The first thing I do after the meeting is slip underground to pay Sandy a visit. As usual, he’s slumped over his laptop, furiously typing script, the darkness of the room barely illuminated by the neon glow of the computer screen.
“Give me one minute,” he drawls when I enter. He adds a few more lines to his script, then spins his chair around to face me. “What’s up?” he asks, the dim lighting exaggerating the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.
“I need you to do me a huge favor,” I begin, batting my eyelashes like a fifties starlet. He rubs his eyes and lets out a long sigh.
“I can’t give you your weapons, Piper. It’s against policy, which is something you know. If something were to happen, I would get in a lot of shit and you would probably be fired or executed or something,” he says wearily.
“How did you know I was going to ask you for weapons?”
“Because you’ve got that gleam in your eye, the one that means you’re up to no good. Can you at least tell me what you’re planning?” he asks.
“Promise you won’t tell?” I tease.
He tilts his head to the side, looking at me expectantly. “I won’t tell, but I reserve the right to pass judgement,” he says.
“Okay, well I’ve come across some files reporting attacks in the nearby villages outside. They follow exact criteria for Harpy behaviour,” I say.
He nods, so I continue. “Grier and I are going to scout that Harpy and destroy it before it can hurt anybody else,” I say. I realize I’ve blurted it out so quickly it would be impossible to understand, but the look on Sandy’s face tells me he got every word.
“No,” he answers simply, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.
“Please, Sandy? I need to get out there again, I’m getting rusty,” I complain.
Sandy faces me, trying to defy me, even though we both know who’s stronger. There’s no use trying to out-power a Hunter.
“You’re too hot-headed. You’re just going to screw up and risk your life or Grier’s. Do you think I can let you do this on my conscience?” he asks.
I know he has a point, but I still decide to try a different approach. “I hate to do this to you, Sandy, you know I do. Give me the weapons or I will take them from you. You know I can do it. I could take you down so fast you wouldn’t have time to call for help. It’s your choice,” I finish. I face him squarely and clench my fists to make a point. He looks at me then, defeat creeping into his eyes, and I really do feel awful for doing this to him. Excitement overwhelms my guilt as Sandy retrieves my crossbow and daggers from a double-locked cupboard, as well as a shiny pistol and ammo for Grier.
“I want those back to me before the sun rises,” he says seriously.
I nod. It won’t even take that long.
“And no hunting on Corp property. Do you hear me? Even if a Harpy crosses the border you are to come to me, got it?” he continues.
“Why wouldn’t I just destroy it?” I protest, “It could endanger hundreds of civilians.”
“Trust me, things’ll be a lot worse if a Harpy intrudes onto this property. Don’t get caught, and destroy any evidence. It’s not just your ass that’s going to fry if you’re found out.”
I have little time to ponder what he’s just said. I pat his arm quickly in thanks, ignoring him as he pulls his hands through his hair stressfully. Weapons clipped to my belt, I slip through the halls and back up to the outside world.
Grier waits for me on the outer edge of the city walls, pacing nervously. I’d slipped her a vague message just after the meeting letting her know to meet me here. I toss her gun toward her when I reach her and she catches it deftly, cradling it like a prize.
“I can’t believe he gave them to you,” she murmurs.
“Not without some persuasion,” I admit. Immediately I ready my gear, ensuring every blade is in place, every lace is tied and every belt clipped.
“Are you sure about this?” Grier asks as I look at her for confirmation.
“Not scared, are you?” I challenge. The anxiety on her face hardens into determination and she shakes her head.
“I’m ready,” she says.
“Then let’s go.”
We climb up over the wall with practiced skill and I’m glad to see she can keep up as we drop back to the ground and begin striding through the thick forest. Based on the report, the first attack had taken place about a mile beyond the city border, so we head for that area, assuming the Harpy will stick to familiar ground. I’m glad Grier’s with me. She knows this area a lot better than I do and easily leads us through dense forest and around ravines and heavy boulders.
