The Warrior

by Victoria Scott

As the sun sets, three humans arrive at our suite of bedrooms and usher in a rack of clothing. It reminds me of the night we dined with Kraven, and Annabelle wore that red dress. It was the first time I realized Kraven might have a thing for Anna.

  Now here we are again. Annabelle and Charlie choose their dresses and slip away into Annabelle’s room. After the humans leave, it’s only Blue and me left behind. It’s too similar to the time before. Except this go round, Aspen won’t appear in her seventies-inspired get-up, and Blue’s jaw won’t drop in a cliché manner.

  As Blue and I inspect the suits, I’m once again stunned by the preparation that went into creating the Hive. It’s as if someone knew exactly who would be here and what we’d need. Even finding clothing to fit has never been a problem. It’s almost like the person who instructed the building and planning of this operation was all-knowing.

  I step into charcoal-colored pants and then slide on a red long-sleeved undershirt and matching charcoal suit jacket. My black shoes are boss like whoa, and I even find a pair of silver cufflinks in the jacket’s left pocket. Overall, I’m feeling like a hustler. Like Dante Damn Straight Walker.

  But I forget myself in a heartbeat when Annabelle’s door opens a few minutes later. Annabelle steps out wearing a purple dress with a magnitude of sheer layers cascading from the waist. The top of the dress is more of a corset, and a ruby necklace adorns her chest. She’s swiped on mascara and her lips are all shiny and oh man Kraven is going to crap himself.

  “You look good, Anna,” I say.

  Blue steps beside me, wearing a navy pinstriped suit with a simple white undershirt. “He speaks the truth. For once.”

  I punch him in the shoulder lightly and he laughs. The sound is hollow though, and I know just why.

  Charlie comes out behind Annabelle, and I close my eyes against the sight of her. My heart thrums in my ears and when I open my eyes again, she’s still there. She’s still stolen my breath and my mind and I want to keep her in this moment forever. I want to stop time. Right now. Not last night as we lay together, but now. I want to forever see her in this white lace dress that touches her pink toes. I want to study her face—brightened by Annabelle’s hand, no doubt—as if she is my own pristine statue. I want to slip my arms around her and become a part of this frozen moment.

  This girl, she’s turned me into a freaking poet. I’d vom if I could think to do it.

  Charlie fingers her white pearl earrings. “Do I look okay?”

  I don’t hesitate; I just kiss her. Behind us, Annabelle protests that I’m messing up her makeup, but I can’t help myself. My fingers run through Charlie’s hair and my other hand rests on the back of her neck. Charlie’s lips taste like sugar with a tingle of spearmint. She kisses me back and for a second I think that maybe I’ll get my wish and we’ll stay like this for eternity. But then Blue clears his throat repeatedly and I sense Annabelle standing too close. When I open my eyes, I find that Annabelle’s mug is three inches from ours. She laughs so hard I’m afraid she’ll split her purple dress.

  “That was way creepy, Annabelle,” I say.

  She raises the flat of her hand to her hairline and salutes me. “Pleasure to serve.”

  The four of us trail down the drafty corridors of the Hive toward the great room. When I first step foot into the place we’ll be dining, I can’t believe it’s the same room. A gold tablecloth adorns the main table and smaller covered tables pepper the room. Each table has an arrangement of tall, eerie branches set in a vase of red-stained water.

  White plates and sterling silverware sit sharply before each chair, and the enormous gothic chandelier’s bulbs overhead have been dimmed. Along the main table, in addition to the arrangements, are silver four-pronged candleholders with cream-colored wicks already aflame. A man in the corner coddles a violin to his neck like a newborn babe and plays gentle notes. There’s a slight blush to his cheeks as if he’s decided that tonight he’ll brave an audience for the first time.

  The aroma of roasted meats is overpowering. I know the kitchen is nearby, but the musky-sweet smells are so strong it’s as if the food has already been served. My stomach rumbles and I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve lingered at a meal, since I’ve savored the flavors of a well-made dish.

