“Here.” He hands the folded mass to Jared. “You know the best chance here is to split up.” Teeth sharp and long, Jared snarls a silent answer. Ali nods. “I say we meet up in Starry Oskol. On that paper”—he points to the square, locked in Jared’s inch-long claws—“is an address. Friends, Jared. Don’t kill them or maim them or scare them to death. Got it?”
“How is it you have friends there, Alastair?” Jared’s voice rumbles from his chest, deeper than normal.
Alastair levels a long, hard look at Jared. “They’re my friends. Just as I am your friend. That’s all you need to know.”
Alastair is not the simple Laster from Dominion that he’s been pretending to be.
He grins. “Believe it or not, tough guy, we’re on the same side.” His eyes slide over me, something heavier than teasing creeping into his voice. “No sense tearing apart your only friend in a strange country.” Ali pulls his little rock from nowhere and throws it in the air. “Besides, I don’t think we have the luxury of arguing about this right now.”
Jared nods reluctantly. Ali winks at me. Grabs me up into a short hug. His leather jacket presses tough ridges against my body. He smells of leather and baked grass. Jared narrows his eyes in warning, but it seems as though this time, at least, he’ll let Alastair live. Ali gives us a final grin, wide and full of dimples. Then he throws himself into the tall grasses noisily, tossing back a terse, hissing, “Go east-north-east,” before being completely swallowed.
Chopper blades sound louder as they track Ali’s noisy progress. It’s enough of a distraction. Jared grabs my hand and pulls me through the grass. “We need shelter.”
Bullets fly, and we stumble through the grassy tangle toward a most uncertain outcome.
There’s little time to think as we wend our way from one farm to the next. Choppers splay the sky, riding low and brushing apart the grass with their turbine blades. Then come the mosquito drones. About the size of a bird, the long-tailed surveillance drones hover in the air here and there, tracking signs of our passage. Each time one swings by, I flatten myself to the ground.
Jared stretches out against me and presses his lips into my hair. “As long as we stay hidden and don’t keep stopping like deer in the headlights, we should be safe. The drones aren’t armed.”
We might be safe—but is Alastair?
Why did he do it? Not just drawing the soldiers away—that was plain suicidal. Who is he? Why did he come all this way, halfway across the world, to help bring me closer to my sister?
And I realize it’s true. We are closer, Margot and me. I can feel her rising in my blood, tugging on my awareness. With each step, her presence gains strength and definition. As though that special line between us is the invisible pull of a magnet, a compass pulling me to her true north. It’s an overwhelming feeling, like being flooded with rain after a year’s drought. I marvel in her nearness, am nearly sick with joy and the fear that her ghostly reverberations will suddenly disappear from my flesh once again.
Margot’s hand tingles with something—cold, it feels like. I feel its trace across my own fingertips. She’s alive and whole.
And close.
The air fills with a chopper once more. Jared and I stop and huddle in the tall grasses. We’ve come to a clearing. In front of us stretches forty feet of dirt break before a thin copse of trees springs up again.
A farmer appears at the small wooden door of the farmhouse. It’s squat and run-down, though the lands seem well tended to my admittedly untrained eye. The door slams behind him and he stands out sharply in a pair of dirty overalls and a red-and-white-checkered shirt. In one hand he holds a shotgun. In the other is a dinner fork. He waves both at the chopper in his field, screaming and hurling obscenities at the careless airmen.
A semiautomatic cannon pulls down from the chopper’s chassis with a metallic click. It clicks once more, locking into place. The guns loose their bullets into the walls and doors of the small farmhouse. The farmer does a gruesome dance, his blood splaying across the door behind him. The air fills with the harsh shrieks of birds. A murder of crows streams from the trees in all directions. Jared grabs hold of my arm and hauls me into the small protection of the trees as the bullets bite into the dirt yard around the farmhouse.
Another click. Something screams through the air behind us before it erupts in flames. I shake myself loose and stare at the carnage. “They b-blew it up,” I splutter. “They blew it up! Why did they do that?”