I look at the moon and realize it’s getting late. We continue on. It’s not until we’ve scouted nearly two miles from the city when we see it.
The first thing I see is the blood, then the rest of the picture comes into focus and I realize the blood’s pouring from a dying girl, her body twitching and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she begins to die. The Harpy is crouched overtop of her, tearing flesh from her quivering body, his wings tattered and missing feathers. Grier gasps and the Harpy whips his head around, screeching loudly as he sees us.
“Kill it. Now,” I say to her. Grier is frozen in place, the scene in front of us enveloping her emotions. The Harpy is still staring, seemingly stuck in place as well. That’s when I notice it. His eyes are slowly fading from a dark black into a light green, his skin softening until it’s a milky texture. His wings seem to fold over, shrinking into his back until his skin begins to crawl and scramble over, sealing the wings in an invisible pocket in his body. He looks like a scruffy man hard on his luck, his secret safely tucked away within him.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he sneers, but I can tell the reason he’s not moving is because he’s injured, his lightning-fast regeneration skills failing to repair a deep wound on his leg.
“Kill him, Grier! Do it now!” I yell this time. Like awakening from a trance, Grier aims her silenced pistol and shoots him square between the eyes. The Harpy inhales sharply, glancing down at his body as it begins to shrivel up and crumble. He looks me in the eye, his expression pained and frightened.
“Nothing is as it seems,” he whispers, then his face turns to ash and scatters to the ground. We stand there for a moment, attempting to absorb all that had happened. Grier seems to be shaking, but starts to kick loose dirt over the remains of her first kill.
“You saw that, didn’t you?” she says, her voice timid.
“Yes,” I say, but I’m less concerned from witnessing the transformation than from the words he’d spoken. I need to figure out what exactly is going on around here. Why was this Harpy here? Why did he appear so ragged and thin?
“Let’s go back,” I urge, leaving the mutilated body of the young girl lying in its place.
“Shouldn’t we do something?” Grier asks.
“What? Bury the body? Get our DNA all over it? She’s dead now, and there’s nothing we can do for her. The Corp will find her in the morning and decide what to do with it,” I reply. I pull her away from the scene, and the rest of the way back to the city the air chokes on our silence.
Chapter Eleven
The eerie silence of the usually jam-packed streets suffocates my thoughts. Going home would mean accepting what just happened and facing the hours of restless non-sleep, but out here there’s nothing except the constant vid-screen flashes of Elder Law and Order. Nothing can ease the anxiety building in my chest. My mind keeps flashing back to the Harpy in the forest.
Nothing is as it seems. What does that mean? The file in Myra’s office, the weapons ban, the task force here at Ichton that uses no action; it all adds up to something. But what? Frustrated, I place my head against the frosty window of a vacant clothes boutique. The chill of artificial nature calms the flush of my skin. I need answers, but I don’t even know the questions yet. There’s definitely no way I’m getting to sleep tonight.
I move back above-ground, pacing the
dead streets until I see the old apartment building looking over the city like an ancient watchdog. I’m startled as I see a light flick on, then realize it’s probably Asher up there. I briefly wonder if Grier will give me shit if she finds me up there again, but I doubt it. She looked pretty shaken up when we said our goodbyes. I inhale sharply before choosing my course, deciding that any distraction is better than the wave of unwanted thoughts placed before me.
My heavy training shows its benefits, and I reach the apartment in no time, sprinting deftly up the stairs with barely a heavy breath. I knock on the door quietly before I swing it open. Then I gasp. Asher is half-naked, doing push ups on the wooden planked floor, his bare muscles glistening with sweat. Thoroughly embarrassed, I turn my head away, but not before stealing a good look. He holds himself up with graceful ease, his skin a milky pale, with compact muscles built in all the right places. Across his back is what looks like a large tattoo, but upon further inspection I realize it’s a scar, with deep red welts in the form of a serpent winding across his back. Asher hops up from the ground and shakes out his shoulders.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to just walk in,” I apologize.
