Melancholy: Book Two of The Cure (Omnibus Edition)

by Charlotte McConaghy

  “Your last name?” Shadow asks, moving silently alongside me.

  “I can’t remember it. Why?”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “No idea.”

  “And Townsend?”

  I glance at Shadow. He’s probably in his late forties or so, leathery skin, wiry muscle in his limbs and a completely unknowable darkness in his gaze. “I met him for an hour. Then he went into a coma,” I lie bluntly.

  I am angry with him, I realize. For teaching me this lesson, for teaching me how caged I am.

  That’s when a soft, whispered shuffle sounds from our left. Shadow doesn’t have time to ready his bow before something snakes into a shaft of moonlight slicing between the trees.

  It is a man, or the approximation of one. It runs at us and in this moment I see the savagery in its face and I hear the rabid snarl torn from its bleeding mouth. Shadow manages to unsheathe a long hunting knife and intercept the Fury as it lunges at me. The blade takes it awkwardly through the cheek but doesn’t send it entirely off course – it still barrels into me and I hit the hard earth.

  The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh.

  I’m unable to do anything except blink up at the bleeding gaze and snapping teeth of the thing that is trying to kill me, for every second up until the moment Shadow inserts his knife into its skull. It dies atop me, looking at me, and I can’t look away from its soulless eyes, because actually its eyes don’t seem so soulless in death.

  Shadow rolls the body off me and helps me to stand; I do so shakily and then wrench away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

  He makes a wary, calming gesture with his hands, as though I am the wild thing. “They’ll smell the blood,” he tells me quietly. “We should run.”

  So we run, and the moon seems to be swimming above, and I try to breathe through the images in my head. Because in with the macabre carcass with its overflowing eyes is a pole erupting through a spine and blood spilling from lips, and ravens circling overhead.

  *

  October 25th, 2065

  Josephine

  Pace’s fist lands squarely on my cheek and my brain explodes. I hit the mats and lie still, groaning in pain.

  “Come on, you big baby. Get up.”

  “You just sucker-punched me.”

  “No, a sucker punch is when you can’t see me coming. I just hit you from the front, so slowly and lightly that my drone grandma could have dodged it.”

  I clench my teeth and drag myself to my feet. Hal and Will are wrestling on the mats beside us, and there are teams of other people scattered around the training room, practicing under the tutelage of Shadow, who runs the training of the hunters. He hasn’t said one word to me since last night when he led me outside to get attacked by a Fury. And now everyone seems to just expect me to know how to fight.

  “Get your hands up,” Pace orders.

  I lift my fists into the spot she showed me earlier.

  “Protect your face. Get your elbows in. Not that tight. Try to be ready but relaxed. Loosen your shoulders.”

  “It’s really relaxing knowing you’re about to get creamed.”

  “If you put half as much energy into training as you did into whining, you’d be the best damn fighter here.”

  “Hilarious.”

  She attacks me, punching at my face again; this time I manage to leave my arms in place to block her. But this just means that her punch takes me in the forearms, and it hurts. “Ow!” I yowl, retreating backwards and out of the line of fire.

  “I give up,” Pace announces. “Shadow! This is bullshit! She won’t participate!”

  “I am!” I hiss. “You’ve been whacking me all morning!”

  Shadow arrives in time to hear Pace say, “You’re not even trying.”

  He looks me up and down, taking in my pathetic weakling body and wounded expression. Then says to Pace, “She can run.”

  He walks away.

  “Why don’t you tell me yourself?” I shout at him.

  “Ooh, you’ve done it now,” Pace sighs. “He doesn’t even think you’re worth training. Means you’re gonna have a really fun time in the tournaments.”

  My mouth falls open. “I still have to compete even if he won’t prepare me?”

  “Yep.”

  I storm after Shadow, grabbing his arm and wrenching him to a halt. Everyone stops what they’re doing to watch. “Don’t walk away from me,” I snap. “You’re here to train me, so train me.”

