Elements of the Enemy (Alliance Society Book 1)

by C. J. Felver

  The smell of coffee fills the house, pulling me out of the last wisps of sleep. Lyza isn’t in the bed, so I’m assuming she’s already awake. Before I follow my nose, I head into the bathroom. After washing my hands and brushing my teeth—thank you, Lyza, for grabbing our stuff—I allow the smell of coffee to lead me to the kitchen.

  Lyza is leaning against the counter, Wren is beside her redressing her arm. The sunshine from the window behind the sink is almost blinding. It's a welcome sight. Before I make it to the pot, Lyza catches my attention.

  “Morning, girl. I got you a cup already. It's on the table with some breakfast.” I nod and turn toward the small eat-in table and find a steaming mug of coffee next to a toasted bagel smeared with cream cheese. My body plops down into the chair on its own accord and I do my best not to inhale everything.

  “So, I already talked to Reese,” Lyza says as she makes her way to sit next to me now that Wren has finished up with her arm. “We're going to meet them for lunch at Pop's in an hour. I got you the bagel anyway because I knew you’d need it.”

  I grunt my approval around a mouthful of bagel, because she’s right—I do. Lyza grabs my free hand and examines it, turning it over a few times. “Please tell me why in the world you didn't have someone look at your hands last night?”

  I snatch my hand back. It really isn't bad; it just looks like it is. Before I answer her, I swallow a gulp of coffee. “Uh, because I'm fine.”

  “Clearly not.” She picks my hand back up and waves it in my face as evidence. “Your wrists look better, but your fingers look like pulverized meat, and we probably should’ve dug the glass out of your palms.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “Oh my gosh, no they don’t! I’m fine, really. Besides, I’m pretty sure there isn’t any glass still hanging out in there.”

  Lyza eyes me incredulously, but I turn back to my breakfast and finish scarfing it down. I walk my plate and empty mug to the sink and wash them. Okay, so maybe my hands do hurt a little—more than a little, but it could just be the scouring pad. I keep that to myself and school my expression so I don’t give it away.

  With just under an hour before we head to meet the girls, I grab a quick shower.

  The smell of vanilla and papaya wraps around me like a familiar embrace as I lather my hair. Unfortunately, no amount of scrubbing can rid my brain of the memories from the last few days. It has been like a nightmare. Between losing my bestie, followed by losing my dad after just getting him back, then having a gun held to my head, being strapped to a chair, and losing my powers … I never want to feel that helpless again.

  What if I can’t stop Aulder? What if he wins and my kind is no more?

  Whatever Aulder did with the serum … no matter how hard I think on this, I can’t puzzle it out.

  And what about the elementals too useful to get rid of? How can we fight against a man able to line the pockets of so many influential people?

  Ugh, what an asshole. He certainly knows how to play the game, I’ll give him that.

  As I finish rinsing the conditioner from my hair, I squeeze soap onto a washcloth and scrub the grit from my body. The lemongrass and coconut scent is refreshing, especially compared to dirt and sweat that’s been coating my skin lately.

  By the time I’m done scrubbing, every inch of me is screaming red and raw. As I suspected, scrubbing did nothing to quell the memories, but I do feel somewhat better, physically at least. I rinse off and watch the suds swirl around the drain before stepping out.

  My reflection in the mirror is haunting, showing a long gash across my cheek and vivid purple marks on my throat. I tilt my chin from side to side, getting a good look at the bruises Aulder left behind. Each fingerprint mocks me, reminding me that he got the better of me.

  Best not to dwell on it. Otherwise, those thoughts would consume me completely.

  I dress quickly, throwing on a pair of blue jeans and a green slouchy tee, then venture into Zander’s living room. My dad is sitting on the couch next to Wren, talking about different guards who worked for AGAS. From the sound of it, there were a few who had actually been pleasant to my dad during his time there. It’s relieving to know, if that’s what you could call it.

