The Rift Frequency

by Amy S. Foster

  “You have a soft spot for North African guitar solos?” I say, trying to lighten the serious shadow beneath his mouth as he gets closer.

  “This is perfect. I’m calm. I don’t need to think about how I felt when I was a kid. I don’t want to feel like a boy right now.” He stops a foot away. I swallow. Hard.

  “Your heart is racing,” Levi observes.

  “So is yours,” I counter softly. Why can’t I laugh it off? He moves closer until he’s just inches away. He takes his open palm and places it gently on my cheek. I find myself nuzzling into it. With his other hand, he slowly slides the zipper of my uniform down just a few inches. With his thumb, he peels back the fabric and moves his head down. His lips hover over my collarbone. I can feel the heat of him whispering my name, or something, over gooseflesh. He places two or three featherlight kisses there on my skin. And then his tongue snakes over the bone.

  This doesn’t feel like deprogramming. This doesn’t feel like I’m doing Levi some big favor.

  This feels real.

  My mind scrambles to get control. On one hand, I absolutely want him to stop. I have a boyfriend. Who I love. On the other hand, Levi’s smell, the nearness of him, is actually making me sway lightly back and forth on my feet, like I’m weightless, and like there could be more to feel that I don’t know about yet—and I want to.

  I start to say my mantra:

  This for Ezra. This for Ezra. This for Ezra.

  Levi’s head comes up. His hand is still on my cheek. We look at each other. We are such liars. But this isn’t a lie. Our bodies are burning. Our eyes are drinking each other in. Levi moves in and kisses me. There is a hesitation, for whatever reason—the Blood Lust, lack of experience, Ezra. But that hesitation is quickly replaced with need. His kiss becomes insistent and my mouth responds in kind. I wrap my arms around his neck. His tongue flickers in and out of my mouth and I’m not thinking about anything now except for him.

  This is for Ez—

  The mantra is immediately cut off. A needle pulled from a record. A scream muffled by a fist. A screeching, wailing crowd that goes silent because it’s the last crucial play.

  There is no mantra. No Ezra.

  There is only Levi.

  Everywhere.

  He picks me up by the ass and I wrap my legs around him. He maneuvers us so that we are against a wall. He’s so strong that he can hold me with a single hand. He uses the other to pull my face closer to his. I am nothing more in that moment than a mouth and a body. We grind against each other. I feel my breath catch. My God, this feels good.

  Levi pulls away. He looks at me. We’ve forgotten ourselves. I’ve forgotten too much about what we’re doing here, about my life outside this room with the fantastic lighting and the smell of night-blooming jasmine, which has somehow managed to cling to our skin and our hair. Levi puts his hand on the zipper of my uniform once more and I practically beg him to open it all the way . . . but then I see it.

  His eyes narrow.

  Darken.

  Change.

  He’s looking at me, but he no longer sees me. An ice-cold rush replaces the racing warmth along my limbs. My heart pumps even faster now, but not with excitement. With fear.

  The Blood Lust.

  I brace myself for what’s coming. He lifts me up and literally pitches me across the room. Luckily, what’s across the room is the bed, so instead of landing on the floor, I hit the mattress. Before I can even come close to getting up, Levi is on me. He grabs me by the hair and yanks me off the bed. Now I’m on the tiled floor. I curl up into a ball to protect my neck and head.

  I feel the kicks through my uniform. They hurt, but it’s not too bad. Levi’s bare feet are no match for the fabric of the uniform. I told him that day on the beach that I wouldn’t fight back again, and I intend to honor that promise, no matter how much it costs me. I know from experience that the only way the deprogramming will work is if you go all in. I cling to the faint memory of his hand on my cheek.

  The kicks stop and Levi begins to punch me. He punches at my forearms, trying to get to my head. It would only take a couple good shots from him to shatter my skull. I can’t really see, so I’m momentarily unprepared when I feel the weight of his body on top of me. He’s forcing me onto my back. I try as hard as I can to keep my body locked in a fetal position, but he’s simply too strong. He wrenches me straight and sits astride me, both knees squeezing my pelvis.