Jared shoves me down so we lie behind a tree trunk. “I don’t think they saw us.” He scans the area, keeping a practiced eye on the chopper, which hovers now above the smoke and flame as though regretting its decision to annihilate the family within.
But it’s not until the metal death machine backs away and creeps in the opposite direction that Jared turns his attention to me, his expression flat and frank. A smudge of dirt sits over his eyebrow, disappearing under the ridge of his blond bangs.
I can’t help it. I begin to sob. “What if we’d gone there for shelter? What if we’d been inside?”
Jared shakes his head. His fingernails—human, I note—scrabble against the bark of the tree trunk as he gets comfortable. “That farmer would have never let us inside.”
It’s not a comment I understand. I’m about to argue when he runs the back of his hand across my cheek, as though his senses can’t tell him enough that I made it through, safe and whole.
“It wasn’t about killing you or us,” he murmurs. “That was about silencing potential witnesses. Whatever they want, they don’t want any Lasters telling tales about it.”
“How are they going to prevent that? They going to go around killing everyone? They’re mad.”
To my dismay, Jared shrugs. One eyebrow hitches up, making the funny smudge above it look like a caterpillar crawling over his eye. He gentles a strand of hair away from my mouth, stares at my head, my ear. “This is Russia, Lucy. Their army behaves just as ours does in Dominion.”
A yawning pit of horror opens up in my gut. In other words, Jared is suggesting the army is owned by men in power. Russia’s own Upper Circle. The same way Dominion’s is. I feel sick at his words, as I am complicit by birth in a vast conspiracy of wealth and corruption.
I can’t help myself. I heave off to the side and for the second time in a day am sick on the forest floor.
When I’m finished, Jared pulls me back against his chest. I realize I am crying—thick, stupid tears, all the more stupid for what they won’t have the power to change.
“Shhhh,” Jared soothes and rocks me until the sobs turn to hiccups. And as I quiet, I hear him murmur against my hair, over and over again, “Not your fault, Lu, not your fault.” His voice quiets me, calms me, as his fingers tangle and comb through my hair.
Margot shares my flesh. But it seems Jared Price shares my soul.
We come upon the small shack in the woods just as the shadows lengthen and the air starts to lose the day’s warmth. We’ve been pulling silently through the thickening forest all day. I’m starving, exhausted. So thirsty I’d drink my own tears if I had any to spare. I throw myself against the weight of a tree. After a lifetime in Dominion, it seems like an oddly decadent thing to be able to do. I look up. Birds stir noisily in the canopy above us. How could anything bad happen in a forest? It’s an unreasonable feeling, I reckon, but for the first time since leaving the Bostonian, I feel safe. Protected.
The shack could be abandoned. The windows are dark, the blinds drawn. There’s no curl of smoke from the small chimney. Jared motions for me to wait behind a large, moss-covered rock while he walks the grounds. He tunes his attention to the dirt, the plants, turning in slow circles as he goes. I reckon he has a way of spotting the tracks that others, even trained mercs, would miss. What does the world look like through his eyes?
Jared approaches the cabin door with caution, so still and quiet he could be a ghost. He slips inside. A few minutes later, he reemerges, a wide grin splitting his face.
&n
bsp; “You look like a little boy with a new toy,” I tell him, my voice sounding unfamiliar to my ears after a day of silence.
Jared grabs my hand and hauls me into his arms just before I hit the small set of stairs. “I think we’ve caught a break.”
Jared puts me down just inside the doors. Curtains drawn, the interior of the cabin is gloomy. My eyes take a moment to adjust before I’m able to see it clearly. And then I break into a smile, too. It’s enchanting. The floors are a deep red wood polished to a shine and covered in large, brightly woven rugs. A large pile of wood sits before a small fireplace tucked against one wall. The chimney is molded from a jumble of jagged gray rocks. There’s a small rectangular table made from a lighter wood, three wooden chairs that would cost a fortune in Dominion if they weren’t thrown for firewood.
