The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  9

  Kira

  The earth moves. I move. Her jagged teeth guiding me down. I wrestle with her, trying to make her recognize my voice but something more powerful is driving her mad. I sink, grasping at stone and dirt and roots. They knot around my arms and legs, dragging me away from the sun. It flashes in flecks between the mud and leaves as I search for Bryn and Sebastían. I wait for their screams, some sign that I’m not alone.

  Nothing.

  It’s cold and I can’t stop falling. Scraping all the way down. Down. Down.

  Stop.

  Stop.

  Stop.

  The earth isn’t listening. She thinks I’m just another stone or clod of dirt but I’m still flesh and bone and it hurts. The space is too narrow, every sharp edge twisting me like a piece of thread. I wait to snap. I want to snap.

  Stop.

  Wake up.

  I’m supposed to wake up. I’m supposed to be home lying on the cool kitchen floor while my mother cooks dinner and my father fiddles with the radio. He’s supposed to be groaning, tussling with the antennae. She’s supposed to be humming, making music more beautiful than that old radio ever could. And I’m supposed to be laughing. I’m supposed to be happy. I’m supposed to be free.

  I remember Bryn’s hold on me, her touch making me stronger. I wish for that strength, for air. I wish for Bryn. I wish for my body. I wish for Nathan and my parents and sunlight.

  Wake up.

  Wake up.

  But this isn’t a dream. Time is a chokehold; my lungs ready to burst against the roots around my chest. They slither, hands guiding me down. Always down.

  Always.

  This deep there is no air, no tears, no wishes or dreams. There is nothing. I am nothing. The darkness stretches in all directions and I stop struggling. I stop breathing. But the earth doesn’t stop. She never stops.

  I am falling.

  Falling.

  I stop thinking.

  I stop everything.

  I am dead.

  “Not quite…”

  My senses stir. My lungs strain against fresh air as my body strains against chains.

  Chains. Metal.

  I open my eyes and they strain against the light, every sound making my ears ring.

  Chains. Metal. Light. Air. Voices…

  Shadows…

  They circle me, the cold climbing down my throat again. But then I hear him hiss, they disintegrate, and I choke on the sight of him instead, my childhood nightmare replaced by something much worse.

  Anso.

  He stares into me, coaxing out memories, flipping through them one photograph at a time until they’re smudged and blurry. Until they’re blank. He stops, halting us both in a moment in time that hasn’t happened yet, Bryn’s outline barely visible.

  He cocks his head. Watching. The sight of her makes him wilt, withering like the fall flowers I used to inject with spring.

  But then his face breaks with a smile and he injects me with the sound of his voice as he whispers, “Hello, Bryn.”

  10

  Bryn

  Kira had been nothing more than a thought, the place I’d seen when I’d touched her skin, static and one-dimensional. But the longer I let that thought simmer, the more it swelled until I could feel the breeze of that foreign place. Then I’d held tight to Roman’s hand and our bodies weren’t one but infinite. We dissolved somehow, slipping through yet another trap door, the dream running parallel to reality as we came to stand in an ocean of green.

  Roman hovered over me. “Bryn, you’re pale.”

  My head was swimming and I thought I might topple over. I clutched my knees, dizzy as I tried to reconcile that it was all a dream and yet not, the fact that everything from my thoughts to my very touch was some kind of lightning rod still terrifying. That was what I felt as I examined the landscape—terror and awe and an awful reluctance. Because I’d done this, I’d carried us all this way on the power of just a thought and I could only imagine all of the other awful and amazing things I could do too.

  I tried to look up, vertigo striking me back down. Roman hooked an arm around my waist but he was just as disoriented and he almost lost his balance. I looked him up and down as he did the same. I wondered if he was reeling from the lingering weightlessness or if he’d felt something else. I didn’t know how long his dreaming would last. Maybe the freedom was only temporary…or maybe it would last forever. As I watched him catch his breath, legs shaking, I wondered if maybe my touch had been more potent than I’d thought. What if I’d made a mistake bringing him with me like this?

