The Seers

by Katherine Bennet

  “Weren’t you listening?” Tobin’s voice thundered. “We can’t teleport. They can trace it.”

  “We have a car now!” She jingled the keys in front of his face. “Just tell me where to go, and we’ll let you get back to your girlfriend.”

  “You can’t drive to—” He stared at her blankly before smirking at Charlotte and Henry in the backseat. “Incredible. You really haven’t told her anything about the Enlightened Society, have you?”

  “Just tell me where to go!” Nora’s shrill voice filled the car.

  “The Tavians are hunting her down, and you haven’t told her even the basics about what she’s up against.” He chuckled, keeping the edge of impatience in his laugh.

  “We tried to tell her, but the Tavians came barging in!” Henry insisted.

  Tobin ignored him, focusing on Nora. “The Niotians and Tavians are factions of a secret scientific society called the Enlightened. They can manipulate matter and make a toothpick as strong as a steel beam, or a puff of air as lethal as a bullet.”

  “Okay. Great,” she said. “All the more reason to get away to a place where I won’t have to truck it off a mountain in the middle of the night.”

  He raised his voice to talk over her. “They can also generate new matter. Nios was a virtual reality made physically real, then shrunk to conceal itself. Even though it’s the size of Los Angeles, it wouldn’t look any bigger than a marble to us.”

  Henry scoffed. “That’s a bit of an over-simplification. Physicists used light energy to generate matter and an applied form of quantum physics to shrink it.”

  Tobin’s hard gaze shot to Henry. “Who cares?”

  Henry’s mouth snapped shut.

  “Nios is located in a private garden in southern California, but it might as well be on the moon,” Tobin said with a little less of an edge. “You can’t drive there; you’d have to teleport in. And since you showed up at my door, I’m guessing Charlotte hasn’t made arrangements for your return.”

  “Filing for temporary asylum takes time,” Charlotte argued from the back. “If we take her back before arrangements are made, they might even hand her over if the Tavians request it. The peace between our factions is very tenuous.”

  Tobin raised his eyebrows. “You still think this is peace?”

  Nora stared at a group of bikers staggering from the bar, fighting an odd floating sensation. She was adrift, clinging to sanity. If she hadn’t already teleported once or seen that map, she wouldn’t have believed a word he had said.

  But she had.

  And those dead Tavians were very, very real. So were the Tavians who’d blown her front door off, the way Henry’s eyes matched hers, how they’d talked about her sparks… She shut her eyes, trying to clear her head—after today, it felt too small to fit all of this.

  Everything about Tobin made her skin crawl, but he was her only chance to escape the Tavians, and they’d be hot on her trail again soon. She started the car. “Which way?”

  Tobin pointed past the bar down the road, and she pulled out of the parking lot, hoping for complete silence for the rest of the trip.

  Chapter 10

  Darkness completely enveloped the car as they wound their way down the desolate mountain passes. Nora’s elbow throbbed, the scratches on her ankles burned, and her mind swam.

  The world had made sense when she had gotten up this morning. Now, she might actually be from a tiny city where people with very big weapons wouldn’t protect her from their mortal enemies, who were hunting her with the same crazy weapons. And this was all because they thought she was some super-human computer.

  She stared at the lane lines, actually hoping they’d blur or move, anything to suggest she wasn’t in full control of her faculties. They never moved. She stayed steadily in her lane without even the slightest drift one way or another.

  Making matters worse, Charlotte and Henry had both managed to fall asleep, leaving her alone with Tobin. She sniffed and crinkled her nose to stave off tears.

  “Are you crying?” Tobin seemed less concerned and more horrified.

  “No,” she lied, wiping her face.

  He stared at her. It seemed like an eternity before he spoke again. “Look, I wasn't lying about getting to civilization. Most Tavian guards aren’t used to the way the rest of the world works. It’ll be a lot harder for them to find you in the midst of a city, where there’s lots of human signatures to analyze. I'm sure you've probably been through a lot—”

  “Do me a favor and spare me the fake sympathy. You don't like me, and I know you'd rather be just about anywhere else. I've had one hell of a day, and I'm not in the mood for pretenses.”

  Silence.

  In any other moment, she might have cared that she came off too angry or rude.

  Not right now. Not with him.

  A fresh flood of tears betrayed her, streaming down her cheeks. She stared at the road ahead, knowing it was too late to hide it. She hated feeling weak in front of him.

  He moved his arm toward hers, but it recoiled a moment later.

  “What could I have possibly done to you to make you hate me so much?” she asked.

  “You have no idea—”

  “You're right!” she shouted without caring if she woke Charlotte and Henry. “I don't know. And I can't understand how you hold me responsible for something you think I did but can't remember. I can't change the past, but I'm not that person anymore.”

  She glanced at him, expecting more rage, but that wasn't what she saw. His jaw was set, but with the faint light from the dashboard there was a brokenness in his eyes she hadn't seen before.

  She bit her lip. She wanted to yell at him—scream at him the way he did at her.

  But his eyes.

  He might be able to demean people at their lowest point, but she didn’t have it in her. Today had raised a lot of questions about who she was, but she was sure she wasn’t the kind of person to rub salt in a wound.

