A Sea of Purple Ink

by Rebekah Shafer

  “Hold it!” Tyrone exclaimed. He strode to the table, glass in hand. “I have an idea. Why don’t you take Joplin on that little excursion you’re planning?” He beamed down at Reese as if he had solved the world’s problems. “I could spare him for a day or so, and I’m sure he’d be glad to help.”

  Reese bit her tongue, fighting back a curse. Not that. I can’t deal with that. She fumbled for her cup of coffee, stalling for time as her mind sped up. If he’s in league with Stryker it could be suicide. Reese picked up the cup. But it could be suicide to leave him behind. If he’s with me, at least I have a chance at shutting him up before he betrays us. Warmth seeped through the cup and into her hand. And if any police see me with him, well, I could use him as leverage. Reese caught her breath as an idea materialized. Police. A reader might be able to tell me what’s going on. Or at the very least whether this man is really who he seems to be.

  In front of her, Joplin glanced at Tyrone, then back at her questioningly. “I suppose I could help,” he said. “What do we need to do?”

  “I’m going to rescue my friends,” Reese said. She met the king’s gaze, trying once more to delve into the secrets that lurked behind his smile. “And you’re going to help me.” Even if I have to use you as a hostage. Reese took a long drink. Warnings were ricocheting around her head. But first I’m going to find some answers about you, and about this Stryker. And I think I know who to ask.

  16

  The apartment hallways were blessedly empty. Reese checked her gun as she eased up the last stairway, letting the torn rug absorb her footsteps.

  Joplin followed close behind, hovering inches off the floor.

  Somewhere, people were arguing. Reese could hear their tense voices seeping through the walls. Deep brown water stains marked the walls and pooled on the carpet. A faint smell of mold hung in the air. Reese slid the gun back into her pocket as she neared the cracked window at the end of the hall. “You wait here,” she murmured to the king. She studied the wooden door in the wall. “Try to stay away from the window, and keep your back to the doorway.”

  Joplin nodded.

  Reese laid one hand on the doorknob. “If he sees your face, he might be able to report you,” she added. And me. “Got it?”

  The king nodded again and turned to face down the hallway.

  Reese pushed her focus beyond the door. Silence. He may or may not be home. She let out a long breath, then gave the knob an experimental turn. The metal creaked and stuck. It’s not locked. She took a step back. Is he expecting company? She moved to a position behind the heavy doorframe and gave the door a slow push. Nothing moved inside.

  Reese drew her gun and edged around the frame, scanning the room for occupants. Old bottles and dirty clothes littered the few armchairs. Smoke stains marred the ceiling. Empty. He must be at his desk.

  A creak came from the inner room.

  Reese glided across the room on tiptoe.

  The sound came again, this time with footsteps.

  It’s just him. Reese put her back to the wall beside the inner door and waited. The footsteps came closer, then the door opened. He doesn’t have a gun. Reese swung to her right, gun at the ready, and came face to face with the startled tenant.

  The portly man froze. “What is this?” he stammered. His police uniform jacket hung slack on his shoulders, revealing the grease-stained shirt beneath. A few stubbled grey hairs peppered his temples and chin, and his eyes shone dark in the faint light from the shuttered window.

  “Get back in the room, Arrow,” Reese ordered. “I’m asking the questions.”

  The color slowly drained from the man’s face. “What are you trying to do?” he hissed. He took a few steps backwards, his gaze flickering toward the doorway. “If my captain finds out I’ve been—”

  “The sooner you cooperate, the sooner I’ll be gone,” Reese said. She followed him into the ratty bedroom, gun in hand. “Sit down by the desk.”

  The police reader dropped into his chair. “Reese, I swear, I don’t know what you want.”

  “Just truthful answers.” Reese pushed the door almost closed, then settled into a solid stance, gun trained on the reader’s chest. “What are the police up to?” she demanded. “Who is this Stryker?”

  Arrow’s pale face turned a shade paler.

