“Understatement of the year,” I say flippantly.
“Isadora and I have been running for a long time, Gage. And we’re tired of it.”
What? “What?”
“There’s so much to tell you, and we don’t necessarily have time to explain it all right now, but you need to know that we are not your enemy.”
“We? Meaning you and her together?” I jab my thumb in Isadora’s direction. “Her? The one who sliced my Hunter’s mark from my arm? Who had my entire team murdered?”
“Isadora is the one who saved me,” Ariana says. “After you killed me, she put me back together. She gave me life. I owe her for that.”
And now it makes sense. “I always wondered how you survived,” I say. “Doesn’t change what she did to Jinx. Or Rae. Or Zee. She tore a rib from Mercy’s body for Christ’s sake!”
Isadora’s steely gaze weakens. “I wasn’t acting on my behalf, Gage. I was following orders.”
“Why the hell should I believe you?”
“Because she’s telling the truth,” Eric answers, speaking for the first time.
Hearing Eric plead for Isadora is too much. My stomach churns with acid. My whole world is flipping upside down. Again.
“I’m not the one who attacked you in the warehouse today, Gage. I’m not the one who took Mercy,” Isadora says.
“Who did?”
“Lucas Church,” Ariana answers.
“This is unbelievable.” If I were able, I’d leap up to make my point, but I’m not, which I hope does not diminish the weight of my message. “Isadora is the one who caused all of this. And now you’re on her side? Why?”
Justice puts her hand on my good leg. “Gage, please listen,” she pleads.
I don’t want trust Justice. She has done nothing but cause trouble.
Right up until the moment she saved my life.
“Fine.” I lean back into the couch and fold my arms. “I’m listening.”
“You know him as Lucas Church,” Ariana explains. “But his real name is The Creator. He’s the first, Gage, the first being.” She makes a sweeping gesture with her hands. “He made all of this, me, you, everything. And in the beginning, it was wonderful.” She sounds wistful, as if she’s remembering a better time. “But then things changed, and the more they changed, the more Lucas tried to control it all. He commanded us to be faithful only to him.” Ariana takes Eric’s hand in hers. “But we wanted more. We wanted love of our own. We wanted freedom.
“And Lucas couldn’t stand for that. But he’s clever. He’s never the one acting; he’s the one pulling the strings. He created The Assembled to stop the Guides from interacting with humans. He could’ve let Nathaniel be with Ellie, but no, he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t tolerate Nathaniel defying his precious rules. And he couldn’t kill Nathaniel himself because that would make him appear spiteful, so he had The Assembled punish him. He had Isadora, who loved Nathaniel the most, punish him.”
I look to Isadora. Her green eyes are glassy. She appears, for the first time, almost vulnerable, almost human.
“And when that backfired,” Ariana continues. “When Nathaniel turned into a Breacher, he created the Hunters. He made you, Nathaniel’s own brother, hunt Nathaniel down like a dog in the street.”
I don’t want to believe this. I want to scream that none of this is possible except I already know some of it to be true. I already know that I was created to destroy Nathaniel. But I’m not ready to budge. I’m not ready to concede the point. “This doesn’t excuse what Isadora’s done,” I say firmly.
“I did what I had to survive, Gage. I did what I could to keep Ariana and Nathaniel safe.” Isadora’s stare is unsettling. “I don’t expect you to understand. And I’m not asking for forgiveness. But I am asking for your help.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because we’re trying to save Mercy.” Ariana crosses the small space and sits next to me. “Mercy is more powerful than any of us. You must know that by now. The things she can do.” Ariana hesitates and looks over at Eric. “We finally have the upper hand. Mercy can stop him. She can put an end to all of this.”
“So you’re willing to risk her life, just not your own, is that it?”
“If what we believe is true, Mercy is more than capable of handling herself,” Isadora says.
“What do you believe to be true?”
“I know Mercy told you about starting my heart, Gage,” Ariana says.
