Round Trip Fare

by Barb Taub

  “He told me not to tell anyone if I saw you. But he gave me some stuff for you. So I just want to know a couple of things. What happened to your house? Where is Marley? Does this have anything to do with Mr. Tattooed Hotness Ex-Warden? Just a few answers to simple questions, and I can hand over the stuff from the Director and toddle off to drop little Miss Succubitch at Null City.”

  Carey thought about it but said nothing.

  Claire sighed, dropping her hand. “Okay. Talk now.”

  “Director Jeffers told you it would be safer if you didn’t know what was going on, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

  “’Course he did.” Claire snorted. “And?”

  Carey nodded. “You’ve always been better at the strategy stuff than anyone I know. I could use your take on this one. Another cookie?”

  It took the rest of the package of cookies, two pages of notes on Claire’s iPad, and two more cups of tea before Claire sat back and shoved her pencil into that perfect hair twist. “Okay. So the way I see it, you think you have three problems. First, you need to find out who took Marley and why. Second, you need to find your brother and figure out if he’s really…well, find out what he’s up to. And third, you need to rescue this Raziel guy.”

  Carey nodded.

  “But Carey, that just doesn’t make sense. Three separate, desperate situations at once? Why you? Why now?” Claire took the pencil from her hair and waved it to make her point.

  Carey knew her silence would make Claire crazy, so she just stared at that hair. How could it still look so perfect?

  Claire made an annoyed sound.

  Maybe she spelled it. Probably not, though. Claire’s spells were good, but she was relatively young as witches went, so they didn’t usually last that long.

  “Carey Parker, now you’re just being mean. Again.”

  Carey smiled. “Okay, Claire. We both know you’re going to tell me something brilliant that will make everything clear. So how about you just get to it and save the dramatics?”

  “You always did take all the fun out of things.” Claire’s complaint was automatic, but her attention was focused on the iPad’s notes. “Okay, here goes. You don’t have three separate problems. They’re all the same one. Remember when I tried to teach you to knit and you kept getting all your yarn into tangles? And I said that to detangle it, you have to tug on each section of the yarn, undoing it a little bit at a time from all sides. You never learned to knit, but you became the best detangler I’ve ever seen.”

  Carey blinked at her. “I have to knit something?”

  Claire looked impatient. “You have to unravel the mess by pulling all over to loosen the tangles, until you get to the point where you see the whole string.”

  Reaching over to pull up the overnight case she’d brought with her, Claire added, “And I’m pretty sick of this whole yarn metaphor because you never could knit worth crap. So why don’t you take a look at what the Director sent.” She opened the case and flipped through the contents. “Two pairs of jeans, three white T-shirts, two sports bras, six days-of-the-week panties—no Sunday—four pairs of socks, running shoes, ultra-light down parka, hoodie, sweater, and a Glock with a couple boxes of ammunition.”

  “Director Jeffers got me days-of-the-week panties?”

  “Well, he got the Glock. He said it might not be as small a concealed carry as your purple girlie popgun, but it would be a hell of a lot more accurate. His credit card and my legwork got the rest. Oh, and he handed me one more thing at the last minute.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled an elegant knife from its silver-tipped sheath. “He said you’d know where this came from.”

  Carey picked up the knife and ran a fingertip over the handle. Harry!

  A bells-voice overhead announced the approaching Null City Station. Claire stood and gestured to Leigh Ann. “Come on. I can’t wait to drop you off.”

  They waited until the suits and imps had left the adjoining car under Bain’s watchful eye. Then Claire helped Leigh Ann haul her suitcases to the door. From the platform, she turned back to Carey, still standing in the doorway of the car. “You know, it might be a good thing that you don’t have your gift. You keep trying to pull connections to each separate problem. But if it’s all the same one, the connections are just that big tangled ball. Maybe it’s time for some disconnecting.”

