Descendants Series

by Melissa Wright

  The sun came up on mostly empty streets because it was a Saturday in late October, in an area where no one really lived anymore. Vacant houses became abandoned apartment buildings, windows busted, shattered glass lining weedy sidewalks. Graffiti marked more and more brick walls, and chain-link fencing sagged against broken supports and piled-up trash.

  A weight settled in the pit of my stomach, silently protesting the idea of my mother here, alone and trapped, causing my hand to tighten on the door grip.

  “I’ve been wondering about something,” Logan said, his voice startling me back to the pristine interior of the car, the hum of the engine as he idled at a stop sign.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  His eyes were ahead, scanning the area before driving through the intersection. “The bond,” he said, “between Aern and Emily. Is that something unique to them?” He turned right without signaling, barely glancing at me as he did so. “Or do all of your kind have the ability to create a union?”

  My kind. The words bothered me more than they should, I knew, but I couldn’t say why.

  He waited.

  “No,” I said finally, shaking off that niggling feeling. “I don’t think … well, none of us should be able to.” I stopped, baffled by the idea that I had no clue about my kind. I’d only truly known my mother and Emily. It wasn’t like we’d had an honest history lesson on ourselves. Why was Logan asking? Because of me? Because of the prophecy? I clarified, “It’s just Emily as far as I know. But I can’t be sure.”

  He nodded.

  We were silent for several minutes before he asked a new question. “Are you all prophets, aside from Emily?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “My mother for certain, possibly hers. It might be something that’s passed directly, but Emily … well, we’re twins, so there’s no accounting for what could have happened.”

  “What about a written history?” he asked. “Some way for you to find the others?”

  I twisted the hem of my shirt between my fingers. “I don’t know if there are others, Logan.”

  He did look at me then. “Because you were hidden?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think she meant to die so soon. I think she had every intention of telling us more.” The words hurt, because I believed them with all of my heart. And because if it was true, then there were no guarantees my power would save us.

  Logan pulled the car to the curb in front of a massive metal-sided building.

  “She had a choice, Brianna.”

  “Sometimes,” I said, “you have to choose between two bad things.”

  He stared at me, only able to guess at the horrors my visions had shown me, and said, “Sometimes, you have to make your own options.”

  Despite the fact that we were outside the warehouse that had possibly housed my captive mother, that my visions were warning me of fire and death, that we were nearly alone in our quest and that I was possibly the world’s last remaining prophet, I found myself smiling at his resolve.

  The warehouses were far from empty. They were littered with containers and boxes, and occasionally a dark furry mass skittered across the slicked concrete floors. What was noticeably absent was any sign of people, human or otherwise, among the cardboard and empty pallets dispersed throughout the buildings. No food wrappers or soda cans, no chairs posted near the entrances, not even a homeless person using the rooms for shelter. Nothing. Whatever Morgan was planning for these properties, he’d not gotten started before the Division had imprisoned him.

  We drove from location to location, crossing each possibility off the list through most of the morning. It wasn’t until the fourth warehouse that things changed.

  “Wait,” Logan said as we crossed in front of a wide roll-up door. He pulled one of the devices from his pocket and sent a message to his team.

  “What is it?” I whispered beside him.

  “There,” he said, pointing to the line of the roof over head, “see that conduit? That is new. Someone’s made upgrades to this building, and I’m guessing it’s security.”

  “Like cameras?” I asked.

  The device in his hand beeped and Logan read the screen. “Yes,” he tipped it toward me, “but apparently the feeds aren’t running outside the property.”

  “You mean they were watching from the inside?”

  A prickle crawled over my skin when he nodded. “Looks like everything is shut down now, though,” he said.

  His assurance didn’t help, because if the men who’d watched it were gone, then we were likely on the right track. But I followed as he disabled the locks and led me through the entrance. Because I couldn’t not find the place that had held my mother.

  High shuttered windows let in narrow streams of light to streak across the empty, sealed-concrete floor. There was no scent of must or stale air, no sign of those dark, furry masses. A set of offices lined the wall close to the doors, and the other wall was boarded over what would have been the roll-up doors that allowed trucks to access whatever cargo it had held. Painted beams and columns filled the otherwise empty space, which only helped to emphasize the fact that it was too clean.

  I started to reach for Logan’s hand, but stopped when I saw how it hovered over the holster he’d strapped to his leg. He scanned the space before he tilted his head toward a set of doors on the far wall. “There. This property has seven buildings, but only four are climate-controlled.”

  “You don’t think he’d let her freeze?” I asked skeptically as we walked across the space.

  He glanced over at me. “No. I don’t think he would deign to make himself uncomfortable.”

  The doors led to a graveled pathway between three of the buildings, one exposed brick and one covered in gray metal siding that appeared to have been an add-on to the furthest building, which was a painted block. Logan chose the gray metal, which looked to be the newest of the three, and pried the keypad cover off to gain access to the wiring that secured the door.

  “I wonder why my mother didn’t teach me that,” I whispered.

  He grinned, not taking his eyes off his work, and said, “Maybe she knew you’d find me.” We both fell silent as his words settled between us. Because it might have been true.

