Eclipse the Flame

by Ingrid Seymour

  “And there’s something else you should know. Elliot is planning a meeting with Zara Hailstone. The Seattle resistance has weakened them, right? So I think they want to join forces. And if that happens, I doubt the city will stand a chance. I know they will meet at Elliot’s headquarters. I just don’t know when, but it will be soon. I may even be able to find out the exact day and time now that I have access to his personal calendar and email.”

  James takes a step closer. “Aydan may trust you, but I find all this very hard to believe. I saw you kill Oso. The girl I knew would’ve never done that.”

  My fingers wrap around the thumb drive and hide it inside a clenched fist. I remember the wet stickiness in my fingers as I fought my way back. I remember Oso’s shocked expression. I remember James’s hands around my neck. Does he remember the same? Will he ever be able to pretend it wasn’t me?

  He takes another step, forcing me to look up. “I say you’re here to trick us, to lay a nice little trap to draw us out and finish us.”

  My vision wavers with unshed tears. In this moment, I hate James McCray with all I’ve got. I hate that he reminds me of Dad and that I doggedly look up to him even when I’d rather not.

  “James—” Aydan begins.

  James puts a hand up to silence him. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “There’s nothing to say.” I inhale deeply and don’t blink. “It’s my fault that The Tank was destroyed, that Oso is dead. I tried to be strong, and I was … in the end. But it wasn’t enough. I live with it every day.” Tears find their way out against my will. I rake them away, angrily running my forearm over my face.

  “Marci doesn’t cry,” James says.

  “Fuck you,” I say between clenched teeth.

  He smirks. “And I’m not sure she curses either.”

  My fists shake with anger. I want to punch his teeth out, but he’s too damn fast. I wouldn’t even be able to hit his shadow.

  “She does have a temper, though.” James puts a hand on my shoulder. “For all our sakes, I do hope it’s you.” He puts his other hand out, asking for the thumb drive.

  I part with it, not without a nonsensical possessive feeling gnawing at my stomach.

  “I never wanted you to have to go through this, Marci.” He emphasizes my name. The way he says it makes it feel detached, as if this is something he would say to Marci, if she was here.

  “I should have … kept you safe.” He drops his hand from my shoulder, looks at the thumb drive. “Thank you, if thanks are deserved. We will look into it very carefully.”

  He hands Aydan the thumb drive, walks to the Harley and mounts it.

  “You understand why I can’t invite you to come with us,” he says, and it’s hardly a question.

  I do and I don’t. I guess one meeting is hardly enough to regain his trust. This time, however, I’d hoped I could go with them, hadn’t I? The realization tears me apart. This is why I asked to see James. This is what I had truly hoped for.

  Aydan takes a tentative step in my direction. James kicks the pedal, brings the engine roaring to life.

  “Let’s go, Aydan,” he orders.

  Aydan ignores the unequivocal command and walks to me. For a moment, his black eyes are tight pools of pure darkness. But, when he blinks, a blue sparkling light shines inside of them, very much like the fireworks display he cast on the lake the last time we met.

  A half smile tips his lips. “I’ve been practicing finesse,” he says. “What do you think?”

  “Nice,” I say, almost mirroring his smile, but not quite.

  He takes my hand, surprising me. Threading his finger with mine, he gives them a reassuring squeeze.

  “You won’t go back, right? You promised you’d leave, if you found something big. This is big,” he says. “Hide. You’ve done enough.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I’d rather die fighting, than hide like a coward.”

  “No one could ever call you that,” he says.

  I pry my hand away from his. “Do what you have to do, and I’ll do the same.”

  “I would take you back if it was up to me.”

  “I know.”

  He wraps me in a tight hug as if he’d never let me go. My arms stay stiff at my sides, while inside my every muscle and bone disintegrates into pieces.

  “Someday, this will end, and I won’t rest until everyone understands your sacrifice.” He lets go, turns his back, hiding his eyes, and rides away with James.

