ARC: The Almost Girl

by Amalie Howard

  You’re thinking crazy, Riven, I tell myself. If you everted from here, without you Caden wouldn’t have half a chance in the Outers before he got to the city. The Outers would have swallowed him whole.

  Caden’s voice interrupts the ominous chaos of my thoughts. “So, who is he?”

  “A friend,” I say.

  Cale is far more than that – he’s my best friend, my brother, my liege – but I know that explaining any of it won’t make much difference. Caden won’t understand our politics, or any of the intricacies of who I am to Cale. I’m bound to Cale in a way that these people could never fathom… one bred of steel and blood and undying loyalty.

  “In the hospital, it sounded like he was a lot more than that, more like a boyfriend.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, he’s my best friend.” I cough and take another sip of water. “Did I talk about anything else? You know, while I was in there?”

  “Only about your mother and how she died. I’m sorry.”

  I frown but I do have a vague recollection of begging June to let me leave. “It was a long time ago. She had a brain tumor.” I pause, hesitating. “Did I say anything else? About… Cale?”

  Caden shakes his head, and my relief is so great I can feel my entire body relax in my next breath. But it is too soon. He is struggling with the lie, I can see it in his eyes. The dread fills me again.

  “Tell me,” I say. “I won’t get mad, I promise.”

  “You said, ‘I’m sorry I failed you. Sorry I didn’t come back right away.’ Or something like that.” A pause, and then Caden’s green eyes meet and hold mine. “Is he OK?”

  “No.”

  My voice is so quiet that Caden strains forward to hear it. Unthinkingly, I tuck the lock of hair back over his ear. Something in his eyes flares at my touch. I hardly notice what I’ve done, but it doesn’t matter. Suddenly everything is so clear that it feels like I can see for days… the clarity that comes after a fever breaks. I take a deep breath and things become even clearer.

  Caden isn’t Cale.

  I know what I have to do.

  My sense of conviction is so strong that Caden shies away instinctively, a far cry from the warmth I’d felt from him just before. My mask is back, my chilling words matching the icy hardness he must see on my face. It is a reflex action almost, the sudden shape of my purpose here. I don’t question the calmness that settles into me; in fact, it feels like old, comfortable clothing. It’s as if everything inside of me has somehow been magically reset… who I am, my duty, my mission.

  And my mission is to secure the target.

  I shake my head slowly. “I was wrong before. I haven’t failed him. I’ve found what he needs, and I will get it to him.” The words are hopping on my tongue, burning to get out. “There is nothing, dead or alive, that will stop me.”

  SECRETS

  “Riven, you look wonderful. I can’t believe that brace is off your ankle already!”

  June’s face is welcoming and warm at the door, but I steel myself against it. I am not here to make friends or have any further doubts as to why I’m here. Still, I don’t want to be rude when she opens the door wide and invites me inside.

  “Good genes,” I acknowledge with a small smile, hovering near the entrance. “I can’t stay, but wanted to come by to say thank you, and also to get my bike. I’m OK to ride now,” I assure her hurriedly as her brows begin to knit together. “I’m really alright. I can walk, run, everything’s back to normal.”

  “I’m not comfortable with you getting on a motorcycle this soon. Especially one that was in an accident barely a week ago. Not to mention what else happened – the shock and fainting.”

  “June, I’m fine. It was only stress, and I’ve been taking better care of myself. Plus, Cade told me that Jake checked out the bike already,” I interject hastily. “Really, I’ve been riding that thing forever, and I’m safer on that than in anything on four wheels. And my ankle’s fine, I swear.”

  June shoots me a skeptical look. “Just let me have a quick look to be sure. It will make me feel better.” Knowing that getting out of there will be a lot easier if I just let her look for herself, I nod and sit on the chair closest to me. Her fingers are warm against my skin as she gently feels along the bones and then twists my ankle to the left and right. “Any pain?”

