by Stacey Nash
“What is that?” I ask.
I may as well not have spoken. Jax strolls out the door without answering my question. Not even turning around, he says, “Later.”
I grab Will’s hand, a little too forcefully, angry at being ignored again. “Stop ogling the bike. We’re going.”
We rush to catch up, heading back inside to the sound of Ace whining at the front door. Jax moves down the wide hall and turns into a staircase with a polished timber banister leading up. My short legs struggle to keep up as he takes the stairs two at a time.
“Living quarters are up here. There are bedrooms and shared bathrooms.” Jax doesn’t look at us as he speaks. In the upstairs hall, he goes to the left, to the right, and takes so many turns I feel lost. We eventually stop outside a closed, white door at the end of the hall. Jax sweeps his hand through the air in a gesture for us to enter before him.
The room contains only the bare necessities. A small, single bed with a solid, wooden headboard and a handmade blanket of bright colors pulled tight over it. An ancient and rickety looking timber chair sits in the corner, and light flows into the room through a small window.
“You can take this room, William. If body odor worries you, bathroom’s three doors down on the left.” The shadow of a smirk shines through Jax’s indifferent expression. I turn away.
“Thanks.” Will doesn’t take the bait, just looks around the small room.
Jax’s glance meets mine. “Let’s go.”
We both follow him out of the room, but he holds his hand up in front of Will. “Not you.”
“What?”
“Stay here, make up your bed. I’ll collect you for dinner,” Jax says.
“Umm, no. I’m staying with Mae.”
“Her room is in the opposite wing. Stay put. We’ll be back.”
Will looks him up and down, but makes no move to step back. Jax turns away.
“I’ll be okay, Will.”
He runs his hand through his hair, pulling the blond strands away from his face. He leans toward me, then pulls back. For a brief second I think he’ll come with me, but he gives me a tight smile and a sharp nod.
Ahead, Jax turns to the right near the end of the hallway, and I jog to catch up. We come to a stop outside an identical white door. Jax holds it open, and I walk through.
This room is twice the size of the one where we just left Will. A double bed has a beautiful pink and white patchwork quilt topping it. Poor Will. His long legs will hang over the end of his bed while I’ll barely need half the space in this one. A dresser with a beveled mirror stands against the wall, and a large bay window dents outward, a bench seat with cushions inside it.
Turning to meet Jax’s gaze, I raise a brow. “Is this the luxury suite?”
“The rooms aren’t all the same.” He shrugs. “Besides, your smile’s prettier than his.” Once again, the hint of a smirk fleets across his features, and a tiny twinkle touches his eye.
My mouth is liquid. That smile, that twinkle. I swallow. Not now, he’d said. Well, now we’re alone, so he can answer the questions racing through my mind.
“The man, he tried to hurt me, and then you… appeared. You smashed him, and then both of you vanished. How did you do it, appear, and then disappear? Why did you help me, and where did you take him?” The questions want to continue rolling out, but I cut them short. Does he know about my pendant? I don’t want it to be taken from me and given to the gadget guy we saw earlier. I don’t know or trust these people, this place, and especially not this arrogant guy.
He lifts his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug and looks at me with an unreadable expression.
Changing my stance to show him I’m serious, I say, “I deserve an explanation.”
“Stopping Collective Agents is my job, not saving damsels in distress.” He slides his hands back into his pockets and turns to leave.
“Wait,” I call, almost pleading. “Why are you being so rude? I was confused and now—can’t you at least reply when I talk to you?”
He turns and must see the desperation, the confusion in my face because he sighs and points to the seat in the window. I can feel him watching me while I sit down. He lowers himself onto it too, his leather-clad shoulder brushing against mine. His eyes widen briefly, then soften to resigned. Unusual reddish brown flecks speckle his deep green irises.
“A scout had you by the neck when I ported in. I removed the threat and left.”
“Ported?” I ask.
“Yeah, ported. Technology that transports a person across any distance.” He raises one shoulder in a lazy, lopsided shrug. “Instantly.”