  Chapter 47

  Waiting and not knowing is excruciating—at times, more so than the torture I endured at Doctor Sting’s hands. For the first couple of days, I held out the hope that James would contact me, that he would realize the information is real and would be grateful and ready to take me back. But that hasn’t happened, and all I got is silence, even after I found out the details of Elliot and Zara’s meeting and passed them along to Aydan—who didn’t seem to have much time for me either.

  Now, hope has abandoned me for good, and I find again that life can very quickly lose its meaning when there’s no one left to look up to, to argue with, to love. So, every minute, I die a little and feel, not like a Trojan, but like a parasite among parasites.

  I eat their food and shuffle their dishes. Onyx got me a job in her kitchen, and it revolts me—the thought that I’ve become their servant. I tell myself there’s a reason I’m here, that something will happen soon, and—when it does—I’ll be ready to make a difference.

  “One more day. Only one more day,” I murmur, knowing that I won’t survive another hour, if I look too far into the future.

  “She’s talking to the dirty dishes again,” a lanky girl with eyes like a lynx says. She’s in charge of keeping the kitchen clean, picking up spills, taking out the garbage, scrubbing the sinks.

  I ignore her, so does everyone else. This place runs from 4 A.M. to 11 P.M. nonstop. No one has time for the crazy girl who repeats everything she says—not if she keeps the conveyor belt flowing and the industrial dishwasher pumping out clean pots and dishes, which I do, flawlessly. So well that even Lyra seems to have lost interest in me, even after I went missing for two hours the night I met James. I guess she’s now bored of always finding me where I’m supposed to be, even when she pops in at the oddest times.

  It has been a week since that night, and all I’ve gotten for my efforts is a big fat zero. Elliot’s meeting with Zara is tomorrow in conference room 103. I will wait until then. If nothing happens, I guess it will be time to take Aydan’s advice and leave.

  “One more day,” I repeat under my breath.

  Wiping my hands on my dirty apron, I head back out into the dining area. It’s dinner time, the busiest meal of the day, when the creatures are back from chasing the humans who fight back, when their hunting stories are the loudest and I’m more likely to stab someone’s eyeball with the tip of a sauce-smeared table knife.

  I keep my head low and walk between tables, picking up trays and delivering them to the blue conveyor belt. Most, if not all, don’t pick up after themselves. The pecking order is clear. Everyone has a rank and, with that, no need for manners. If Azrael takes over me again, at least I can be consoled by the fact that her rank will have her doing dishes for the rest of her life.

  A large leg appears in my path. I stop, look up and find that it’s attached to Tusks.

  “I see you’ve found a job that suits you,” he says, stretching his horrible mouth in a twisted, foul grin. There’s greasy sauce on his chin and half-chewed food visible past his tusks. He smells like a pork chop. How anyone can stand to eat with him is a mystery, and a good one, judging by every occupied seat at his table.

  I ignore him and try to walk around. He scoots his chair and lifts his leg higher to better block my way. I turn to go back the way I came, but he stands and plants his massive body in front of me.

  “I have another job for you,” he
says. “My boots need shining. I want you to clean them … with your tongue.”

  Everyone at his table laughs as if they’ve never heard anything funnier.

  “C’mon, what are you waiting for?” he demands, sweeping my feet from under me with one swift kick.

  I land on all fours and, again, find myself face to face with his massive scuffed boots. My ribs hurt with phantom reminders of his vicious kicks. I try to stand, but he puts a foot on my shoulder and keeps me down. His dinner pals snicker.

  “Lick. My. Boots,” he orders me, his foot crushing me down.

  My arms tremble as I try to keep myself from collapsing on my stomach. I push upward, but he’s too heavy. My elbows buckle. My face is inches from his boot. I work a thick ball of saliva in my mouth and spit it on top of the shoelaces.