  Wren’s eyes meet mine. There’s something intense in his gaze, something I can’t put a name to. His eyes trail over me, and while it’s more of an assessment as he takes stock of my injuries rather than him checking me out, warmth blossoms in my chest and across my cheeks. I suddenly feel a bit self-conscious. Not uncomfortable, just very aware of how battered I am.

  It doesn’t matter though. I would take a worse beating over and over if it meant my kind could go on with the same rights as everyone else, without the worry of people like Aulder Harlow, Rand, and even the manager at the club.

  If only I could figure out what the heck Aulder’s plan is with the serum. Whatever he did, I know it has to do with the registration thing Reese mentioned. I mean, he basically told me it did. We’re missing a vital piece to the puzzle, keeping us from seeing the whole picture.

  What if we can’t figure it out in time? What if we never figure it out? What if people die? What if people lose their powers?

  “Cleo?” Wren says. He’s off the couch and in front of me, face inches from mine. How did I miss that? “Are you alright?”

  “Oh, uh,” I stutter, fully aware of the way he’s hovering over me, “yeah, I’m fine. Just still tired,” I lie. His eyes narrow knowingly. “We’ve been going nonstop the last few days. It’s finally catching up with me, I think.”

  He reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze, his eyes saying more than his gesture. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, let’s go. We need to find out what they know.” Wren gives my shoulder one more squeeze before letting go. Behind him, my dad stands and crosses to us.

  “We’d better round up Lyza and Zander.”

  “Are you going too, Dad?” I don’t mean to sound surprised, because he should definitely be there, but that’s how I end up sounding anyway.

  He sighs, but nods his head. “I wanted to just stay here, but Zander didn’t give me a choice. Lyza said it wasn’t good for me to just sit here day after day. So Zander decided this was the perfect opportunity for me to get out.”

  “Lyza’s right,” I tell him. “After all the time you spent cooped up, you could use some fresh air.”

  Even though he agrees, I can tell that he really doesn’t want to. Honestly, I can’t even blame him. Four years of being locked away, the first day you get out, they track you back down. Yeah, I would never want to go back out again either.

  Promises

  “So, where are Lyza and Zander?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “They took off somewhere to be alone,” my dad says.

  “They’re just in the kitchen,” Wren says, turning fully toward me and whispering, “Frank is exaggerating.”

  Sure enough, the pair of them are sitting at the table in the kitchen, chatting over cups of coffee. Lyza has a goofy grin on her face, but they’re seriously talking about the weather. And she thinks I need help …

  “Were you planning to drive, Zander?” Wren asks.

  “Actually, I want to drive,” Lyza says.

  “Uh, you’re not driving,” I say.

  “Don’t tell me how to live my life,” she replies, playfully pouting.

  “If you want to drive with a bullet hole in your arm, be my guest.”

  “For the record,” Wren cuts in, “I wouldn’t recommend it. I have no problem driving, and space isn’t a problem in my Tahoe.”

  “Normally, I’d go for it, but I need some time with my girl. We’ll drive separately.” Lyza tosses me her keys, giving Wren an apologetic look, then turns toward my dad. “Frank, you’re welcome to ride with us, if you want.” He nods.

  Zander turns on his heel for his garage. “No problem, I’ll drive one of my cars. Wren can ride with me. See you there.” Wren gives me a wave before joining him.r />
  “I think we need to make a quick side trip before we meet them,” Lyza tells me, eyeing my neck as we head toward her Jeep.

  We climb in, my dad taking the back seat, and Lyza tells me to stop at the outlet store downtown. It’s only about a block away from Pop's Diner, so I’m not too worried about time.

  A few minutes later, I pull into the parking lot. Before I can ask what her plan is here, Lyza hops out of the Jeep.

  “I’ll be back in a minute. Stay here,” she says, then she shuts the door and walks into the building.

  I look back at my dad, but he only shrugs. “There’s no explanation for what Lyza does. I applaud anyone able to figure her out.”

  He’s not wrong.