  Valery, Max, and Neco sit at the long table. Max whispers quietly to Valery and she smiles like a new bride who’s never glimpsed her husband’s bed. It’s…dare I admit it…sweet. Neco fingers the salad fork to the right of his plate and tries to pretend he doesn’t hear the two lovers trading endearments. My spine stiffens studying him. I never got to visit the liberator two nights ago, and now I think what a mistake that was.

  I suppose I know, deep down, that I’m not entirely sure he’s the traitor. Perhaps it seems too obvious. If he was intent on destroying our efforts, why let me know about it? Still, the things he’s said and done, the coincidences that seem to indict him, I can’t help feeling as if I’m waiting for that one final push that tells me we’ve found our man. Though when that moment comes, I will be the one to take him down.

  Charlie takes my hand and leads me to the table. When did this happen? When did Charlie start being the one to lead me? I study the back of her neck as she moves, the muscles working, the soft blond hairs. I love her neck. I’m so unbelievably smitten that I can’t stop worshiping her neck.

  What is wrong with me?

  I’m a champ.

  I’m the ultimate playboy.

  And yet…her neck.

  I pull out her chair and watch as she tucks the white dress I want to tear from her body beneath her. I drop down into my own chair and Annabelle and Blue sit across from us. Neco is next to Annabelle. He greets me with a glare that could set a nun afire. I flip him the bird and he sneers.

  “I don’t like you, Neco,” I say.

  “The feeling’s mutual, maggot,” he responds with venom. But then something happens, something I almost don’t catch. The corner of his mouth quirks. Not in the I hate you so much it’s hilarious way, but more in the I really enjoy messing with you way. Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone.

  “You don’t really hate me, do you?” I ask.

  “Dante.” Charlie’s voice holds a warning. “Please be nice. We’re all in this together.”

  “Sorry.” I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. When she’s not looking though, I tap my temple and point to Neco like I’m onto him. He shakes his head. But then…then I’m even more conflicted. Maybe Neco is harassing me because he figures I won’t think he’s the traitor if he’s obvious about it, and he almost smiled because his plan is working.

  Right?

  No.

  I’ve confused myself.

  “How’s it going down there?” Max says from next to Valery. I lean back so I can see him, and he leans forward. Then he leans back and I lean forward. Then we start screwing up on purpose, using Valery’s body between us as a game piece.

  “Stop it,” Red says.

  “I won’t,” Max responds.

  Charlie laughs beside me, and Annabelle cracks a smile.

  “Good God, men,” Blue says in a butchered British voice. “Where’s your dignity?”

  I laugh at that and stop leaning. Charlie squeezes my leg beneath the table and Annabelle bumps Neco with her shoulder. “Cat got your tongue?” Neco sticks it out and Annabel grabs it.

  “Gross.” He pulls away from her, but he’s laughing. Sort of.

  The six of us continue joking, suffocating our fear of tomorrow, as dishes clang in the kitchen. Annabelle is about to make another dig at Neco when her eyes catch on one of the entryways.

  “Paine.” Annabelle stands up.

  Paine stands stock still, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes downcast. He’s wearing a black suit that’s not messing around and a green undershirt. He’s freshly shaved and I’d bet my left nut that he’s wearing cologne. Tonight’s the night he’ll nab Annabelle’s attention. At least, that had to have been what he told himself as he dressed.
>
  Paine’s gaze raises and a smile touches his lips when he sees her. “You look beautiful, Annabelle.” There’s something in the way he says her name, as if tonight he’s come to play ball. He’s come to win.

  The liberator strides across the room, chin held high like he’s reminded himself to have confidence. “I know it’s a bother,” he says in a true British accent. “But may I sit next to you?”

  Neco looks around and realizes this probably means he needs to move. He doesn’t.

  “Get up, shit bag,” I say. “Let the dude sit next to Annabelle.”

  “Why me? Make the curly-headed fart get up.”

  “Classy,” Blue mutters, realizing Neco is talking about him. And then, being the standup guy that he is, Blue rises and moves one chair down.

  Paine thanks him profusely and then takes his seat. He stares at Annabelle and she stares back, like she’s uncertain how to handle this kind of rapt attention from him. Also, like she’s determining whether, just maybe, things could go smoother if she developed feelings for Paine instead of Cyborg.