  She remained silent for the rest of the trip, and the relief was tangible when she pulled into the small roadside motel parking lot.

  “Wait here,” Tobin said before hopping from the car and entering the front office of the single-story building. Decades of weather had yellowed the stucco and the din of an overworked air-conditioning unit buzzed from one of the rooms. She rested her head on the back of her seat.

  If she’d been at home, she’d probably have just finished watching the news. She’d blow out her favorite lavender candle, turn out the lights, and snuggle into her smooth cotton sheets. Her throat tightened. She missed home.

  A few minutes later, Tobin returned with a key and waved a hand for her to follow, but he never made eye contact as he led them to a small room with two beds.

  Henry collapsed on one of the beds and pulled a corner of the thin comforter over his shoulders.

  “Scoot over, Henry.” Charlotte kicked off her shoes and fell onto the bed next to him. Deep, slow breaths emanated from both of them less than a minute later.

  Nora eyed Tobin. She wouldn't have another argument with him. If he wanted the remaining bed, she'd sleep on the floor—the dirty, disgusting, stained floor.

  “You should get some sleep,” Tobin said quietly, waving at the bed. His head hung low as he checked the closet and the bathroom. He stole brief glances but never fully looked at her, and his chocolate eyes were still sorrowful. He locked the door and peered out the window. Beyond the buzz of the air conditioner, all was quiet.

  “I'm going to wash up,” he muttered.

  Nora nodded and lay on the bed. She desperately needed a good night’s sleep, but what would happen after that? She couldn’t go home, couldn’t go to Nios, and the thought of being stuck in a tiny motel room with Tobin wasn't a promising prospect.

  He’d said she was safer now that they were in the midst of human society. She didn’t need any of them to help her blend in. Maybe she could disappear on her own.

  I could ask the front desk to call a cab…
<
br />   Tobin emerged from the bathroom, shirtless, and Nora clamped her eyes shut. She might be able to slip out once he was asleep. She peered at him in the darkness, hoping he was a hard sleeper, as he strode to his bag and grabbed a new shirt.

  He turned around, and there, on the left side of his chest, was a red magnolia tattoo—a larger version of the one on her wrist. The hair on her arms rose, and a wave of goosebumps covered her whole body. A connection. She’d never been surer about anything, but how? She didn’t have a single memory of him, no sparks, the details were gone, but something was there.

  He glanced at her and jumped. “Nora?”

  Caught. Her cheeks burned. Her mind ran through a list of excuses about why she would have been gawking at him, but none of them were good. She prayed his smug grin wouldn’t return.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

  “Um, no. I was just—I wasn't asleep yet.”

  Tobin nodded before grabbing a blanket and pillow from the closet, then he disappeared below the foot of her bed.

  She stared at the ceiling in complete silence, unable to forget the image of his chest. She’d researched it once. Crimson magnolias didn’t exist, but somehow both of them had the same mythical flower in a tattoo. That wasn’t a coincidence.

  She tossed and turned, rubbing her tattoo with her thumb. The sounds of slow breathing surrounded her. If she wanted to leave, this might be her chance, but the tattoo held her there. There were so many questions about who she really was after tonight, but as she lay there, she found herself wondering about Tobin. They’d known each other once—and not just as adversaries.

  “You're wrong, you know,” Tobin said, startling her. She almost fell out of the bed. His voice was deep and sincere, making her heart hurt. “It may not seem like it, but you are still that person.”

  For a split second, the urge to go to him and cry in his arms was undeniable. She had always been alone, but after today, the isolation hurt more than ever. If her exile had been as simple as a punishment for her political beliefs, Tobin wouldn’t have been involved. Did she expose him as a conspirator? Did he oppose her beliefs?

  Endless theories floated in and out of her head for hours, but she wasn’t any closer to the truth, and no matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to leave; she might never know the truth if she did.

  One more day. If it gets bad, I can leave tomorrow.

  In the early morning hours, the din of the air conditioner outside lulled her senses. For now, the running was over, and there would be time to get answers tomorrow. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and rolled back to her side where she fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 11

  The black, velvet roses swayed in front of Annabel. The garden was a last resort in a long list of attempts to clear her mind. She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep, comforting breath, and released it slowly.

  There were brilliant gladioli that bloomed year round, perfectly sculpted holly, and a babbling brook complete with koi fish, but she always found herself here, on the white marble bench, in front of the black roses.

  She studied the delicate curves of the petals as they came together to form perfect blossoms. The matte texture of each, flawless. Who could have guessed that a small genetic mutation in their color would lead to such beauty? And to top it all off, Tavians universally applauded them for their uniqueness. She rubbed her tired, blue eyes. She’d never be so lucky.

  She had not seen Commander Bishop since he’d slammed the door in her face two nights earlier. He had left without so much as a word about when he would return. It was a break from his typical composed civility—but then again, so was the way he’d spoken to her that night.

  That night.

  Her shoulders still slumped every time she thought about it, how close she’d come to showing Cyrus exactly how she felt about his little plan. He might take everything from her, but she wanted to prove she wouldn’t go down quietly.