  I leaned in, trying to get his eyes to focus, but mine were just as blurry. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.” He straightened. “I think the more important question is are you?”

  His fingertips grazed my forehead and I eased out of reach. I knew what he wanted—to feel me there with him. To feel something. But I couldn’t.

  “I’m just a little woozy,” I said, taking long hard deep breaths as I tried to ground myself.

  “Let’s use that trick sparingly, okay?” Roman helped me take slow steps until my legs weren’t liquid anymore. “The Rogues are all forced to travel on foot. We could do the same.” Roman knew travelling on foot was an impossibility, especially with the world on a very strict timeline toward self-destruction. He’d only suggested it because he feared me finding any excuse to leave him behind.

  “Arrivals and departures only,” I assured him. “I’ll be fine.”

  Roman paused, listening as the night wind carved through rows of green. “The vines…” he whispered.

  The grass was plush and swaying. Flowers knotted into walls, standing high over our heads. There were lilies and orchids and wild petals I’d never seen before—some spiked like red pine cones, others twisted and speckled like poisonous snakes. Roman lit up, the sharp turns behind and up ahead reminding us both of Anso’s maze. But these vines weren’t menacing; they weren’t reaching for me. They were coaxing and calm, animated with Kira’s touch. I knew she was here.

  “We’re safe,” I said. “We’re here for Kira.”

  “Kira. The girl who was in South Africa with that creepy doctor who claimed to have the ‘healing hands of God?’”

  “That’s the one. She can control the landscape.”

  “So she made this.” Roman cooled. “That’s a relief.”

  We came to a fork and I closed my eyes, my steps drawn to the right. The breeze wound through the pathways, loud and wild like something living. A large white house slowly appeared beyond the walls, bright backlit windows looking down over the labyrinth. I imagined the doctor who’d taken Kira sitting on the balcony, watching her weave his garden and tend to his trees, summoning ancient healing plants that had gone extinct long ago.

  We pressed against the external walls, walking flush to the leaves to avoid being seen even though I could tell from here that the balconies and lavish rooms upstairs were empty. Music wafted on the breeze and I imagined people dancing and having dinner on the first floor, totally oblivious that we were about to crash their party.

  I’d weighed the possibility of finding Kira and just disappearing, rescuing her from this wretched place in the blink of an eye. But then what would happen to Dr. Lombard? Or maybe I was more concerned with what wouldn’t happen to him. Rescuing Kira wouldn’t change a thing. It wouldn’t change the fact that she’d suffered. It wouldn’t change him. I would have to do that.

  Roman’s breath tickled the back of my neck, his heat against my spine. I wondered what he would think if he knew all of the thoughts running through my head. Maybe he’d call me a hypocrite after what I’d said to him about the consequences of killing Drew. I’d watched him grip Drew like a doll; drawing blood. Roman had looked so wild that night, so angry that I’d hardly recognized him. I’d called out, stopping him because I knew killing Drew would have ruined him. It would have ruined us. Maybe killing Dr. Lombard would ruin me too. I wasn’t sure yet. I wasn
’t really sure of anything. All I knew was that I had to do something. For Kira.

  “Bryn…”Roman’s whisper was so faint it stopped me in my tracks. “Do you hear…?”

  I held my breath, swatting away every thought so I could hear what was rumbling beneath the wind. No, not a rumble. A low purr.

  “What is—?”

  Roman pressed a hand to my mouth. His lips brushed my ear. “Far right.”

  Two pairs of eyes glowed in the darkness. They tracked from right to left as something heavy padded across the grass. Paws. Their black bodies bled into the night, moving closer. Metal clanked, moonlit chains glinting around their necks. But these weren’t house cats. They were giant. They were wild.

  “Left,” Roman breathed. “On my count.”

  I gave the slightest nod, or maybe I only thought it, but the beasts were picking up speed and all my body wanted to do was run. When Roman whispered now that’s exactly what we did. We cut left, racing towards the center of the labyrinth. A feral growl cracked behind us, so loud even the party music stalled. The walls of flowers receded and I could just make out a structure made of glass. It looked like a greenhouse. Another set of eyes shone through one of the large windows. Kira.