  Faint footsteps crossed the floor of the apartment above. The reader glanced upward and cringed.

  That can’t be who he’s expecting. Reese focused on the man’s face. “Your time is ticking, Arrow,” she warned.

  Sweat beaded on the reader’s forehead. He swallowed hard. “He’s one of us,” he said. “Kind of the chief-in-command over our division now that Brandon’s dead.”

  Reese hesitated. Brandon, the murdered chief of police. That could use some questions, too. She stared hard at the reader. “What’s the official word on that?”

  “He’s definitely dead.” A sarcastic smile crossed Arrow’s face, then faded away. “I saw the body myself. He was practically inside out.”

  Sounds like shifter street fighting. “You don’t seem that broken up about it.”

  Arrow’s gaze flicked away. “He never liked us readers.” He gave Reese a quick glance. “We didn’t like him, either.”

  “And is there a new plan to try to catch me? Something involving a flyer?”

  A mask seemed to spring up over the informant’s face. “The other readers already suspect I’m helping you,” Arrow said. His voice sounded nervous and shaky. “I can’t tell you more.” A thought seemed to occur to him, and he grinned slyly. “I saw you dropping guns down that drain,” he said. “Don’t push your luck.”

  Reese’s grip tightened on the gun. “Don’t push yours,” she replied. “After what happened with Grahm, I don’t have much else to lose.”

  Arrow flinched and his gaze dropped to the floor.

  So he wasn’t just a pawn. He knew what he was doing when he told us about Grahm. The thought made Reese’s chest burn. “You cost me my crew, Arrow,” she said. “Do you really think I’m going to just walk away?” She paused to let her words sink in, then motioned toward the doorway. “I want you to read someone for me.”

  Arrow’s fear turned to puzzlement. “What?”

  “Just do it,” Reese snapped. She backed up, leaving a clear path to the open inner door.

  Slowly, Arrow edged from his seat. He stood and straightened his jacket, buttoning it as he approached.

  Reese nodded at the front door. “He’s out there.”

  The reader glared at her. “I’m not here to be used,” he growled. “I told you they suspect me.”

  “And you think I’m going to help you?” Reese took a half step forward and raised the gun. “I don’t help police who withhold information.”

  Arrow’s face began to turn red. The veins in his neck bulged. Then he swung away and pushed the door aside.

  Reese saw his eyes widen and his mouth fall open. For a moment he seemed to stagger. One hand rose to the door post and clung there, knuckles red. Reese moved to get a better view.

  Out in the hallway, the king stood with his back to the room, an anonymous figure in a dark coat, his hair shadowed by the patchy light.

  Reese watched Arrow.

  The reader’s eyes seemed to be moving back and forth, gazing at the air around the king, as if reading some sort of pattern or message. He swallowed and the fingers of his free hand twitched.

  “Well?” Reese asked. “Recognize him?”

  Arrow jumped at the sound. He half turned, as if to look over his shoulder, but kept his gaze on the man in the hallway. “Where did you find him?” he asked.

  Reese tensed. “Supposedly a back alleyway,” she replied. She edged back, out of Arrow’s reach. “What can you tell me?”

  The reader jerked his head back in an expansive shrug. “He’s a flyer.” He turne
d to look at her, an affected nonchalantness on his face. But his eyes looked desperate.

  He’s trying to hide. Reese slid her finger onto the trigger. “There’s more than that, isn’t there?” she said. “What else do you know?” This is when I could use a more attack-worthy ability. She watched as the reader eyed the gun. “I may not have my crew here to beat the truth out of you,” she added. “But you don’t have much choice.”

  Arrow grimaced. “Or you’ll shoot me?” He turned around to face her and crossed his arms. “That’ll make a lot of noise.” He grinned.

  “I know.” Reese slid the gun back into her pocket. Think. Think hard. What is he not telling me? She mimicked the reader’s stance. How can I scare him? “But I can make even more noise than it can.”

  Suspicion flickered through the reader’s eyes.