A small kitchen is tucked into the back. It’s quite modern, with a shiny sink, the countertop bare but clean. In the opposite corner of the shack sits a love seat and a chair. But it’s the custom bookshelf, stacking over the doorframe and lined with books, that catches my eye. I study the strange frame until Jared wanders over and grabs hold of a leather strap I had seen sticking out of a wall but didn’t understand.
He pulls. Down comes a bed, covered in a thick woolen bedspread, dark-gray with a thin strip of lighter gray against white-white sheets.
“I think they call these hidey-beds.” He’s still grinning as he bounces up and down on a squeaky frame. He pats the space next to him. “C’mon, try it.”
I eye Jared for a long moment, unsure what I should do. Curiosity wins out in the end, and I join him on the bed. A faint odor of wet wool and mildew clings to the bedding, but on the whole, it feels surprisingly soft and thick under my hands.
“What is this place?” I say when I catch Jared watching me.
“Trapper’s cabin, I think.” He tosses back his blond hair, indicating the rear of the tiny home. “Saw some traps out behind the cabin.” Jared regards me again, his face serious and intent. “Stay here, okay? Don’t open the curtains. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“What are you—” I start to ask, but he’s out the door before the words have formed.
With Jared gone, I take the opportunity to survey the small white cupboards. My stomach clenches with pain, reminding me it’s been too long since we’ve eaten. The shelves are neatly stacked with row upon row of cans, most labeled, some not. The OldenTimes fridge with its long, horizontal handle sits in the far corner of the small kitchenette, unplugged.
The cabin air is dry, overlaid with the faintest scent of wood smoke. It’s warmer than I’d have expected. But even though the furnishings are pin-neat, it’s clear from the dust it’s been a while since someone has been this way. It’s set up for a lonely man, I decide as I look through the small shelf of books hovering over the faded cornflower-blue couch. English books and Russian crammed in together: Jack London’s The Call of the Wild next to something called Never Cry Wolf and a battered, thick copy of what might be Crime and Punishment. A map of the region done up in bright red and blue lines, framed in sturdy wood, hangs on the wooden paneled wall next to the door. I’m busy studying the strange chevrons dotting the wilderness on the map when Jared stomps in, his feet and jeans muddier than before.
I don’t know what makes me throw out waspishly, “Why are you looking at me like that?” before he’s even had a chance to pull off his shoes. Maybe just because he looks surprised to see me. I bury a twinge of guilt as he laughs. It’s not a sound I’ve heard in a while, or very often before now, I realize with a jolt. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”
Jared pulls off his shoes and folds up the hems of his dirty jeans. He flashes me another heart-stopping smile, then stands behind me at the map.
My heart trips as his arm extends over my shoulder to trace a line of chevrons. “Trapper’s lines,” he tells me. “See how they’re marked with little dots on the side?” I peer closer at the little upside-down Vs. He’s right—tiny little dots in different-colored ink mark the sides of the chevrons. “Marking their territory.”
“Better than pissing on the map, I reckon, and lasts longer than pissing on the trees.”
Jared’s smile flares again, then dies. We’re too close, his body heat smothering me in a blanket of warmth. But there’s nowhere for me to move unless I want to end up in his arms. And I do—oh so badly. But not now. Not yet.
It’s Jared who moves away first. “I’m just going to…” He licks his lips. “Uh—see if that bathroom has running water.” He shuffles toward the small water closet tucked away behind the kitchen. His voice becomes muffled by the solid wooden door. “I turned on a valve outside that I think was the water, but we’ll need to check.”
I follow Jared to the door, left ajar. Inside is a small but functional bathroom: a shower stall, a toilet, a sink. A small cupboard opens to reveal clean towels.
“It’s like a miracle,” I say fervently, envisioning a hot shower.
Jared laughs again and turns on the tap. It spits for a moment and spills out rust-colored water for a few seconds before running clear. Washing his hands, he winks at me. “Smells okay. Maybe you could find us something to eat?” he suggests gently.
Jared is well aware that Upper Circle girls like me have no idea how to cook. Still, it’s nice to know he has such faith in me. I go back to the cupboard, trying to imagine what some of the unlabeled cans might be.
