by Tracey Ward
“You’ll be okay?” he asks.
I give him a pointed look.
“Right, of course you will. Alright, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He rises from beside my bed, backing toward the door.
“So soon?” I ask, surprised. “Isn’t that risky?”
He shrugs. “Maybe, I guess. When do you want me to come back?”
Tonight.
“Tomorrow.”
He smiles. “You sure?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head with a wan smile, “but come back anyway.”
He leans down abruptly, taking me by surprise. His lips brush across my forehead once quickly, then, before I can freak out, he’s heading for the door.
“Lock this behind me, okay?” he calls to me.
“I will.”
He pauses, halfway out the door. His brown eyes find mine, holding onto me for a long, silent moment. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Finally he says quietly, “Goodnight, Joss.”
“Goodnight, Ryan.”
When he’s gone, I close my eyes and picture him heading down the stairs, his strange weapon in his hand. He’s crossing the street, heading parallel to the park, back toward the building with the wood burning smell and the real mattress and the books in the walls. He’ll sleep on the bed with the scattered blankets smelling of soap and sweat. And maybe they’ll smell a little of me. A little like Colony soap, harsh laundry detergents, vomit, fear and longing. It’ll smell like a caged animal newly released to the wild. Shaking scared, disoriented. Angry.
***
A week later, Trent shows up at my door.
Alone.
Ryan has been visiting every other day, checking on my arm to make sure infection isn’t running rampant. That I haven’t turned green. That I’m not jonesing for human flesh. It’s a worry you have these days no matter where you got your cut. Open wound means open to the sickness. No exceptions. I’m on full loft lock-down until I’m better healed and I am going out of my mind with boredom. My new favorite past-time? Knife throwing. It won’t do you a bit of good with a Risen, but with other people (something I am surrounded by lately), it’s a good talent to have.
Too bad I suck at it.
When Trent knocks on my door, I have a knife raised in my right hand. I was ready to throw but now I’m statue still. Waiting.
“Joss.”
That’s all he says. Just my name. Just once, low and deep in the way he says everything. Even. Methodical. Creepy as balls.
I tip toe to the door, my hand still raised high with the gleaming, sharp blade at the ready. I suddenly wish I had a peephole on my door, though I don’t know what it would matter. I know what he looks like. He won’t have a weapon showing, even if he intends to murder me.
“What do you want, Trent?” I demand quietly.
“Little pig, little pig, let me in,” he whispers.
“Not a chance in Hell, wolf. How do you know where I live?”
“Is it a secret?”
“I’m not exactly in the phone book.”
He chuckles. “Open the door.”
“No.”
“Ryan sent me.”
“Well, I’m sending you right back.”
“Why are you so scared of me, Joss?” he asks, sounding like he’s mocking me. Like he’s soothing a crying baby.
I bristle. “I’m not scared of you. I’m leery of you. Totally different.”
“Why are you leery of me?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
When he chuckles again, I tense. His voice is drifting farther away. Farther down the hall into the building.
“You’re going the wrong way. Exit’s to the left, pal!”
“I’m not leaving,” he replies calmly. He’s farther away now. “I’m looking for another entrance. There are more, aren’t there?” His voice is approaching again. Slowly. “Of course there are. There’s the fire escape out this window at the end of the hall that will lead up to the roof. Do you have a roof hatch, Joss?”
“It’s locked,” I snap, hoping it actually is.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice drifting the other way now. “There are other ways of getting in there. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find them.”
I don’t know what other entrances there may be, but I do know if anyone will find them it’s him. Be it Spider-manning his way up the building and through the windows or slithering his way up through my toilet. No matter how the ninja plans on doing it, I’d rather he didn’t.
I sigh heavily. I do not put away my knife.
When I open the door, he’s standing right there waiting as though he had been the entire time. He’s too quiet. Too quick. I’m jealous of it and I hate him for it.
“May I enter?” he drones, bowing gracefully to me, formally asking permission like a friggin’ vampire.
“Come in,” I say reluctantly, swinging the door open.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
He saunters in, scanning the entire loft in one quick assessing glance. I’m pretty sure in that one move he catalogued my entire world, underwear included. And he did it alphabetically.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, never leaving the door. I also leave it open as an invitation to leave.
“I told you, Ryan sent me.” He stands in the center of the room, his hands in his pockets. “What made you open the door? I thought you were leery of me.”
“I am and I should be. You’re shifty.” I spin my knife in my hand, just so we both know I have it. “And because you’re shifty, keeping you out started to feel like delaying the inevitable. Like a Risen at your door. They’re never going away. Eventually you have to make them go.”
He grins at me. “I promise not to overstay my welcome.”
“You already have.”
“That was fast.”
“It doesn’t take long with me.”
He smirks. “Do you know why I like you, Joss?”
“I’m sure I have no idea.”
“It’s for the same reasons Ryan does.” He holds up his hands in innocence. “Our reasons are the same, but our motives are completely different, I promise. I don’t see cozying up to someone like you. It’d be like loving a skunk.”
