The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  “What are they saying now?” Roman asked.

  I paused, trying harder to make out the words. The girl’s eyes widened as she registered them too.

  “They’re telling them to let her go.”

  “The girl,” Roman said. “That’s her? They want to save her?”

  More words rose up, clearer this time.

  “No.” My heart stopped. “They want to kill her.”

  The torches came down, flames jumping up the stone steps. Shots were fired straight into the hoard, people collapsing, screaming. Roman pressed me behind him, covering my head as we searched for an opening.

  I saw the gun in the corner of my eye, the man who’d been firing bullets into the crowd trembling as he focused the barrel on the girl. She was exposed, two men clutching her arms and trying to drag her into the square. There were cheers. But the man holding the gun couldn’t bring himself to do it. He looked from the girl to the flames then back again. His shoulders fell but he didn’t drop the gun. He clutched his chest and then he pulled the trigger.

  I zeroed in on the bullet. It spun, wind rippling behind it, slow and unnatural. I saw each revolution, the sound long and hollow. And then I stopped it. My gaze spun a web around the bullet and then I heard her voice.

  Taunting. Singing.

  Make them red. Red. Dead.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  Anso’s daughter cast the melody around me the same way I’d trapped the bullet. I was tangled in it, each note luring me in close. I blinked against blood, a different shade of red painting my sight every time I opened my eyes.

  Make him red.

  I watched the bullet turn like the hand on a clock and then I sent it in the opposite direction, straight into the gunman’s chest.

  He fell as if he was underwater and when I examined the crowd they were all tripped mid-chant and mid-step, everything moving in slow motion. I took Roman’s hand again, dragging him into this stretched moment of time, and then we were running.

  Roman barreled through, knocking people over and shoving them back. They drifted more than fell, their bodies suspended as we reached the steps. I parted the haze of smoke as if it were a curtain. Then I spotted her. Despite her stillness, the girl’s eyes followed us around the square. I lifted one hand in truce and slowly she lifted a silent finger in reply.

  For a second I wondered if I was only rescuing her because I knew she was the key to finding Alma. Or if I was doing it because she reminded me of Sam. Or maybe because I wasn’t as empty as I thought I was. But then I looked down at the blood speckled across my arms; trailing lines across my shirt from where Roman and I had run past the blast as the bullet sliced through the man’s chest, and I realized that the emptiness had only made room inside me for something worse. Much worse.

  Time began to slip from my grasp, the chaos picking up speed. I tried to slow it down, to make it stop but I was losing control.

  “Don’t let go of me,” I told Roman.

  He braced himself for the world I was about to set in motion again, replacing the stillness with our own invisibility. I wasn’t sure that it would work, that I could manipulate the cells in Roman’s body as easily as I could manipulate my own. But I had to try. I heard the crackle of the flames first, then voices, and in all the chaos they didn’t notice as the girl stared right at us.

  I showed her my wrists and she did the same, the gilded chains around her melting in Roman’s hands.

  “Donde?” I said, hoping she’d know the way out.

  But as soon as she took that first step, one of the guards snatched her by the arm. Roman came down on him with a burning fist, shielding himself behind the flames that were already slithering into the room.

  The heat followed us downstairs, the ceiling caving in as dust and ash littered the floor. Flames lapped down from the ceiling as a burning beam blocked the bottom of the stairs.

  There was a narrow door flush to the wall right next to us and Roman yanked it open. A coat closet. He didn’t hesitate; he barreled through, the three of us falling into the next room as flames engulfed the one we’d just left behind. We trudged through smoke before my hands touched glass. Roman shattered it and we all fell over the side of the window, gasping for air.

  There was a tree within arm’s reach and Roman pulled one of the branches close before helping the girl get her grip around it. We climbed down, our steps careful, but when we reached the ground there was nowhere to run.

  The flames had spread, racing across power lines and jumping from the tops of trees. I peered around the wall, the crowd dispersed but just as angry, more torches falling down over parked cars and shop awnings until the entire city was washed in sunlight as deadly as it was artificial.