  He pulls me up by my crossed arms, which are protecting my face. I know what he’s going to try to do next and I quickly maneuver my palms to the back of my head so that when he smashes me back down on the tiles, my skull is protected. He throws me down with significant force and then yanks me sharply back up again two or three more times. When that doesn’t work he reaches for my throat.

  Am I ready to die for this?

  As a soldier, I’m always ready to die, at least in an abstract kind of way. On the surface, it does seem ridiculous to lose my life so that Levi can have sex. But, of course, deprogramming the Blood Lust is about so much more than sex. It’s about reparations. It’s about reclaiming a part of ourselves that was violated and abused when we were children. It’s about being able to love, fully and honestly—a counterbalance to all the times we are required to hurt and kill. So, in that sense, it’s worth the risk to my life. But if Levi strangles me, if he ends me, he might as well take out his sidearm and blow his brains out right after. Levi can be rude and insensitive, but he is honorable. He is a decent person. He would never be able to live with my death on his hands.

  The trouble is—I can’t protect my head and my neck at the same time. When I feel Levi’s fingers wrap around my throat, I still manage to stay calm. At the end of the day, this horrific scene being played out might look to an outsider like Levi has all the power. In reality, it’s me who’s got the advantage. I am in armor. Levi isn’t wearing anything more than his jeans. I’m in control, and Levi has no control at all, which puts me in a tactically superior position.

  I feel the pressure of his hands. So I take my own hands and lock them around his wrists. I pull them off my skin. “Levi,” I tell him softly. “I won’t fight back. I won’t hurt you.” These words, which I say as soothingly as I can, have the opposite effect I was hoping for. Levi backhands me. Hard. My surprise and the sting of pain gives him enough time to start strangling me again. I feel my airway closing down.

  “Levi,” I gurgle through the stronghold. “Please.”

  My plea brings his eyes to mine. He’s looking right at me now. My body is slack. Not only am I not fighting, I’m not even defending myself. This is enough for him to pause. He releases the pressure at my neck and I gulp for air, but still, I don’t dare move. I just keep looking at him, without judgment, without anger. I see the shift come over him physically. The Blood Lust drains out of him slowly, in small measures, like water from a sieve. He gets off of me and crawls over to the bed and sits on the edge of it. He covers his entire face with his forearms, scrunching his hair up in his fists. Levi is making himself as small as he possibly can. I know exactly the shame he’s feeling. I know that telling him that everything is fine and that it’s okay won’t mean anything. Instead, I just sit up on the ground for a few moments so that his knees are touching the left side of my face.

  “That was good,” I croak out. I’m sure my esophagus is bruised. My neck is no doubt turning a deep purply black in the shape of his fingerprints. “You stopped. You didn’t kill me. You didn’t even hurt me all that much,” I lie. My throat is on fire and the rest of my body feels whiplashed. My cheek still stings from his backhand.

  Levi brings his elbow to his knees. I see his eyes, reddened, watery, look down at me. He’s not crying, but he’s close. “I could have. I wanted to.” He barely manages to get out that last part.

  “No—you didn’t want to. You just did it. Because they did this to you, to us.”

  “Look,” I say in a hoarse whisper. “I know you’re used to being the best. To winni
ng everything all the time. But the Blood Lust isn’t something you can win. You’ve already lost too much to it. You can put it in its place, the past, as part of your history where it belongs. That’s the best you can do. You did that tonight.”

  “Don’t,” he says as he jumps to his feet. “Don’t be so nice, so understanding.” He’s pacing now and all I can do is look at him. “One minute we are practically having sex and the next minute I’m using you as a punching bag. It’s fucked up, it’s fucking me up, so stop normalizing it.”

  All I can do is give a kind of half laugh. “I think we should just eliminate words like that from our vocabulary. They’ve become irrelevant. ‘Normal,’ ‘regular,’ ‘common,’ ‘logical.’ Let’s just stop using them because it just makes this whole thing more frustrating.” I say this as I lean back on the bed’s mattress. “I mean, look at us. We’re in Morocco. Like, Africa. We didn’t get here on a plane or a boat. We got here by traveling through a tear in the universe. Before that we were in Battle Ground, where another version of me helped us after you’d been shot by an unknown assassin. And before that we were in L.A. fighting as Roman gladiators. And before that—”

  “Stop. I get it.”

