by Stacey Nash
“Cynnie.”
She meets my eyes for a quick second, then looks to the mountainside. “Yes.”
“Would you like to go back to Harris? Or maybe I could take you to Mae.”
She swings around to face me. “What?”
“The safe house Mae’s at is good. It’s nothing like this one, you’d be safe there and Mae, well you’d have her instead of me. And there’d be no—”
“I’m not scared of Nik.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Jax.” Her clear eyes stare into mine. “I’d love to see Mae, and after all this is done that’s the first thing I want to do, but being here . . . stopping Nik from getting this key is probably the most important thing I’ll ever do. This is exactly what I left my old life to achieve.”
Wow, the girl’s got balls. No wonder she and Mae are such good friends. I settle down against the knoll. “Okay.”
“All right?”
“Stop being jittery. It’s getting on my nerves.”
She smiles. “I’ll try.”
The morning sun creeps overhead; we must have been here at least an hour. Cynnie once again peers over the top of the dirt pile and down at Pella below. Before she even speaks, I know there’s still no sign of my brother by the slump in her shoulders. So I change my focus to take in the mountain that rises above us. Not for the first or the tenth time since we sat here, my gaze traces the dirt trail carving its way up the hill.
Something flickers at the edge of my vision.
I look to the place of movement, but nothing’s there. Strange. Letting it slip away, I sigh. What if Nik doesn’t show before we have to leave? We can’t sit here forever. We’ll have to go back eventually, but taking the risk of missing him . . . maybe we can rotate with Harris. Something glints out of the corner of my right eye. Again. I try to catch what it is, but my gaze slides right off it. Frick. I look away and tip my head, this time not trying to see whatever it is, but holding the spot in my periphery.
A flash of pure adrenaline pulses through me.
Something shimmers like a heat wave right there.
I squeeze my eyes shut, surely all this waiting has made me hallucinate. After a long inhale, they flip open and it’s not in my head. That’s definitely the faint shimmer of a hide-all. It’s not a dome like the ones we use around resistance safe houses. It’s hard to tell not being able to look directly at it, but it looks like a wall covering a section of the mountain. Not very big, it’s maybe only the size of the entrance to the barn. Cynnie shuffles beside me—checking again—and I lean forward to better see it. Why would someone use a hide-all out here unless . . .
“Cynnie.”
“Yeah?”
The weight of her stare rests on me, but I can’t pull my attention away from the hide-all in case I lose the spot.
“What is it?” She sounds impatient.
“Over on the base of that mountain, right where I’m looking—”
“Near the road?”
“No lower. More like where that bit juts out like a bird’s beak.”
“Yeah . . .” Now she sounds confused.
“Look off to the left, but keep that point at the edge of your peripheral vision—the bit that looks like the breathing hole in the beak.”
“What the actual hell, Jax?”
“Just do it and tell me what you see.”
She sighs. “A mountain that looks like a weird bird. Well, not really, more like a—” She stops shuffling and her whole stance changes. “By the founders, is that . . . ?”
“Some kind of shield.”
“You think Nik’s doing something over there?”
“Maybe, or it could have been put there by someone else a long time ago.”
“How long has the sword been missing?”
“Forever—”
She jumps up, and runs down the side of the hill without so much as a glance in the direction of Pella. Let’s hope Nik hasn’t ported in while we’ve been talking. Damn it. I cast a quick look where she should have, and take off after her.
My feet slip on the gravel and I slide down the side of the hill, barrel into the valley then let the momentum carry me up the other side. I can’t see the barrier anymore, probably because I’m looking right at it, but my sights are set on that small dark divot—the bird’s nose. My legs pump harder as the incline increases. Cynnie starts losing ground and I run past her. The hole—as we get closer—isn’t a hole. Just a place where the ground is darker.
A twinge of disappointment twists my throat. It really looked like a cave. Still, the barrier around it must mean something. I skid to stop right where I thought it was and a second later Cynnie does too, not even panting.
“Is this it?” she says.
“Pretty sure.” I tilt my head to the side, looking out of the very edge of my eyes. Nothing. Cynnie moves forward with her hands out in front of her like she’s feeling for it. “Usually, you can’t feel barriers,” I remind her.
Ignoring me, she moves forward anyway and I’m struck by a thought. I snatch a rock off the ground and chuck it. The stone flies through the air not hitting a single thing. It doesn’t roll to the ground, doesn’t ping back. It just plain disappears as if nothing’s on the other side of the barrier.
A laugh bubbles up from within me. “Holy hell, what have we found?”
Cynnie continues walking, arms out and when her hands come into contact with the place where they should connect to the hillside, nothing stops her. She just continues right through it.
Whipping my blade out, I move forward too. Unbelievable. Tech like this, in a place like this, can only mean one thing. This has to be where the key’s hidden. Why else would anyone bother to make this place near impossible to find? But the real question . . . did Nik hide it here or has it been here far longer?
My blade hits the barrier first, disappearing into it and Cynnie’s already gone. I push through, no resistance, not a thing as I pass by. It doesn’t look any different—just like I’ve walked through a solid wall that isn’t really there. I blink a few times, helping my eyes adjust to the darkness. “Cynnie?”