  “She’s there—!”

  I flipped, the air knocked out of me, Roman and I tangled and hanging upside down. I tore at the ropes, our weight inside the net triggering a giant spotlight. The cats circled beneath us, padding an infinity sign in the grass. One hopped onto its hind legs and tried to swipe at the net, missing us by just a few inches.

  Roman groaned, pulling himself upright just as the next one took a turn. One claw caught on the net, ripping the rope while the other latched onto my forearm. Instinct had already covered me in Devyn’s scales and they were too slick, the beast slipping back down to the ground.

  I twisted and Roman yanked my arm through one of the holes, untangling me so we were face to face. Another spotlight cracked on about ten yards away, then another and another, a slow succession lighting up the entire maze.

  Roman clutched the ropes. “I can burn our way out but…”

  “They’ll eat us alive?”

  “Basically.”

  Devyn’s scales might have been strong enough to protect me but Roman was too vulnerable and I couldn’t risk his wounds carrying over to his body.

  Voices mingled with the sound of an engine revving.

  “Bryn!” My name was muffled as Kira pressed her hands to the glass wall of the greenhouse.

  The entire thing was made of glass, even the roof. I shifted my weight and the net swayed from side to side.

  I turned to Roman. “Start burning the ropes. I have a plan.”

  Roman led a controlled flame across the braids while I started swinging. I used my weight to yank us from one side to the other, the net angling over the roof of the greenhouse. Roman pushed too, our shared momentum carrying us right over the roof’s peak. I smelled the rope burning, the threads snapping and growing thinner. We heaved once more, swinging back and then up, up over the roof.

  “Now!”

  Roman snapped the last thread and we fell straight through the glass, pieces shattering before we even made contact. I channeled Sanders’ dreams and the glass crystallized like sand, leading us down into something soft and damp. Kira maneuvered the spontaneous meadow, flowers cradling us down to the ground.

  I tore myself from the ropes and ran straight for her. But then I stopped, remembering why we were really there. Not to save Kira but to save the world, which meant taking Kira’s dreams. Something she might need now that headlights were streaming through every inch of glass. I heard the cock of rifles, dogs or maybe more jaguars sniffing at every seam.

  Kira shivered and for a moment I wasn’t sure if she remembered me. But then her face twisted, something painful playing inside her as she said, “He didn’t take you.”

  I shook my head, solemn and sorry. “No. He didn’t.”

  Kira reached for me but I couldn’t reach back. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’ll explain everything.”

  Roman lit up. “We have to go. Now, Bryn.”

  Kira’s trembling spread down to her hands. I stared at her split fingers and red skin covered in scars. It looked like she’d been wrestling with thorns.

  Glass shattered as one of the walls came down, two men with guns stomping over every living thing. Dr. Lombard stood behind them, panicked and staring at Kira. He was almost as small as she was, just a wisp of a man. His cheeks flamed as he stumbled into the greenhouse, drunk, one of the gunmen trying to keep him back.

  I’d seen him before, black and white in a clipping from a South African newspaper. He’d been sitting next to a patient who he’d “miraculously” brought back from the brink of death, his life-giving elixir—Kira—tucked inconspicuously in the corner of the room. Dr. Lombard hadn’t looked villainous then and he didn’t look dangerous now. He looked…pathetic. And somehow it made me even angrier. Because Anso wasn’t just selling the Dreamers to the highest bidder in order to cause them pain, he was seeking out that pain in others too—in customers like Dr. Lombard.

  “Kira, you kn-now what I’ll do to them,” Dr. Lombard slurred. “You-u know what I’ll do.”

  It made me sick to think that a thing as miserable as Dr. Lombard could have manipulated Kira—scared her; trapped her.

  “Don’t listen to him, Kira,” Roman said. “Don’t even look at him.”

  Dr. Lombard called out to her again, Roman whispering something to her in response. But all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears, my mind manifesting and then rehearsing every step and every strike. I stared into Dr. Lombard’s eyes, wishing that they were as blue as Devyn’s had been, wondering what his grey ones would taste like instead.