“It’s alright. I forgot you were a night owl, too,” he says dryly, grabbing a crisp white dress shirt from the sofa and pulling it on. I notice he leaves the buttons undone, showing off the slender curve of his abdomen. I need to stop looking.
“Where’d you get that scar?” I ask, removing, or attempting to remove the mental image from my mind. I remain planted at the doorway, watching cautiously as he plops onto the couch and pulls twowhite socks on over his feet
“I was born with it,” he says calmly. He looks at me expectantly and pats the cushion beside him.
“Right. And I’m supposed to believe that?” I say, moving to sit down on the ridiculously uncomfortable arm of the battered sofa. He smiles as if from an inside joke.
“Shark bite?” he suggests.
“Still too ridiculous. I don’t even think sharks exist anymore,” I point out.
“What about a crazy ninja carving?” he says, slumping onto the couch into a groove fit expressly for him.
“That’s a little more believable, I think I can accept that,” I joke. I’m enjoying his flashy smile a little too much when I remember that other side of him; the pompous, cocky jackass whose mood swings confuse me to say the least.
“So what are you today, Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?” I ask, sliding down onto the couch cushions, lumpy and old they might be. My heart rate has slowed down enough that I don’t feel like such a nervous mess.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Most of the time you’re Asher Owen, too cool for school or anything else, and sometimes you’re this other person, a guy with a soul who’s funny and charming. What’s that about?” I reply.
He chuckles slightly to himself, his eyes far and wandering in his own mind. “Ah, right. Sorry about that. I do have a reputation to uphold, you know? I can’t just be buddies with a pretty girl, what would the fans say?” he says.
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Oh, so it’s a fan thing, is it?” I reply with an eyebrow raised.
He tries to respond seriously, but ends up choking on his own laughter.
“Look, it’s really for your own good that we don’t speak in public. I’m okay to chill out here, but you don’t understand how gossipy this city is, and how much they like to gossip about me. I am, of course, the most handsome guy around,” he says, laughing.
“Right,” I reply, but in my mind, he’s right. His sloppy dark hair and devil-may-care attitude make up for his lankiness, and the slightly angular face I once thought dorky now screams with appeal. What have I gotten myself into? Every word of advice I’ve ever gotten drills through my head, but nothing sticks.
“And there’s Darcy to think about too. I know she’s my sister and whatever but she’s a super bitch, and loves to bring people down. You’re already on her shit list for dating that Nelson guy,” he continues.
I realize he means Tor, and I can’t help but blush. “We’re not exactly together, and how would you or Darcy know about that?” I feel the need to clarify.
Asher just grins. “My sister likes to keep a close watch on her suppliers. I’m glad you’re not with him—he seems like a Corp dog. Anyway, you’ll be safer from Darcy if she doesn’t know that we know each other,” he says.
“I think it’s a bit late for that one,” I say.
“You wouldn’t understand, you don’t have any siblings, do you?”
I bite my lower lip hard, drawing a few drops of blood. I’m struggling between punching him in the face and bursting out into tears. “My brother died last year,” I murmur, trying to keep my composure.
Asher’s gaze immediately softens, and it seems he’s about to reach out and touch me before he backs off suddenly. “I’m sorry about that,” he says quietly, turning his eyes to the floor.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it, what with all of the rumors going around,” I reply, putting my tough skin back on over the fragile, scarred tissue underneath.
“I don’t like to listen to what other people have to say.”
“Haven’t you heard that I’m a murderer? That I killed my own brother? Aren’t you nervous?” I spit out. I’m on the verge of becoming hysterical, nearing the point of hyperventilation. Asher seems uncomfortably out of his element.
“I don’t believe it. You’re not a killer,” he replies.
“How do you know?” I say.