  Logan cleared his throat. “Stay close.” His shoulders shifted as he twisted the lock free and pushed the door open.

  The building was set up as a workshop, with giant drill presses, welders, and equipment I couldn’t imagine the purpose of. A thin band of corrugated fiberglass lined the walls just below the rafters, shedding ample light into the space. Chain hoists and pulleys hung from thick metal cross beams, their hooks old and rusted. The door closed behind us with a solid thunk, no echo.

  “I don’t think this is the place,” I whispered.

  Logan shook his head. “Not likely.” He pointed toward the back of the space. “There’s a door there, it’ll probably lead us to the other building.”

  I followed him through, anxiously scanning for something that looked familiar. When we reached the back door, I realized a lock-picking skill would have been completely useless—it was welded shut.

  “Looks like we found it,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Logan answered, “but it’s definitely something he didn’t want us to see.”

  Logan stepped back, surveying the wall and ceiling before following a cross-beam with his eyes. He started walking, jerking his head for me to follow. Before I knew it, we were standing in front of a metal tower of sorts outside the far end of the gray-sided building.

  I stared at the narrow metal strips crisscrossing the three main beams. “Is this supposed to be a ladder?”

  Logan bit back a grin. “It is today.”

  “It doesn’t even touch the roof,” I pointed out.

  He didn’t spare the gap between the structure and the rooftop another glance. “It’s close enough.” He put a hand on my lower back to urge me toward it. “Go ahead, you first.”

  “Because you’re going to catch me if
I fall?” I asked, resting a toe on the first rung.

  He managed to keep a straight face when he said, “Because I want to be sure it’ll hold the weight.” But when I glanced up again, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “Come on, Brianna. We’re losing daylight.”

  I shook my head at him as I reached for a higher grip. He followed as soon as I’d given him enough room, staying as close as possible without interfering with my speed. It was taller than I’d realized, and even though I wasn’t afraid of heights, I knew better than to look down. When I reached the roof line I stopped, and Logan climbed up behind me, reaching around to grip the rungs outside my hands.

  “Okay,” he said, his voice low in my ear, all hint of humor gone, “you’re going to slide a leg over, and then one hand to grab the ridge cap. Once you’ve got a good grip, take your other leg over, and finally your hand. Keep your knees bent, understand? I don’t want you to let go until I’m across.”

  I nodded and he stayed pressed up against me for a long moment, as if reconsidering the idea. “I can do it,” I said. “Just make sure and get me down safe.”

  He smiled, his face inches from mine. “I’ve got you, Brianna. I promise.”

  He moved his left hand out to let me free and I reached a leg across as instructed. It wasn’t as far as it seemed apparently, because I was able to slide my grip across the tower rung and get my fingers over the ridge cap without letting go, but I still didn’t look down. I bent my knees, grabbed the edge of the cap with my other hand, and Logan was behind me again in a matter of seconds.

  “There,” he said, “that wasn’t so bad.”

  I looked back at him, standing casually behind me as I leaned, almost kneeling and grasping the angle of the roof for dear life. His smile returned and I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Come on, then,” he said. “Keep your knees bent and stay close to the crown. I don’t want you pulling us both off.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Found

  We crossed the roof to the second building where Logan helped me across. It was attached at a different height, and we climbed up to find skylights, vent pipes, and massive metal boxes covering the rooftop. Logan held my hand, crossing to a large hatch door to kneel down. It was secured with a lock, but Logan just slid a tool under the old hinges and popped them free. He flipped the cover open and peered inside.

  “It isn’t that far to the joists. There are plenty of pipes and beams to get you to the first platform, or I can lower you.” He placed a hand on the carabiner at his waist.

  “No,” I said, shuddering at the reminder of my attack. “I’ll climb.”

  He took my hand. “Get to the platform and wait for me. I’ll be right behind you.”

  I dropped my legs into the opening, feeling blindly for the first step. When I got my footing, I reached down to find no lack of handholds. A latticework of wires, cables, and pipes zigzagged their way through the narrow ceiling space all the way to a rusted steel platform. I navigated the network of wires at what I considered a pretty impressive pace, only to hear Logan’s boots slam down onto the platform before me.

  “Nice job, Brianna.” He gave me a hand down. “We can take the stairs from here.”

  I brushed rust and grime off my jeans, taking a look at the factory-like space around us. “What is Morgan’s obsession with warehouses and factories?” I asked.

  Logan shrugged as he walked forward. “I don’t think that’s it, really. It’s more likely that the abandoned buildings give him a privacy he couldn’t get anywhere else. No outside surveillance, and on paper, it would just look like another investment.”

  The thought made me feel a little bad for Morgan. It must have been horrible to grow up under the eye of so many, to know what they expected of you. But when the echo of metal from our footfalls rang in my ears with far too much familiarity, the pity was gone. “This is it,” I whispered to Logan’s back.

  He stopped, and I realized he’d been focused on a small block room on the floor below us. “Are you sure, Brianna?”

  He wasn’t asking if I was sure this was the right place. There was no question we had found it. He was asking if I could handle it, if I could walk into the room where Morgan had held my mother. The room where she’d taken her own life.