  Claire turned to yell at Leigh Ann, who was flashing her dimples at the two men reaching for her heavy cases. “And you can just stop right there, Missy. I haven’t signed your release yet. There’s still time for us to revisit that decision to shorten your sentence.” By the time she’d corralled a sulking Leigh Ann, the train was already pulling out of the station, and Claire only had time to morph a quick call-me hand signal into a wave.

  When Carey got back to the kitchen, her phone was alerting for an arriving text.

  Harry: All good?

  Carey: Thanks for the knife. You’re forgiven for missing my last birthday. What are you going to do about the seven you missed before that?

  Harry: Keep that knife sharp. And the only birthdays that matter are the ones you’ve got left.

  Carey: Well, neither of us is going to die. You know why? Because I’m just too stubborn and you already died.

  Harry: I’m pretty sure other orphans are more grateful to their guardians instead of reminding them that they’re technically dead.

  Carey: I’m pretty sure other guardians tell their kids to make good choices and live up to their potential, instead of reminding them to keep their weapons sharpened.

  Harry: Make good choices.

  Carey: Love you, Harry.

  Sitting at the counter in the kitchen car, Carey hit Send and put away her phone, eyeing the trolley full of dirty china. She still hadn’t made friends with the giant industrial dishwasher. So with a groan, she washed dishes by hand while she grimly concentrated on not reaching for her connections. She shuddered. How do normal people stand being so…disconnected?

  »»•««

  As days turned to weeks, her time on the Metro settled into a routine. She reorganized the kitchen, put out supply requests, collected random supplies still arriving from previous SA orders, and talked to passengers whenever they seemed willing. She even had some who became friendly as they traveled the Metro on a regular basis.

  Tall, uniformly beautiful Nephilim of both sexes made obligatory passes which she politely declined. Wardens using the Accords Agency pass were occasional passengers as they escorted prisoners to Null City or worked ARC searches. Pete, a regular Metro passenger and the leader of the pillow-tossing imps the day Claire had been transporting Leigh Ann, liked to bargain.

  Actually, imps were her most frequent customers as they traveled to staff Pete’s chain of Lattes Inferno coffee shops at each Metro station. Carey had to admit that their devotion to artisan roast coffee surpassed even her own. Usually, they came back into the kitchen car with her to make their own espressos because they claimed she didn’t do it right. She would bargain with them, trading whatever chocolate she’d managed to hoard for the imported beans they always had with them. In addition to their obsessive addiction to coffee and chocolate, imps were insulting, argumentative, and rude. They drove tough bargains and were ruthlessly quick to exploit any weakness in her position. She loved them. She did wonder what that said about her, though.

  Most of all, although she missed her gift for connections, she listened. At first it was just a word repeated once or twice. Rian. Somehow, everybody knew the name. They’d met a tall friendly man in a bar. At a store. In a park. They’d shared a drink, a conversation. Often he’d been there to offer a small assistance, a suggestion that later proved exactly right, an eerily correct prediction that came true. Nobody thought too much about their encounters, but the mentions of the name Rian continued to pile up, too often to be ignored.

  She took to mentioning the name herself, hoarding the responses, trying to build a picture. He was tall, all agreed. An Irish accent that some
reported to be thick while others described as just a hint. Some said he was young, others said middle-aged. He was friendly, helpful, interested in them. And he revealed nothing about himself. Strange.

  »»•««

  June 2011: Metro Train

  The bells-voice announced that the Metro was headed for Seattle, so there should be time for one more pass with the food cart. There were only two passengers, a pair of Nephilim Wardens heading back from an Amnesty Day visit with a Null City relative. They all chatted, exchanging gossip about Accords acquaintances. Like many Nephilim, these two had the tall, gorgeous, sex-god-in-training thing going on, and each made a half-hearted pass at her. She refused their offers to exchange phone numbers, pointing out that she couldn’t receive calls or texts on the Metro. Her phone rang.

  She could feel her cheeks flush as she held up Harry’s little phone. “Spelled for my family,” she muttered and escaped to the next car.