  “If you don’t tell me what I want to know,” Reese began, “I will arrange for you to be caught handing secret information to rebels.”

  Arrow stiffened.

  Reese lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “This man claims he can’t remember anything. That’s not true, is it? There’s a bigger plan?”

  The reader jerked away from her, terror on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He backed farther into the room, eyes darting this way and that. “Just… just go.”

  Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me. Reese stalked after the frightened reader. And somehow, some way, he got an ability convincing enough for Arrow. Unless Arrow’s in on it. Reese decided to push her luck. “Why is he out here? Do the police know? Is he working with them?”

  The look of terror on Arrow’s face increased. “They, they don’t know, but for the love of all that is holy, don’t tell them!”

  An uneasy feeling rippled through Reese’s calculations. Only the readers know the king is out here? That doesn’t make sense. “How did he get an ability?” she asked, still trying to sort through Arrow’s reaction.

  Arrow’s hands flew to his mouth. “Reese, don’t…” His chest heaved and he seemed to be gasping for air. “Don’t ask. They don’t trust me any more as it is.”

  A chill swept down Reese’s back. He’s trying to tell me something. The man’s appearance and actions added up to one thing. He’s afraid, but not of me. The tension in her shoulders increased. Is someone else threatening him?

  “I have to report for duty soon,” Arrow said, fumbling with his coat buttons. “Shoot him, for all I care, but get out of here. Please just go,” he gasped. “All I can tell you is to get off the island while you still can.”

  Reese eyed him. More questions burned on her tongue.

  An urgent tapping came from the hallway.

  People coming. Reese pulled herself from her thoughts and backed toward the outer door. “I’m leaving now, Arrow,” she said. “You’re on your own.”

  17

  Rain. Reese sat with her back against the hideout’s rough wooden walls and listened to the drumming on the rotten roof. If it didn’t end by sundown, they would wind up far more marked than she’d hoped. At least it’ll keep the guards away from the pier. And give me a chance to get away if I have to run.

  The old piers were left over from the days of the royal ships. Falling apart with disuse since the border closed, they provided a perfect place to wait before rushing a high-security prison.

  Reese frowned and closed her eyes, replaying the plan again. Across the pier and grass before the moon comes out. Fly up the cliff to the side entrance, then straight inside—

  Fabric rustled.

  Joplin’s pacing again. Reese rolled her stiff shoulder. Shoot in the dark to get rid of any guards, maybe grab one for a hostage, then jam the door open and make a break for the inner—

  The flyer’s footsteps halted. “What did he say?” he asked. There was a note of peculiar urgency in his voice.

  Reese straightened. “Who?” She had a feeling it was Arrow.

  The king stood at the far wall, peering out through a chink in the boarded window. “I heard enough to know that something surprised him.” He swung around, hands behind his back. The edges of his long coat rippled as he turned, a flare of dark brown against the splintering grey of the wood. He stared down at Reese.

  How much do I say? Reese stared back, letting the calculations flow by. “He told me about Stryker.” That should be just enough to keep him busy.

  Joplin frowned. “No, I mean when you asked him about me.”

  How did you know I asked him about you? A leak in the roof dripped sullenly in one corner. Plip. Plop. Reese eyed the walking enigma before her. “He said you really were a flyer.” And that I could shoot you.

  The king raised an eyebrow. “You asked him about that?”

  “Yes.” Reese glanced over at the wooden crate they had hauled from Tyrone’s. Rebel-made guns and ammunition. “I have to be careful who I trust.” She let the words hang for a moment as a warning. A fleeting image of Grahm raced through her mind. Reese shifted her position. What could cause a king to leave the palace and try to catch us personally? Was it his idea? Her gaze strayed back to the healing bruise on the king’s temple. Too many questions without answers.

  Joplin dusted his hands together and walked to the opposite wall. With a soft grunt, he lowered himself to a sitting position directly across from Reese. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he began.

  Reese’s calculations flared. “What?” she asked. The rain seemed to be lightening, but she could still hear the patter of the purple-stained drops against the window boards.

