by Hilary Duff
“Oh hell yeah. But you’ve slipped us before, so why not just play nice together from the start?”
“Because you’re trying to kill the man I love,” I said.
“We are not the bad guys!” she roared. “Don’t you get it? I am a walking corpse. Living to twenty-nine in the CV? It’s like knocking around at a hundred and five in the real world. We live in fucking dog years. And the curse isn’t kind. We don’t go to sleep and not wake up. We’re nailed with the most god-awful plagues to ever hit humanity. Five-year-olds with flesh-eating viruses, rare diseases that rot you from the inside out and make you drown in your own blood. That shit happens even in here, every day. All we can do is save them from the crap out in the big world: car crashes, shootings, overdoses . . . the ones you hear about that seem so random? It’s not random; it’s the curse. The three guys who stole the Elixir may have been assholes who deserved what they got, but they’ve been dead five hundred years. That’s five hundred years of innocent people born without a shot in hell at any kind of life, with parents who die young after drowning for years in their own crap. You honestly think your boyfriend’s life is worth more than every single one of ours?”
Her eyes were wild, but I couldn’t look away. She was right. No one life—especially one that had already gone on for centuries—was worth sacrificing so many others. Sage himself would say the same thing. I knew that, but tears filled my eyes because I also knew no matter how wrong it was, no matter how many other people had to suffer, I couldn’t help her.
“I don’t want Sage to die,” I whispered.
Sloane took a deep breath and blew it out toward her blond-black greasy hair. She even smiled.
“I know,” she said. “The soulmate thing. But I’m counting on that, remember? That’s what’ll lead you to him. I’m just asking you don’t run off after him without letting us know. We’ll help you get to the Saviors. We’ll help you beat them back. You will get your hands on Sage. You have my word as a dying woman. If you can get him the hell out of there before we do, have at it. We’ll be on your ass until we find him, but you’ll have your shot. It’s more than the Saviors will offer you, and further than you’ll get on your own.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“It’s not about trusting me. It’s about trusting yourself. And your friend here, right? I’m guessing he’ll be coming along for the ride?”
“Yes. Yes, I will be there,” Ben said. “Absolutely.”
“So there you go,” Sloane said. “My soldiers and I will give you a fighting chance. It’s slim, but it’s there.”
I thought about it. What Sloane said was true. Especially now that I’d seen their operation, I knew working with the CV would give me a huge advantage against the Saviors, whom I might not be able to handle on my own. And it wasn’t like I was a stranger to using my enemy to help me. That had been my whole plan in Japan: contacting the Saviors so they’d interrupt Sage doing the ceremony that would destroy him. I knew we’d have just a slight chance to escape from them when they attacked, but I had enough faith in Sage and myself that a slight chance was enough.
Ben had destroyed that slight chance. Would he destroy it again?
I glanced over at him. He was looking around the room as if memorizing it. I got it, I guess. Seeing the CV in operation and learning their secrets was probably an Elixir-lore fanboy’s dream come true. Of course he’d want to be involved when we somehow found the Saviors, but I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.
I didn’t have to deal with that now, though. I turned back to Sloane.
“We have a deal.”
“Good. When you know where your boy is and you’re ready to make a move, you tell our guy.”
I cringed, thinking about Damian. “You’re sending someone with us?”
“Don’t need to. I told you, we’ve got you covered.”
So there was someone watching me at the house. At this point I wasn’t even surprised. I’d have to figure out who it was when we got back.
“Here—I’ll show you to the door.” Sloane leaped off the desk and moved to a far corner behind her. There was a ladder leading up to the ceiling, and she practically sprinted up it. I stayed right on her heels. Ben lagged, taking a last look down at the inner workings of the CV before he followed.
At the top of the ladder was a round porthole, maybe three feet in diameter, right in the ceiling. Sloane pushed it open to reveal a dark, earthen tube with another ladder built into its side. I couldn’t see how high it climbed; the inside was pitch-black. She turned back to me and grinned. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you? Small spaces?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She pulled herself into the tube and kept climbing. I followed, and was soon swallowed by the darkness, though if I looked down I could see the faint glow from her office below.
“Shut the door behind you,” she said when Ben had made it inside.
When he did, the darkness was complete. I heard Sloane’s footsteps above my head and followed, but the blackness was disorienting. The smell of dank earth, which hadn’t seemed so powerful with the glow of light, now filled my nose. It made my head swimmy, and I had to force myself to concentrate on each rung, hand by hand, foot by foot.
“Shit!”
The shout came from below me, and was followed by a frantic scuffling of hands and feet, then a loud thud.
Ben had lost his grip.
“You’ll want to watch your step,” Sloane said, her voice snakelike as it floated down. “Complete darkness messes some people up.”
She waited until we heard Ben breathing directly below me. “Okay,” he said. “I’m good.”
“Hadn’t asked,” Sloane said, then scrambled a few more feet. I heard sounds I couldn’t place, then a loud cracking. A fluorescent green line appeared. A glow stick. In its light, I could see we were at the top of the earthen tunnel. A round metal door sat just above Sloane’s head, and a tiny monitor was built into the wall next to it. In the green glow, she turned on the monitor, which showed a vacant street.