  He looks at me with those black eyes of his, and they practically drip with scorn. “You’re too weak.”

  “Then I’ll lift some weights!”

  “You’re weak of spirit,” he clarifies simply.

  I feel myself shrivel into a tiny ball of shame. I dash from the room and run all the way back to my house. Slamming the door behind me, I crawl into bed and squeeze my eyes shut.

  My fingers find the wooden bedframe, using the sensation to try to calm me. My pinky finds a groove, suddenly, an unusual one. Tracing it, I realize it’s rough as if it’s been carved. Sitting up to peer at it, my heart stutters with astonishment. There are two words cut secretly into the wood.

  Josephine Luquet.

  *

  At the dining hall, Quinn arrives at my side just as I am lined up for dinner. “Hi, Dual.”

  “Hey,” I mumble.

  “I’ve been led to believe that you didn’t show up for field duty today.”

  “I had training …”

  “This morning. Which you departed from halfway through, and neglected to then go to your work shift.”

  I stare at him. He can’t be serious. Training and then work in one day?

  “Therefore you haven’t earned your food for the day.” He gently removes the plate from my hand.

  People are staring and I feel my cheeks flame. Raven is sitting in her usual spot at the head of one of the tables, and as she looks my way I see the faint hint of a smile at her lips. I bolt out of the dining hall.

  Outside in the warm night I kick the dirt in rage and humiliation, letting out a small and rather pathetic scream of frustration.

  Stalking to the hospital wing, I slump into the chair beside Luke’s bed. “This isn’t working,” I tell his comatose form. “I don’t fit in here.”

  I imagine him rolling his eyes.

  “There are hardly any books and no coffee!” I rant. “My brain’s bored and my body keeps getting beaten up. Plus everyone here is a total jerk.”

  “Ouch,” says Ranya from behind me.

  I jump in fright and then clutch at my racing heart. “Jesus. Don’t do that.”

  She moves quietly into the room and sits on the other side of the bed. I wish she would leave us alone. “I didn’t mean you,” I mutter. “Even though you did clear me for work when I still have severe injuries.”

  Ranya smiles. “They’re far from severe. Come here and let me check them for you.”

  I hop onto the bed and let her unwrap the bandages around my feet. She looks surprised. “These are healed, Dual.” Next she takes my arm and gently manoeuvres my elbow in different directions. “Does that hurt?”

  “No,” I admit. “But Pace spent the morning hitting me. And no matter how much scything I do, my back still aches.”

  “Keep at it. Your body will grow stronger.”

  “Apparently I’m weak of spirit, so it hardly matters does it?”

  She doesn’t respond to that, which is not exactly a shining vote of approval. When she sits back down it’s clear she’s not going anywhere, and I don’t feel like sharing Luke tonight, so I head for the door.

  “If someone called me weak of spirit,” I hear her say, “I’d be doing everything in my power to prove him wrong.”

  “That’s because you’re easily manipulated,” I tell her, and leave.

  *

  Back home I find Pace, Hal and Will sitting on the floor of the living room playing a board game. I walk past them to my room.

  “Don’t you
dare cower in there like a loser,” Pace orders.

  “I thought I was the town leper.”

  “As long as you’re not contagious we don’t mind lepers,” Will replies cheerfully.

  They’re playing Trivial Pursuit, and I grin slowly. “Oh dear. You three are really going to regret including me.”

  Hal smiles. And I proceed to answer every question correctly.

  “What is the scientific name for a rabbit’s tail?”

  “A scut.”

  “What is the minimum number of masts on a schooner?”

  “What’s a schooner?” Will asks.

  “A beer glass,” Pace tells him.

  “Two,” I answer. “And in this case it’s a boat.”

  “What eye-catching device was invented in the 17th century by Anton van Leeuwenhoek?”

  “The microscope.”

  “What is the first name of the New Zealand poet Tuwhare?”

  “Hone.”

  “What amphibian did Pliny the Elder suggest be tied to the jaw to make teeth firmer?”

