by C. J. Felver
“I wasn’t sure if that would work or not,” I tell her as she hoists herself into the room.
“I got you on the cameras,” Zander says through the comms. “Get to ground level,” Zander says over the comms, “there’s a south exit. I’ll be waiting there with the van.”
We exit the room, entering the corridor.
“Which way’s south? Left or right?” Lyza asks.
“Right.”
“Got it, on our way,” I say.
We turn and book it toward the exit sign. Two guards emerge from a room and run toward us. Lyza, unleashing a bolt of lightning, strikes them both down.
“Straight ahead, go through the door. There should be a stairwell,” Zander directs.
Lyza and I continue to run, barreling through the door. We make it to the stairwell unscathed. The sound of fighting comes through the comms. Wherever Wren is, he’s taking a beating.
Descending the stairs two at a time, we keep moving. Gunfire ricochets around us. Lyza stumbles with a scream and falls down the stairs, collapsing on the next landing.
Shit!
Using water to form a shield around myself, I rush to my best friend. Bullets spray against my water shield, piercing it but unable to exit. Within a second, there are several floating there.
I reach for Lyza and haul her to her feet. She’s gripping her right arm. Blood is seeping between her fingers, trailing down her arm and dripping from her fingers to the floor.
This isn’t good. She’s leaning heavily on me, teeth clenched so hard they could crack. “Lyza’s been shot,” I say over the comms.
“Keep moving. I’ll get a first-aid kit ready,” Zander replies. There’s still a commotion going on through our link. I hope Wren is okay.
The shooters are getting closer. I don’t know how many bullets are floating within my shield, now. I turn toward them, gripping Lyza with an arm around her waist to keep her upright, and begin to swirl the water above me, circulating it around and around, gaining momentum with each rotation. Aiming for the guards, I release the cyclone, and the guards hit the ground groaning.
I bolt down the next flight of stairs with Lyza in tow, pulling the water back toward me as we go. There are no sounds of pursuit, which is a relief. At the base of the stairwell, a green glow on the wall signals our exit. I kick open the door and dash through it. Zander’s van is waiting with the back doors open. Wren is nowhere in sight. Did he make it?
Zander starts driving as soon as we’re in the van. The open doors bang around for a moment before I pull them shut.
“Where’s Wren?” I ask, worry twisting my gut.
“I don’t know, he hasn’t made it here yet,” Zander says. “First-aid kit’s under the passenger seat.”
“Just go. Don’t wait for me,” Wren says through the communicator.
“We are not just going to leave you here,” I say, opening the kit and grabbing some gauze.
“You won’t be.” Wren’s voice is strained. Is he running? “The other car is still here.”
Good point. I forgot about that.
I press the gauze to Lyza’s wound. She sucks her teeth, but holds it in place while I look for something to clean her wound with.
“I’m pretty sure the bullet is still in there,” she says. I take a closer look at her arm, confirming my suspicion.
“The bullet isn’t still in there, trust me. It’s just a graze,” I say, grabbing more gauze to staunch the wound.
“Should we go to a hospital?” Lyza asks.
“No,” Wren says. “Harlow wants you dead now.” There’s a shout in the background, followed by pained moans. “AGAS will find you in a hospital. Zander, take them back to your place. I’ll meet you there and take care of Lyza’s wound.” Wren’s communicator cuts out and goes silent. I pull mine out of my ear and drop it next to Zander’s computer.
“What’s the plan now?” Lyza asks.
“We have to figure out how Aulder plans to get that serum to the unfit—whatever that means,” I say.
“What do you think he means about us being useful? That doesn’t sit well with me.”
“I wouldn’t read too much into that right now,” Zander says. “Let’s worry about getting that serum out of whoever’s hands it’s in.”
He’s right. Who knows what Aulder did with that serum. We just have to find it and stop his plan before it starts. He said we’re too late, but I think he’s bluffing. We could’ve had that information tonight. Damn it!