  “Donde está Alma?” I asked the girl.

  “Mi hermana,” the little girl said, choking on a sob. My sister. Then she took off running.

  “No, wait!”

  She disappeared into a small shed, chickens chortling and feathers flying as we charged in after her. Smoke billowed in from the wired windows but as I fanned it away, I saw the girl on her hands and knees, desperately trying to lift a metal grate from the floor.

  Roman leaned over her, hooking the handle as flames danced just on the other side of the wall. The wire started to sweat, the chickens in a frenzy. Roman threw open the trap door and the girl fell straight through. I stared down into darkness and without knowing how far it went or what exactly would be waiting when I got there, I jumped after her, Roman’s hand snagging me from behind.

  I dangled there, Roman not daring to let go of me.

  “Now!” I urged him.

  He fell beside me just as the shed collapsed, heat thrust straight down. I coughed, crawling on my hands and knees, calling for the girl. The stone floor was damp, the sound of dripping water echoing in the darkness. Roman and I both pressed a hand to the walls, light blooming and filling every crevice.

  Tight gasps echoed in the small space, luring me in as powerfully as Anso’s daughter’s song. Chills raced up my arm, the desire to pounce signaling the sound was Alma. The light from Roman’s hands finally reached her and she sprung from the dark, her hands clawing at Roman’s face. He held her back; her teeth gritted and face wild.

  “Está bien.” It’s okay. I knelt next to Alma and her sister, not ready to touch her. I sifted through my memory for more words, trying to find the ones that would let her know she was safe and that we were going to take her out of there.

  But I didn’t need to.

  “La Luna,” she said, staring at me the same way her sister had.

  I nodded, not because I understood, but because the fact seemed to calm her. She climbed off of Roman, creeping towards me and examining my face. I flinched, drawing back. I knew that any moment now I’d have to touch her, to take her with us. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it just yet.

  Alma’s sister came around and took her hand, whispering something into her ear. Alma turned to me and said, “Gracias.”

  I knew she meant for saving her sister but there was a hardness in her voice and I couldn’t help but feel like she saw straight through me, through all of this. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been held captive here but I knew that she knew what it felt like to be hunted.

  Fiery debris drifted down, making the small space feel like an oven. It was the first time I realized we were cinched in by four walls. No way in or out except the way we’d come. Alma’s sister started to cry, Alma’s own breathing labored as she looked from me to the flames. She turned to me, panicked, speaking words I couldn’t quite make out.

  “Despacio,” I said. “Por favor.”

  But she wouldn’t slow down. She ran her hands along the walls, scratching at them.

  “Take her,” Roman said.

  “What?”

  He gripped me by the shoulders, the smoke so dense I could barely breathe. “Take Alma. I’ll take her sister and find another way out.”

  “No. I won’t leave you here.”r />
  Roman looked around, examining the darkness. “Can you find the street? We could dig our way out.”

  I crawled on my hands and knees, measuring the space with my eyes closed. I tried to picture the street and the trees and the crowd, looking for an opening. My hands led me to the far north wall, the surface cooler than the others.

  “Through here.” I coughed. “I don’t know how far but we need to go this way.”

  Roman crouched beside me, both of us facing the wall as instinct pressed our open palms against the flat surface. Then we pushed. It sounded like a machine, gears grinding as the stone pressed deeper into the earth. We scraped past dark mud, worms and exposed seedlings, roots falling down over our heads.

  Alma and her sister followed, their breaths frantic against the back of my neck. I pushed harder, trying to avoid the scrape of Alma’s hand. I stopped, coughing as I glanced back at the narrow slit Alma used to call home. There was nothing but the faint light of the flames.

  “Help me up?” I said.