  “Lick them yourself, if you can, you dirty hog,” I say, ready to get trampled again, because I’d rather die than stoop any lower than I already have.

  Someone at an adjacent table cackles. “Nope, I don’t think he could get the boot past that regrettable grill.”

  Both tables burst into laughter. Tusks lets out a guttural growl, pushes his foot out and sends me rolling to the side. I hurry to my feet, turn to run, but his enormous hand takes me by the neck and reels me back in. I duck to one side, get free and throw a round kick to his stomach. He grunts, but that’s it. It’s like hitting a heavy bag, not someone made of actual flesh and blood.

  I throw another kick. He blocks it, grabs my leg and hurls me on top of his table. Drinks and plates fly in every direction. Everyone scatters. Tusks lumbers in my direction, his pig eyes glinting with murder. I paw the table and come up with a handful of spaghetti dripping with red sauce. Aiming for his face, I fling the food and hit the mark.

  Tusks swats noodles off his eyes. Snarling like a beast, he pulls me down, grabs me by the neck and winds his fist back. I close my eyes.

  “I said ORDER!” a commanding voice shouts.

  The room goes utterly silent. Tusks’s fist freezes midway, and it is then that I notice my head has started buzzing just a little louder.

  Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone stands to attention.

  Elliot is in the room.

  Chapter 48

  Elliot’s golden eyes go over the crowd, then stop at the spilled drinks and food. His mouth curls in distaste. He smooths his gray suit as if he’s been soiled by association. Lyra and Dillon move into my field of vision among the other curious onlookers. Elliot’s gaze settles on Tusks for a moment. The mammoth creature seems to shrink several inches. An anxious grunt escapes through his nose as his dime-sized eyes stare at his leader’s polished shoes.

  At last, Elliot’s eyes settle on me. The expression of disgust on his face doubles. “I had quite forgotten about you,” he says.

  I stare at his shoes, too, even though I want to crawl under the table and make myself invisible; the way I might have if it wasn’t for Tusks, The Brutish Boar.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to find out you’re causing trouble.” Disdain drips from Elliot’s tone.

  What? So I get the blame for this?

  Tusks stretches back to his normal height.

  My anger gathers, boiling down to a single point. It feels powerful, like a laser beam I could use to sever Elliot’s head off. My heart hammers. My face grows hot. I could kill him now, tear those creepy eyes out, even if his freaks make a feast out of me afterward. I take a step forward.

  Lyra and Dillon move to flank Elliot.

  “This way, please,” Lyra says, pointing to the back of the room where a handful of empty tables sit above the rest on a sort of dais.

  Elliot’s attention snaps away from me, and he leaves as if I’ve blinked out of existence. Tusks looks put out. My anger finds itself trapped, and I feel as if it might blow through the top of my head, spilling brain matter everywhere.

  I step back and slip from the crowd as everyone follows Elliot like a magnet they can’t resist. He climbs onto the raised dining area and faces his followers.

  A shiver crawls up my back, and I notice the temperature has dropped a few degrees. Cold air blows through the overhead vents. Elliot fusses with the cuffs of his shirt, then the sleeve of his jacket. It’s a strange habit I’ve noticed before. It makes him look uncomfortable in his fancy suit—odd considering the fact he’s always dressed like he’s going to a state dinner.

  He addresses the crowd, around eighty Eklyptors of his personal army. “The fight beyond these walls persists. You, my generals and captains, continue to direct the troops, purging Seattle as well as other key cities in which we have strongholds. Some are doing better than others. London’s Takeover is a great example of efficiency from which you can all learn. I wish to visit, so I expect improvements on this end as soon as possible, so I may do so.”

  A thick-skinned man near me mumbles under his breath. “It’s an island, of course it was easy.” A few around him grumble in approval.

  “I’m disappointed at the inability to crush the resistance. These IgNiTe rebels need to be dealt with sooner rather than later. We have waited long enough to get here. Are you not ready to cherish the spoils of this centuries-old struggle?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Several pump their fists in the air.