Shaking the thoughts from my head before they drive me crazy, I turn toward Lyza. Her dark skin is pale and clammy, a fair sheen of sweat on her brow. Her red curls cling to her face as she leans against the van, eyes pinched shut. Shifting to her other side—the one not sporting a bullet wound—I snuggle next to her, gently dragging my fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her agonized face.
I focus on soothing her to the best of my ability while Zander drives us back to his place.
As he pulls into the garage, I pull Lyza’s arm around my shoulders and grip her waist. Together, we stand, but she bats me away as Zander opens the doors. She climbs out of the van on her own.
He reaches for her, ignoring her protests of being an independent woman capable of walking on her own. “I just want to look at it,” he says. She meets his gaze and nods, turning her injured shoulder toward him.
“What happened?” my dad’s distraught voice echoes through the garage. Turning, I find him staring at Lyza as Zander walks along beside her. My dad’s eyebrows are practically in his hairline, his jaw slack.
“She was shot, Dad,” I crawl out of the back of the van, “but it was just a graze. I think she’ll be okay.” I hope she’ll be okay. Wren seemed confident enough.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” my dad mutters, looking around the garage. “Where’s Wren?”
“He’ll be here,” I assure him, shutting the van doors. “He had to bring the other vehicle back.”
He looks at me, a question in his eyes, but for whatever reason he remains silent.
I reach out, rubbing my hand across his shoulder in an effort to comfort him, wincing at the pain it brings me. “Hey, I’m okay. Lyza is going to be okay. Wren’s going to get her taken care of as soon as he gets here.”
“You’re okay? Look at you! Your hands, your face, your neck! You could’ve died tonight! What happened to you?”
“I’m a little worse for wear, but this is all superficial stuff. Lyza got the worst of it.”
“Bullshit! Your palms are torn to shreds, there are bruises in the shape of handprints on your throat, and your voice is damaged!”
There’s no calming my dad now. He’s pacing the floor, waving his hands about in front of me. This reminds me of when I was little and would do something wrong. It’s probably best to let him work out his frustrations. He’s not necessarily wrong.
“I know, Dad. You’re right. Aulder choked me, but I’m alive. I’ll be okay.”
He scoffs at me, nostrils flaring
“Did you accomplish everything you needed to?”
Fuck. He would ask that question. And he deserves to know the truth. His face falls before I even open my mouth.
“He knew, didn’t he? You couldn’t stop him. He can’t be stopped.”
“Yeah, Dad, he knew. But we’re going to stop him. We’ll figure out his plan and stop him before he hurts anyone else.”
I go to him now, pulling him into my arms and holding him tight. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out and the tension melts from him. “I’m just glad you’re alive,” he says, stepping out of my embrace. We walk toward the door together in silence. As my dad walks into the house, the sound of an engine fills the garage. A glance over my shoulder tells me Wren is back. “I’ll see you inside,” my dad says, offering me a small smile as he pulls the door shut behind himself, leaving me alone in the garage with Wren.
The car door slams, stirring butterflies within my stomach. My mind goes back to much earlier tonig
ht, when Wren and I were alone. The way his touch felt against my skin, the trail of warmth he left behind. At the time, I turned away, not ready to feel those things for Wren. I still can’t say that I am. Even though I’m ready to trust him, it’s not something that just happens right away. He has to earn that shit.
Snapping myself from my thoughts, I find Wren sauntering his way toward me. The way his muscles move under his shirt is mesmerizing, but I can’t help but notice his wounds. There’s the beginnings of bruises on his face. Under his right eye is a cut that doesn’t appear to be bleeding anymore, and his lower lip is swollen and split. I can’t see his hands, but I would guess his knuckles look similar.
His gaze captures mine, catching me watching him. My heart pounds in my chest and the fluttering in my stomach intensifies. Why do I feel like a high school girl with a crush? Ugh, this is pathetic. A good night’s sleep will probably snap me right out of this.