  Oswald enters with one of the sisters. A second later, there’s a bustle near the kitchen as a neat line of humans trail toward our table, their arms heavy with silver platters. Kraven walks among them, carrying a dish of sautéed summer squash and zucchini that drip with butter. He almost smiles as if he’s proud to be among the staff.

  He smiles, that is, until he sees Annabelle, her eyes on Paine. He stumbles for a moment, his massive frame suddenly a young boy’s. Then he recovers with gritted teeth and approaches the table.

  “Thank you all for coming to dinner tonight.” He glances around. “Where are the…the jackrabbits? Dante?”

  I raise my hands. “What? They’re my responsibility?”

  “We’re here,” a new voice chimes.

  I turn in my chair. When I spot Lincoln and the other twelve jackrabbits, I pound a fist against the oak table and say, “Yes!”

  34

  Princes

  My eyes rake over the guys in the entranceway. I am, in a word, delighted.

  Lincoln is still dressed in his military get up, but now the other twelve jackrabbits are outfitted in green and brown camouflage uniforms, too. Each uniform has a black rabbit sewn onto the right pocket, and the soldiers stand at attention proudly displaying their new attire. They expect a reaction, and I’ll give it to them.

  “That is straight up sick, dude,” I say. “You guys look legit.”

  “Where did you get those uniforms?” Kraven asks evenly, always evenly.

  A young girl in the staff raises her hand. She has peach-colored hair and green eyes; it seems those eyes have forgotten Blue now that Lincoln’s here. “I worked on them,” she says with modesty. “But others helped.”

  The girl meets Lincoln’s gaze and he fidgets like Queen Anne Boleyn on her period. But I see right through his unease. Dude’s got a crush if I’ve ever seen one.

  Lincoln clears his throat and tips his head. “Fall in, soldiers.” The jackrabbits step into a row of two, six people deep. Arms are stiff at their sides, faces staring ahead. “Forward march.”

  The jackrabbits begin marching forward, leading off with the same foot. The way they move, it’s like they’re one single person.

  “Halt,” Lincoln hollers. “About face.”

  They stop and turn to their general.

  And then Lincoln gives one final command, “Present arms!”

  The jackrabbits’ right hands whip to their green belts. They jerk something out of a holster there, flip their hand once, and bring their arm back down by their side. In each of the jackrabbits’ grip is a nine-inch blade.

  “Oh, snap!” I yell. “Instant G status!”

  Kraven moves toward Lincoln. “How did you get those?”

  Lincoln brings a stiff hand to his brow and clicks his heels together. “A quick mission, sir. Four jackrabbits stole stone from the ocean’s edge, sir.”

  Kraven holds out his palm. Lincoln retrieves his knife in a quick, sharp movement and flips the handle toward the liberator. He keeps his other hand in a salute. “Uh, at ease.”

  Lincoln drops his arm and steps back until he’s in line with his soldiers.

  Kraven inspects the blade. “You created these?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Can you get more?”

  Lincoln’s gaze drops. “We almost lost a soldier out there. But we can try again. We’ll do better.”

  Kraven waves the thought away. “Absolutely not.” The liberator puts a hand on Lincoln’s shoulder. “You did good, kid.”

  Lincoln beams like a spelling bee champion, but at the same time, he seems extremely uncomfortable that Kraven is touching him. Kraven seems to sense this, so he drops his arm. He inspects the blade once more and mumbles, “Wrapped the handle in strips of cloth.”

  “Sir. They can be used to tie off wounds on the battle field,” Lincoln responds.

  Kraven hands the blade back and Lincoln tucks it away so swiftly I almost miss the movement.

  Charlie claps her hands. “Brilliant. You guys are just brilliant.”

  The sound of her voice wakes me from my jackrabbit trance. I squeeze her knee.

  “I wish you didn’t take that risk, though,” she adds.

  “We’re sorry to upset you, Princess,” Lincoln says.

  Charlie laughs. “Princess?”

  Lincoln flushes. “It’s how we refer to you and Aspen. A princess of life, and a princess of death.”