  “A frog.”

  “Who on earth is Pliny the Elder?”

  “Ancient Roman philosopher.”

  “How the hell are you doing this, you freak?” Pace demands after a couple of hours of this.

  “She’s gotta be cheating,” Will agrees, grabbing my sleeves and lifting them up to see if I have the answers written there. I laugh and push him away.

  “I’m clean, boys and girls.”

  “Then how?”

  “I’ve played this game before.”

  “So what? We’ve all played it a million times.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have photographic memories.”

  They stare at me.

  “Really?” Hal asks.

  “Really really.”

  “Prove it,” Pace says.

  “I thought I just did.”

  “Do something better.”

  “Okay … Umm, have you got a deck of cards?”

  They grab me a deck and I throw the cards onto the floor, mushing them around until they’re in a complete mess. “You pile them together and then hand them to me.”

  Will pounces on the pile excitedly, scurrying to gather them up and pass them over. I make sure I show them what I’m doing, flipping through each one and glancing at the cards for half a second each. Then I pass the cards back to Will.

  “I’m gonna tell you what order the cards are in, so check as I go.”

  “What – all of them?”

  “King of diamonds, four of clubs, two of clubs, nine of hearts, ace of spades, queen of hearts, jack of clubs …”

  “Holy shit,” Hal breathes when I’ve done the whole pack. Pace has been checking every single one suspiciously.

  “How come you can’t be this cool all the time?” she agrees reluctantly.

  “Kind of a veiled insult there but okay.”

  “What else can you do?”

  “I’m not a circus freak,” I say, and they fall awkwardly silent. “Just kidding. Go get that book and I’ll show you something cool.”

  So we spend the whole night being entertained by my wacky memory as it helps me recite any page of text they ask for, and I have to say – it feels good to have maybe-possibly-pseudo friends for the first time in my life.

  *

  October 26th, 2065

  Raven

  The girl would be beautiful if she didn’t look so thin and sickly. That was my impression when I first saw Dual. I haven’t had reason to think much more of her since then, frankly. She is underwhelming at best. Which means I’m fairly certain she isn’t the girl Luke went off to find, his ex-lover, the girl he spoke of as the strongest creature he’d ever met.

  Therefore she isn’t immune to the cure. Which means she isn’t the one Quinn and I want.

  I stroke my hand down the back of his neck because I know it drives him crazy. “Not now, love,” Quinn says.

  “Yes now.”

  “The girl will be here any second.”

  “So? Let her wait.” I climb onto his lap and kiss him hard, finding his lip with my teeth. But there’s a knock on the door and before I can call for her to wait, Quinn has plonked me unceremoniously on the couch beside him. “Come in.”

  An eruption of dark fury in my chest.

  Dual trails in. We are waiting for her in the living room, candles lit, wine poured: the perfect place to entertain. She looks bedraggled, as usual. Her shoulders are slumped, fingers fidgeting.

  “Hey. I …” She clocks the romantic setting. “I can come back another time … ?”

  “Sit down please, Dual,” Quinn says kindly, handing her a glass of wine.

  She sits awkwardly on the floor and looks at us. “So what’s up? Am I here for another scolding?”

  “Not at all. I’m told you were present at your duties all day today.”

  “Like a good little girl scout.” She salutes with a mocking smile. Then turns her two-colored eyes to me, and I am suddenly aware of where all the bratty behavior is coming from: Dual is burning from the inside out, alight with as much fury as me. The realization strikes me and I find both my dislike and my fascination for her increase tenfold.

  “We thought since you’ve been here a little while now that we should have you over for drinks and chat. Get to know each other better.”

  “And get to know what I know about the Bloods and the cure?” she surmises.

  “Of course,” Quinn replies, no less smoothly. “We’re a resistance group after all.”

  “Are you?” she queries. “I haven’t heard of anyone going on a mission to the city since I got here.”

  “Missions are dangerous and require a lot of planning. But they do happen when we need supplies.”