Hopefully.
“Are Lyza and Zander already inside?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think Zander is taking care of cleaning her up properly while they wait for you. It looks like you could use some attention, too,” I say, gesturing to his face. My face heats as I think of another way I could give his face attention.
He shrugs off my comment. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” He reaches out and wraps an arm around me, pulling my flush against his body. Instantly, his warmth envelops me, even through all of our layers. Or maybe it’s just my traitorous body reacting without my permission.
Color me surprised. I was not expecting that. Not by a long shot. But it doesn’t stop me from enjoying the way he feels.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, breaking me out of my thoughts. A nervous chuckle escapes me. I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
“One of us has to be,” I say, stepping out of his embrace. “But you need to get inside and look at Lyza.”
Strings
Inside, Lyza is straddling the back of a chair, her elbow propped on the counter, as Zander finishes cleaning her up. First-aid supplies are strewn across the counter and out on the small kitchen table: an array of gauze pads, steri strips, medical tape, rubbing alcohol and tweezers.
There’s another chair in front of Lyza, holding her propped-up phone with Reese on the screen. Her expression is grim. I hold in my sigh, not wanting to upset Lyza any more than necessary. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Reese is going to insist on being involved now that someone got hurt. Lyza catches my eye and gives me the look—the one that says I’m being dramatic—but follows it up with an apologetic look. I try to rein in my frustration, knowing we decided to tell Reese to keep her safe, but now I’m wondering if that was the right choice.
“What the hell are you two getting into that Lyza fucking got shot?” Reese asks, her voice sharp, dripping with irritation. Yikes. It takes a lot to ruffle her feathers.
“Uh, well, that’s AGAS for you,” I say, not wanting to get into it right now.
“You knew too much and they were trying to kill you?” she guesses, but it’s a rhetorical question. “Will they try to kill me too?”
Good question. Because that’s exactly what I’ve been worried about. “Nah, you should be good. There’s no reason they should come after you.” Or I hope anyway. She wasn’t involved, so there’s no reason to think they would.
“Motherfucker!” Lyza’s shout interrupts my thoughts. Looking over at her, Wren’s picking something out of her wound with the tweezers.
I pat her leg, trying to soothe her. “You’ll be alright. I’m sure this can’t hurt any worse than actually getting shot did.”
Her nostrils flare. “I must have been high on an adrenaline rush at the time, because this hurts like a bitch.”
I’m pretty sure Reese snickers over the video call, but she covers it up with coughing. Way to be subtle, lady.
“Laugh all you want,” Lyza tells her through clenched teeth. “This is going to leave a badass scar.”
I guess that’s one way to look at it.
“So,” I say, turning my attention back to Reese, “you found something out?”
“Yeah, actually,” Reese says. “Do you pay attention to the news at all?”
A chuckle comes from Lyza. “Girl, if you only knew what we’ve been through over the last few days.”
“I would know, if either of you bothered to tell me,” she barks.
Touché.
“We haven’t exactly had time to watch the news. Why?” I ask.
“Well, the elementals’ rights trial reached a decision the other day. They aired the results yesterday,” Reese says.
Lyza moves to sit forward, but Wren stops her with a hand to her good shoulder.
“So, are you going to tell us or what?” I ask.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Reese begins, “they are giving us our rights, but there are strings attached—stipulations.”
What is that supposed to mean?
Wait … stipulations like registration? Aulder said something about this. What else did he say?
“Yeah, so, elementals in Lawrence will be required to register with a blood sample,” Reese explains, no doubt reading the confusion on my face.
Holy shit. A blood sample, really? How does that fit in with the serum?
Beside me, Wren struggles with Lyza again as she tries to hop out of the chair. If smoke could come out of her ears, it would right now. Her brown eyes are so full of anger, it comes off of her body in waves.