  “Then get this. We will never be normal ever again, so let’s stop trying. Give me the honor and respect I deserve as your fellow soldier, your equal, by letting yourself off the hook. You give me plenty of reasons to be pissed at you, but this isn’t one of them. I don’t need the extra emotional baggage of your guilt getting in the way of this mission, so let it go. Now.”

  Before he can say anything else, I get under the covers and turn off the small lamp beside the bed. I probably won’t sleep, but I want him to understand the conversation is over.

  I hear him grumbling to himself, unhappy that he’s basically being dismissed. I don’t care. I meant what I said. I’m not mad at him. If there’s anyone I’m mad at, it’s myself. I can keep on lying to him, pretend that what’s happening is all part of the deprogramming process, because what does he know? He’s never done it before and I doubt he’s had a more sexual experience than the one we just had together. I, however, know better. What I felt tonight wasn’t just about me helping him. It wasn’t professional. My God, if the Blood Lust hadn’t kicked in, I think I may very well have let what was happening between us play all the way out. I wanted him. I wanted him more in those moments than I wanted oxygen. I also know that it’s wholly different from the way I want Ezra. Ezra is kind and nurturing. Ezra is safety and love. Levi is the exact opposite. He’s a lit fuse. He’s heat and intensity. With Ezra I remember who I am and forgive myself for the terrible things ARC commanded me to do. With Levi I forget everything—what I’ve done, where I am, what I want—forgiveness doesn’t apply when I’m with him. I don’t care about it. And because of that I have to think that what I’m feeling is just lust. It’s a base emotion. You can’t build a relationship of any real substance on something like that. I can only hope that when I tell Ezra about this, he’ll be able to see this for what it is. A completely inexperienced girl suddenly being thrust into a world of emotions that she’s never been allowed to have.

  Never allowed herself to have.

  After a few moments, I hear Levi crawl into bed beside me. I feel him reach for me and take my hand, and I fight the urge to pull closer and take comfort from him. At this moment, my thoughts are with Ezra. At least, they are until Levi speaks.

  “I’m letting it go. I just want you to know that I understand what you’re putting at risk every time you agree to help me. Thank you. It’s inadequate, but it’s all I’ve got.” Instead of saying anything, I just squeeze his hand. I’m hurting all over and the part of me that needs to heal takes over. Tonight has been exhausting on every level. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

  I don’t know how much later it is when I find myself jerked awake, not by Levi or a prayer or the rising sunlight. A feeling wakes me up. I try to focus. What exactly am I feeling? A tug. A pull from somewhere. I look over at Levi. He’s humming again. Loudly. I put an ear up to my own skin, and it’s doing the same.

  “Levi,” I say quietly as I nudge him. Levi sits up and looks at me. “There’s something . . . I don’t know. Something’s not right here.” Levi immediately bounds out of bed and puts his uniform back on in the space of about two seconds. He attaches his belt, but he has to go into the hotel safe for his gun.

  “Did you hear something?” he asks quietly.

  “Well, yes, but please don’t ask me to describe it. Mostly it’s that I feel something. Like a wrongness, and we’re both whistling again.” I watch as Levi grits his teeth. I know he doesn’t quite believe me. Or maybe he does believe me, up to a point. But he wants more than a vibe. He wants tangible proof. Still, I’m getting the benefit of the doubt here, seeing as he just beat the tar out of me a little while ago and owes me big time.

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “I suppose I want to go and check it out. Go outside, see if the feeling becomes stronger or weaker in any given direction.”

  Levi nods his head. “Sure,” he agrees without enthusiasm, but at least he agrees. Levi makes his sensuit morph into his regular backpacker attire and I do the same, hiding our guns in the folds of our clothing. We walk out the door, but I’m in front of him, ready to guide us.

