Descendants Series

by Melissa Wright

  He barely slowed, spinning again to land us in southbound traffic on the other side. I pressed my hand to the door, finding and gripping a handle I was fairly certain was made for exactly that. I glanced in the mirror and saw a third car join the chase. Well, maybe not exactly that.

  A minute later, a Suburban cut in front of us and I cringed, but it kept speed and Logan stayed on its tail. When two more appeared behind us, I realized they were the Division cars. The cavalcade. We played a short game of cups, and then the front SUV veered into the turn lane and Logan sped past it, leaving nothing but a solid wall of black Chevrolet between us and our pursuers.

  Logan reached up, slipped the device from his ear, and dropped it into the console. Two streets later, he slowed, looking over at me.

  “Okay?”

  I stared at him. I wasn’t sure.

  He pulled over. “Brianna?”

  I glanced out the back, no sign of any suspicious vehicles or black SUVs, and then again at Logan with a shaky laugh. “I guess Brendan knows where we are now.”

  His brow drew down, and then he realized my mistake. “Those aren’t Division men.”

  “They’re not?”

  He shook his head. “That’s my team.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll explain it later, I promise. Right now, we have to get you back to Division before anyone finds out you’re missing, or it won’t be easy to go back to the archives tomorrow.”

  He reached for the shifter, but I put a hand on his arm. “We’re going back there? After this?”

  “You’re safe with me, Brianna.”

  I drew my fingers away. “But those men. Why would you risk it?”

  His gaze never faltered. “I was under the impression what you were doing was important.”

  I glanced at my hands. The ancient symbols marking the inside of my wrists. Back at Logan. “Aern told you to do what I asked.”

  “At all cost.”

  Chapter Five

  Connections

  When we got back to Southmont, Logan stood under the awning, looking mournfully at the car. I stopped beside him, looked at it, and then at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He sighed. “I liked that one.”

  The corner of his mouth turned down, and he tossed the keys to one of the waiting men. The guard shook his head, apparently sharing in the lament, and slid the keys into his pocket. “Stay safe,” he said to Logan, and Logan nodded in return.

  A few minutes later, we were in my room, and it was time for Emily to show up. Had she been early, we’d have had to explain our detour. As it was, I only had a moment to splash my face with water and straighten my appearance. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, running a brush through my hair, when the vision came.

  It was so brutal, so intense and graphic, that the stillness I usually tried to maintain was nowhere to be found. I doubled over, brush clattering against the tile floor, and felt cold, hard marble on my cheek as I fought not to retch.

  I heard the solid thump of wood, a cracking splinter, and Logan’s voice. “Brianna,” he gasped.

  I squeezed my eyes shut hard, felt the cool solidness of the counter beneath my palms, the pain from pressing so hard against it, and the fear in Logan’s grip. I opened my eyes again, raising my head to slowly peer into the mirror.

  My face. Not Emily’s.

  “Brianna,” Logan repeated.

  My eyes met his in the mirror, and I was suddenly trembling. I turned to him, wanting to explain, but my knees gave. He caught me, drawing me into his arms.

  It was worse this time. Worse than my mother. Worse than the others. I’d seen Emily, face pale and wet with blood, eyes vacant, empty, hair matted against her bruised neck, shirt torn and bloody. This one wasn’t like the others. It was too close. Too real. Logan’s hands were on my back, and I tried to focus on that touch, that steady pressure, instead of the image of my sister. I buried my face into his chest, but it was no use. It was as if the picture were seared into my vision. And it was too close.

  Too soon.

  I felt another hand on my shoulder, a light, gentle touch, and I knew it was her. I took a deep breath before I turned to face her. My stomach was in knots and my muscles ached, but I had to do this.

  “It’s fine,” I said, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.

  Emily took my arm to pull me to her, but Logan seemed reluctant to let go. “It’s fine,” I said again. “I’m okay.”

  It was the first time I’d seen a trace of doubt in his face, but he stepped back to let Emily walk me from the room. I did my best to lock my knees and smooth my expression. “No,” I told Emily when she turned toward my bed. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “Bri,” she started, but I pulled from her grip.

  “No.”

  She stared at me for a long moment, unwilling to understand the urgency and demand in my tone. Finally, she let out a breath and nodded. “Fine, but you need rest.”

  “I will,” I said. “After.”

  Logan left us and we sat cross-legged on the floor opposite each other as I grasped her hands. Emily closed her eyes, breathing deep and steady, and tried to relax as I worked. I closed my eyes as well, still unable to banish the image of her hollow stare, and attempted to visualize the connections that threaded through her.

  I had researched the others, pored through every scrap of information I could find, every detail my mother had to offer, but I was no closer to understanding it. The Council had their own doctors, their own scientists who had studied the powers for years, but even their understanding was limited.

  Human brainwaves were no more than electrical pulses, so it stood to reason that those of the Seven Lines were somehow thrusting those pulses into another’s system. By focusing on a person, or touching them, they could generate the pulse, and therefore the impulse, to act out a certain objective. It made sense, as a theory. Unfortunately, there was no proof to it. Beyond that, there were the other things. The Seven Lines’ ability to heal faster and sleep less, as well as the talents they had since lost.