“Four a.m. and all’s clear,” she said.
She let the glow stick drop to the bottom of the tunnel, then pushed and slid the metal door. A cold gust of air blew down on us. It reeked of garbage and decay. I felt like I’d been underground for an eternity. As my eyes adjusted to the moonlit glow, I saw Sloane had shifted to the side of the ladder so Ben and I could climb out. We did, and with a final, “You’ll be in touch,” Sloane pulled the door back in and disappeared.
We were in an unlit alley, several feet from an overflowing Dumpster. The circle of asphalt that hid the door from which we’d emerged blended in perfectly—it was completely invisible.
The Dumpster stench was overwhelming. I started walking to get away from it.
“Wait up.” Ben bounded a couple steps to catch up with me. His eyes were dancing. “Pretty amazing down there, right? I mean, look around—you’d have no clue it was right below us. Even people who’ve lived here their whole lives—people who know about the old subway—even they don’t know what’s going on. It’s like—”
“Stop! This isn’t fun for me, Ben. I’m not researching a dissertation. I’m trying to find Sage. He’s the reason I’m here.”
“I’ve been thinking about that . . . and I don’t think it’s true.”
“What do you mean? Of course it’s true.”
“Well, yeah, I mean, he’s the reason you’re here. You’re here because you want to save him. But he’s not the reason you’re here.”
“Ben . . . English . . .”
“I don’t think Sage left you the message. You said it yourself—he doesn’t have the kind of power where he can be in one place and simultaneously go to another.”
“Right. He’d need help. Petra or Amelia or someone else in the family.”
“But Petra and the men want you away from Sage. So it would have to be Amelia.”
“Fine, yes. Amelia.” It was what I’d assumed before, but even as I sai
d it, I realized a flaw in the idea. When I was on the plane and had the vision of Sage—a vision I knew was real—Sage hadn’t recognized Amelia at all. Had she appeared to him as a voice in his head? Is that how she helped him deliver the message?
“When we came here,” Ben said, “we thought the message was from Sage—an SOS telling us the CV had taken him from the Saviors, and he needed us to rescue him.”
I wasn’t going to bother correcting him on the “us” thing. I let him continue.
“But it turns out he’s not here. He’s still with the Saviors.”
“Right . . .”
“So how would he know about this place? And even if he did, the last time he was around the CV, they were shooting at him. I think whoever sent us here did it because they thought we could use Sloane’s help. I don’t buy that Sage would ever think help from the CV was even a possibility.”
“You’re right,” I realized. “He wouldn’t. So then was it . . . just Amelia?”
“I can’t think of anyone else. You said she seemed like she wanted to help you . . . and that she wanted to keep that from her family. . . .”
Ben was right, and he didn’t even know about the last time I saw her. She’d made it clear that she wanted Sage and me to hold on to each other, and that her family would hurt her if they knew.
Amelia must have sent the message. She used the scent of sage because she knew it would get my attention. She wanted me to join forces with the CV.
She thought I needed backup.
It felt right . . . but there was so much that didn’t make sense. If Amelia wanted to leave a cryptic message, couldn’t she have left one telling me where I could find Sage? It was fine to get me help if she thought I needed it, but a cavalry was useless without anyplace to go. And I still couldn’t wrap my head around why it mattered to her. Why would Amelia or her family care whether Sage and I were together?
For the moment there was nothing to do about it but head back home. The good part of having Ben in the loop was he could help me sift through the few facts I had about Sage’s location, so maybe we could find it faster.
Ben pulled out his phone and checked flight times. We had a few hours to kill, but not enough to check into a hotel for a nap. So we walked. The sun rose as we did, tingeing everything the light pink of early morning. I didn’t say much; I was mentally planning my next meeting with Amelia, putting in order everything I wanted to ask her.
That is, if there would be a next meeting. I remembered how frightened she sounded when she talked about hiding what she was doing from her family. I hoped she was okay.
Ben and I had no destination in particular but ended up on the Purple People Bridge, a pedestrian overpass connecting Cincinnati and Kentucky, where we’d catch our flight. The bridge was scarcely populated at this hour. I looked up at Ben, but the sun was rising out from behind his head and I had to squint and look away.
The silence between us was light and companionable. Ben didn’t so much break it as skate seamlessly on top of it.
“So . . . Rayna and Nico,” he said.
“From the second she saw him,” I agreed.
“They seem good together,” Ben said. Then he smiled, adding, “And here I didn’t think Rayna was a stable person.”
“Oooooh.” I winced at the bad joke.
“What? I’m just horsing around.”
“Ugh, Ben!”
“You’re saying I should rein in the humor?”
“Oh my God, you’re killing me.”
“I hope not. I really, really hope not.”
His voice had grown serious. I turned to him, but his eyes were downcast. I knew what he was thinking, but I had no idea what to say.
We walked for a while more.
“I want to make up for everything,” he finally said. “I need to.”
We were still walking, and his eyes were on his feet. He spoke softly, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“It’s my last chance,” Ben continued. “If he dies, and I haven’t done everything I can to try to make things better . . .”