  We leave the hotel and begin to walk. It’s three a.m. The streets are quiet, but not deserted. Luckily the moon is full on this Earth, so there is plenty of light. I focus on the feeling. It’s not queasiness or cramps, it’s more like a fluttering of wings in my stomach, beating slower or faster depending on where we go. The wings flap less and I switch direction until they get rapid again. This lasts for about fifteen minutes. We find ourselves in the souk, where all the stalls are closed, their windows latched and chained, and large pieces of plywood covering tinier vendors.

  To his credit, Levi says nothing, His steps mirror my own, but every once in a while I hear him give a deep, impatient sigh. I know he’s frustrated and I’m also aware that every twist and turn we take over the uneven cobbled streets puts us at a tactical disadvantage. This place is a maze. Some avenues are only as wide as my outstretched hands. Some dead-end with no way to escape. Too many places for an ambush.

  This is not the kind of place where a soldier feels comfortable.

  We see him after we’ve rounded yet another corner. He’s small in stature and his face is completely obscured by a shadow from a building overhead. I can tell he’s wearing a long robe, a djellaba. Levi and I halt about twenty feet away.

  “Interesting,” the man says in a language that is most certainly not English, but I understand easily enough. “I have been waiting for quite some time, wondering if you would seek me out, and now here you are.”

  “Are you the asshole who shot me?” Levi asks in English. The man ignores him and continues to address me.

  “We suspected that at least one of you would be Kir-Abisat. I do not yet know if this is good or bad. Either way, it must be reported immediately.” And with that, the man punches a button attached to his outfit, and I feel a greater, heavier tug, not just from my belly, but from my entire body. The Rift he opens swirls into action with alarming speed. Without even so much as a backward glance, the stranger steps through and the Rift closes again.

  “Well, ” I say with a wispy sigh, “shit.”

  “What?” Levi asks in a wary tone.

  “He didn’t look like one, but that man was speaking Karekin.”

  Chapter 17

  We walk out of the next Rift into a fairy-tale forest. Fat, wide, bright green ferns cover the ground entirely. Towering conifers surround us, their branches puncturing tiny holes in the blue sky above, allowing little pockets of yellow sunlight to crisscross around us like a laser light show. Levi and I have not discussed the stranger we saw in the souk. There is not much to say. We did not get a look at his face. We have no idea where he was from or where he was going. All I know for sure is that he was spe
aking in the language of our enemies. He is a complication and a distraction. We are not Rifting across the Multiverse to ferret out the secrets of the Karekin. We have another mission. Find Ezra. Get intel. Get home.

  Which means the mysterious Karekin stranger will have to wait.

  Not that it’s easy to put it out of my mind. Still, when you’ve been a soldier in one form or another since you were fourteen years old, it’s not too hard to focus on the task at hand. And right now, that means surveying our surroundings and figuring out where the hell we are.

  It’s immediately clear we’re not in Battle Ground. I don’t even think we are in the Pacific Northwest. This is not an echo Earth. This place feels entirely too primeval. It takes me a couple of seconds to make this assessment . . . and then a couple more to realize that we are not alone. I glance at Levi. He has noticed this, too. Ever so slowly, we see them emerge from behind the trees and fallen logs. Immediately, Levi and I unhook our rifles and lift them up to our shoulders. The guns feel a bit over-the-top here in the enchanted forest, but I can’t get an accurate read of how many of them there are (and how many are still hiding). Better safe than, well, dead.

  They are a humanoid species, walking upright on two legs with arms and eyes. But the similarities end there. A female and male, with characteristics distinct enough to tell their gender, separate themselves from the others and step forward. They are a tall people, between seven and eight feet, but their height isn’t the most remarkable thing about them. No, what really stands out are the giant ivory horns spiraling out from the sides of their heads—antlers. Their skin ranges in color from ochre to rust, and is covered with sleek, downy hair. Basically they are deer people. Or maybe antelope people? Or elk people? Whatever they are, they’re—unsurprisingly—majestic.

  The woman has braided some of her strawberry blond locks and wound them up and around her antlers. The rest of her hair hangs loose and down her back. Her antlers are decorated with tiny gold and silver charms that tinkle and sing when she moves her head. The male doesn’t sport these decorations. Instead, he has symbols and pictures carved into the hard bone.