  Roman knelt and I crawled onto his back until I could wrap the hanging roots around my fists. I channeled Kira’s dreams and then I pulled, the roots nothing more than thread, clods of dirt exploding as I yanked them free. Light pierced through the shifting mud and I reached a hand up, the earth giving way beneath my touch. I tore out, one limb at a time, the hole widening behind me.

  I called down to Alma, her eyes narrowed against the light, and told her in Spanish that Roman was going to help her climb out. She hesitated, slipping back into the darkness. I leaned down again, hanging and trying to coax her out. But it wasn’t the light she was afraid of or even Roman. It was the noise.

  I looked around, noticing the blocks of stone for the first time. Headstones. We were at the edge of a cemetery just across from the square, the sound of voices and stomping feet so loud even the grass seemed to quaver. But from the way she shuddered, I could tell it wasn’t just the voices she feared. It was the silence. The dead.

  I heard panting and moved away just before Alma’s skin touched mine. She shivered as if she could see their ghosts and I wondered if she was like Stassi or if she dreamed of something worse. Roman lifted her sister out next before climbing through the hole himself and almost losing his grip the moment he saw my face covered in dirt.

  “Pretty inconspicuous,” he said.

  “We could use some camouflage right about now,” I said.

  I almost smiled and it felt wrong. Because we were in a cemetery. Because something awful had just erupted in the town square. Because people were dead and dying and Alma was…

  “Where did they go?”

  Roman jumped to his feet, climbing onto headstones and searching for the girls through the trees. When he jumped into a run, I followed.

  Alma and her sister ran barefoot through an empty alley. I caught sight of them, my gaze a web again. Instead of stopping a bullet, this time I stopped them, their limbs fighting against stillness.

  “What now?” Roman huffed, slowing as he watched the crowd that was still wreaking havoc.

  “Take her hands,” I said. “Don’t let go of her.”

  He gripped Alma and she stirred, her body animated one reflex at a time. She blinked and then there were tears as she stared at Roman’s hands around her wrists.

  She and her sister collapsed in each other’s arms and I couldn’t look. Because I knew what I was about to do and I knew that their closeness would only make it that much harder.

  I stared straight ahead as I spoke. “Tenemos que irnos.” We have to go.

  Alma’s sister looked up at me. “Quiero mi Mamá.”

  “Podemos ir a casa?” Alma pleaded.

  Home. All they wanted was to go home, to see their mother. For Alma it would be the last time. I remembered saying goodbye to my own mom, not knowing if it would be for good. Not knowing if I was doing the right thing by erasing her memories and sending her and my uncle off on some whirlwind adventure. I looked from Alma to her sister, their hold on each other so tight. I didn’t know how to break them apart. I didn’t want to.

  “Por favor.” Alma shook her head, begging. “Mi hermana…” Then I realized why Alma was clutching her sister so desperately. She didn’t want to lose her, because somehow, she knew she would. She knew.

  I finally nodded, leading them both off the street. Alma and her sister lived outside the city and when we reached an alley full of abandoned cars that had yet to be set on fire, Roman popped the hood of one. He jumpstarted the engine, the girls crawling in the back as we sped as far away from the town square as possible.

  Alma leaned against the console, pointing as I translated her directions. Her arm almost touched mine, the threat of her skin making me anxious even though I knew all I was doing was stalling. I finally found the words to ask Alma what was happening—why the city was on fire and why all of those people wanted her sister dead.

  She sighed, speaking the harsh Spanish under her breath: “That city was built on nothing but superstition. The Basurto family ran every storefront, chapel, and courthouse, killing whomever they wanted and taking whatever they wanted. Because the people were afraid of them. Because they believed stories older than their great-grandmothers and because I said so.”

  She stopped for a moment and the four of us took one last glance back at the burning buildings, smoke still billowing behind us. Alma clenched her teeth as she said: “They made me tell them truths that didn’t belong to them. Then they used my visions to threaten people and scare them into submission. And then when those things came true the people thought the Basurto’s had done it, that their threats were real and powerful. They used my sister like some kind of shield in case people tried to retaliate. I already knew they would. I’d seen it. I’ve been dreaming of this moon for months and I know they blame me for that too.”