“Here.” She whips out a light. A blue glow illuminates the area. The hole is actually a damn hole and here, inside, it’s like a walled-up cave. “It doesn’t lead anywhere. I ran into a wall.”
“That, right there.” I point toward the solid mass in front of us. It holds the same symbol on it as the catacombs—the snake with the shield and swords. “I bet it opens.”
I run my fingers over the raised images, looking for a catch. Closing my eyes to concentrate on the feel of the solid rock under my fingertips, I move slowly and, there . . . my touch snags on the edge of the sword that plunges into the serpent, my finger sliding underneath the sword hilt and it lifts up—a little. My breath stills in my chest while, with an almighty creak, the wall moves inward. Not quite swinging, but not sliding either. Dirt sprinkles down on us and Cynnie coughs. Before it’s even fully open, I wedge my way between the moving door and the earthen wall.
“What is this?” Cynnie whispers.
I don’t bother to answer, because I don’t know. I hold my hand out to her, curling my fingers to beckon for the light. She passes it over and I thrust my hand and head through the opening. An overpowering thick, stale odor makes me gag and forces me to take a step back. Cynnie passes me a strange look.
“The air’s bad,” I say. “Give it a minute.”
“All right.”
We wait until the door’s fully open and the musty air is all that I can smell as it wafts out of the cave. It has to be breathable, and after only a few minutes, curiosity sinks its claws in and I can’t wait any longer. With a quick nod to Cynnie I pass through the opening and hold up the light-thrower.
Not quite like the catacombs under Alexandria, but not that different either it’s some kind of tomb. Unlike those, this burial chamber seems untouched. The blue glow glints off gold and other precious metals, piles of belongings and huge
vases filling entire sections of the chamber.
Awed, a gasp passes through my lips and Cynnie grabs my arm, gasping too.
“This is it, isn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“It’s amazing,” she says, moving deeper into the chamber.
It’s too much to take in. A central sarcophagus dominates the room, but this isn’t the resting place of only one person. Bed-like shelves cut out of the walls hold human bones. Maybe it’s a family vault. The Family vault. A shiver ripples down my spine as if being here disturbs some sort of sacred peace.
“We can’t take something from here,” Cynnie says. “Even a key of the patriarchs. It’s just . . . doing that would be—”
A maniacal laugh echoes through the small chamber and I spin around, heart racing.
“Who cares about the dead? They don’t need it.” My brother steps into the circle of light.
Chapter Twenty-one
Mae
Will glares at me from across the room, but I ignore him while tugging on my sneakers. My father needs me today, and no matter what Will wants, I’ll be there. Dad’s been working with the other non-combat refugees in Martha’s sweatshop, as Jax so aptly nicknamed the preserve trade we’ve apparently been using to finance this base. With supplies from the farm cut off, we needed to up the output and, according to Lilly, they’ve done a mighty fine job of upping sales as well. Beau thinks getting out will be good for Dad and might help spur on his recovery which seems to have stagnated again. And something so important isn’t going down without me by his side. I finish knotting the laces and spear my best friend with a look. “Beau mightn’t be worried, but I sure as heck am and that’s why I’m doing this.”
“They’ve got security on the stall, Mae, he’ll be just fine.”
“Yeah, but there was agent interference at the hospital just yesterday and it’s right next door. This is his first trip out, so it’s important I’m there. Besides, we won’t lose any time. I’ll swing by CityBoy on the way and make sure it is the one I remember.”
Will sighs. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
A pillow thumps into my head. Yeah, I deserved that. I don’t pick up the fight though, it’s time to go. “You coming?”
“Do you need to ask?” He pulls on the black baseball cap that seems to have become his signature item for incognito outings.
“Come on then.” I stalk toward the door, and jog to the staircase then down to the basement. Cool air hits my bare arms when we emerge into the room, and this is nothing like the basement at the farm; older, but more custom-made, like the bricks around the edges were placed to last forever. The space is wide and long and Martha has it set up exactly like a factory, with long tables and rows of chairs behind them. Produce all over the place. Dad looks up from placing small jars into a satchel. “Hi,” I say, beating him to speaking first. It’s less awkward that way. He doesn’t have to remember my name right off the mark.
He grins in return and holds out the bag, which I cross the room and take from him, slinging it over my shoulder. He grabs a second one that seems to be already packed and smiles again. It’s almost too much, like he’s overcompensating or something. He looks good today though, dressed in clothes he would have worn before all this when he worked as a college professor: tailored jeans, smart polo, and loafers.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Sure thing, kiddo.”
Now I’m the one smiling. Not sure if the use of that pet name was intentional or not, but gosh, it’s nice to hear him sounding like himself, even if it’s just in small snippets. I catch Will’s attention from where he stands swiping a finger through mustard colored goo, and motion time to go.
“Richard,” Will says, as we walk up the stairs, “How are you?”
“Just fine,” Dad answers.
“Got a decent-sized load today.” Will nods toward the bag over my father’s shoulder.
