by Amy Miles
SIX
Even before I open my eyes, I can sense another presence in the room. It is subtle, like a tickling of your nose, but it’s there. I control my breathing, keeping it steady as I listen.
There is a faint creak on the floorboard to my right. I curl my fingers ever so slightly around the hilt of my knife, muscles coiled and ready to spring.
I launch my knife through the air before I even open my eyes. I’m up and firmly planted in a fighting stance by the time the shadow rolls back to its feet and rushes away. I glare at the blade buried deep in the wood framing the kitchen doorway──a near miss, but still a miss.
The figure moves with stealth, shifting fluidly around the room. I reach behind me and grab my gun, flicking off the safety as I kick the end table toward my assailant. I leap forward in a dive and come up only four feet from the man, gun aimed at his heart. Emerald green light blinds me as I stare into a laser cannon.
I dive to the side and roll behind a cabinet. I stifle my heavy breathing, listening for footsteps in the apartment but hear none. I tilt my head back toward the door and try to hear anyone creaking on the floor in the hall or mounting the steps. All is silent.
“Who are you?”
The man shifts slightly. Why isn’t he firing? The cabinet offers little protection from a cannon’s blast.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he calls.
I chamber a round. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one already tonight. Didn’t work out so well for me last time.”
“I’m not like Commander Drakon.” The response is soft, barely above a whisper, but filled with a surprising hint of bitterness.
“Mutiny among the ranks. You really want to go with that story?” I scoff. “Boy, you all must think humans are really stupid.”
“Not at all.” He shifts closer to the window and I get a full view of his size. Although he stands nearly a head taller than me, his body is long and lithe. His lean form betrays the body of a skilled warrior, not a mindless brute like some of the soldiers back at the factory.
I need to be wary of this one. He’s obviously not a stranger to hand-to-hand combat. “Are you planning to turn me in?”
I lean back against the cabinet, pointing my gun at the ceiling as I listen to his breathing. Although it is slightly elevated, he seems to be in control of his nerves, which isn’t a good sign for me.
“Those are my orders…” The pause at the end of his words makes me peek out. The emerald light is gone, his laser completely powered down. Why didn’t I notice the missing hum sooner?
“Something tells me you have another agenda.” My fingers tighten around my gun. He might be foolish enough to power down his weapon, but I’m not about to give up my chance at the upper hand.
“I just want to talk.”
My laugh comes out more like a bitter snort than a true laugh. I look around the edge of the cabinet and notice that he’s nearly even with me. I’m quickly losing any form of protection this cabinet offers.
“Stay there!” He pauses in mid-step, slowly letting his foot drop back to the floor. “Don’t come any closer.”
To my complete surprise, he actually backs away. He bends at the waist, slowly and deliberately, and rests his darkened cannon against the wall and steps away. He holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
A dozen questions race through my mind at once. What is going on? Why is he surrendering his weapon? What could he possibly gain from speaking to me?
“I’m going to sit down now. Please don’t shoot.”
My lips press into a tight line as he skirts along the wall, his back pressed tightly to the peeling wallpaper as he inches toward the couch. I step out from behind the cabinet and lower my gun to follow him, my finger hovering just over the trigger in case I sense a trap.
As he turns to approach the couch, I see a flash of silver where his eyes should be. I blink, shocked to find that his eyes aren’t a normal color at all, but appear more like the nickel my father gave me on my thirteenth birthday.
Even with the little experience that I have with the Caldonians, I know that his eyes are unique. He lowers his hands to shoulder height as he ducks under the wobbly fan that dangles from the ceiling by a few frayed wires. His gaze locks onto mine just before he turns his back on me and slowly sinks onto the couch.
For a moment, I just stand with my mouth gaped open. What the heck is he doing? One of the first things you learn in combat training is to never turn your back on your enemy.
Maybe that’s what he’s trying to prove. That I have nothing to fear from him.
The floorboards creak loudly as I inch forward, careful to remain well outside a normal diving range. The last thing I want to happen is for this guy to get his hands on me.
I slip past the edge of the couch and tuck myself into the kitchen doorway to my right. With my free hand, I tug my knife free of the doorframe and slide it back into my waist. From here, I can spin and race down the hall behind me to escape down the outdoor staircase if he decides to cause trouble.
I lower my arms, my left hand cupping my right as I keep the gun trained in his direction. “Who are you?”
“My name is Kyan, Son of Caul.” The sound of his voice is almost musical, like wind chimes in a warm summer’s breeze. I find the tone both alarmingly pleasant and worrisome. With a voice like that, anyone could be lulled into trusting him.
