't been privileged to see them before.

  I had to wonder if the stories were simply fiction, a far-fetched tale of tiny paranormal people who lived alongside humans in perfect harmony. Even now as I watched the dust motes swirl around inside the buttery yellow light, I held out a tiny bit of hope that the creatures were in fact real.

  I shook the thought away, turning my focus back onto my dagger around my ankle. I made a mental note to take the strap to a leatherworker to fix the broken buckle, so it won't come loose again. A deadly sharp dagger jostling inside my boot was a sure-fire way to cut a generous slice out of my ankle.