  “Cleo,” my dad calls quizzically. I turn to face him in the back seat. He drops his gaze to his lap, shoulders drooping. “Can you promise me that you won’t do anything dangerous again? I couldn’t bear it if you come home again the way you did last night. What if next time you’re the one shot?” The terror in his eyes is welling up, threatening to spill out.

  “Dad,” I say, completely shaken by his request. What do I even say to him? “I know you’re worried, but think about what could happen if we don’t deal with this. I’ll try to stay out of danger … but I can’t make any promises. Not when Aulder is involved.”

  “I just want you safe. I don’t want you to end up with the same fate I have.”

  Before I can reply, Lyza pulls the passenger door open, climbs in, and thrusts the bag into my lap.

  “For you,” she says with a little smirk on her face.

  Unsure of what she would’ve gotten me, I peer into the bag. It’s a scarf. What could I possibly—

  Of course. Seriously, this girl thinks of everything. I pull it out of the bag and wrap it haphazardly around my neck.

  “Thanks, Lyza. You’re the best.”

  “I know, I know,” she says with a wink. “Let’s go, we don’t want to keep them waiting.”

  Pulling the gear shift into reverse, I try not to think about the unfinished conversation hanging in the air between me and my dad.

  A block later, we’re at Pop's Diner, ready to smash some food. Over the last few days, there’ve been many skipped meals, and I’m more than prepared to make up for that.

  As we enter, it’s immediately obvious where everyone is seated, waiting for us. We sit down to find that our drinks are already there. Our waitress, Cheyenne, comes over to take our food orders. The girls and I have been in here on more than one occasion and Cheyenne is, without a doubt, the best there is.

  I cannot express how excited I am for this meal. I’m practically bouncing in my seat. Leave it to food to lift my mood. A burger has never sounded so good, but right now I think even a plate full of cardboard and sand would sound like an acceptable meal.

  “Nice … scarf,” Zander says once Cheyenne walks away, gesturing to his neck with both hands.

  “Thanks. Lyza grabbed it for me on our way here. It’s the perfect way to hide … things.” Not that there’s any way to hide the cut on my face, but finger-shaped bruises on my neck would probably raise some unwanted questions.

  He nods in response.

  Lyza gives me an appreciative side glance. I can’t help the smile spreading across my face.

  “What are you hiding with the scarf?” Reese asks, looking confused.

  Before I can offer her a response, Lyza leans forward over the table: “She thought it was a good idea to deal with Aulder on her own last night and he tried to choke the life from her. Luckily, our girl had some tricks up her sleeve. I’m pretty sure he would’ve killed her if it weren’t for her …” she looks over her shoulder, lowering her voice further, “elemental persuasion.”

  The table is silent while that information sinks in. My eyes meet my dad’s, our conversation from earlier flooding back to me. The agony in his eyes, the set of his jaw, it shreds my heart to pieces. I don’t know what to do.

  “It seems like the two of you have a death wish,” Reese says. “Why does AGAS have it out for you so bad?”

  Well, there are so many possible answers for that question. At the top of my list is that Aulder isn’t happy about me breaking into his Lab and busting out my dad and Lyza.

  “Beats me,” I lie. “So let’s hear about this elemental registration thing. Hit me with every detail you have.”

  “Right,” Reese says through narrowed eyes, “so, as I said last night, the basic gist is blood sample, register, tattoo.”

  That comment hangs in the air. No one at the table speaks or moves.

  “Only, there’s more to it,” she continues. “The whole registration thing is basically a nice way of saying ‘give me all of your personal information.’ They want to know everything: what affinity you have, how strongly connected to it you are, do you have aggressive tendencies, are your parents the same—?”

  Lyza interrupts, “What did you eat for breakfast, when was the last time you combed your hair, yada, yada, yada. Nosey assholes.”

  “Pretty much,” Reese says.

  “I’m guessing all the information they collect will go on a permanent record of some sort, along with the blood samples?” Wren asks.