“He won’t die.”
“But he could. I’m not saying it to get you upset, Clea. I hope he doesn’t. But he could . . . and then I’m done. I can’t make it up. Ever.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re not a bad person, Ben.”
Ben choked out a laugh. “A good person with a bad soul.”
“No . . .”
“I know you have good reasons not to want my help on this. I know you wouldn’t have even brought me here if I hadn’t kept everything from you until the last minute. But please . . . I need to do this. I need the chance to get it right, before . . .”
He didn’t have to say it.
I had no idea how to respond. I wanted to tell him I’d trust him . . . but I didn’t know if I could, and I couldn’t play with Sage’s life because Ben wanted one more chance to make things right.
“You don’t have to answer,” he said. “Just . . . you know . . . think about it.”
I nodded. I could promise him that much.
We walked in an awkward silence awhile longer.
“So . . . you and Suzanne?” I asked. I figured that would be safer ground.
“Kind of . . . yeah.”
“I’m glad. I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Thanks.”
We kept walking, staying silent the rest of the way across the bridge, but it was an easier silence. When we made it to Kentucky, we were both too exhausted to do much of anything. We wound up sitting in a diner with a TV, zoning out in front of bad morning shows while we nursed cup after cup of coffee (him) and tea (me). When we finally left for the airport, got checked in, and boarded, I collapsed into my seat as if it were a feather bed. The second before I drifted off, I thought about Sage. If I could be with him in my dream again, I knew I could handle anything.
After no more than a blink, I opened my eyes. I sat in a white, wooden reclining chair in the middle of a massive open lawn. In the distance the sun glowed over lush mountains puffy with treetops.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I turned to my right. Petra sat there, in a chair matching my own. She lounged back, soaking in the sun. Her curls were pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she wore a pair of oversize sunglasses. She leaned toward me, lowering them on her nose. “You look surprised to see me, Clea. Why? There’s no one else hanging out in your dreams, is there?”
She said it playfully, but there was a flame of something violent in her eyes.
“I don’t know if I could handle anyone else,” I said. “I’m still trying to figure out if you’re real.”
“Oh, I’m real,” she said, relaxing back into her seat. “If you just trust it, you’ll find I’m the best friend you’ve ever had. I’m going to save you a lot of heartache. Oh look, baby goats!”
I followed her glance to a flat meadow in the distance. Sure enough, there were several baby goats grazing as they galloped, leaped, and head-butted.
Standing among them were Sage and Lila.
Instantly I was by their side. “Sage!” I cried, and reached for him . . . but I couldn’t touch him.
“Honestly, you’re a very slow learner,” Petra said, pulling me back. “He can’t see-you-feel-you-hear-you, so please don’t waste our time.”
Her words stung. She seemed to know it.
“Now, a bit of Best Friend You’ve Ever Had advice,” Petra said. “You find out much more when you sit back and observe.”
It wasn’t her advice that made me do it. It was Sage.
Last time I saw him with Lila, he was in a lot of pain.
This time he was smiling.
He ambled along, perfectly in step with Lila. His hands swung loose at his side, and he seemed to bask in the breeze that blew his hair back from his face.
He looked content. More than content. He looked . . . happy.
“Are you ready for this?” Lila
asked. She reached into a small tote bag slung over one arm and pulled out a handful of baby carrots. She waved them toward the grazing goats. “Hey, guys! Look what I’ve got!”
It was a baby-goat stampede. Ten of them. Their snouts were everywhere, nosing their way into her hand, the bag, the hem of her sundress. She gave a playful scream.
“One at a time, okay? There’s enough for everyone!”
She tried to mete out the carrots, but the baby goats had no time for patience. They were everywhere, and she was screaming and laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. “Sage!” she cried. “Help me!”
“I don’t know. . . . I think you’ve got this pretty much under control.”
“SAGE!” A goat surprised her by rearing up on its back legs, pushing its front hooves on her stomach, and knocking her to the grass. Baby carrots spilled everywhere, most of them onto Lila, and the goats went nuts, nosing and bleating and batting at one another as they fought for the bonanza. Lila squealed and laughed, petting the goats as they nosed into her face, rolling away a bit when they clambered too hard with their hooves. She couldn’t go far, though; she was completely penned in by the feeding frenzy.
I entertained a quick fantasy of the baby goats suddenly turning into rabid wolves. Technically I was dreaming, so I thought I had a shot . . . but it didn’t happen.
“Sage!” she cried again between gasps of laughter, and this time he didn’t refuse. He waded into the sea of goats, and when they bleated at him, he bleated right back at them. He reached Lila and scooped her into his arms, sending her into another flurry of squeals. The goats stayed behind with the abandoned carrots as Sage carried Lila several feet away, bride-over-the-threshold style. When they were safely away, Lila finally stopped squealing and instead looked into his eyes.
“You saved me!” she said.
Gross.
“My pleasure,” Sage said.
“Put her down,” I said out loud, despite the fact that he couldn’t hear me. “Put her down now. Put her down.”
He did . . . but he let her soft body slide down his before her feet hit the ground. Then he kept his arms around her a moment, like he was afraid she would topple.