  Kira froze and the plants stretched, sensing her fear. But she wasn’t controlling them. They were controlling themselves. A vine slithered along the floor and snatched one of the gunmen up by the ankle. The gun fell, a stray shot ricocheting over our heads. The other man sent out a torrent of bullets, Kira, Roman and I bracing behind the thick trunk of a tree. The vines wove themselves into fingers; giant hands twisting the gunman like a rag until his screams were louder than the gunfire.

  The plants formed a giant web and Dr. Lombard was flung into the center, wrapped up like prey. He gasped for air, clawing at the vines. He was trapped. I looked from Kira’s scarred hands to Roman’s flaming ones. I grabbed his wrist and led the flame to one of the trees, my eyes drawing it up and out; the light swelling and cracking until everything was on fire. Kira screamed, leaves turned to sparks, branches snapping, flowers wilting beneath the smoke and heat. She clutched at the dying, tears streaming down her face.

  “Grab her!” Roman yelled.

  I wrapped Kira in my arms, Roman falling onto both of us as a fiery branch came down. The heat disappeared as we landed on Celia’s front porch. I rolled, Roman trying to help me up but I was dizzy again. Kira’s wailing cracked like lightning inside my head, mixing with her memories.

  I watched her bloom in reverse, a rose just as beautiful as the ones she cradled and called from the ground. I saw her parents drinking tea on the balcony of their apartment. I saw them dancing in the kitchen while they cooked dinner, Kira tucked between them and standing on her father’s shoes. I smelled the herbs and citrus and cigarette smoke. Kira smiled. Every day she smiled. Until…Anso.

  Something snatched the light, the sounds and smells of Kira’s memories replaced by night. I felt the weight of the world on my chest, soil and stone pressing me in tight. So tight I couldn’t breathe. There was nothing but black, the darkness lingering. On and on and on until Kira finally opened her eyes and saw him.

  After escaping from Anso’s prison, Kira’s control over the landscape had saved our lives. But she hadn’t woken up back in her body. She hadn’t woken up safe in her bed. She’d woken from her childhood nightmare back on Anso’s torture table. I waited for him to speak, to stri
ke her, to strip her down layer by layer until she was just another bleeding body in one of his cells.

  He leaned over her, gaze searing. And then he didn’t strangle her. He didn’t shout.

  He whispered. “Hello, Bryn.”

  He shoved me head first into another memory. The light changed again and instead of metal chains I saw blades of grass. Sunlight. My grandmother’s smile. She hummed, tending to her garden. I was so close I could see the reflection of thorns in her eyes. I could smell the mint and the lavender and the rosemary. I could hear the breath behind each note, one of her favorite songs buzzing against her barely-opened lips. And then she stopped humming. She stopped…

  I saw Michael’s shadow first, bleeding onto my grandmother’s cheek.

  I saw him reach for her.

  I saw him…

  I saw everything.

  Her screams chased me back into the darkness but when I opened my eyes I realized they weren’t ringing from the past. Kira was clutching herself, sobbing. I blinked, tried to focus. She was on her hands and knees, crying and confused.

  The porch creaked as Vogle and Celia knelt next to Kira, trying to carry her inside. She thrashed, still wailing, and I knew something was wrong. Not just the flowers I’d destroyed but Kira. I’d destroyed something in her. I’d hurt her.

  I looked up at Vogle. “What’s happening?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Put her back,” I begged. “Wake her up.”

  Vogle reached for her but she was a ball of agony, wrapped tight, trying to disappear. Her cries were the most wretched sound I’d ever heard and it was all there—everything she’d seen and done and lived through. It clawed its way out of her one choking sob at a time while all we could do was watch.

  I took a deep breath, casting out the stillness like a net until Kira was limp and Vogle could get his hands around her. I crawled to my feet as Rafael ran up the stairs. He entered the first room of Dreamers, the ones that were still alive, and I waited for the sight of Kira’s body.