  The king settled against the wall and rested his hands on his knees. “We got off to a bad start, so I didn’t bring it up, but, did I know you?” he asked, eyes earnest. “Before?”

  Reese’s stomach clenched. She tried to breathe as her mind scrambled for an answer. Too many factors to work through. Are you really going to perform like this?

  “You’re the only person I’ve met who’s seemed familiar,” Joplin added. He raised an eyebrow. “Any guesses?”

  Reese hesitated.

  The king watched her, eyes half closed. “It’s just, there’s this wall.” He raised a hand and swiped it through the air as if to illustrate. “I can remember Tyrone’s men finding me. And before that, it’s all rain and confusing, and…” His hand stole to the bruise on his head. “And that’s all I can get.” His eyes opened and he looked at Reese, the barest hint of pleading on his face. “Why do I think I know you?” he asked.

  Reese could feel every knot in the wood behind her. If I don’t answer him, will he tip his hand? Her data couldn’t figure out a result. She took a breath. “You used to play chess with my father,” she said. “And sometimes with me.”

  The king snorted. “With you?” He folded his arms. “I bet you always won.”

  Something deep inside Reese cringed. You’ve won a few games in your time. The anti-ability edict, for one.

  Joplin scratched his chin. “So, your father and I were friends?”

  Reese pushed herself to her feet, steadying against the wall. “It’s getting dark,” she said. “We need to go.” Up the cliffs, in the gate. Focus on the work.

  “Reese.”

  She risked a glance in his direction. “What?”

  Joplin looked up at her, dimly visible in the fading light. “We’re going in there with guns and police,” he said. “The least you can do is answer a question.”

  Reese’s heart sank. Her tongue felt like wet leather. “You…” She swallowed hard. “I always thought you were friends,” she said. I can’t look at him. He’ll know I suspect something, but I can’t look at him. She hurried to the chest and knelt. The rusting metal lock held for a long moment, then rasped open. She pushed the lid back. A small pile of pistols and silencers lay amid mounds of roughly made ammunition chains. A tear ran down her cheek. “Time to go,” she said. “Better leave your coat. I
t’ll be a tight squeeze where we’re going.”

  Outside, the rain had stopped. In the growing twilight, dark puddles lay on the stained wood, looking like patches of polished glass. Reese checked the pistols stuffed into her belt. We have a few minutes before the mists get here. She looked at the king.

  Joplin gave her a nod. His pale shirt gleamed against the dusk.

  Too conspicuous, Reese told herself. But it won’t stay white for long. Not in this weather. She straightened. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Joplin slung an ammunition belt over his shoulder and moved into position behind Reese.

  Reese stiffened as his arms circled her waist. That should be Keller. She shoved the thought from her mind and focused in on the task at hand. Let the data run and follow it. I can at least pretend to trust him.

  She felt the rhythmic motion as the king counted to three, then his arms tightened and pulled her into the air. The ammunition chains bit into her back. Humid evening air blew past them. Reese tried to relax. Just a little longer. They dropped lower in the shadows and sailed across the last pier towards the cliff.

  Reese squinted hard. In the last few rays of the sun, the cliff stood huge and grey. Far below, a dark gash in the base of the cliff showed the main walkway and entrance. Reese elbowed Joplin’s right arm, steering him toward the secondary entrance higher in the wall.

  They flew higher, then started a fast diagonal descent.

  Reese drew one of her guns and clicked the silencer tight. I’ll have to start shooting almost before I see them. Calculate the angle of approach.

  A pale line showed in the grey stone. Then another. The two merged together into the rough outline of a door. A door with two guards.

  Reese fired twice. The bullets struck home and the guards fell to the iron-bound walkway.

  Joplin slowed their pace. Reese felt the backs of her legs bump against his as they leveled out beside the narrow catwalk. She reached out into the dusk and gripped the steel railing. “Got it,” she whispered. Joplin’s arms slid free, and he swooped past her, landing beside the guard’s bodies.