“Well . . .” says Johnny. “This is awkward.”
“You’re telling me,” Pedro says.
I catch Jax staring up the hill again. “Go. I can tell you’re dying to.”
“Oh no, I’m—”
“Please. Just go.”
With a second’s thought, he takes off after her, and I slump down next to Mateo.
“Will you three come with me?” Smudge asks Johnny, Pedro, and Emerson. “I want to ask Raffai if he knows anything, or needs us . . . for any reason.”
They take turns eyeing me and Mateo, aware of what she’s doing, so they agree and follow her toward the bunker.
After they’re gone, Mateo cocks his head and peers at me from his peripheral. “You okay?”
“Yeah. And I . . . I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“You owe me no apology, Joy—none, whatsoever.” He stares back out at the water, a hint of a smile hungry on his lips. “That’s one lucky guy. And he has no clue how lucky he is.”
“Mateo, I’m pregnant.”
He jolts to face me. “Really? Is it . . . his?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know?”
“No. I . . . haven’t told him yet.”
“Ah, man . . .” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wow.”
“Tell me about it.”
The horizon screens buzz, then flicker on—a sunny day with a few clouds in the sky. I squint at the brightness. The water moves at its farthest point, near the wave wall, and in seconds, a tiny ripple reaches the shore.
I peer behind us at Smudge and the boys with Raffai. “You got it back on?” I call to them.
“It came on by itself,” Smudge calls back.
“Let’s hope it stays on,” Raffai says with a head shake.
“Well,” Mateo says, “at least it’s a beautiful day . . . again . . . kind of.”
We share a laugh, but it’s short-lived.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything. It’s been hell keeping these secrets.”
“I get it. And it’s okay. Now I understand why you’ve been so . . . distant. You’ve had a lot on your mind. I was hoping you’d tell me what it was. Is that why you’ve been sick? The . . . pregnant thing?”
“Yes. And I’m also sorry you found out about Zentao the way you did.”
He cups my hand between his own. “It’s fine. One hell of a shock, that’s for sure; I almost choked on my heart, to be honest.” He winks and laces his fingers through mine. “Joy, you can tell me anything, okay? And I promise it’ll stay between us.”
“Okay . . .”
“Is there something else?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure how I feel about you . . . or Jax. One minute I think I do, and then . . . it changes. I don’t want to lead you on, but I also don’t want to run you off. There’s this connection with you I’ve never had with anyone before. I need to take things slow, though, so I don’t hurt anyone else.”
“Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m willing to wait patiently for you. If you have to get Jax out of your system first, then there’s nothing I can do about that. I’ll be jealous, of course; how could I not be? You’re beautiful, strong, sexy . . . and I’ve had some damn good dreams about you.” He laughs, and I give him a playful whack in the bicep. “But I won’t be mad at you, or hold it against you. In fact, when you realize he’s not what you want”—he leans in close, his hot breath against my ear re-igniting that inferno—“I’ll take you up on that alone time you promised me back at Gomorrah.”
I want to slap that voice in my head that says: How about now?
I must be teetering on the edge of absolute insanity. This is not the Joy I know. She wouldn’t hop from one boy to the next within an hour of each other, especially with the unnerving situation at hand. We could be seconds from attack . . .
Yet we could be hours from death and never get this opportunity again.
I grip Mateo’s hand. ”Meet me in the girl’s washroom at midnight.”
“Hell yes, I will.” He flashes a devilish grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Baby Lou’s soft snoring from her crib lures me toward slumber. Once again I peel my eyelids back to check the green numbers on the tiny clock on the nightstand: 11:56. I sit up and stretch, then yawn, shedding my night clothes to slip on the snug black pants and shirt Ms. Ruby hemmed for me a few days ago. The pants are equipped with a stretchy waistband with notches and buttons so I can “let the waist out as my belly grows,” she said. I don’t want to think about that.
After making sure Baby Lou’s covered, I sneak over to Serna’s room. Her door squeaks open, and I shiver. I jostle her, and she mumbles something, squinting up at me.
“Can you listen for Baby Lou? I have to run downstairs, but I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay, Joy.” She yawns. “Be safe.”
“I will be. Thank you.”
I tiptoe out into the hallway, cursing myself for doing this when I should crawl back into bed and go to sleep. I shouldn’t continue to complicate things. But I can’t help it. I’m powerless over the influence of my mother’s genes . . . the ones that seek out comfort and distraction amid despair. It’s weak. Fearful. Cowardly. And nothing like Zephyr the Magnificent. Still, I descend the stairs.
When I get to the doorway of the girl’s washroom, a hand tugs me into the shadows. “There you are. I thought you might’ve changed your mind.”
“Not yet,” I tease.
He guides me into the dark washroom, where the sound of bubbling water echoes in my ears.
“You turned the bubbles on?”
“Yup.”
“I wasn’t planning on getting in—”
“Ah, come on . . . I brought you something.” He reaches into his pocket, then he holds up the glass flask of soap with a wink. My stomach flutters. He pulls me to his chest, runs his fingers through my hair. “When was the last time you had someone else wash your hair for you?”
