by Joss Ware
He shook his head. “I have to go to her and get her to stop. It’s the only way. Otherwise, the whole city will be buried. People will die.”
“I’ll go with you and Theo can—”
“Are you insane?” His voice rose, cracked, and he gathered control of himself. “Do you know what she’d do to you?” He shook his head, aware that his fingers were hurting he was tensing them so tightly. “Just get on the damned computer and message Theo. Now, Sage.” He knew he sounded like an asshole, but there was no other choice. She had to listen.
“But what about you?” Her tone was higher than he’d ever heard it, panicked and tight. And angry again.
“Sage, I told you. You don’t know me. There are things you can’t understand, things I’ve done…” His voice roughened, nearly broke, and he forced himself on, concentrated on a surge of anger at Florita to keep himself from getting weak and emotional. “I’ve got so much blood on my hands, I can’t wash them clean. I thought I could…I thought this was my chance.”
He drew in a breath, collected himself again. “You don’t know me. You can’t. So get on the damned computer and contact Theo and have him come and get you.”
She was staring at him with circular eyes, her beautiful lips parted in shock, her breath coming in hitches that he knew portended tears, fucking mother-fucking tears, dammit…why the hell did his last image of her have to be tears?
“Go with him and give the man a chance, Sage. He loves you, for God’s sake, he’s a good man, and he is a far sight better man than me. And he can give you everything you need.”
“Simon,” she said, her voice thin and thready. “I love you.”
“No,” he said, desperate now. “No, you can’t. You don’t know me.” He had to go. He had to make her understand…and time was running out. “I’m not your damned superman.”
And he disappeared.
Simon waited long enough to see that Sage did send the email to Theo—though she was trying not to cry while muttering death threats as if she knew he was still there—and he actually looked over her shoulder and found that Theo had already replied to confirm his arrival at the original meeting place. Thank God. He’d be there in twenty minutes or less to get Sage, and now Simon wouldn’t have to worry about her.
Only about the other three hundred people here in Falling Creek.
He dashed back through the tunnel, silent, trying to ignore the furious string of curses mingled with frustrated tears echoing from Sage. He wasn’t certain whether she knew he was still there or not.
But regardless, he knew it was better this way. For all of them.
Moments later, he was running to the front of the settlement, toward the light that still burned despite the rising sun, aware of the increased number of boulders and even chunks of cliff raining down on the expanse of ground between Hell’s Wall and the settlement. More than one piece of debris had smashed into the protective wall, and several had tumbled down so rapidly that they’d cleared the wall and landed inside Falling Creek.
As he drew closer, he heard a shout, but otherwise, no other noise except for the sounds of destruction behind him.
When the crowd came into view—it seemed as if every resident of Falling Creek had gathered at the gate, which was tightly closed, effectively penning them in to their death—Simon was struck by the silence. Clustered there, staring at the dark cliff in the distance, they stood as if waiting for the inevitable. Shocked, frightened, but silent.
“I’m here,” he shouted, slowing his death-speed run to a fast trot. He wasn’t out of breath, but his chest was tight with black fury. The bitch. She would let them all die.
But why should this be any different than what she and her friends had done fifty years ago? This was a pittance compared to that.
“Tell Tatiana that I’ve come.”
The crowd parted, their faces still slack with shock, but hope rising in a few eyes.
He walked up to the gate and bellowed, “Florita! You win. I’m here.”
Silence, a bit of muttering and a wave of panicked gasps.
Simon waited. He knew she’d heard him. But she’d take her time.
The crowd began to murmur and he heard some soft crying as the rumbling in the distance became more ominous. A massive boulder, the size of a small house, barreled down the cliff and bolted over the settlement wall, smashing into one of the mansions on the west side. A little cry went up from the crowd, but then it settled into silence.
“Florita!” Simon shouted again. “Tatiana! Open up or I’ll go and you’ll lose.”
A child began to cry, a young one from the sound of it, and then another and soon it caught like wildfire—infants’ cries punctuated with the shushings of their frantic mothers.
When there was still no movement at the gate, Simon knew that he had to work fast to evacuate the settlement. If he could get them through the secret tunnel, at least they wouldn’t be trapped inside the walls. But the tunnel was on the other side of the community…far away. On the side facing the wall.
He looked around for one of the community leaders, someone in charge, someone who could help him gather everyone together…but then, at last, there was the sound of a vehicular motor. A low rumble, and then the gate shifted, jerking slightly.
The Strangers had parked their Hummers up against the gate to keep it closed.
A little buzz of hope erupted from the crowd and there was a bit of shoving and pushing. “Stand back,” Simon said, his voice clear and ringing.
They listened, settling back…although the panic and fear did not ebb. The gate opened a mere crack and Simon walked over. The people parted for him, but then curved back around, as if ready to follow him through the opening.
He looked through the space, which was wide enough for his arm and not much more. “Tatiana. Turn the crystal guard back on, or I’ll leave.”
Peering through, he saw the silver front grate and headlight of a humvee and one of the male Strangers, and then Florita. Their eyes met through the crack and he saw the delight and triumph there.