A snort escapes me. “Mercy told me that Isadora knew about that. She was frantic. Imagine how she’ll feel when she finds out her own mother ratted her out.”
Ariana leans forward. “It is my hope she’ll understand once we explain everything to her.”
“Good luck with that,” I say sarcastically.
“I also know she has the power to project thought, to manipulate minds.” Ariana drops this bomb and the room goes quiet.
I try not to register shock on my face, but I don’t think I’m being very convincing. “How do you know that?”
“A mother knows her daughter.”
I don’t confirm her theory. I will not betray Mercy.
“Lucas knows everything Mercy can do,” Isadora says, her voice urgent. “He fears her power. He knows it puts him in jeopardy. That’s why he’s coming after her. He’s been playing us all along, waiting to see if her powers manifested. And now that they have, he’s going to make his final move.”
“And what’s that?” I ask.
“He’s going to convince her to kill us,” Ariana says solemnly. “The same way he once convinced you.”
I’ve always known she hated my Hunter side. How could she not? But now I understand a little more about her hatred. If what she says is true, if Lucas Church is the ultimate enemy, then I was once his errand boy. He filled my head with righteousness and purpose and sent me on a misguided mission.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“We want you to convince Mercy not to listen to Lucas,” Ariana says.
“I won’t be able to do that,” I tell her solemnly.
“And why not?” Isadora asks sharply.
“Because Mercy wants to die.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ariana declares.
“No,” Eric rests his hand on Ariana’s arm, “it’s not. Think about it. Mercy wants what’s right, Ari. And living forever? We both know that’s not right.”
Ariana hangs her head. We all fear what comes next. If Mercy sides with Lucas Church, we’re all doomed.
My head is throbbing. My eyes are bleary, and it hurts every time I blink as if my eyelids are coated in sand. The bullet is no longer silent but rather burning. I want to lie down.
“I need to get the bullet out of Gage’s leg,” Justice says, as if she senses my discomfort.
Isadora and Ariana nod in agreement.
Justice rises off the couch. I want to follow her, but I can’t make my leg move. Isadora signals for her henchmen to assist me, but Eric gets to me first. I’m uncomfortable, but I let him. He walks me to a bedroom and place me on the bed, my feet still on the floor.
He exits without saying anything, and Justice closes the door.
“Can you pull your leg up on the bed?” she asks.
I try and fail. “Apparently not.”
She lifts my feet and swivels me around so that my whole body is on the bed. Next, she props pillows behind me and one under my injured leg. The last thing she does is untie the tourniquet she made from my shirt. “Comfortable?”
“As much as I can be.” My tone is biting, and when I see the injured look on her face, I feel bad. She’s only trying to help me. “Thank you,” I quickly add.
Justice arranges the supplies around me as I shrug out of my jacket. I feel somewhat self-conscious around her, shirtless and exposed like this, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s gathered cloth, bandages, an intimidating-looking syringe, a scalpel, a needle and thread, and pliers on a silver tray. I know better than to as
k how she got all this. Isadora has her ways. And I’m guessing her band of goons has been in the position of needing a bullet or two removed.
“We need to get your pants off,” she says sheepishly. “You know, for me to be able to … um …”
“Right,” I say, trying not to sound embarrassed. I unzip my jeans, and I try to shimmy them off, but it hurts like holy hell.
“Here. Let me help you.” Justice grips the ankles of my jeans and slowly tugs them off.
Now I’m really exposed, wearing nothing but boxers.
Justice stands over me, a syringe in her right hand. She flicks the plastic until the liquid rises and squirts from the tip. “I’m sorry,” she says as she plunges the needle into my thigh.
I grimace as the burning spreads. The liquid feels both cold and hot, and I almost vomit all over the bed. After a few seconds the pain subsides and I feel pleasantly warm.