He shrugs, placing his arms lazily behind his head. “You’ve been alone up here with me a few times now and you’ve barely let yourself sit down on the couch. You’re nervous, but not in the way a killer would be. Your eyes aren’t shadowed constantly with secrets, and your body language suggests that you probably want to be closer to me in a completely non-killer way,” he says, giving me a lopsided grin.
“Are you some kind of expert?” I ask, suspicious.
“No, but I make it my job to be able to read people. Makes it easy to tell if people are trustworthy or not,” he says.
“Do you think I’m trustworthy?” I ask.
He looks me up and down, and I feel like I’m starting to sweat. He looks like he’s really judging me, taking in every detail of my body. Then he shrugs. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be sharing my best killer-finding secrets,” he jokes.
“What if I’m not an intentional murderer? What if I’m a killer by proxy, or I can’t quite remember how everything happened?” His eyes narrow slightly at this, like he’s deep in thought.
“Sometimes things aren’t so black and white, I think. Come here,” he says, standing up and holding out his hand to me.
“What are you doing?”
“Just trust me, I want to show you something,” he says.
I hesitate, then place my hand in his, the feel of his skin against mine sending tingles through my entire body. He helps me up from the couch, then leads me over to the window he’d snuck out of the first night. I shake my head violently, no. I can handle vicious Harpies, and blood, and bullet-wounds, but I’m terrified of heights. That’s why I like to shoot things out of the sky.
“Come on, don’t be such a baby,” he says, propping the window open.
The cool breeze from outside caresses my face, goading me forward like a Venus fly trap. “What if I fall?”
“You won’t, just trust me, okay?” he says again.
My heart’s thumping in my chest, telling me not to move further, but Asher’s arm is gently pushing me forward. I estimate the height of building is about a hundred and fifty feet, and I could probably survive it if I landed properly, so I take a deep breath and take a step out, securing my foot on the two-foot ledge outside. I take another step, gripping onto Asher’s arm for dear life as he gracefully pops out onto the ledge with me. Standing still for a moment, I take deep breaths, allowing myself to calm down. I’m safe here, I haven’t fallen.
“Was
n’t so bad, was it?” he asks me.
“Easy for you to say,” I reply, barely opening one eye to glare at him.
“Now sit down. I promise you won’t fall,” he says. Using him and the edges of the window for support, I lower myself until my butt is firmly planted on the ledge. Once Asher is seated beside me, I let my eyes open.
“Wow,” I gasp as I take in the sight. From this vantage point the night sky seems so luminous. My eyes pick out every tiny star grouped in the massive constellations that swirl above me. The minute inner workings of the world seem to pale in comparison to what I’m feeling right now.
“It’s strange, isn’t it? The Earth’s just the right distance from the sun to support life, and yet there are millions of other stars out there, and we still haven’t found anything quite like us,” he says quietly.
I look at him and he’s gazing up at the sky, his shaggy hair being gently tossed over his face by the breeze. “Even after nuclear war, the world still moves on, adapting itself so it can survive. We’re all just a part of the bigger picture, a tiny percentage of the shit that goes on day to day. Every time I come out here it reminds me of that, and I find some sort of solace in it, you know?”
I can only nod, my eyes still fixated on the different patterns above me. We sit in complete silence, like we don’t even need words to speak for our thoughts to intertwine. He holds my hand firmly and it feels so natural, so right.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” I say finally. I want to stay out longer, but the band of light above the horizon is beginning to glow, signalling morning, and I haven’t slept at all yet.
“I’d better get going.” I slip back through the window cautiously, relieved when my feet land once again on solid wood. Asher follows me through the window, dropping once again to the tattered old couch.
“Thank you again, Asher,” I say before I head out the door.
“Don’t mention it,” he replies, stifling a yawn. I take one more look at him before pushing the door open to leave, knowing that tomorrow or whenever I see him, he’ll go back to being a stranger.
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