“No way! You can teleport?” My brows shoot up.
“You could call it that.”
“I was so confused… and you left.” Dizziness clouds my head. The feelings of confusion, disbelief, and fear rushing back like a wave to overwhelm me.
“I resolved the situation. You were safe.” For a brief moment I can see a glimpse of something like self-loathing cross his face.
“Safe?” The look on his face makes me glance away, over my shoulder and out the window. I can’t see where the dirt driveway joins the paved road. It just continues on, endless. Mountains jut up into the sky on the horizon. Between there and here are hills, trees, long grass, and nothing.
We’re in the middle of the country. I’m a long way from home.
When I look up, Jax stands in front of me, holding a scratchy-looking towel and a set of white sheets out in front of him like an offering. I frown. How did I not notice him move?
“There’s a bathroom next door. Freshen up. I’ll be back when the dinner bell rings.” He turns and strolls out of my room, leaving me alone.
After a long soak, I look at my reflection in the dresser mirror, run my fingers through my tangled wet hair, and sigh. I’m glad the ends curl when it’s damp. At least it looks tidy. I’m so much like Mom, but my hair, that’s all Dad. Same light brown, same slight wave.
My heart feels thick and heavy at the thought of Dad. He’ll be worried when I don’t turn up tonight. Beau better get word to him, but I don’t even know the man, so how can I be sure he’ll be true to his word? I can’t put Dad through a night of worry. It’ll shatter the only sanity he has left. Just like when Mom first disappeared. The sleepless nights, the stifled sobs, the endless blank daze. I just can’t do that to him.
A sharp, loud ringing like a percussion triangle pierces the silence, making me flinch. It must be the dinner bell.
A rap comes from my door, and Jax’s voice follows, “Dinner.”
I pull the door open. Will stands with Jax in the hallway. His hair hangs in damp clumps almost to his eyes. “Feel better?” he asks.
“Much.”
Jax strolls down the hall, and I fall into step beside Will. When we reach the dining room, a dozen or more people are seated around a long table. Another table meets it at the far end forming a T. Of all the people here, I haven’t even met half of them. The only ones I know are clumped together at the head of the huge table. Bertie’s hands flail animatedly through the air while she talks to Beau. Al sits quietly beside her. He looks up and gives me a slow smile. I return it, more comfortable knowing they’re still here.
The guy from the workshop sits alone at the far end of the long table, fiddling with a pair of glasses. I look around at the other people. There are a few women and men, some young children, amongst them the boy who played with Ace. So many strangers.
A girl waltzes through the door holding a gravy pitcher. Her long hair is slick, straight, brown-black, and pulled into a messy ponytail. Martha, the cook, follows behind her and squeezes herself into a seat beside Beau, who nods a hello to us. “Are your rooms okay?” he asks. “Did Jax get you what you need?”
“Fine, thank you,” I tell him.
“Good. See me in the morning and we’ll discuss your options.” Beau turns back to his conversation with Bertie, who never stopped talking, oblivious to briefly losing his attention.
>
Will and I follow Jax to the far end of the table. He gestures for us to sit near the workshop guy, who shoves the glasses on, making his eyes look buglike. He smiles at us while we sit. “I’m Marcus.”
“Anamae and Will.”
“Are you two a couple?” He gestures with his mashed potato laden fork.
“A couple?” I drop my head and smile. “Um, no.”
“Oh,” Marcus says.
Jax seems almost oblivious to our conversation.
Funny, I’ve never really thought of Will as boyfriend material, except maybe briefly in the eighth grade when he kissed me. He’d caught me sitting on my bed with my lips smacked against a handheld mirror, practicing kissing. It’s what they do in movies, so I thought I’d try it. He laughed and teased me so much, I threw the mirror right at him, and he caught it. Lucky, or I’d have ended up with seven years of bad luck. Then he sat opposite me, still laughing, and darted in to kiss me. It was fast, wet, and really awkward. I bit his lip accidentally when our teeth clashed. He said if I ever wanted to practice again he’d be up for the challenge, but his eyes held his trademark tormenting shine. Utterly humiliated, I never kissed him, or a mirror, again. He still brings it up every now and then.