  And then there were the visions.

  I might have been lacking answers, but there was one thing I knew for certain. Morgan’s men had to be stopped. Aern had to be able to prevent war. And Emily was the center of it all.

  The problem was, I didn’t know if it was magic. I didn’t know if it was science. I didn’t know, and so I didn’t have a clue what to look for, how to fix it.

  “Think about something else,” I said to Emily, eyes still closed.

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking about,” she said.

  I slid my grip up her arms to the base of her wrists. “I can feel your heart rate. I said it’s fine. I am fine.”

  Emily let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Think of …” I stopped, because there was nothing I could tell her to think of. Nothing that didn’t bring to mind the death of our mother, the time we’d spent running, the danger that was coming.

  My eyes came open to find Emily watching me with the same troubled expression I wore. “Is there something I can do?” she asked, after a minute of heavy silence.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “God, Emily, I don’t know.”

  She turned our hands, the tattoos at the base of my wrists staring back at us. They had saved her for a while. Some outcome my mother had seen, some premonition had warned her to hide us, to mark her second child as the chosen. To mislead the very men we were helping. “I can’t believe this is all for nothing, Brianna. I can’t believe we’ve come this far, only to fail.”

  “I don’t think I can do it,” I said. “You’re not the same as the others, there’s something different about our makeup. With them, it’s only a matter of finding connections, fusing them in place. But with us, those fibers are different. I can’t see them. I can’t see what I should do.”

  “You will,” Emily said. “I know you will.”

  I stared into her sea-green eyes, past her attempt to hide worr
y and concern, and knew she was telling the truth. She believed I could do it. She believed I would save them.

  And if I didn’t, she would die.

  Logan came back within minutes of Emily leaving my room. I wondered if he’d gotten any sleep at all, but he looked as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. When he came closer, the fresh scent of soap confirmed it.

  “Your sister said you needed rest,” he offered.

  I nodded. “I’m just going to sit here for a while. I have some thinking to do.”

  He sat on the small table beside where I was curled into the couch. After a moment, I realized he was examining me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling a pillow onto my lap. “They aren’t usually that bad.” A shiver ran through me at the thought, the recalled image, and he moved to reach for a woven throw. I wrapped it around me, not wanting to admit it wasn’t the cold.

  “Is there anything I should do … the next time?”

  “No,” I said. I thought of the busted door, his arms around me. “You did just fine.”

  It was the last thing I remembered until I woke hours later. I was stretched out on the couch, throw tucked tightly under my chin, and—I realized when I stretched—barefoot. I glanced at my boots, standing neatly on the floor at the end of the couch, and sat up, finding the knife that had been stowed there lying on the side table.

  Logan saw me looking at the blade, but made no comment.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Almost four.” At my yawn, he added, “You sleep like the dead.”

  I nodded. It happened every time I worked with the connections. The magic took something out of me. And it wasn’t just that, I was starving.

  “You need to eat,” Logan said, though I wasn’t sure if he could read the hunger in my expression or it was simply the knowledge that I’d worked through lunch and slept through dinner.

  “I can wait for breakfast.”

  He frowned.

  “I’m not going to wake someone up to cook for me.”

  “Then we won’t,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him.

  I started for my knife and boots, and Logan turned. “You don’t need those, Brianna. We’re only going downstairs.”

  I flushed, leaving both to follow him through the door. Two guards were positioned at opposite ends of the hallway, armed and alert. I took a little hop-step to catch Logan’s stride, but lost it again when he took the stairs two at a time.

  “Are you in a hurry?” I whispered toward his back as I rushed to keep up.

  He glanced over his shoulder, perplexed by my question. “No.”

  I bit down on a grin. He must have been one of those get-things-done people. Emily was one of those people.

  We walked into the kitchen, a massive, open-spaced arena compared to the last place I’d cooked a meal, complete with stainless, commercial-sized appliances. I followed Logan into the pantry, considerable in its own right, and watched as he rummaged through vegetables, boxes, and cans.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked from behind him.

  He stopped his exploration to look at me. “Something quick.”

  I realized I was hovering, and leaned back, picking a random can off the shelf to examine. It was caviar. They had an entire shelf of caviar. I would have settled for a single jar of peanut butter.

  Logan handed me an onion before gathering a few green peppers to stack on top of the other ingredients for our dinner. I followed him back into the kitchen where he dropped the vegetables into the sink and started a pot to boil. He washed the peppers and moved to set them on the counter, so I stepped out of his way, and then shifted again when he went for a saucepan. The third time, his brow drew down in annoyance and he took me by the waist to move me from his path.

  I watched from my new position as he diced onion and pepper, threw them in with olive oil, added some garlic and parsley, and slid pasta into the roiling water.

  The scent of tomato seemed amplified by the steam and my stomach panged. Luckily, he’d plated up spaghetti and warm bread within minutes, holding one in each hand as he gestured for me to come along. By that point, I was so hungry I would have followed him anywhere. He stopped just outside the kitchen, where a small nook contained a table, two chairs, and an east facing window.