“Uh . . . when I was a little girl.” A shiver rolls over my body, a little earthquake of excitement, nervousness, desire, and a bit of fear.
“May I?”
“Mateo—”
“I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise.”
The burning inside me won’t let me say no. I’m a trembling mess before him. “Okay.”
We strip to our skivvies, and I’m thankful for the dark room. He leads me over to the ramp and together we wade into the black bubbles. There’s enough light to make out Mateo’s sleek silhouette, his chiseled body and firm jawline, the glow of his white hair. He spins me around in the bubbly warm water until I’m cradled against his bare chest. With one strong arm he dips me back so my hair’s submerged then draws me upright. Seconds later a cool sensation meets his fingertips, massaging my hair like he’s done it a thousand times.
“Ms. Ruby seems familiar,” he says.
“Oh? Who does she remind you of?”
“She reminds me of . . . Never mind. I’m sure it’s a coincidence.” He runs his fingernails in a circular motion over my scalp, and I tremble, melting against him.
“Have you ever done this before?” I shiver again, chill bumps ravaging my body.
“Well, I’ve washed Pia’s hair plenty, but never . . . this.”
“You’re really good at it.”
Mateo chuckles. “Thanks. You deserve to be treated like a queen. After all you’ve been through in your life, after being the caretaker for so long . . . it’s about time someone took care of you.”
I can’t respond other than through moans of delight. An attractive boy washing my hair is now at the top of my list of things I hope to experience again before I die. And before I realize it, my lips search for his to find them waiting. This kiss is different—soft and slow, deliberate. Patient, perfe
ct.
“Do you know how I feel about you, Joy?”
“Yes. I feel the same way. I’ve just been . . . overwhelmed with everything.”
“I understand, but we can’t keep going back and forth. I don’t mean to pressure you, but . . . if this is what you want, please tell me. And him.”
“I do. And I will. Tomorrow.”
“You sure? What about the thing with Jax earlier?”
“That was a mistake. No matter how much I try to reason with myself, I can’t deny my feelings for you. But . . .”
“But?”
“Let’s not rush into this.”
“Whatever you need. I just want to take care of you.” He places a warm hand on my belly. “Both of you.”
When I return to my room, it’s already two a.m. My high from giggles and distraction with Mateo has subsided, leaving me achy with guilt. The rest of the building is silent, unaware of my weakness in their slumber. I comb my dampened hair and count the stars through my window. Eighty-nine, and one giant fake moon in Zentao. I break away from them to gaze at Baby Lou’s sleeping face, and sigh. Snuggled in soft, ruffled blankets with new clothes, a full tummy, and more love and care than she’s ever had. Things could be worse than fake stars, I suppose.
A blinking in my peripheral catches my attention. The numbers on my clock flicker, then go dark. Through the window, the emergency lights follow with an echoing clack that reverberates through the silence, sending chills through me. I hold my breath, waiting for them to click back on.
A light from the doorway startles me. “Joy?” Smudge holds a lit finger up to illuminate the room.
“Yeah, what’s going on? This can’t be a good thing.”
“I’m not sure . . . but no, it isn’t. We need to find Raffai. And be prepared.”
“For what?”
“For anything. Come on, let’s go downstairs.”
On the way down, I tremble with nervous anticipation of what’s next. Smudge leads me to the front room, points above the armchair in the corner. “You might want that.”
On a wall shelf, lying sideways, is something long, skinny, and pointy at one end. I jog over and rise on tiptoe to get it down. My spear from the Tree Factory.
“And this.” She holds out a small black gun. “The safety is on. Do you remember how to operate it?”
I take it from her. “Yes.”
“Good, because . . . Cheyenne was right, Joy.” The despair in her voice grips my heart and lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “Our journey isn’t over yet.”
I tuck the weapon into my waistband while footsteps descend the stairs. Mateo and Emerson appear in the candlelight.
“What’s going on, you two?” asks Emerson.
“We’re not sure,” I say, “but it’s not good.”
Mateo spies my gun. “Damn, can we get more of those, Smudge?”
“Yes, from Raffai. We’ll have to take some lanterns from the kitchen and go find him.”
“I got ’em.” Emerson heads off to the hallway.
“I’ll go with you.” Smudge holds a hand in the air and wiggles fingers lit up blue. “I have these.”
“All right, you lead the way, then, Miss Smudge.” And the two of them disappear down the hallway.
“Can I hang on to that?” Mateo points at the gun. “I want to be able to protect you. If I need to, I mean.”
I give it to him, and sit on the tiny couch.
“You okay?” He plops down beside me.
“No. When will this be over?”
He takes my hand, kisses my cheek. “Hopefully soon.”
“Aww . . . how sweet is that?” Jax’s voice from the bottom of the stairs makes my heart pound.
I release Mateo’s hand. “Jax, I—”
“No, it’s fine, Joy.” He pushes away from the wall. “What happened between us earlier . . . it meant zip to me, too.”