  Centuries? Have they really been planning to take humans over that long? All while we killed each other through God knows how many wars? How is it possible to have been so blind?

  “Several cities have been particularly troublesome,” Elliot continues, “though none as troublesome as this. IgNiTe has succeeded in recruiting too many people.”

  My heart beats harder at this news. It isn’t new, but coming from Elliot’s lips it feels more real. If he’s worried, it means I can at least allow myself a few cocky smiles, even as I rinse his dishes.

  “Our progress in converting the rest of the population is not satisfactory!” The veins behind his ridiculous, ever-present cravat bulge like ropes.

  Converting? What are they? Evangelists? They’re a revolting, parasitic infection. Nothing more. Nothing less. They’re infecting us, contaminating us, robbing us. They need to call things by their name.

  Elliot paces, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. “This is why, we’ve had a cease in hostilities with the Hailstone faction. It is counterproductive to battle each other over territories that haven’t been properly cleansed. This is why we will be combining and focusing our efforts with them until further notice.”

  Protests go around the room.

  “Silence!” Elliot commands. “We have come too far to risk failure. Humans might be weak, but they are resourceful. We cannot underestimate them. There are rumors about a vaccine, even a cure against us.”

  “What? No way!” the guy next to me says. Murmurs move in a wave across the room.

  The world of my past, the one I try to picture every night, seems to lift out of the fog that always obscures it.

  A Cure?

  Is it truly possible? Could there be a cure already? Did Kristen finally do it? My heart thuds and thuds, each pump trying to resuscitate my dying faith.

  “It is my belief that, at the moment, that is all they are, rumors,” Elliot says with conviction. “And we need to ensure it stays that way. Consequently, our interim alliance with Hailstone. I will hold a meeting with their leader tomorrow. This is our course of action until further notice. Understood?”

  Reluctant grumbles are the only response to his question.

  “Understood?” he repeats, punctuating each syllable.

  Everyone changes their tune, filling the room with forced positivity.

  “Yes.”

  “Of course.”

  “Understood, Sir.”

  I ease away from the crowd, back toward the kitchen. A resolute feeling swells in my chest. IgNiTe is fighting, others are fighting, fiercely enough to prompt Whitehouse and Hailstone to worry about their success and form an alliance. Every human out there—whether as part of a group or alone�
��is making a difference, so why can’t I?

  It was feeble to think I should leave this place if James didn’t call me, didn’t ask me to be part of his team again. But it really doesn’t matter if I’m with him or not. There’s no way I would give less than everyone else is giving. So even if I have to do it by myself, even if my efforts don’t go a long way, I will stay and find a way to make a difference.

  Every drop counts. If we must bleed to win, my blood is as red as any.

  Chapter 49

  A gun and a large case of bullet clips wait for me inside the broom closet in the first floor. Lyra should have never showed me their arsenal. It was too easy to sneak in and out and get what I needed.

  I wring my hands together as I sit at the edge of my bed. I check my watch again, something I’ve been doing compulsively since I woke up. Elliot’s meeting is in thirty minutes. The barracks are empty. Everyone in charge of anything is in position for the event. Today no one will slack. There are guards in every corner.

  One hundred strong.

  One hundred.

  Against one.

  My stomach tumbles. I press a hand to the spot and will my nerves to settle. A presentiment of something bad to come, I suppose. How useless these feelings are. What is the point of a premonition when the actions that will lead you there are inevitable?

  I slip the bullet out of my pocket. It’s the same one I snatched from the metal box the day Lyra made me stack ammunition. I rub my thumb against its cool, golden metal, imagining it traveling through the air, spiraling toward Elliot and striking him right in the chest.

  The thought of ending his life leaves no guilt behind, only satisfaction. True, Oso is dead because I couldn’t fend off the agent, but it was Elliot who caused my lapse.