  “So, do you already miss me? It’s been a whole day since we talked.” She was laughing as she waited for Harry’s answer.

  “Hello, Midget. I do miss you.” The voice on the other end was deeper, but she knew it. She collapsed onto the nearest bench seat. “Connor?” Her own voice was the barest whisper. She sucked in a breath and tried again. “Connor!”

  “Ouch. I can tell there’s nothing wrong with your lungs.”

  “Where…” She stopped and tried to think. “Where are you? How did you reach me? And where have you been?” Her voice sped up as the questions poured out. “What have you been doing all these years? Are you working with the Outsiders? Do you have Marley? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

  His laugh sounded rusty, unused. Well, he never did laugh much, at anything but her. “Slow down, Midget. We don’t have much time.”

  She took a breath. “Okay. Talk to me, Connor. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t have time to tell you everything. But after…the ranch…Marley’s friend Narcorial found me. He explained that he and Marley were trying to stop Raziel from giving away a book that has the power to unmake Creation. Gaby and Luic used that Book back in the 1890s to power Null City, and it’s still there. But Null City isn’t strong enough to protect the Book from being used to destroy the world. The only way to save everything is to get the Book back and make sure that Raziel doesn’t make any more copies.”

  A tangled yarn pile of epic proportions was sitting in front of her. “You…you know what happened to Gaby and Luic?”

  “Later. It’s a long story, and I can’t talk for long. Right now, the important thing is to recover the Book.”

  “But…” She stared at the phone, not sure where to start. “What will happen to Null City if Raziel’s Book is removed?”

  She didn’t need her connections to tell that Connor’s voice echoed Narcorial’s all those years ago: the pure, gentle, implacable tones of judgment. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but some may have to be sacrificed if we’re going to save the world.”

  “But…Connor, you must be wrong. Harry…” Something made her stop.

  “Harry served Raziel from the beginning of Creation. Marley was Raziel’s servant too at first, but she came to understand the dangers of giving the Book to humans.”

  “Is that why you captured her? What did you do to her?”

  “Captured Marley? You don’t understand. She’s worked with us from the beginning. She didn’t come to Harry’s ranch just as our teacher. She was there in hopes you or I or Harry would lead her to Raziel. I know she feels bad about Harry being killed, but you remember I told you his string was short. His time was up.”

  Carey’s lips formed No! but she didn’t make a sound.

  “Carey? Are you still there, Twin?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I need to see you. Once you know everything, once you see what’s at stake, I know you’ll want to do the right thing. Together, we can save Creation. Can you come to me?”

  She had opened her iPad to the Halloween picture of the three of them. Gently, she touched a finger to the younger Connor’s face, ignoring the tears sliding down her cheeks. “Yes, of course I want to see you.”

  “I’ll send word. Soon. And Carey?”

  “What, Connor?”

  “I’ve missed you so much, Midget.”

  “I’ve missed you, Twin.” She hung up. “And I always will.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  June 2011: Seattle Metro Station

  “Seattle Metro Station,” said the bells-voice announcer. “Please make sure you have all your luggage and other belongings before leaving the train.”

  She stared at Harry’s cellphone in her hand. Flipping it closed, she reached for her own phone. It was probably still spelled for Claire, who was back in Null City. Carey hit the Talk button anyway.

  “Jeffers,” the phone barked.

  “Sir,” she whispered around the lump in her throat.

  “Carey, is that you? Are you hurt?” His growl was even louder.

  “I just talked to Connor.” She cleared her throat.

  “And?”

  “He wants me to join him.”

  “I see.” The silence stretched. “What are you going to do?”

  “I need to talk to Harry. But we both know I’m going to meet Connor. I don’t know if I can convince him that he’s wrong. But I have to try.”

  The bells-voice announced that the train was leaving. She climbed onto the steps of the nearest car as it started to move.

  “Carey, we need to talk about this first.” If she didn’t know better, she would have said he sounded…scared. Maybe he was just worried about her.