“Why did you follow me?”
“I didn’t, not in the way you think, at least.”
I cock my head to the side and tuck my lower lip behind my teeth. I didn’t expect that answer. “Then how did you find me?”
“I could feel you.”
“Feel me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turns his head, zeroing in on me with his shiny gaze. “I can always sense one of my own kind.”
I feel the blood drain from my face, pooling at my feet. I’m sure I look as pale as a spectral ghost in the dim light. “What did you just say?”
He smiles kindly. “I said that you are one of us, Illyria.”
I whip my gun up and aim directly at his right eye. I know from this distance I won’t miss. “How do you know my name?”
I know more than you think. Although his lips remain stationary, I can hear his voice as clearly as if he’d spoken the words aloud.
My mouth drops open as I take a step back. The gun shakes imperceptibly in my hands. “How can I hear you?”
“Telepathy. I can read your mind and you can read mine.”
I shake my head emphatically. “No, I can’t.”
He presses his lips into a thin line. It is in your blood, Illyria. In the very DNA that makes you who you are.
“Stop it!” I cry, covering my ear with my free hand. “Get out of my head!”
“As you wish.”
I’m not sure how, but I feel him withdraw from my mind. The complete absence leaves me feeling woefully empty inside, as if his feathery touch was natural. “So you can read my mind…that doesn’t prove I’m one of you.”
He cocks his head to the side. “You’ve developed abilities, yes?”
Apprehension trickles down my spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
There is a sharp edge to Kyan’s laugh. “Surely you know that it’s impossible for a mere human to toss a metal staircase with their mind.”
I blanch as small sparks of heat flicker in my fingertips. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to-”
“Oh yes, you did.” He leans forward, locking me in place with his direct gaze. “Your mind allowed you to do exactly what your heart desired. You were angry, you wanted to save your friend and you did. Quite well I might add.”
“How do you know about Bastien?” I demand.
Although he doesn’t actually roll his eyes, his clipped words imply the action. “I can read minds, Illyria. It’s not that hard to shuffle through your thoughts to see you�
��re worried about him.”
I lower my gun slightly. “Do you know if he’s ok?”
Kyan shakes his head. “No.”
“Are you lying?”
He smirks, pointing to his head. “Why don’t you take a peek and find out?”
The idea is absurd but oddly appealing at the same point. What if I really can read his mind? What would I find?
I shake off my curiosity and rise to my feet. “Well this chat has been…insightful, but I think we’re done here.”
Kyan’s smile falters into a mask of distress. He holds out his hands. “You can’t go yet. There is so much that I need to tell you.”
“Sorry but I’m not really in the talking mood tonight.”
I edge past the couch and back toward the door, never letting Kyan out of my sight. I pause with my hand on the doorknob. Kyan twists all the way around to face me. “Please, don’t leave. You don’t know how dangerous it is for you.”
“I can handle myself.”
His silver gaze seems to brighten with urgency. “If you don’t learn how to control your abilities, they will destroy you.”
I hesitate a second longer. I think over his words and then narrow my eyes.
“You’re trying to trick me into staying. Why? Do you have reinforcements coming? How long are you supposed to delay me until they arrive?”
“No, it’s not like that,” he protests, starting to rise.
I shoot off a warning shot. Fluff explodes from the arm of the couch. Kyan throws up his hands in surrender. He never once shifts to look at his laser cannon against the wall. I calculate it would take him a split second to leap over the couch to retrieve it but at least five to power it up. That would get me out the door and nearly to the staircase if I’m lucky, but he never makes a move.
“If you try to come after me, I will kill you.”
His lips press into a tight line, but he nods in understanding. “You can’t outrun your destiny forever, Illyria.”
“Watch me.” I shoot off one final round, severing the wire that holds the ceiling fan aloft and sprint for the hall.
I peer into the pre-dawn light, searching for any sign of movement. Fresh streaks of charred stone line the battered industrial street, evidence of the battle I fled only a few short hours ago. Has it really only been one night since I entered the City? It feels like a lifetime.
The street is void of life, but still I hesitate. Commander Drakon most likely posted a guard at the factory, just in case I’m foolish enough to return.
Nothing like being predictable.
To be fair, predictability has nothing to do with why I’m posted two blocks away from the factory. It has everything to do with desperation. After leaving Kyan to untangle himself from the ceiling fan, I ran as far and as hard as I could straight back toward the City lights. Even though my instincts screamed at me that I was heading straight into danger, I knew I had to go back to find Bastien.