  She shook. “But all of those people who were angry with me, all those people who were afraid of me…what they didn’t realize is that I wasn’t in control of any of it. The only person in control was Fate and now she’s seen fit that the city burn to the ground.”

  Soon small tin houses started popping up along the dirt road. Dim lights shown behind some of the windows, anxious faces peering out at the sound of the car’s engine. A line of oak trees led us onto uneven ground. As Roman and I hung back behind the branches I could still smell an old rain on the leaves. There was a small white house in the distance. The door opened at the sound of Alma and her sister’s footsteps, a woman twisting a washcloth in her fist, face red and fighting tears as if she wasn’t sure that her daughters were real.

  “Mama!” Alma’s sister ran into their mother’s arms.

  A man appeared in the doorway. He looked frail and tired, the relief so heavy he practically stumbled into Alma’s embrace. She caught him as he sunk to his knees, crying into her hands, into her neck; his tears streaming down both their faces.

  “I can’t do it.” I stopped, ready to collapse too. “What would happen if I didn’t do it?” I looked at Roman. “Would it really be so bad? What difference does it make whether she has her body or not?”

  I tried to imagine what terrible things might happen if Alma wasn’t delivered to her corpse. Alma had spoken of fate, how something larger than both of us was really in control of all of this. How would fate retaliate if Alma stayed asleep instead of dead? Alma’s family didn’t know the difference, her flesh and bone falling into their arms, hugging them in close. Maybe there wasn’t one.

  My gaze fell. "Why can’t I just let them be?”

  “I don’t know.” There was so much uncertainty in Roman’s voice. About everything.

  “Because I’m not supposed to be here.” I turned as Alma approached. I wondered if she understood because she’d envisioned this moment, fate warning her of what was to come. Of the decision I’d have to make. Maybe Alma even knew the answers to my questions. She looked down, her Spanish mournful. “I can see things before they happen. Well, just one thing. Death. I can see how
and when someone is going to die.” She paused and then she said, “I know that’s why you’re here.”

  I looked away, lost for words.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I know it’s what needs to be done.”

  “How do you know?” I said, desperate.

  “Because I’ve seen what will happen if you don’t.”

  There were a million thoughts running through my head but before I could speak a single one Alma took my hand. We both doubled over, our eyes locked. Her gaze pulled me in, tears turned to falling stars. One. Two. Three… They fell in a rush, sparks dying.

  Dreamers.

  Suddenly the starlight had a pulse and I could see their faces so clearly. But they weren’t sleeping. They were running. Screaming. I saw a boy with red hair and glasses. He cowered, peering out a dusty window and tracing letters in the grime. I saw the flash of fingers around his throat. White. Then nothing.

  I fell into a deep chill. So deep. I saw a girl underwater, slow and drifting, her face hidden behind bubbles as a pair of arms strung around her waist. The water shifted, wrapping her in foam. A hand slid across her cheek, pulling the tangled hair from her mouth. It drifted behind her ear, exposing the most endless gaze I’d ever seen. Sebastían. He hugged the girl in tight, her limbs barely twitching before falling still. And then he let her go.

  I waited for the vision to let go of me, the waves endless and filling me too. I gasped for air but I wasn’t on solid ground. I wasn’t in my body or even in my own mind. I was in Alma’s…watching. Dreamer after Dreamer. I watched Sebastían hunt them, find them, kill them. Ian…Malin…Emir…a new face manifested for each of the names on my list. He was killing them. Somehow…

  Sebastían. Sebastían… The last time I’d seen Sebastían he’d been back on Anso’s torture table. I’d been trapped in that vision, just as helpless as he was. Just as helpless as I was now. But then I’d watched Anso whisper something into Sebastían’s ear. I’d watched as Sebastían’s face changed from terrified to awestruck. What had Anso said? What had Anso done?