“Nice,” I deadpan. “Very charming.”
He shrugs. “I have as much use for charm as you do. What I mean is, a skunk scares easy. They’re solitary. When they don’t want you around, they let you know it and they send you home with a reminder for days.”
“You make a good point. You’re very chatty today, aren’t you?” I ask suspiciously.
“I am. It’s one of the reasons I like you. I can talk to you. You’re not all bravado and bullshit.”
“Thank you?” I ask, frowning.
He shakes his head dismissively. “It was an observation. If you want compliments, talk to Ryan. He’ll tell you the sun rises and sets in your hair. That your eyes remind him of rain.”
My frown deepens. “What does that even mean?”
“I have no idea, but he would understand it and if you heard him saying it, you’d understand it too.” He grins mischievously at me. It’s very Cheshire. Very cat ate the canary. “Ryan has use for charm.”
I don’t want to talk about Ryan and his charm. Or my eyes or his eyes or anyone’s thoughts on either of them. That’s a whole mess of crap that I don’t understand. I also feel like it’s something I cannot and do not want to stop which makes it scary and I hate being scared. But I want it.
It’s confusing.
“Why are you here?” I ask, feeling like I’m repeating myself.
Trent approaches me abruptly, reaching for my arm. I jump away from him into the hall, careful not to be trapped. He eyes me blankly.
“I need to look at your arm and report back to Prince Charming,” he tells me calmly.
“You’re not touching it,” I snap. He narrows his eyes at me and I sigh. “I don’t even let Ryan touch it. Not since he bandaged it. I
’m not… I’m not good at being touched. I’m not good at trusting people.”
“You don’t say.”
“Just go, okay? I’m fine. Thanks so much for stopping by.”
He stands in the open doorway, looking out into the hall at me. Finally he gestures to the knife in my hand.
“If I come toward you to leave, are you going to stab me?”
I squeeze my hand reflexively. “Maybe.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He steps toward me very slowly, very deliberately. I want to stick him. It’s instinct for me and I can’t turn it off. I can barely stand Ryan in my space. Having someone come at me that I don’t trust? Part of me is itching to put the blade in him and drop him to the ground. I don’t want to kill another person, that’s not what it is. It’s survival. It’s spending years not having people in my personal space. It’s something I felt coiled inside of me in the Colony but I never had a weapon to do anything about it. Nothing more violent than a fork. But standing here now with him advancing on me, his sharp, predators gaze locked on my face, and the means to defend myself? Auto-pilot is begging to come back on and I very nearly slam the blade into his stomach. To the hilt.
“Oooh,” he says quietly, watching my eyes. “You’re thinking about it. That’s good. You don’t want to lose that edge. Going soft will get you killed.”
I take a quick, deep breath but my voice is rock solid. “Crowding me while I’m armed will get you killed too.”
“I’m not worried,” he says with that feline grin of his. He steps away, turning his back on me to show just now not worried he is. As he walks down the hall, leaving me standing there with my knife ready and my muscles aching to end somebody, he calls over his shoulder, “You’re holding that knife all wrong. I’d have had it in your stomach before you’d ever get it near mine.”
***
It’s not until a week later that I finally have to explain what I plan to do. I think Ryan and I were both avoiding it; me because I simply didn’t want to tell him and have to face his reaction to it, and him because he was so happy to have me back and alive he didn’t want to talk about me committing suicide just yet.
During that week, the weight of Vin’s ring gets heavier and heavier. After the first week, when I know I’ve missed the market and it won’t come around again for another month, I can barely choke down my meals I’m so riddled with guilt. Letting people in is more painful than I remember. It’s not just the pain of watching them die, rise again and having to kill them yourself for the final time. That’s manageable. It’s this everyday complicated, emotional nonsense that makes me want to cut and run every single day. It has occurred to me more than once to pack up my gear and head for the hills. To leave all of this behind me and forget any of it ever happened. Ryan, Vin, Trent, the Colony, Nats, the kitchen crew, the pumpkin pie. It was all a strange, tasty dream. One I will work for years to forget. But I know from experience that I can and will eventually forget. At least I hope.
“Joss?” Ryan prods, pulling me back to reality. “Lay it on us.”
Trent is sitting beside Ryan across from me on the floor. The long lines of the tall windows shine huge rectangles of light into the room around us, casting the boys partially in shadow, partially in light. Trent’s eyes watch me intently from the dark and I think it’s no accident, the way he’s sitting.
“When I was in the Colony,” I begin, spinning the ring on my finger nervously. “I made friends with some people. One of them was a pimp from The Hive.”
Ryan scowls at me, surprised and obviously annoyed by this information. Trent couldn’t care less.