He grunts and Will shrugs. Some days pulling conversation out of him is hard, so we make our way outside in companionable silence, walking the two blocks to the subway. Not really necessary when the produce markets are only a twenty minute walk, but I need to check out CityBoy to be sure it is her.
There’s a train on the platform already, so we climb aboard and take the short ride into Central Park. Dad never asks any questions, just follows us without complaint. Will tries to engage him in conversation, but there’s not a lot to talk about outside of our work and this is no place to talk shop. Asking about the salve he’s carrying seems to have a better result. Surprisingly, the biggest portion of income comes from Lilly’s salve, and the other herbal remedies she and Martha have made for years. Dad knows so much about that stuff it’s like it has been his life’s work. I suppose his short-term memory wasn’t affected, only the long. As selfish as it makes me, I’m glad the tech they used on Jax and I was less damaging.
When we get off at Central Park Station, I loop my arm through Dad’s to keep him close in the crowd. Will hovers somewhere behind us and it only takes a few minutes to reach the open air upstairs. My memory is a little vague, but I’m certain CityBoy used to have a food cart, so we set off for the northern end of the park. The place not too far from where Jax and I holed up after we found Al and Bertie in the Collective’s council chambers. Although he’s been gone a while now the hurt is still raw and I miss his stupid smirk like crazy.
Avenue of Elms, which cuts through the park, looks a lot different than it was then. New leaves are sprouting on the trees now, rather than falling. The edge of the park comes into view, the street visible just beyond the gorgeous shade trees and although a couple of vendors line the sidewalk, none of them appear to be selling beverages.
“Damn,” I say, “looks like it’s not here anymore.”
“Well, Starbucks kinda did the small guys out of business. Besides, I assumed CityBoy would be the place he went yesterday,” Will says.
“Maybe . . . either of you hungry?”
“Why not?” Dad answers, eyeing the fresh pretzels at the closest cart. And damn, they smelled pretty good too. Both of them follow me without question and after placing an order, I ask the vendor, “Does CityBoy sell from here?”
He holds out a twisted bread stick which Will takes and passes off to Dad. “You mean the café over on sixth?”
“Yeah,” Will answers for me, “that’s the one.”
“Not since they moved into the storefront. Must be two years by now.”
“But they did, right?”
“Sure,” the man answers, passing off another pretzel. Will keeps this one for himself and I take the last, paying and thanking the man for his help.
“It’s definitely the same place,” I tell Will. “I recognized the logo and she used to buy it right here every time we came to the park. I might have only been nine, but I remember it like it was this morning.”
“What’s the same? I could use a drink about now,” Dad says around a mouthful of gooey dough.
“The coffee Mom used to love. CityBoy, wasn’t it?” He stares at me like I haven’t finished the sentence. Clearly he’s got no idea. Maybe he never knew in the first place though . . . he would have been at work when she and I came to the city for our regular outings. “We’d better get these to market.” I gesture toward his bag. “Wanna grab a drink there?”
“Perfect plan,” Dad answers.
As we walk back through the park, I say to Will, “There’s no doubt it’s her. Now we just have to figure how to get inside.”
“Get inside where?” Dad asks.
“Later,” Will says, and he’s right. We shouldn’t be making plans right now and talking over dad’s head isn’t right.
We ride the train home, getting off one stop before we originally got on which means the walk to market takes five minutes instead of the usual twenty. The marketplace bustles with people, even though it’s now later than the rush hour.
“Ana, Ana . . .” There’s a
tug on my blouse and I turn to meet my father’s almost vacant stare. Although that burns, it is getting better. At least he remembers I’m not her now.
“What is it?” I smile at him encouragingly.
Dad points toward a stand across the way that boasts more jewelry than empty space dangling from the top of the stall. “It’s pretty, hey? Those blue earrings would look special with your . . .” He points toward the forget-me-not pendant hanging at my neck. It’s funny that some things he has no problem with, yet others seem to be a complete struggle.
“Great idea, but not for me,” I say. “It’s my friend’s birthday soon.”
I loop my arm through his and veer off toward the stand. Lilly’s birthday’s next week and with everything going on, I almost forgot to get her a gift. She loves anything girly, so handmade jewelry would be perfect. Pity I don’t have a lot of money; my stash from working at Joe’s before being reefed from my old life is dwindling. Still, we take a look anyway. And they’re gorgeous. Handcrafted beads, metal manipulated into tiny animals, and an array of pretty stones. I let my fingers run over a beautiful pink rock attached to a braided leather cord. Something about the piece reminds me of her. Maybe it’s the color or the intricacy in the leatherwork.
“You need healing?”
I look up at the woman behind the stall. A middle-aged lady with feathers hanging in her hair. “No, I’m good,” I say. “I’m looking for a gift.”
“That rock works to mend a broken soul. The energy in the crystal will rejuvenate what was lost. It’s a good choice.”
“It sounds perfect.”
Lilly’s into herbal remedies, so this would be right up her path, and even without the healing powers of crystal she’d love it for the way it looks. But I don’t have enough money on me, or anything to offer as barter, so I walk away, smiling my thanks at the stallholder.
“See something you wanted?” Will asks.
“I was thinking about Lil’s birthday.”
He nods.