Justice makes a small incision around the wound, not too deep, but enough to brighten my skin with blood. When she’s finished, she swaps the scalpel for the pliers. I feel pressure as she digs into my thigh and fishes out the bullet. It makes a plinking sound when she drops it on the tray. I pick it up and examine it. Strange how something so small and twisted can cause so much damage.
Justice uses the cloth to wipe my skin as best she can, applying pressure until the stream of blood shrinks to a trickle before she stitches me back together. When she’s finished suturing, she wraps my leg with bandages. “There. You should be okay.” Justice uncaps a pill bottle from the nightstand and holds out two white pills. “These will help with the pain.”
“I don’t need those.”
“Okay, hero, whatever you say.” She replaces the pills in the bottle, recaps it, and stashes it in a drawer.
I exhale heavily, suddenly exhausted.
“You can sleep,” she says. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
My eyes are already closed by the time I say, “I’m not that tired, actually.”
She laughs quietly at my lie.
I know I’m falling asleep despite my efforts not to. “Why are you helping me?”
I can hear her moving around, avoiding my answer.
The bed dips. My eyelids are too heavy to open and confirm what I know, that Justice is lying next to me.
“Justice, why?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Go to sleep, Gage.”
And I do.
My dreams are frantic, vivid, one piled up on top of the next, blended together, indiscernible, and frightening. In one dream, Nathaniel is dead, Mercy standing over him, his bloody heart in her hands. In another, Mercy and I are standing on the bridge, the light waiting on the other side, and she’s telling me to go, but I won’t listen. And in my last dream, Mercy is dead, lying in my arms, her eyes closed, her lips parted, and I’m screaming her name.
I wake with a start, gulping for breath.
I feel a hand on my bare chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I expect my eyelids to be hooded and heavy, but they open easily. “Nightmare.”
Justice nods. She feels my forehead with the back of her hand. “You’ve been fitful. I keep thinking you have a fever, but you don’t.”
I move from under her touch. “I’m fine.”
“Of course.” Justice sits up and pulls her knees to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” I say, though I don’t know why I’m apologizing or what I’m apologizing for.
We’re quiet for a few moments.
“What time is it?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Justice motions to the clock on the nightstand. “One fifteen.”
I rake my hands across my face. “Where is everyone else?”
“Isadora is asleep, I imagine. Ariana and Eric left hours ago.”
“No word on Mercy?”
It’s barely noticeable, but Justice flinches at the mention of Mercy’s name. She shakes her head.
“What about Nathaniel? Did they find Toby and take him to the hospital?”
“They did, but last I heard, he was still unconscious.”
“Damn.” I lean deeper into the pillow.
Justice uncoils and lies down, facing me. “How did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“You and Nathaniel were enemies. Now, you’re like brothers.”
I know what she’s asking. She wants to know if that relationship is possible for her and Mercy. She wants to be sisters, not foes.
“You didn’t exactly start off on the right foot,” I say honestly. “I don’t know if Mercy will ever see you as anything other than Isadora’s pawn.”
“Wow. That wasn’t judgmental at all,” Justice barks.
“I’m sorry. Just telling the truth.”
“All right fine. So I did this all wrong. But you try getting dropped into this situation, sixteen, clueless, emotions all over the place, and see how well you do.”
“A monkey could’ve done better than you.” We both laugh at my stupid joke.
“Screw you.” She playfully shoves me. “Honestly though, do you think Mercy will ever forgive me? I was only going along with Isadora because she said we couldn’t let Lucas know we weren’t on his side.”
“None of this makes sense to me. Every time I think I know who we’re fighting, we uncover a new layer of horror.”
“I hope you’re not still fighting me.”
I can’t give her an answer. I’m not ready to let my guard down completely.
“So you’re saying,” I angle myself toward her, “this whole time Isadora has been secretly on our side?”
“I don’t know about that. But she is now.”
“What about the whole jail thing? Was that Lucas or Isadora?”