I have to know if he’s still alive.
Inching my head out around the corner, my gaze flits over the abandoned factory, searching each window for any sign of movement. Dawn is rapidly approaching.
The sky is painted with lavender and the stars and moon have receded, hiding until the night beckons them forth again.
“It’s now or never,” I mutter, bracing myself to run.
Deciding my nerves need a good three count, I lean into my stance, rise onto the balls of my feet and sprint the instant I hit one. I don’t look around as I barrel straight for the rusted subway door, refusing to look anywhere but my goal.
The two block sprint is harder than I imagined. I begin to wind down half a block from the door. A stitch needles at my side, but I push through the pain. My limbs feel heavy with sleep deprivation, and I can’t even remember the last time I ate anything. I know my body’s energy reserves are dangerously low right now.
I yank open the door and spill into complete darkness. I made it.
Gasping for breath, I lean over, my hands on my knees and head hanging low. The stale air is a salve to my enflamed lungs. Rising up, I clutch my chest but wince at the raw flesh around my heart. I rub the tender skin, wishing there were enough light to examine it. I don’t remember getting burned there.
I let my hand drop to cradle the stich in my side until the cramp fades. Once I’ve got my breathing under control, I press my ear against the cold metal door and listen. I can’t hear any shouts or pounding footsteps following after me. Instead, an eerie silence greets me and I can’t stop the shiver that races down my spine.
Maybe they’ve already found Bastien’s camp. Maybe they’re waiting for me in the tunnel below.
Leaning back against the grimy subway wall, I whisper a prayer for protection into the darkness. I don’t really know who I’m speaking to or even if there is anyone out there still left to listen. My mother used to tell me that there were many religions before the Caldonians came. Some believed in one God, others believed in many. I don’t really know what to think. My mother never shared her belief on the matter, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she only believed in one so that’s the one I’m going with.
The black void presses in around me and my thoughts turn toward finding the flashlight. I search close to the door, my fingers fluttering over the chipped tile floor. I hiss as something sharp slices through my finger and grit my teeth against the foul curses begging to inch past my lips, as my fingers curl around the cold barrel of the light.
Blinking into the bright beam, I’m dazed by its brilliance. I lower the light and begin a rapid descent down the flight of stairs that lead to the track line below.
My light picks up the dull sheen of the winding track and I feel my heart tap out an excited staccato. I’m getting closer.
A second thought brings me to a dead halt. If Bastien is alive, why didn’t he use the flashlight for himself?
The metal light feels weighty and cold in the palm of my hand. I try to shake off morbid thoughts but it’s hard to find hope down here, surrounded by the deepest shadows I have ever seen. I stumble ahead for several minutes. At first I try counting the track junctions, thinking that will help me to find my way, but I quickly realize they all look the same. The last time I was down here, I wasn’t paying close attention. I was too annoyed with Bastien to focus on the route.
Seconds drag out into endless minutes and I can’t help but wonder if I chose the wrong tunnel. Maybe I should’ve turned back by the rat’s nest or at the third junction where a sludgy pool of water stood high enough to seep into my boots. I don’t remember hitting that puddle before.
I’m about to sink down to the floor to wallow in self-pity when I catch a glimpse of white in the flickering beam of the flashlight. I whip the light up and rake my gaze over the distant color. “That must be it!”
I don’t let myself consider how many other abandoned subways cars there must be along these tracks as I dash down the line, careful not to tumble over the curve of the metal rail. The instant my fingers curl around the door handle, I know I’ve found Bastien’s home.
Tossing the light through the open doorway, I hike my leg up onto the door and shimmy myself inside. I cry out as the torn flesh along my side oozes fresh blood.
I snatch the light off the floor and whip around, searching for any sign of Bastien. Several of the bags are missing from the overhead space, and the underside of the benches has been cleared out as well. My heart sinks and I drop onto the plastic bench along the wall. Judging by the fallen bits of wrappers and cans kicked aside, it looks like someone rummaged through this half of the car with great urgency.
“Every man for himself, I see.”
Wiping my hands on my grimy pants, I rise and head toward the front of the car. I struggle to understand why his abandonment feels so personal. It’s not like I even really know the guy.
With my fingers wrapped around the door handle, I catch sight of
a bag sitting to my right. I turn and shine the light over a burlap sack bulging with supplies. A shred of paper lies on top. I reach for it and hold it under the light.
If you find this note, that means you’re alive. Obviously, I am too.
I want you to get your crap and head for the woods. Don’t come back here again.