  “That’s what it sounds like. There’s supposed to be an address going out on the news soon,” Reese answers. She moves out of the way, allowing Cheyenne room to deliver plates around the table. Everyone stops talking as she does, focusing on our food. After asking if we need anything else—which we don’t because she already brought us extra napkins and topped off our glasses—she leaves.

  The silence stretches on for a few minutes as we eat. My burger is exactly as mouthwatering as I expected it to be, though the topic of conversation is quickly making me lose my appetite. I take a drink of water after swallowing down a mouthful of food. “Okay, so we register, hand over our firstborn child, then what?”

  My dad gives me a disapproving look. It’s true, though, from the sounds of it. What good does all of this information do for the government? Looking more closely at my father, he looks on edge. How’s he taking all of this now that he doesn’t have his powers?

  “After that, everyone is required to get a tattoo corresponding with their affinity,” Reese says, pausing to take a swig of her water. “For example, I would receive a tornado, Lyza would get a lightning bolt, you’d get a water drop.”

  “I’ve always wanted a tattoo,” Lyza says. “Something small, maybe on my shoulder blade or something.”

  “They have to be on the wrist. Openly visible at all times.”

  My dad springs to his feet, his chair screeching across the floor and toppling over behind him. “They can’t do that!”

  His shout is followed by gasps and whispered murmurs. Every patron is staring at our table.

  “I thought we were trying to get equal rights! Before, at least we could blend in, but now we’ll all be exposed!” His chest heaves and his face becomes a darker shade of red with each word flying out of his mouth.

  “Dad,” I say as calmly as I can, “can you sit back down, please?” The floor manager is on her way over.

  “No! I won’t! How can we sit by and let this happen?”

  I slowly rise from my chair. Holding my hands out in a reassuring manner, I try to figure out a way to calm him down before it escalates further. “We won’t, Dad. That’s why we’re here. To find a way to stop Aulder and his mind games. Please … will you sit down?”

  His gaze meets mine and my heart breaks. In his eyes is more pain and fear than I have seen ever before.

  I reach for him. “It’s going to be alright, Dad. I’m going to figure this out.”

  My dad jerks away and shouts again. “I won’t let them take you from me! They can’t do this!”

  “Sir, I need you to quiet down and take your seat,” Jules, the floor manager, says. She’s now standing beside us, exuding a sense of calm I could never hope to achieve.

  My dad’s face pales. He looks around, seeing for the first
time the scene around him, his chair toppled over, every pair of eyes in the dining area on us. Jules picks his chair up, gesturing toward it. Slow as ever, he sinks to his haunches, resting his elbows on the table and cradling his head. Shame radiates from him in an almost tangible fog.

  I try to rub circles on his back, but he flinches at my touch, so I drop my hand. “Dad, we’re going to figure this out. Somehow, we’ll make things the way they should be. Trust me.” It feels like a lie. I have no idea how to solve this puzzle, but I don’t know what else to say to soothe him.

  “I can’t lose you, Cleo,” he says without lifting his head. “I’ve already lost everything else. You’re the only thing that matters and I can’t lose you.”

  Cheyenne appears at our table with a concerned look on her face. The other patrons in the diner are still looking at us as they continue their meals. “Is everything okay?” she asks hesitantly.

  “Uh—” I stutter, unsure of how to answer.

  “We’re going to need some boxes,” Wren tells her. She nods and turns, hurrying away.

  Someone is close behind me, but I don’t know who it is until they speak. “Do you want me to take him back to my place for you?” Zander whispers close to my ear.

  Do I? Would that help my dad? Ugh, I don’t know. Damn Aulder Harlow for doing this to him! For making him suffer.

  I drop my voice so only he will hear me. “Yeah, good idea. Give me a minute.”

  Directing my attention back to my dad, I do my best to keep my tone even. “Believe me, Dad, this news is frustrating and degrading, to say the least. I’m going to do my best to set this right.” How, I have no idea, but I’ll try. “Zander is going to take you back to his place. We’ll be leaving right behind you.” He nods, finally lifting his head up out of his hands.