He heads back upstairs, and I’m numb at his words. Did it mean nothing? Was it just another moment of needing easy comfort, and that’s it? I do miss my friend . . . but things are different. We’ve changed.
“At least he knows now.” Mateo takes my hand again.
“I wanted to tell him, not be . . . discovered.”
“Maybe it’s best this way. So there’s no denying the truth.”
I wish I could say the same. But trusting my perception of the world around me, and of myself, is becoming harder with each passing moment.
Question everything, my daughter. My daddy’s words haunt me; I wish they’d stop. I don’t want to always wait for the ugly truth to be revealed. So far, since we’ve been in Zentao—our supposed paradise—these fears have proven rational. So, this is my life, I guess. I’ll never be sure of anything. I’ll forever search for clues, for lies, for the secrets that make the magic work . . . which eliminates the magic. Same as it did for my mother. I’m more her than my father . . . I realize that now. And I’m positive I loathe what I see.
But didn’t my daddy encourage these things? Why would he do that? For the first time, the inconsistency in his character stares me in the face. Why did he mold me into this unstable, ever-suspicious girl? Why not teach me the magic, to escape from water-filled boxes, instead? To break free from chains and defy death? It might’ve proven more useful than neediness, paranoia, and insanity. Though, in the end, magic didn’t save him, either, nor me the sorrow of losing him.
“You okay?” Mateo asks again. “Sorry, I know I keep asking . . . You just don’t seem okay. I’m . . . worried about you.”
I grip the spear in a tight fist, tap it on the floor, trying to calm myself down. “My outlook is rather dreary at the moment.”
“I can imagine.”
“I think I need to lower my standards of what ‘okay’ means to me. Because, if I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ‘okay.’”
“Um . . .”
“I mean, I guess I should get over the whole letdown of our paradise being a lie and focus on the now instead. On what I have”—I squeeze his hand—“and what I have to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Same as always: protect the ones I love.”
A clanking echoes down the hallway, and an aura of greenish light grows larger with two pairs of footsteps. Soon, Smudge and Emerson appear, four liqui-lanterns between them. They set them down onto the table in front of us.
“So what now?” Emerson scratches his chin. “Go find Raffai?”
“Someone should stay here and keep watch,” I say.
“Do you want to?” Smudge asks.
“Well, I’d rather hear what Raffai has to say, so . . .”
“Should we wake up Johnny and Pedro?” Emerson throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Have ’em stand guard?”
I prop my spear against the wall by the front door. “Yeah, they can guard down here while we go, and I’ll have Serna listen upstairs.”
Emerson and I each take a candle and a lantern upstairs. We part ways at the girls’ floor, and I enter the second room on the right.
“Serna?” I place the candle on her nightstand and give her a shake.
“You back?” She yawns.
“Yes, but I need you to wake up and listen.”
She bolts upright. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to tell you the truth about Zentao.”
She listens while I smash her illusion, decimating the magic for her, too, like I will for everyone else, soon. Much to my surprise, she takes it well. Seems I wasn’t the only one who suspected strange happenings here. She rises from her bed, white nightclothes glowing green in the liqui-lantern light, and walks to the window to peer out at pitch-black darkness. “Wow that sucks.”
“Yeah. I’m so sorry. I feel horrible.”
“Don’t. You got us to safety. You know? At least we’
re safe.”
“Well, that’s the thing—we’re not.”
“What do you mean?”
“The power’s out. All of it. That’s never happened before. It might be the Subterrane or Alzanei preparing to attack.”
She yawns, scratches her shaggy mess of brown curls. “So . . . what do we do?”
“We’re going to find out what Raffai knows so we’re prepared for whatever comes next. And if we’re not back within an hour, or . . . something happens that makes you scared for the children, wake up Ms. Ruby, okay?”
Serna sighs, forehead wrinkled in worry. “I hate this.”
“Me, too. I’m so sorry.”
“How much longer do we have to live like this?”
“I don’t know. I wish I had the answer to that question.”
“Do you ever wish we could just go back to the Tree Factory, Joy?”
“Uh . . . no, never. Do you?”
“At least we knew what to expect every day.”
“That’s true, still . . .”
What a sad life for a child who must consider which hell they’d choose over the other. And that this newfound “freedom” makes anyone miss the Tree Factory of rot and death burns me hot with fury. There’s a better life somewhere on this planet. It may not be paradise, but it’s something. And I have to find it.
“I’ll be back soon.” I hug Serna’s neck.
“Okay. Be safe.”
I grip the lantern handle, making my way out of her room. After a quick check on Baby Lou, I head down the stairs. A yawning Johnny and sleepy-eyed Pedro prepare to stand guard, while everyone else—minus Jax and Vila—wait to venture out.
“You ready?” Smudge asks.
“Hang on . . .” I pause at the foot of the stairs. “Jax is great with electricity and things. We should have him check out the power. Do you know where the control panels are?”
The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2) Page 6