  I shake my head. “It’s been fine for a few days now.”

  “Good genes,” she says repeating my earlier words and then frowns. “Maybe I was wrong about the torn ligament; could have been just a mild sprain that looked worse than it was.” She checks my eyes, heart rate, and blood pressure. “All good, too.”

  I can see June second-guessing her own doubt. She’s too good of a doctor to have been wrong, and she knows it. Quickly, I say, “I’m just glad I’m better now. Crutches are a pain. Being the local fainting gimp is even worse.”

  The truth is, I feel better than I have in years. Ever. I can’t explain it, but it’s as if a switch has been turned on inside of me – my body feels limber, my brain crystal-clear. Maybe I’m finally getting used to this place.

  A smile. “I still want you to take it easy for a couple more days. There’s no swelling, but with this kind of recovery, I wouldn’t want you to overdo it just because it looks and feels OK.”

  “Got it.”

  She’s silent for a while, then says quietly, “Amazing,” her fingers still resting against my foot.

  “June? Caden said that my keys were in the kitchen,” I suggest helpfully.

  As if in a trance, June blinks and stands, but I can see that her brain is still furiously ticking. “Oh, yes, of course. Caden isn’t here; he’s at a fencing meet at the school, I think,” she says while she’s looking for the keys in the kitchen. “But I think he would have put them in one of these drawers.”

  “Fencing?”

  June shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I like chess myself, but he has a natural affinity for it, and while I’m not a fan of any combat-weapon sport, he does seem to enjoy it. I’ve only been to a few of his meets, but he’s pretty good. Or so I see.” She grins. “Have you seen the trophy shelves in his room?”

  I shake my head. No. “Fencing,” I repeat softly to myself.

  The sport itself is beautiful to watch, as elaborate as dancing, with elongated parries and delicate thrusts. I know it well because we are all trained in the art of most hand-to-hand combat techniques by the tender age of five, and all manner of weaponry by seven. Swords, bows, knives, spears, axes, and guns… everything you could conceivably use to dispatch an enemy. The sword has always been my favorite. Cale always favored the crossbow. For a second, the memory of one of our first training sessions together flashes through my brain, and June fidgeting through the drawers in the kitchen fades into the background.

  We had been assigned to one another for formal training, and had to face a mock obstacle course with various threats. I’d just turned eight. Though I was small for my age, I was lightning-fast and held the advantage of having held a sword before the age of two. Already, I was at the top of my age group in any kind of martial arts training.

  When we were paired up for the test before the final assignments on specialized-weapon training were made, we automatically sized the other up. His shock of glossy brown hair made him look impish, but the expression on his face was boldly confident.

  “You’re small,” he said, his voice matching the arrogant expression. “Looks like I’ll have to pick up the slack.”

  “How come you’re not paired with someone your own level?” I blurted out.

  “Guess they think you need babysitting.”

  I’d felt like slapping him. My scowl was fierce, but he’d just laughed in my face as if I were nothing more than a kitten defending its toy. I found this boy’s arrogance to be so grating and his overconfidence so irritating that I vowed then and there to teach him a lesson.

  “Try to keep up,” I snarled, and took off just as the whistle blew, jumping over fe
nces and scaling walls. I didn’t even look behind me to see if he was keeping up, even though part of the test was to protect your partner at all times. I was too angry. Irrationally, I wanted to show this rude boy exactly what I could do.

  Two hologen targets jumped up in front of me, one a wild jaguar and the other some kind of bird. I shot them with the rifle slung across my back, both easy hits. It was then that I heard the shout of pain, and in that brief second, the red clouding my brain cleared. The boy was hurt.

  I could go back and get him, or I could leave him.

  Just as I was deciding to press forward – let him tough it out on his own – something niggled at the base of my neck. I couldn’t leave him, it wouldn’t be right. Resigned, I turned around and backtracked, only to find him leaning against a tree calmly chewing on an apple.