  I nodded. “I have to, Logan. This isn’t one of those choices.”

  We navigated the maze of steps to the bottom floor—concrete and open. Any equipment had been removed, nothing except a few containers and cabinets lined the walls. Metal bars covered the blacked-out windows, and the exterior doors all appeared to be welded shut.

  The block room was centered on the front wall, no windows or openings, so it must have been something like a boiler room. The door wasn’t even locked.

  The cold metal of the handle hit me with a force that might have been unbearable a few weeks ago. But I was ready. I had to do this. The only light was from the three feet of open door, and it cut a distorted rectangle across the dusty floor. There was a faded blue blanket in the corner, like an unzipped sleeping bag. Dark shapes marked the back wall, and I knew they were the hooks and pulley system. It would be a solid wall, metal plate, and cool to the touch. The corner was all shadows, but I knew, too, that there would be scrapes across the floor there, marks from Morgan pulling his chair through. To watch her.

  Logan drew an LED flashlight from his pocket, and I laid my hand over his. “Please,” I started in a whisper, but my voice broke. I couldn’t see it in the light. Not yet.

  He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my waist as we let our eyes adjust. “She hung there,” I said after a long while, “because he had to touch her to use his sway.” Logan squeezed me tighter. “It wasn’t easy. She fought him with everything she had. She hurt him, even.” I glanced up at Logan, his face in darkness, dim light from the warehouse behind him. “But he healed. He always healed.”

  Logan pressed his face against my hair and I closed my eyes. My hand came up to cover his over my waist, my fingers trembling. Morgan had done this, he’d put my mother in this place. Trapped her here in an empty room, nothing but a single blanket on the floor for comfort. I wondered how the Division had supplied him in his own captivity. Surely he had heat, a bed, or at the very least clean water and light. None of us were monsters, not in the way Morgan had been. And what of him now, had captivity made his madness worse? They wouldn’t have allowed anyone access to him, no one to see or touch him, to even stand near the thick walls that held him in place. Wesley would see to that.

  The boy would be a kinder captor for certain, but even Wesley couldn’t allow himself within range of Morgan’s power. I’d found a connection in him, an ability unique to his makeup. It had taken some time to bring it out, to get him to understand how to use it, but he had the capacity to create a kind of barrier for his body. I wasn’t confident even I comprehended how it worked, but it seemed his own electrical impulses were able to block that pulse that gave the others control of the humans.

  It wasn’t foolproof by any means. If Morgan was close enough to overpower it, or if they were to physically breach that shield, Wesley would be powerless, no matter how hard he concentrated. But it had been a step forward, one more connection that I’d found and repaired that might save them from the fate that was coming. From the chain of events Morgan had set into motion.

  The chain that had brought us here, where my mother had made her last choice, one she hoped would spare us.

  I opened my eyes with the thought. Logan had said she had a choice, but she must have seen the outcome of that decision. She must have known there was only one way, known that this was the best way. And she would have seen the endgame, seen us standing here.

  “Turn on the flashlight, Logan.”

  He pulled free of our embrace, clicking the penlight on to illuminate the floor in front of us.

  “She left me a message, right? That’s why we’re here.” I fell to my knees on the sleeping bag, the only thing left in a barren room, and fe
lt through the fabric for a lump or the crinkle of paper. “She wouldn’t have done it for nothing. She waited, she suffered through those final days to make the choice that would best help us.”

  Logan knelt beside me, drawing a small knife from his pocket to cut the liner free. He split it and I tore, ripping it open to the matted cotton fiber below. My fingers dug in, threading through and tearing apart the filling. There had to be something. She had to give us something.

  And then I caught the edge of a folded document and froze, the frantic clawing ceased as the unmistakable sound of paper popped beneath my hand. It was narrow, a crumpled strip, and just a few pages. She must have rolled them up, tucked them in through a small hole in the material, and they’d gotten smashed flat.

  “Logan,” I whispered, but the sound of his pocket buzzing interrupted me as it echoed through the still room.

  He took out the device, glanced at it briefly, and then his shoulder slammed into my side as he threw me onto my feet.

  I let out a huff of air, only to be jerked behind him as we ran. There was a pop outside, and the frantic pressure in my chest told me it was the sound of gunfire. It was followed quickly by a bang of metal, a shout, and an unfamiliar screeching. We were halfway across the open floor when the bam bam bam of footsteps on a metal roof started, and they were closing in in a hurry. Logan yanked me sideways, throwing us both inside one of the gray metal cabinets lining the wall. He pulled the door shut, nothing but a thin strip of light through the cracks to reveal there was only an old uniform hanging inside.

  That was when I remembered the building’s doors were welded shut.

  “We’re trapped,” I whispered.

  He nodded, light catching the blond of his hair in staccato bursts.

  I was panting, my chest heaving with panic. I wasn’t supposed to do that. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to calm. I needed to think.

  Logan was pressed tight against me; he must have noticed my ragged breathing, my lip tucked under a tooth. He reached up and dragged a thumb over my cheek, wiping away the tears I’d shed for my mother. His hand slid into my hair, cradled my neck.