  Charlie’s smile fades. She stands slowly and crosses the room to where he stands. Kraven steps back, giving her space to approach. My breath catches and no one speaks a word. The way she strides toward them, the way that white dress drapes her body—she really does look like royalty.

  “Lincoln,” Charlie says. “I will be your princess.” She walks down the line of jackrabbits and inspects each of them. Then she looks back to Lincoln with solemnity. “But then you must be my princes.”

  Lincoln’s blush deepens, even if the girl with peach-colored hair is not entirely thrilled at this turn of events.

  As this spectacle takes place, the staff sets down platters and uncovers lids. They move on mouse feet so as not to interrupt the show, but now they linger a few feet away, uncertain of what to do next.

  Kraven motions to the smaller tables surrounding the larger, longer one. “Please sit,” he tells the staff. “We are all the same now. And we will dine as one.”

  The humans are pleased. They spring toward empty chairs like they’d planned out where they would sit long before he gave his permission. I tuck a white napkin in my lap and listen to the violinist again. He’s played this whole time, but he became white noise at one point. Now I savor the melancholy sounds he’s producing.

  I kiss the side of Charlie’s head and reach for the roast in gravy drippings.

  Kraven’s voice stops me. “Let us pray.”

  Let us whaaa?

  Kraven bows his head and everyone follows suit. I roll my eyes and tighten my jaw and, finally, I bow my head. The others stare at the back of their eyelids as Kraven begins to speak. I stare at my empty plate. Am I being ungrateful to a God who gave me a second chance at life? No. I’m repaying my debt. He wants a fighter, I’ll give him one. But I won’t pretend that Big Guy cares about me on a personal level. Give me a freaking break.

  “Bless us this food to the nourishment of our bodies, your Grace,” Kraven says. “And be with us in three days’ time as we fight a war you knew would come. We will be victorious with your hand. Hear our words as we say together the prayer you taught us.” Kraven hesitates, and when he speaks again, voices from around the room rise up. They speak together and a chill races across my skin. “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” They continue, growing in volume, growing in confidence. The violin plays along with their voices, turning their words into a fearsome musical chant. The sound washes over me and I f
eel as if I’m floating, as if I’m sliding out of my own body. It’s an experience like I’ve never felt and I can sense my wings itching to be released.

  I close my eyes.

  I don’t know this prayer, but I close my eyes anyway and feel the effect.

  “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen.”

  The power.

  Forever.

  I’ll tell you one thing. I’ve never heard this prayer before, but that’s the kind of confidence I could get behind.

  35

  Dancing with the Devil

  We serve ourselves that night. We eat as a family.

  My plate overflows with tuna tartar, pan seared foie gras, Dijon crusted lamb in a yogurt mint sauce, goat cheese and roasted tomato stuffed chicken breasts, lump crab mashed potatoes, applewood bacon mac ‘n’ cheese, almonds dipped in honey, and a popover that oozes butter.

  “A meal fit for a princess,” I whisper to Charlie.

  She blushes. “Stop it.”

  I expected the night to be gloomy, but it’s quite the opposite. The humans laugh and urge the man playing the violin to play louder, to play longer. They pass bottles of red wine and champagne from hand to hand and no one’s glass goes empty. Even Valery, always the sophisticate, indulges. Blue nabs Neco’s wine every time he turns away and pours it into his own. I bust a gut laughing when I catch him and he shushes me.

  Though Max and Valery don’t coo the way they did before with Kraven present, they still joke and eat and smile like there isn’t a care to be bothered with. They aren’t allowed to be together, I know that, but anyone can see how in love the two are. Watching them, I marvel at what they’ve been through. Valery dying and leaving a fiancé, Max, behind. Max perishing soon after and then somehow managing to find her after death. It seems like fate. They must believe it’s fate. And yet they must remain physically separated. It’s horrible, really.

  My eyes slide across Valery’s face and I spy something in her I’ve never seen before: abandonment. She is at home next to Max, and even as he teases Blue, she watches him like he is her life vest amidst a turbulent sea. Valery is a pillar of control and faith, but I don’t miss the desperation on her face as she watches Max. The way her fingers twitch to touch him. The way her body arches toward his.