“That was Isadora. See, with Mercy inside someone else’s body, she’s undetectable to Lucas. It’s the perfecting hiding place. Of course Isadora knew you’d rescue her, but she was trying to buy some time, I think.”
Once again, Nathaniel and I put Mercy in danger. I’m starting to wonder if we’re ever going to do right by her. “So by making Isadora the ring leader,” I prop my head in my hand, “Lucas has built this huge case against her. He wants Mercy to kill her.”
“Pretty much.”
“This is so messed up.”
Justice lowers her gaze. “Gage,” she starts. “I am sorry for my part in all this. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or anything, and it’s okay if you don’t want to give it. I just need you to know that I’m sorry,” her eyes flash to me, “and that I still think you’re the hottest kisser on the planet.”
My stomach stirs with heat as she continues to look wantingly at me. “Justice.”
“I know. It isn’t meant to be. Your heart belonging to Mercy and all. But what happens when you finally realize that Mercy’s heart belongs to Nathaniel?”
I open my mouth to speak and quickly close it.
“I wasn’t lying when I said you and I are alike,” Justice says, sadness drenching her voice. “We’re the copies of the original, the leftovers. There’s no one fighting for you or me. And when this war ends, where will we be?”
Her words are like thorns twisting in my side.
Justice shifts and our knees our touching. “We’re players in someone else’s game. I know that. But I don’t think you do.”
I’m beginning to understand.
“I want what they have. I want a love of my own. I want you, Gage.”
Alarms, bells, sirens—they’re all blaring in my head, and I can’t seem to get a grip on anything when Justice slides her hand up my bare chest. She places her fingers over my heart. “I want you,” she says again.
What’s right? What’s wrong? What’s smart? It all goes out the window with those three little words. I want you. And when Justice touches her lips to my throat, I lose all sense of myself. Because she’s right. To have someone to call your own, that’s what this is all about. It’s about human connection. It’s about love. Maybe I don’t
know what love really feels like, but I do know the pull of desire, the need to be touched and held and made to feel secure. I wanted all those things with Mercy. But Justice is right. Mercy’s heart belongs to Nathaniel. And I don’t want to deny it any longer.
Mercy has never declared her love for me. She’s never told me plainly that she wants me and only me. What Justice is offering is right here in front of me. And though I don’t know if I return her feelings quite as strongly, I can honestly say that when she’s this near, what I see is the girl who came to my rescue, the girl who saved my life and healed my wounds and stayed by my side while I slept.
Justice blazes a trail of kisses along my collarbone. She scoots closer but is careful not to lean on my injured leg. I twist my fingers into her hair, and when I do, she looks up at me. My eyes are fixated on her lips, remembering what it was like last time. Yes, I thought she was Mercy then, but that doesn’t change the sensation it left me with. This time, when I kiss her, I know she’s Justice, and I’m delighted that knowing this doesn’t abate the moment.
Human connection. There’s nothing else quite like it.
Chapter Twenty
Nathaniel
With each day, Nathaniel felt weaker. He replayed Isadora’s warning in his mind. He knew he had to find a body, and he had to find one fast. Nathaniel didn’t want to be someone too young, but he didn’t want someone too aged or fragile either. He needed someone established and settled, someone with money and resources, someone who would give him a comfortable existence. So he chose retired businessman, Ethan Wake. He was the perfect host. He lived alone, a widower with no children or family to speak of.
Before taking him over, Nathaniel did surveillance and memorized his routine. Ethan encountered very few visitors. He occasionally golfed, meeting a group of men at a country club where they would play a round, exchange barbs, and drink overpriced beer. Nathaniel could make do with that.
When the opportunity presented itself, one afternoon after Ethan returned home, Nathaniel pounced. He charged up the path. Stumbling back, Ethan tried to flee, but it was no use. Nathaniel exploded into fragments. Swarming, the pieces flew together like a flock of birds, purposeful and true, and dove straight down Ethan’s throat.
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