  I frowned. “I heard someone cry out.”

  “Yeah, it was a new kind of hologen. It made human noises. I killed it.” His nonchalant words were almost enough to make me miss the blood dripping from his sleeve. Almost.

  “You’re hurt?”

  “That’s mostly the thing’s blood. But it did break my leg. I can’t walk.” He finished the apple, tossing the core near the body of the dead creature. “You should go on, I’ll tell the trainers that I tripped. You should finish.”

  I could feel the guilt at leaving him earlier ripping through me like acid. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left. I broke the rules and you got hurt.”

  “We could default.”

  “No!” I shouted. Defaulting meant quitting, and a strike that would go on your training record, even if something happened that was no fault of your own. Failure was not an option, not for any of us. If you couldn’t defend yourself in the field, you were as good as dead. It was as simple as that. “We’ll figure something else out,” I said confidently despite the hole of anxiety in my stomach.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have teased you.” It was the smallest offer of truce and barely an apology, but I took it anyway. He had been hurt because of me… because I deserted him.

  “I’m Riven,” I said, sealing the fragile truce. “Can you walk if you hold on to me?”

  “You’re half my size; we’ll never make it. Just leave me.”

  “Shut up,” I told him. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  And so, with me half dragging, half pushing him along, we inched through the rest of the course. When we ran out of bullets in my rifle, we stood back-to-back, sword and crossbow in hand to take out our enemies. I admired the boy’s skill with his weapons, switching fluidly from longbow to crossbow and back before I could blink. Anything that got too close, I fought off capably with my sword and, occasionally, a short knife.

  In the end, it wasn’t the most graceful completion of the course, but we came out together panting, winded, and utterly exhausted. The medical team rushed out of nowhere so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to say anything more to the boy before he was hover-ported away, surrounded by a team of elite guards. It was surprising but I didn’t think too much more about it.

  It was only afterwards that I learned that my partner was the son of the Monarch of Neospes. A prince. Mortified, I kept waiting for the soldiers who would surely come to arrest me for my heedless words and thoughtless actions in the holo dome, but I needn’t have worried. From that point on, the boy who I would come to know as Cale always asked for me, and only me, to partner with him.

  One day, when I asked him why he’d always chosen me, he responded flippantly, “Someone needs to protect the little people.”

  But later in a rare moment of unguarded honesty, Cale told me that it was because I’d come back for him without knowing who he was, even after his intentionally provoking words. He’d liked that I had never even considered giving up or leaving him behind. I remember telling him that quitting would never be an option for me. It wasn’t then, and it would never be now.

  And just like back then, Cale knows that he can count on me. And that can’t change, not now, not ever.

  “Riven?”

  I jerk out of my thoughts so quickly that my fingers are on the hilt of a knife tucked into a side pocket of my pants before I can exhale the breath hitched in my lungs. I relax, my brain belatedly recognizing June’s voice and release my hot fingers.

  “Sorry,” I breathe. “Homework on the brain.”

  “The hospital just paged me and I need to go,” June says pulling on her jacket. Her face is apologetic. “Your keys aren’t in here; they must be on Caden’s desk somewhere. Can you have a look and lock the door on your way out? Take the stairs just past the room you were in. Second door on the left. You take care of yourself, OK?”

  She’s out the door before I can even nod. But I am too grateful to speak – she’s just given me the opportunity I’ve been looking for. An engine turns over, and I wait until I see her car pulling out of the driveway before I make my way upstairs.

  Pictures line the hallway walls in a variety of colors and shapes with faces and landscapes filling their matte frames. They weave a story of vibrant life as I climb the staircase. Some of the frames are new and some antique, with some photos in black and white, while others are in color. Despite the hodge-podge, there’s a beautiful artistry and a love beneath it all connecting it together. It’s breathtaking.

  It’s only seconds later that I realize that Caden isn’t in a single one.