  That had all slipped away when Commander Bishop had gotten involved. It didn’t matter how careful she’d been; he’d stopped her, and he’d be watching for any other attempts. She glanced around. Even though he was a hundred miles away, he’d probably still know somehow.

  It wasn’t like he could stand by while she killed Cyrus; that part she could understand. But the way he had looked at her after they’d returned to her suite… She cringed. And the way he’d fully articulated just how low she’d fallen—as if she needed a reminder.

  She’d been thrilled to find her sitting room vacant the next morning and had intended to avoid him at all costs, but as the day wore on, she began to worry. It was a risk to hide what she’d done; he could be seen as a conspirator. He’d have to tell Cyrus.

  She had waited in her suite, certain the full weight of her secret would come crashing through her door at any moment. Every set of footsteps in the hall was a guard coming to take her into custody. Every tick of the clock was another moment when Cyrus plotted the perfectly poetic and horrific end to her life: forcing her to stab herself with the same dagger, a poison designed to inflict maximum pain, another surgical procedure that would pull all of her essence from her body—she wouldn't put anything past him.

  She had thought about running, fleeing to start a new life outside of Octavius, but she wouldn't get far. Unlike Commander Bishop, she’d only been outside of Octavius once and could still remember the expansive, unprotected sky, the harsh rocky peaks of the alps, the temperature swings.

  Shrunk and completely concealed in a vault below ground, every rolling hill and architectural element of Octavius had been planned. No temperature swings, no viral outbreaks, and a protective shield for a sky with alabaster hues and a pearlescent sheen. She wouldn't know the first thing about living life elsewhere.

  Life outside Octavius.

  She shuddered. No benefits of a planned society or advanced comforts of home, just a primitive existence reliant upon serendipity and the kindness of strangers. The corners of her mouth pulled downward.

  With nowhere to run and nothing she could do to change her fate, she found herself here, on the bench in the garden where she used to meet Jasper.

  What is wrong with me?

  It had been at least two years since they’d spoken. He’d been ambivalent—at best—ever since. Yet one embrace was all it took for the memories to come rushing back. The kindness in his eyes, how close they’d been. It had felt like she could tell him anything during their talks in the garden. But it couldn’t have been real. It all ended with his promotion. He was Head of the Guard now—another thing he’d made very clear two nights ago. Why would she miss him now?

  She twisted her hands together in her lap. Why did it hurt so bad to know that he might be the one to hand her over to Cyrus? It hadn’t been anything like their friendship before, so why did it feel like he had left all over again?

  “I thought I might find you here—”

  She jumped into the air and almost landed in the roses.

  “Commander Bishop!” How had he sneaked up on her like that?

  He wore a brown leather jacket with no collar, a gray henley and a slim-fitting pair of jeans—not the typical choice for someone in Octavius. He must have been traveling outside the district. It highlighted his muscular shoulders, and she had to stop herself from staring.

  Get a hold of yourself.

  Smirking, he raised a single eyebrow. “On edge, are we?”

  His tone was confident, but almost playful, not at all like an adversary. Maybe he wasn’t as mad as she’d thought.

  And that smile.

  She drew a breath in through her nose and smiled tightly. They’d had one moment—it probably wasn’t even a moment to him—and suddenly she couldn’t control herself?

  She twisted her fingers together in front of her. She needed to act naturally, but what would be natural right now? His smirk grew, which didn’t help her at all. This would be so much easier if she could talk to him with her eyes shut.
r />   Get a hold of yourself!

  They had a lot to discuss. Sitting down to talk seemed natural—it had nothing to do with getting closer to him.

  “You've been gone for two days,” she said, returning to her spot on the bench. “Some babysitter you are.”

  “I think if you knew the full story, you'd agree I needed to leave.”

  She paused.

  Silence.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You're not going to tell me the full story, are you?”

  He smiled politely.

  Of course not.

  It was the reminder she needed. Things had changed, and he held all the leverage.

  She twisted a lock of her hair. “Did you at least find what you were looking for?”

  “Not yet, but I will.”

  Another ambiguous answer. How had she ever been attracted to him? She tossed the curl behind her shoulder, preferring the dagger-chucking, livid version of him over this. At least his thoughts weren’t a secret, then. Why did he bother talking to her at all? “Great! The politician is back.”

  “Politician?” His eyes flickered but relaxed just as quickly. “I don't think you could call what I was doing ‘politics.’”

  She shrugged, but her cheeks burned with anger. “Maybe not, but that's what you are. Always polishing your words, making people feel at ease when you’re about to stab them in the back.”

  His mouth dropped but quickly snapped shut, and his muscles tensed under his jacket. “What?”

  “That’s what this is, isn’t it?” she asked, her anger reaching a boil. “You may sound calm and kind, but we both know the truth even if you want to dance around it.”

  “The truth?” He chuckled darkly. “You only want the truth as long as it suits you. As long as it props you up on your pretty little throne, you demand the truth.”

  She clenched her fists. “I want the truth regardless!”

  His dark eyes turned cold. “Really? You didn’t seem to have the firmest understanding of the truth when I caught you in Cyrus’s room.”