“Very well, then. I will put the protective guard back into place as soon as you come with me, Simon Japp.” She smiled, a wicked, crafty one, and the gate began to open.
“No,” he said, stepping back. “Not until the guard is back in place. You do it, or I’ll stay here and die with the rest of them.” Of course he wouldn’t allow anyone to die, but she didn’t know that. “When I see the glow of the crystals, I’ll come out.”
Florita swore in their common street language, but then, curling her full lips, she nodded. “Agreed.”
Less than five minutes later, the blue glow of the crystal guard shone pale against the dark Hell’s Wall. The rising sun made it difficult to see the light, but it was there.
And when a cheer went up from the crowd, Simon turned and found the gate open wide enough for him to walk through.
His gut tight, heart heavy, he stepped over the threshold—out of Falling Creek, and back into the life he thought he’d escaped.
“I always knew you had a soft heart,” Florita said conversationally. “The way you’d come back and stick your head in the toilet after doing certain things for Leonide.”
Simon raised his eyes and found them caught by her mocking dark ones. Fuck you.
“Oh, you didn’t think I noticed, did you? Poor Simon. Always coming across as heartless and cold, and then there were those stray kittens. Remember them?”
He looked away. “What do you want?”
They’d driven in the humvee, leaving Falling Creek behind, and headed toward the north side of the settlement. To his surprise, they went up and around, behind Hell’s Wall, for about three miles on a rough road that rose to the backside of the cliff. At the top, he saw that Falling Creek was in the valley below.
On the backside of the cliff rose a large structure built into the wall just above the ocean. As they drew nearer, he saw water running around and through it in narrow channels, and remembered the
floating house that had belonged to Preston, the Stranger who’d abducted Jade last month. His home had had a similar design, with water flowing up through the center and down.
This house was more like a gothic castle set into a waterfall, with a lusty river surging over the top of it. Water cascaded down the backside of the cliff, funneled into the center of the structure, then trickled down and around in its channels, splashing from the base to the ocean twenty feet below. Was this how they generated electricity? For Falling Creek and for Florita’s house?
Now, as they sat in an interior room of the castle, Florita smiled knowingly at Simon. “You should have just done like Al Capone and gone to confession, thrown some money in the alms box, and forgotten about it instead of burying your head in a bottle and cranking shit up your nose. It would have been a lot easier for you.”
Simon didn’t deign to reply. Instead, he looked around the room into which she’d brought him. Pale walls, tinged with blue, with a slender ditch of water running along one side. Florita had always liked feng shui…this waterfall shit was right up her alley. Too bad he didn’t find it relaxing in the last. Bright and stark, the air humid and damp, the space was comfortably furnished with cushions and pillows scattered on short, sleek furnishings. He’d taken a seat in a low armchair—the only place he could sit without her next to him. But she’d settled languidly on a chaise adjacent to his seat.
“But what I really want to know,” Florita said, settling a hand on his thigh, making his skin crawl, “is how you came to be here. Looking just the same as you did before. But…yet…different.”
“I don’t know,” he told her simply. “It just happened.”
She searched his face, and he did his best to keep the loathing he felt for her and her other crystal-wearing friends under control. It wouldn’t do any good to antagonize her at this time. Not until he figured out what he was going to do.
Florita seemed to believe him, or at least decided it wasn’t worth the energy to pursue. “Well, I’m not complaining.” She smiled, her eyes dark and lusty. “I’m very glad to have found you again, Simon.”
“Can’t say the feeling is mutual.”
Her fingers tightened on his leg. It didn’t hurt, but, damn, they were strong. “We’ll see how long it takes for you to change your mind.” She settled back in her chair, withdrawing her grip. “So you and your…wife…was it? Your wife. You were visiting Falling Creek, and she was asking people a lot of questions about Remington Truth.”
Simon kept his face impassive and his hands still. “I have no idea what she was doing,” he said flatly. “Didn’t really care.”
“Oh. I see.” Florita’s smile became more feline. “So she’s not one of your stray kittens?”
He looked at her, his face blank and a little bored. He shook his head, shrugging faintly as if she were hopeless, knowing that it was a fine line between protesting too much and not at all. Especially with the cunning Florita.
Dragon Boy better not have fucked this up. She’d better be far away and safe.
“You still haven’t told me what you want from me,” Simon said, partly in an effort to draw her attention from Sage, and partly to probe. The more he knew, the better plans he could devise.
“Simon, don’t be foolish. You know exactly what I want from you—what I’ve always wanted. Your loyalty, your…shall we say, way with a weapon, and of course, you.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Wherever shall we start?”
“You won’t get any of that from me, Florita. I’m here only because you threatened to kill an entire city on a whim, but you made a big mistake by bringing me here. I can see what will happen to your home, your castle here if you let Hell’s Wall destroy Falling Creek. It will all collapse. So, no, I don’t think you’ll follow through on that even if I leave. Which,” he added smoothly, standing, “I can do at any time.”
She looked up at him, and he saw the flash of unease quickly masked. “Don’t be an idiot. You wouldn’t risk it.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Oh? I might need to argue that, Simon, darling. Wouldn’t the safety of your wife be a good start in that direction.”