  She studies him.

  “Perhaps you could start by explaining how you know Luke?” Quinn asks.

  “Funny, I could have sworn I already told you that during my questioning.”

  “Not quite, no. You said you were Josephine Luquet’s roommate. That explains nothing about Luke.”

  She takes an elegant sip of her wine, then plays with the stem of the glass between her slender fingers. It’s a stall if ever I’ve seen one. She launches into the story, sounding bored. “As you already know, I was in the asylum when Luke came. Josi was unwell. Something weird was going on with her. Luke broke us out of our room and took us to one of the labs. She … lost it. Went bat-shit crazy. Killed our doctor. Hurt Luke so bad he passed out. Then she died. Just slumped onto the ground and didn’t wake up again. Luke saved me from my cell, and from Josi, so I wanted to repay the favor. I got him out, and followed the instructions I found in his pocket.” She pauses, licking her lips and smiling crookedly. “He came for his girlfriend but he got me instead. Lucky Luke, huh?”

  Quinn and I watch her. There’s nothing flawed in her performance, nothing unbelievable in the detachment she speaks with. There’s also absolutely no reason for her to lie to us, as far as I know. And yet I feel the untruth of it in my pores.

  “You’ve spent an awful lot of time sitting at the bedside of a man you barely know,” I point out softly.

  “Like I said. He saved my life. I owe him his.”

  “Why were you in the asylum in the first place?”

  “I go on murderous rampages.” We stare at her and she dissolves into a soft laugh. “I get depressed, okay? It’s not something I love talking about.” Dual shakes her head, the smile fading. “But that place … it’s a waking nightmare. I couldn’t stand it for one second longer, and I saw my chance to escape. I feel bad for Luke, and Josi – I do. I liked her. But I don’t regret what it’s meant for me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Freedom.”

  Quinn nods, sitting back against the couch. And it hits me. The reason I don’t believe her. It’s because I know how to recognize cunning and subtlety. I’ve spent my whole life attuning myself to them, learning to note even the faintest hints. And this girl is drowning in
both.

  “Well, wonderful,” Quinn says, clinking his glass to hers. “Cheers. To new beginnings. And to our gain.”

  She hesitates, then nods. With a quick, wry smile, she murmurs, “You’re certainly gaining a lot, with a girl who can’t work or fight for more than five minutes at a time.”

  Quinn chuckles, and I smile, realizing I’m supposed to.

  “But I do plan to try,” she says reluctantly. “I’ll work hard at being better.”

  When she’s gone, Quinn turns to me. “Well, I guess we have our answer. She’s just a normal girl.”

  All I’m thinking is that Dual is quite the little actress. “You’re too trusting,” I tell him.

  “What – you think she’s lying?”

  I shrug, unwilling to admit it yet; Quinn’s always telling me I’m too hard on our people. He sees the best in everyone, while I see only the worst. It’s why they hate me, every one of them. But what they don’t get is that my mistrust keeps us safer than Quinn’s kindness does.

  So for him, and for all of us, I’ll have Dual’s lies and her truths from her, and if I have to I’ll use them to destroy her. Because I’m one of the few who was born out here in the lonely west, and I’m not foolish enough to pretend it isn’t exactly that brutal.

  *

  Josephine

  I walk from their house with my skin crawling. I’m not sure why I keep lying, but I know that I don’t trust either of them as far as I can throw them.

  Chapter 4

  Luke

  I walk from my house and into the dusty street. It’s empty; I am alone.

  Until … There.

  An old, aching thing awakens inside me and I walk toward her. She is standing in the middle of the road, her bare feet in the dust. She’s wearing a simple white dress, the hem of which is covered in dirt and blood. Her long dark hair is tangled but sweet, somehow.

  And her face. She is looking at me like she did in that moment. That moment when she first said her I love you. With a kind of life-altering certainty, one she was brave enough to find before I did. Her eyes, the dark and the light, look at me as though I was made for her, born for her, have lived every breath of my life for her.