  I sat, curling my bare feet onto the railing beneath the chair, and used all my strength not to shovel hot pasta into my mouth as Logan watched. After a moment, I regained myself and swallowed. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

  The corner of Logan’s mouth rose, and suddenly, as if only then realizing he’d been staring, he went to work on his own plate.

  I tore off a piece of bread, finding I couldn’t seem to stop watching him now. There was a tiny little scar on his temple that disappeared behind dark blond hair. It must have been fresh, probably from the battle with Morgan’s men. My stomach turned. I pulled the chunk of bread in half, and then again. “Do you cook often?”

  His gaze slipped to my fidgeting hands. “Only when I need to eat.”

  I dropped the fragments onto my plate and asked, “You don’t live at one of the houses?”

  Logan glanced over his shoulder, and back at me. “No. I’ve stayed occasionally, but I keep a private residence,” he dropped his own bread, “since I moved from Council.”

  Since Morgan had taken over his home. He let the silence hang between us, until I asked in a whisper, “Will you go back?”

  His eyes met mine, dark amber in the faint light. “I don’t know, Brianna. It … it isn’t the same.”

  I knew exactly what he meant. We had lost our mother, our home, everything except each other, Emily and I. We’d been more on the run than adrift, but there was no going back, either way.

  And now Emily had Aern.

  Logan gestured toward my food, pretending not to notice my hand pressed tight against my stomach, and said, “Finish up. I want to get an early start this morning.”

  This time, it was a Cadillac V. Daybreak was just starting to color the sky, giving the car’s sleek black angles an unnatural glow. I had the strangest notion that it reminded me of the Seven Lines’ eyes, the way they all seemed to radiate that something “other” within, but when I looked at Logan, our gazes locking over the roof of the sedan, all I saw was a man.

  We settled into the car, strapped the seatbelts on, and took yet another route to Council’s main building. I watched the sunrise reflected in the glass of the homes and buildings, thinking of all the people who didn’t know we even existed. I imagined they were inside, going about their daily business, not even concerned that if I couldn’t do my job, if I couldn’t find the connection to fix Emily, they would all die.

  Images of their faces flipped through my consciousness, broken and splattered, no time to so much as scream before the impact came. Liquid fire pulsed through the scenery, reducing it to metal framework and ash. And here, in this living nightmare, their eyes did burn. Not an otherworldly glow, but a blaze. The blood of the dragon.

  “Brianna,” Logan said from beside me.

  His words cut through the vision, and I closed my eyes hard, forcing the images away. I had seen them before, a thousand times. It was nothing new, but somehow, more intense. Painful.

  When my eyes came open, Logan’s hands were cradling my face. My fists were pressed hard against my chest and stomach; I felt like retching.

  “Are you okay?” Logan asked softly.

  I took a deep breath, forcing it past the constriction of my chest. We were stopped, pulled over on a side road. I raised a trembling hand to Logan’s, managed a nod.

  He lowered his hands, but kept mine in his. “We can go back.”

  “No,” I said. We were running out of time. They were getting closer. The prophecies were hurting me. Warning me. “I have to do this, Logan. It has to be now.”

  He didn’t speak, only watched me for a moment longer before turning back to the wheel. And he kept hold of my hand.

  Chapter Six


  Confessions

  By the time we reached the archives, I’d recovered from the vision. I suspected the entire episode had rattled Logan more than he let on. He paced the back wall, letting me work in silence for about an hour before he subtly began checking on me. The third time he crossed in front of the table, I looked up at him; fingers laced behind his back, eyes darting from wall to ceiling. Maybe he was just bored.

  “Logan?”

  His gaze flicked to mine, and I bit my lip. He couldn’t help. I needed something to spark an idea or a vision. No one could help with that, it was all me.

  He must have seen the conflict in my expression.

  “Don’t worry, Brianna,” he said. I offered him a sarcastic smile and he leaned against the chair across from me. “It will probably all work out.”

  Probably. That was the best I could do, when so much … when everything was on the line. I leaned forward. “And what if it doesn’t?”

  He sighed. “Well, then I suppose we should enjoy it while it lasts.”

  I stared at him for a long, motionless while, when suddenly the corner of his mouth turned up.

  It was plain he was trying to make me feel better, and if I was honest, I supposed it did. A little.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said, voice lowering as he once again became serious. He indicated the page in front of me. “Why did you learn this?”

  The question had me taken aback, until I caught the drift of his thought. If I had to know the language, then the answer would be within the pages of the oldest texts.

  “It’s not that,” I answered, hesitating a moment to consider the idea, “I don’t think.” I relaxed into my chair, recalling long-ago conversations with my mother. “There are the visions,” I explained, “like this morning and yesterday. They’re just flashes really, glimpses of what’s to come.”

  He moved forward, elbows resting on his knees so that his hands disappeared beneath the table.

  “And then there are the prophecies,” I continued. “They’re more like a knowledge, an idea that’s suddenly in your head that you know to be true.” I struggled to come up with a comparison. “Like the alphabet song.”