We gorge ourselves on hot stew and canned peas. It might as well be heaven. And after a steaming shower, I feel almost as though the last few days, and all the horror, washes from my skin. I come out of the bathroom wreathed in steam and wrapped in a scratchy towel. I can’t bear to crawl back into my dirty clothes, which I bring out and lay over the tops of one of the kitchen chairs.
“I thought I’d just look for some of the trapper’s clothes,” I say as I move over to the short chest of drawers against the wall near the bed. I turn and Jared is there, fixing me with a look both bright and dangerous.
I leave off on talking. I don’t know what to say anymore as I become acutely aware of the thin fabric of the towel around me, the length of exposed leg and thigh and chest and arms. I run a nervous hand through my wet hair. “It’s your turn,” I utter in a low voice.
I’m no longer sure I’m talking about the shower.
19
Jared lets out a breath, eyes flashing green. He eats up the distance between us in two paces but stands there, just inches from me. Not touching. Not moving. My skin tingles alerts but I have no desire to step away.
“Lucy,” he says. His chest trips up and down like he’s been running hard. He brings my eyes to his with the lightest brush of his fingers under my chin. “Lucy,” Jared says again, but most of it is lost against my mouth as his lips take mine.
I’m swept up against the hard length of his body, his arms tough ropes, hands tangling through my wet hair. I hear tiny whimpers as his mouth devours me and I realize, as I wrap myself closer against him, they are coming from me.
Picking me up, Jared moves me to the hidey-bed. He gently lays me down before coming to lie beside me, cradling my body into his. Fire ignites in my blood as he runs his hands up my bare legs, still damp from the shower. I grab at his shirt, force it over his head. He smells like a forest now, damp and loamy and mysterious. I kiss up and down his chest, across a scar, tasting salt on my tongue.
Jared closes his eyes and arches his back with a noise I can’t decipher. I stop and pull back, regarding him. He presses the palm of his hand on my chest, lighter than light, and when he pulls it away, my towel comes apart, as does the tight control I’ve had on my heart.
His voice is more a series of noises than language. “Lucy?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding slightly in the dim light of the room. “Yes,” I say again when he cocks his head as though he didn’t understand.
“I don’t know how…” He nibbles on my lips, cradling my face in his huge hands as my fingers trace a path down his taut
torso to the fastener of his jeans. He stops to stare at me, his eyes tender and bright with passion. He shakes his head. “How to be near you.” He swallows audibly. “I need you so badly my bones shake.” His words echo the trill of my heartbeat, the effervescent pressure of the blood pulsing in my ears, the heat pooling in my belly and thighs.
I want him, Plague take me. I want him and I don’t want to think about why he’s changed his mind. Still, as he trails hot kisses down my chest, scalding me, I can’t help but blurt out, “What’s made you change your mind?”
He stops dead in his tracks, mouth still open on my skin. He heaves a sigh. Flips over to stare at me. “I haven’t.”
I pull the towel up and around me again, blushing with shame. “I don’t understand. You just said—”
“I know what I said, Lu.” Jared sits up and runs his hands through his hair. He pierces me with a look, eyes like emeralds.
I gape at him. Surely he can’t be serious, my mind trips furiously. But as he continues to sit there, silent and watchful, I snap. “What is it with you, Price? What the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing?” I shock myself by punching him in the arm. “Are you some kind of psycho?”
That makes him wince. I rain blows on him, my fists tiny and ineffectual against his powerful body. Until finally, he grabs my wrists and stares me full in the face.
“Stop. Stop, Lu,” he says as I struggle to break free, to land another blow.
“How dare you treat me like this?” I half scream, half sob. “I never want to see you again as long as I live!”
And then I’m all-out sobbing. Still holding my arms, Jared lowers his forehead to mine and breathes deeply. “I’m sorry, Lu. I’m so sorry. It’s not like that. It’s not what you think.”
I stare at Jared’s tortured expression through wet skeins of hair, my mood fluctuating wildly between bouts of fury and shame. I don’t know if I could be any more confused. “What is it, then?” I hiccup.
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