  Pushing open the door to the first room, I tell myself that I’m not snooping, merely familiarizing myself with the layout, but I still feel uncomfortable anyway. This room is obviously June’s room, with cherry furniture and a large four-poster bed covered with a hand-quilted floral bedspread. The room is airy and overlooks the street. A thickly bound book and a pair of glasses are resting on the bedside table. The room is feminine yet strong, just as she is.

  Crossing the few feet to the right side of the room, I perform a cursory search. I don’t know what I’m looking for… clues, weapons, anything that will tell me who June really is, because I know without a doubt that she isn’t Caden’s aunt, if only because of the photos in the hallway.

  Why is she helping him?

  A fluttery feeling tingles along the back of my neck, and I spin around in attack mode. But there’s nothing there. I can’t shake the feeling that has now sunk into my bones, that feeling of being watched. I wonder if half of it is my own imagination combined with the events of the last few days.

  I give myself a mental shake. The house is empty; I would know instantly if it weren’t. Turning my attention back to the job at hand, I make my way to June’s dresser, sliding my hands along the walls and along its backside. The drawers are filled with clothes, nothing exceptional. Something snatches my attention on the bedside table. The heavy gold letters on the book are like a neon warning.

  Quantum Mechanics: Intuition or Theory?

  This time, I can’t control the realization that rushes through me. June knows a lot more than she’s letting on. How much does she know? Did she know about me?

  No. I’ve been careful. Haven’t I? The self-doubt crawls in, cold and relentless. I haven’t really been myself lately, getting injured, fainting, and ending up in a hospital. Being all too careless. I could have let something unintentional slip over the past few weeks.

  No, my inner voice argues. You are meticulous. She doesn’t know anything other than what she knew anyway. Otherwise, why would she have left you here alone if she thought you were dangerous? There’s no way.

  Mollified somewhat, I run my finger along the edge of the book. Quantum mechanics isn’t exactly bedtime reading material. Hefting it up, I flip open the cover, skimming through the first quarter, and almost drop it to the floor. Instead, I sink to the bed and hold the book carefully on my lap. In a cutout hidden in its pages, in a bed of soft chamois, lies an innocuous-looking gun, barely palm-sized. I know instantly that it is loaded and it is lethal.

  There’s a magazine of bullets in a slim brown box next to the gun in the book.
I examine them carefully. Custom hollow-points, meant to shred the inside of a target. The blue markings on the side of the box indicate that there’s some kind of modified burst mechanism within the bullet. These have been specifically designed to annihilate whatever or whoever they come into contact with. I place the bullets back into the case and replace the book.

  Before closing the cover, I stare for a long second. The gun is new. From the minimal residue and shiny oiled insides, it’s probably only been fired a few times. If June, who for all intents and purposes is a civilian, is anticipating this level of danger, then I’ve been miscalculating things all along.

  She’s expecting someone. Or something.

  After I’ve smoothed the bed and verified that everything is back in its place, I exit the room quickly. Across the hall is another room. This room, unlike the rooms I’ve been in, is completely sparse, with a single bed with a metal frame and a slim desk sitting under the window. It appears to be unused, but still, instinct propels my feet to cross over to the nearest closet door. Empty. I release the breath I’ve unconsciously been holding. Maybe it’s a spare room that June hasn’t gotten to yet. Still, something about its sparse efficiency strikes a familiar chord inside of me. The clock on the wall is five minutes fast, which is curious because it matches the time on my own watch. Time can be your own worst enemy. I, too, prefer to always be ahead of it. Retracing my footsteps, I close the door behind me and make my way to the next door. A decent-sized bathroom.

  The third door is Caden’s room.

  I know it instantly but something holds me back, my fingers hovering on the doorknob. Why am I so afraid to open it? Caden means nothing to me. A shiver sweeps through me, tingling along the undersides of my arms and up my neck, and a forgotten sense of anxiety hits me full-force. Instinctively, my fingers draw back.