Lyza’s voice raises an octave with each sentence that flies from her mouth: “How the fuck can they do that? And we’re the inhumane ones? This is bullshit!” If it weren’t for Wren’s hand on her shoulder, I’m pretty sure she’d be through Zander’s ceiling. “I just bled all over their floor tonight. Who knows what they’re going to do with that?”
“When is this supposed to be happening and how?” I ask.
“The day after tomorrow,” Reese says. Damn, they work fast. “We’ll have to go to the courthouse to register. They’ll take a blood sample while we’re there. And, um …”
“What? Is there more?” I urge her on. Whatever else there is, I’m sure it can’t be any worse than blood samples.
“They want to brand us,” Reese says. “With tattoos.”
Lyza and my dad are as speechless as I am.
“They say it’s the only way to ensure the safety of everyone, elementals and humans alike,” Reese says. “They’re calling it an identity mark.”
“I call bullshit. They want to keep track of your kind, that’s why,” Wren says.
“No kidding,” Lyza mutters.
“Either way,” Zander chimes in, “despite all the stipulations, elementals are getting their rights? No more discrimination from employers and that sort of thing?”
“That’s the idea,” Reese says.
“Can we meet somewhere for lunch? We can fill you in better then,” Reese says.
“A late lunch, maybe,” Lyza says mid-yawn. Wren wipes something over her wound and she snaps her mouth shut with a growl. He puts a bandage over it, telling her he’s done.
“It’s been a long night and we need sleep,” I tell Reese.
“No kidding. It’s already four in the morning,” Reese replies.
Lyza promises the girls that we’ll call after we get some rest.
My dad walks over, wrapping his arms around me. I return the gesture. “After a lifetime of living unknown amongst them, this is what it comes down to?”
“Your lifetime maybe. But our generation has suffered a lifetime of discrimination and ridicule,” I remind him, remembering the way things changed while I was in elementary school. Having this huge secret that had been so important to keep, but then the world found out about our kind somehow. Dad had still wanted me to keep our secret anyway. It was a while before I could understand why.
“We can talk more about this later. For now you all need some rest,” my dad says before retreating to his borrowed room.
<
br /> “Your dad’s right,” Zander says. “We can talk about our next steps later on. But for now, Wren, you’re welcome to crash here tonight. I put some blankets for you to use on the couch. I’m sorry I don’t have another bed available.” Zander has been so accommodating, it’s ridiculous. I don’t know how he’s been able to share his house with us for as long as he has. “There’s also clean towels in the extra bathroom. Use what you need.”
“The couch is fine. Thanks, man,” Wren says. “I’m just going to clean up before I crash.”
Zander turns to Lyza, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her into him. “Let’s get you to bed. You need some sleep.” They walk down the hall together. I briefly think about sitting on the couch until Wren comes out of the bathroom, but then I look down at what a mess I am: blood, broken glass … Yeah, better to just wait.
How could tonight have been such a colossal failure?
We didn’t get the serum, I almost died, now we have to register, give a blood sample, and get a tattoo?
At least we all walked away with our lives—just barely. I was lucky my powers came back when they did, otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here.
It doesn’t take long for Wren to clean up. After a few minutes, he appears in the doorway of the kitchen.
“You should let me clean these for you,” he says, barely running his fingers over my marred palms. I hiss at the contact, pulling my hands away. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” I tell him. “I can do it on my own, now that I have my powers back.”
He nods, then brushes his knuckles down the side of my face, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “Good night, Cleo.”
“Good night, Wren.” I walk past him, getting my breathing back under control on my way to the bathroom. In the mirror, my reflection is haggard. Hair is sticking every which way out of my ponytail—a decent chunk isn’t even being held by the elastic anymore, bruises cover my face and throat, but my eyes … I barely recognize myself.
Turning the faucet on, I mentally pull the water into my palms, swirling it around until the water runs clear and free of glass. After that, I quickly clean myself up, vowing to shower in the morning, and crawl into bed. My sleep is anything but restful. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Aulder Harlow choking the life from me.