He kept himself from tensing, from showing any reaction. “I’m not stupid, Florita.”
“No, indeed,” she purred. He didn’t like the expression on her face, but he didn’t sit. “But your wife…wouldn’t you do anything to keep her safe?”
“Risk my life? You know me. I’ve never done that before—why would I do that now? You’ll have to come up with something better than that.”
“Bring her in,” Florita called.
Simon couldn’t keep himself from going rigid and cold all over.
The door opened and a Stranger came in, dragging, dragging Sage across the room by her bound wrists. Her long, lovely hair spilling over her face, just as it had fallen over his hands only hours ago. She was little more than a corpse-like sack of bones, head sagging and flopping with every movement. The man released her and she collapsed to the floor. Unmoving.
Simon saw blood streaking her filthy clothes and grime and dirt on her arms. He couldn’t see if her eyes were open, certainly couldn’t tell if she were breathing. But of course she wasn’t dead. Yet.
With great effort, he looked away, though every muscle in his body screamed to go to her. But he remained passive. Uninterested.
He could become invisible right now, grab Sage, and bust the hell out of here…but something held him back. He didn’t want to expose his ability to Florita unless he absolutely had to. Because once she knew about that, she’d never let him go…and she’d figure out a way to keep him.
“Is that the best you can do?” he said. Supremely bored. His fingers prickled, his vision threatened to glaze red…but he controlled it.
“You needn’t pretend with me, Simon,” said Florita. “I know you’d do anything for her.”
He merely raised a brow. “I think I’ll be leaving now,” he said. “I’ve had enough of your clumsy attempts at blackmail. It didn’t work before. What makes you think it would work now?”
Her smile growing wider and more delighted, she gestured with her long-nailed hand to a screen on the wall. Holding a remote, she turned it on and with a sharp, stark realization, Simon saw a view of the bedroom he’d shared with Sage.
Holy Mother of God…
Simon’s knees felt weak as he watched himself pretending to fuck her, yesterday afternoon when the curtains had been drawn tightly. And then, in the middle of it, when she arched up into him and set him over the edge and it was no longer a pretense.
Now, he remained rigid and unmoving, watching the play of emotions on his face, blown up on the big screen. The desperation and anguish. His need. There for all to see.
“So,” Florita’s voice winnowed through his roaring ears. “Do you still want to leave?”
Simon’s response was to move across the room to Sage. No sense in hiding it any longer, and at least he could see how badly she was hurt. Tell her she was going to be safe, that he’d get her out of here.
He crouched next to her, aware of Florita’s eyes on him, heavy and contemplative, burning with jealousy, and brushed the tangle of hair away from her face. And nearly fell back on his ass.
It wasn’t Sage.
It wasn’t Sage.
Did Florita know this? Was it another trick? Or was she mistaken?
Easy to do so—with all of the Corrigans. This was one of the younger ones, with hair almost the same color as Sage’s…but it didn’t quite have that pinkish tinge to the copper.
God. He should have noticed it right off, but he’d been too intent on showing disinterest. If he’d looked at her, really looked at her, he’d have noticed.
Regardless, she needed help, so he unbound her wrists—tearing the ropes with his bare hands—and rolling her onto her back to see if she was breathing.
Her eyes fluttered and she opened them, drawing in a ragged breath. Fear blasted through her face, but at least she wa
s awake and aware, though her eyes were fogged with confusion and pain. “Who are you?” she cried breathlessly. “What do you want? Let me go!”
Pinche. Now Florita had to know her mistake. Simon pulled to his feet, walking back across the room.
But Florita had already swept over to the terrified young woman. The girl looked up, terror and confusion in her blue eyes, as Florita, in a swirl of angry hair, looked over at Simon. Measuring.
“The wrong woman,” she said. “Then I guess you don’t mind if I do this, then.” And before he realized it, before he could stop her, she had a gleaming blade in her hand and lunged.
Simon leapt, grabbing Florita’s arm and yanking her away so violently that she flew backward, stumbling across the room. But it was too late. Blood everywhere, spattering from her knife, seeping into the pale floor, coloring that bright thick hair, the girl’s neck slit from side to side.
He turned to Florita, his gut churning, his hands raised to grab her and strangle her, but she had the knife raised like the street girl she used to be. Bold and angry, she faced him across the room.
“Touch me and I’ll slice you, but I won’t kill you,” she said. “And I’ll keep bringing those girls in here, one by one, until we find the right one. Because I’ll know when we find the right one, Simon. And then I’ll have you on your knees.”
He stepped back, getting his fury under control. Letting her think she’d won…for the time being. Fucking coño. He was going to tear that fucking crystal out of her skin.
She lowered the blade, her eyes dark and wicked. “And until then, you’ll have to follow my orders…or watch each of those stray kittens die.”
* * *
June 10, 2011
It’s one year later.
It’s the anniversary of the Change, and several things happened today.
For the first time, I didn’t throw up from morning sickness. I’m four months along now, so it’s about time.