“He was in there with two of the women from their stables. One of them went full native, but the other wanted out just like us. I ended up making some friends in the kitchens too. Eventually, they told me that the people in the Colonies aren’t happy with how things are being run. They’re locked in, just like I was, and being preached to about keeping the unclean out. Their cleansing process when you go in there is creepy thorough, I can vouch for that. But worst of all, they’re separating families. They’re doing it to keep people in line, to have a threat to hang over their heads. I think the higher ups must know their people are getting pissed at being locked in and they’re trying to keep them under control. Otherwise, why do it?”
Trent nods in silent agreement.
“And these people,” Ryan asks, disbelieving, “the angry ones, they want out of the Colonies?”
“Not entirely. They don’t want to come live in the wild. It terrifies them.”
“Then where will they go? And how will they break out?”
“How did Joss do it?” Trent asks, his eyes on me.
I don’t flinch. “That’s not important.”
Trent grins slightly, but he doesn’t respond. He knows. Not even because Ryan told him, which he might have, but he just knows.
“We’ll have to break them out,” I tell Ryan. “After that, they want to gain control of the buildings again. Get their freedoms back.”
He laughs. “Seriously? They want to stage a coup? And you and I, we’re going to break them out? How?”
I’m annoyed he’s laughing at me, but I’m grateful he’s lumped himself in with me as well. I hadn’t hoped for that.
“We won’t do it alone.”
“No, because that’s impossible.”
“We need help from The Hive.”
His smile disappears. “Now I know you’re joking,” he says seriously.
I shake my head faintly. “I’m not.”
“Joss, that’s insane,” Ryan says, his voice rising. “You can’t work with The Hive. You can’t ask for help from The Hive.”
“I have an in.” I hold up my splinted left arm, showing him my finger wearing the ring. “Vin, the guy from The Hive, he gave me this when I left. He said to take it to Marlow, the head of The Hive. He said to tell Marlow that he sent me.”
“This is the guy who got stabbed, isn’t it?” Ryan asks, his voice going low.
I nod. “He was stabbed because of me. Well, partially. Partly because he was a careless man whore, but also because of me. I owe it to him to go back for him. I owe it to all of them.”
“And this guy, this pimp, he thought Marlow would help you if you showed him that ring?”
“No. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t work.”
Ryan frowns, his face exasperated. “Then why are you even thinking about doing this?”
I don’t have a good answer for that. Not a smart one. So I give him the only one I do have.
“Because I made a promise,” I say firmly. “I don’t do that very often. I’d like to keep it.”
“That’s honorable,” Trent tells me.
Ryan shakes his head at him. “It’s stupid is what it is.”
“Most honorable things are.”
“I need you to take me to the market,” I tell Ryan. “I need to go there and make contact with someone from The Hive so I can try to get an audience with Marlow.”
“The market isn’t the place to do it,” Trent tells me.
My shoulders sag, deflating with my meager hopes. “Then where? The market is the only place I know of where you all come together.”
“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.
“Oh man,” Ryan mutters. He runs his hand over his face quickly, looking annoyed. “Don’t.”
“Are you talking about the fights?” I ask. “The Risen fights?”
Trent nods solemnly. “There are more members, more high members, of The Hive at the Underground than you’ll ever find in the markets. If you go to the market, you’ll only get the run around and end up owing a favor to some ugly people who got you nowhere. You want Marlow or one of his inner circle, you have to go to the Underground.”
“Can you take me there?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Ryan says firmly.
“Why not?” I demand.
“Because this is stupid, Joss. This whole entir
e thing is crazy. What are you hoping to gain from talking to Marlow? His help? He won’t help you. They’re not a helpful bunch.”
“I know that,” I say indignantly.
“Then what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I have to try!” I shout, losing myself. “I’m thinking I care for once and I want to help people. Vin and Nats, they’re like me, Ryan. They’ll die in a place like that. It will break them just like it would have broken me. And I care so that bothers me and it sucks but the switch has been flipped and you flipped it so you can’t tell me to undo what’s already been done.”
Ryan stares at me in the falling light, his face looking strong and golden in the amber glow. He’s changed everything and he knows it. He can hate this plan all he wants, but he has to understand that if I’m going to care about him, I’m going to care about others as well. It may get me killed, just as I knew feeling anything for him could, but it doesn’t make it any less worth it. I can see it in his eyes, what Nats warned me about. It’s harder to live than it is to survive, but he’s worth it. Going to sleep knowing I tried for the others, even if I’m sleeping in the stables of The Hive, will be worth it.
“I’ll take you there,” Ryan tells me quietly. Reluctantly. “Give me two weeks and I’ll take you.”
“Two weeks? Why not tonight?”
He snorts, shaking his head. “You can’t go with that splint on. They get off on weakness and you’ll have to at least be able to pretend your arm isn’t useless. Besides, I haven’t been there in a while. I can’t just show up one night with a girl no one’s ever seen before on my arm, asking to talk to the boss.”
“You’ve been to the fights before?”
“A time or two.”
I turn to Trent. “You too?”
He simply nods.
“And they know you down there?”