  “If you talk to Yosh, tell him I’m sorry, and he has to stay away. If Connor sees him, he might not contact me. Oh, and tell Claire she was right about the tangled yarn, but I’m working on it.” She tried a chuckle, but it sounded too close to a sob. “She loves being right.”

  “Carey, wait—”

  She disconnected the phone.

  »»•««

  Carey knew she had many strengths. Nobody ever suggested that patience was one of them. Waiting for Connor to contact her was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. Unfortunately, the Metro spent the next week making runs to other-whens, and Harry’s phone didn’t work on those trips.

  The reality of the plunging, churning shudders of the Metro as it crossed the time-gap between whens was, if anything, even worse than her memories of that nightmare trip with Harry and Connor so long ago. At least back then she’d had her twin, while Harry’s arms around her promised safety and protection.

  She didn’t even try to take out the food trolley on the time runs. Experience had shown her that the less her passengers consumed, the better for all concerned. Her SA predecessor—Zach No-Last-Name—was just too nice, she decided. Although she appreciated his hint about the clothespin, she saw no reason why she should be the one to do the cleanup. So at the beginning of each other-when run, she would inform all passengers that they were expected to use the Mind the Gap bags, and also that they were responsible for any ensuing…mess. With Bain next to her to provide encouragement, she rarely resorted to the clothespin.

  “On the other hand,” she told Bain as she stacked yet another load of incomprehensible supplies waiting for her at Between Station, “I’d like to meet Zach someday, just to ask him to explain the candles.” She waved a hand at the third carton of tiny cinnamon-scented tea-light candles she was trying to shove onto an already crowded shelf.

  »»•««

  “And whose bright idea was it to put a bed into an alcove with walls on three sides?” Carey grumbled as she finished making up her bed with freshly washed pink sheets and blankets. It was a bad sign, she knew, that her room was immaculate, her clothes hung or folded in the wardrobe, floor clear. Happiness never made her organize. And for her bed to be made as well was just all kinds of wrong. Bain pushed his head into her hand with a soft whine. “Worried, boy? Bet you never thought you’d live long enough to
see me with a neat room.”

  “How long you live doesn’t matter.” The deep voice came from behind her.

  “It’s what you live for that counts.” She turned to see Yosh leaning against her doorframe. “How did you get here? And how come I never hear you, and Bain never barks?”

  He grinned. “I’m just that good.” The train rumbled, and he swayed. As she leaped to steady him, she saw how pale he was. “Damn you, Yosh. You took the blood option?” She shoved under his shoulder and supported him to the alcove holding her bed, grumbling all the way. “Is this some kind of habit with you? Do you always have to show up minus a few pints of blood?”

  He shrugged his backpack and leather jacket onto the little chair next to the bed. She’d barely pulled back the blankets before he shoved off his boots and sprawled across the mattress, eyes closed. “So much for clean sheets and a made-up bed.” Carey put a hand to his wrist and frowned. “I’ll be right back. Bain, keep an eye on him.”

  Returning with a bottle of orange juice and a glass, she saw that he was asleep. Sighing, she set them next to the bed, shoved his legs over, and scooted onto the foot of the bed. After snagging one of the pillows, she pulled the blankets over both of them and leaned her back against the wall. Meeting her dog’s eyes, she dropped a hand to stroke his head and flip his ears. “Sorry, Wigglebutts. Apparently the big guy’s a bed hog, so I’m afraid it’s the floor for you tonight.”

  Clinking glass woke her. A glance at her phone’s clock showed they’d only slept a few hours. Seeing his hand reaching for the juice, she stood and filled the glass. “Can you sit up?” When he managed to prop himself against the wall at the head of the bed, she handed him the juice, muttering, “Déjà vu all over again…”

  “I guess that means you’re still not offering scotch?” He drained the juice and held it out for a refill. When the second glass was empty, he set it back on the shelf and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Where’s…”

  She pointed to the bathroom and offered her hand. But he shook his head and managed to get there on his own.