My cheeks burn with the memory, and a dull pain thuds into the side of my leg.
“Ouch.” I glance at Will, and he grins. I bet he’s thinking of that time too. Probably laughing or getting ready to tease me again. I narrow my eyes in warning and, thank God, he doesn’t mention the mirror incident.
My skin prickles as we eat, and it feels like all the eyes in the room are on me. The newcomer. Everyone except Jax. He barely says a word as he slouches in his chair and looks around the dining room with bored, sleepy eyes.
Marcus prattles on about himself. He’s good with electronics, he says; most tech is based on it and computers. He likes—no, loves—working with it. The conversation drones on, and I hear his words, but they don’t register. So I smile and nod like I hear him.
He pushes his glasses back up onto the base of his nose for the third time in as many minutes. “I figure out what it does, how it works, and its limits. Once I’ve figured it out, I incorporate useful tech into the protective clothing and weapons Resistance fighters use.”
Protective clothing? Jax wears black army style pants with shiny metal studs, a white T-shirt, and his leather jacket. A quick glance around the room tells me everyone else seems to be wearing ordinary clothes. Perhaps Marcus means the jacket.
We slide into eating in silence, and thoughts of home hammer my mind. Dad will be eating dinner alone, if he’s even bothered to eat at all. He won’t be worried yet; he’ll probably assume I’m at work because it’s Saturday night. The diner always gets busy, and the boss often calls me in if I’m not on the schedule. He’ll be worried when he wakes in the morning and finds I’m not home, though. “Is there a phone here?”
Jax looks up from his seat across the table. “Not a good idea, cupcake.”
“Are you patronizing me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sugar.”
I hadn’t realized he was listening. He’s been totally zoned out the entire meal. Will’s gaze darts to Jax, and Will’s suddenly rigid as stone. “What’s your problem?” he snarls.
Jax rolls his gaze to Will, raises a lone brow, and pushes peas around his plate. I love that Will looks out for me, but right now, it’s really not worth it. Jax seems like the sort to just snap. Uncomfortable silence settles around us.
Too much has happened today, and I can’t take in anymore. Every voice, every laugh, every scrape of every fork on every plate threatens to…. I can’t take it. Pushing my chair back, I duck my head and leave the room, quietly slipping outside.
Clouds reach long and thin, like fingers, in front of the bright moon. The soft, grey light of night surrounds me. That’s better. I sigh and slide down onto a wooden bench on the open veranda and lean my back against it, admiring the view. Letting it calm me. The clouds and moon would make a beautiful shot. If only I had my camera. If only I was home.
Cows bellow, frogs croak, crickets chirp, and the wind rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. It’s not as quiet in the country as I would have thought. Voices waft out of the window nearby. A small creak, like the squeak of a mouse, makes me look over my shoulder. Will closes the door and sits beside me on the bench, stretching his long legs out before him. “Interesting day.”
“I’ve had better.”
He squeezes my shoulder.
“I know Beau said he’d get word to our parents, but I just want to call home,” I say. “I want to hear Dad’s voice. I want to tell him I’m okay.”
“It’s all right, you’re allowed to be upset.” His hand still rests on my shoulder, lending comforting warmth.
“He’s going to be worried, Will. He’ll think… it’s like before.”
Will splutters, and his brows fly up. “Worried? What an understatement.”
He’s right. Dad’s constant need to know where I am will have him calling every emergency service in the country by 9:00 a.m. We sit in silence, but voices from the kitchen still reach us. Will sighs and leans back against the wall. “The room Jax pointed out earlier—Beau’s office—I bet it has a phone.”
Chapter Four
JAX SHADOWED US ALL evening, so I didn’t get to tell Will it would be best if I search Beau’s office alone. No one questioned me when I said I was going to bed. They must have assumed I was exhausted. But really I wasn’t tired at all. I needed time alone, to pull my thoughts together and come up with a solid plan.
Now, I gaze outside from my seat in the window with my legs tucked up beneath me, clutching a pink flowered cushion to my chest. It’s been hours since Will and I sat out the front, so surely everyone must be asleep by now. As if to confirm my thoughts, the deep rumble of someone snoring echoes down the hall.
An owl hoots in the distance, and though the sound is muffled by the glass, it startles me back to the present. It’s got to be safe to make a move. I turn over my wrist and look at the leather-banded, silver-faced watch.
Midnight.
I ease the door open just a crack, desperate not to make a sound, then a crack more. I poke my head out and peer into the hall. The door across from mine sits ajar, but the room’s too dark to see inside.
The dim light from my lamp casts a narrow beam into the hall, lighting up the shadow of a person slouched on the floor of the hallway facing my door, back propped against the wall. I creep a little closer. Better make sure it’s safe. His leather jacket hangs open over his pants and white fitted T-shirt. His head lolls back against the wall, and his long, dark eyelashes brush his cheeks. Jax.
I hold my breath so I’m silent. The dog, Ace, has curled up beside him, and Jax’s hand rests on the dog’s side. Ace opens a chocolaty, shining eye and watches me. Don’t move. Don’t bark. Don’t give me away.
Without the blank expression, Jax’s face is totally relaxed. He’s actually really good looking—shame he’s not nicer. I raise myself onto my toes and sneak past him, down the hall. He doesn’t stir, but the dog raises his head and watches my every move.
“Shh, good boy,” I breathe and tiptoe down the stairs and into the first floor hallway. That was pretty close. Light seeps out of the kitchen, throwing a dim trail down the long hall and onto the large oak door I make my way toward. Huh, I managed to find my way back here. Impressive. This has to be the right room because Jax pointed in its general direction earlier and said something about an office.
Holding my breath with the hope no one’s inside, I reach toward the knob and twist. An attempted swallow scratches my throat. My mouth is dry, all the moisture sucked away. The hallway’s dull light seeps into the room from the open door, illuminating a heavy timber desk with solid carved legs which dominates the room. The shadows of potted plants skulk around the room’s edges. A small lamp on the table is like a beacon, calling to me. When I flick it on, a soft yellow glow fills the room, glinting
off the paintings on the walls. Piles of paper heaped like mountains cover the desk, and amongst them sits an ancient black phone.
A sigh of relief squeezes my thick throat.
Everything in this place is so old, but it’s still a phone. I’ve seen this type in museums and old movies watched with Will on Saturday nights. It’s black with a round dial on the front and a hand piece balancing across the top. I pick up the hand piece and jam my index finger in the hole marked nine. I know to use it you have to put your finger in the small round hole at the number and pull it around.
One by one I drag the dial until it won’t go any further, dialing Dad’s number; then I hold the black hand piece to my ear and wait. Nothing. No sound. The line’s dead. Great, the stupid old thing doesn’t even work. The phone must just be a collector’s item. I jam the earpiece down, cringing at the loud noise, and continue my search of the room.
My heart sinks the further I look. Nothing else even resembles a phone.
I yank the top desk drawer open and wince when a multitude of pens slide and clatter around inside. Their movement reveals a black shiny cell phone hiding in the bottom. Leaning against the desk to steady myself, I snatch it and turn to leave the room, my hopes and heart soaring with the elation of success. Now I just need to find somewhere away from the house to talk freely.
As I raise my gaze from the precious phone, my breath and step catch mid stride. Jax slouches in the doorway, effectively blocking my way out.
“Damn it.”
“You can’t call.” He eyes the phone in my hand.
I shove it into my back pocket.
“It’s not safe. His phone will be bugged.”
He can’t possibly know who I’m calling. I stare at him and take a deep breath. “Whose phone?”
“They need to find you, and using your father is their best bet.” His voice holds the tone of Al and Dad discussing the recent sunny weather: bored, casual.
My hands clasp together, squeeze into each other, turn over, and drop to my sides. “I need to talk to him.”