by Rachel West
“Clearly.” I nudge the bottle of pills towards Darren who pockets them with a laugh.
“Besides, Jaxon didn’t want you waking up alone. Things have gotten a little crazy up top while you’ve been lazing about.”
“Crazy?” I ask.
“Yeah. Riots and stuff, you know? Bad ones. Everyone’s upset about what they did to the kid.” Darren replies. As he speaks he emphasizes his words with his hands, the light reflecting off the thin silver ring he wears on his right hand. “They’re planning a raid to clean out the Crematorium.”
“What? When?” I pull myself up straighter. The Crematorium, with its dozens of warehouses and maze-like pathways will be especially dangerous to clear.
“Couple days, I think,” Darren replies. “Hey, hey! I think you might want to sit this one out.” Darren scrambles across the bed to stop me as I try to leap to my feet.
“Let go of me,” I snap.
Darren rears back, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Shit, Evie. I’m just saying, you don’t need to go running there right this second.”
I pull the sheets back and slide my feet onto the floor. Dizziness overtakes my vision, with a sharp cry I press my hands against my temples. I close my eyes against the spinning room, taking deep, calming breaths until I’ve re-oriented.
“You good?”
“Yes,” I mutter stubbornly as Darren wavers in my vision. He lets out a sharp bark of laughter, my lie obvious even to him.
“Need help getting dressed?”
I stare at him, confused for a second, before looking down at myself. A blush rises quick and hot into my cheeks. I’m wearing one of Jaxon’s shirts, the hem just barely reaching my naked thigh. I yelp again and jump across the room, using the aluminum wall to hold myself upright. “Don’t look!” I shout and Darren covers his eyes with his hands, breaking down into peals of laughter. I pull on a pair of pants, glaring menacingly at Darren the whole time as he blatantly peeks at me between his fingers.
Once dressed I begin to feel more like myself. I need to find Jaxon. And I should check on Ki and Kalia. And Annie. I shake my head, knowing there’s not time enough for them all. Jaxon first. I need to tell him of my suspicions…
“I’m heading up to the manor,” I tell Darren. “You coming?”
“Can’t do. I need to find Isabelle. Little bitchlette stole one of my tablets,” Darren says gravely like Isabelle has committed the greatest of sins.
A memory of the red-headed girl crosses my mind – of her standing there calmly surrounded by a frantic crowd when we found Ki. Like she expected it. “Do you trust her?”
“Who? Isabelle?” Darren asks dubiously. His head tilts to the side like a curious dog as he considers my question. “I don’t trust her,” he says and I smile, feeling my suspicions vindicated. “But I trust her reasons for being here.” I look at him questioningly and he continues on. “Her brother,” he explains. “She wants to find him. And I think you of all people know that you do whatever it takes for family.”
“I guess,” I mutter but my doubt is unresolved. The little things that have gone wrong ever since she arrived. The food gone missing. The medical supplies. The way she always hangs around Jaxon. And it’s awfully convenient that Isabelle’s search parties were the ones to find Ki, affirming her trustworthiness. But I draw my lips into a tight line and refuse to say anything further. Jaxon is the one I need to discuss this with. I’m certain he will see what I do.
I strap my synthblade to my leg and with that I am ready to go. Darren follows me from the room and then turns off in the opposite direction with a distracted wave and a mumbled “see you.” I make my way to the entrance of the Hollows, weakness and dizziness slowing my pace. As I pass the War Room I encounter Red.
“Evie, hey,” he says. “Where are you going?”
“The Manor.”
“I’ll walk you there,” Red falls into step beside me. “I need to talk to Aspen.”
An awkward silence fills the space between us. I glance quickly at him, shocked at the changes in his appearance. His skin is pulled tight over bone and dark brown shadows are branded beneath his eyes. A new scar marks his face, half-healed and nearly white against the black of his skin. He’s aged, somehow gone unnoticed by me. I guess war really does change everything.
“What happened?” I point to the scar on his face.
“This?” Red points to the wound and I nod. He narrows his eyes, as if searching his memory for the incident and I realize that I have no idea how many battles Red has fought without me. While I’ve spent my time safely in the Hollows helping Jaxon organize raids and food and funds there are people out in the streets every day fighting on our promises. “Raiding the grain silos?” He says sounding unsure of himself.
“Did it go well?”
“Haven’t run out of bread yet, have we?” Red teases with a hint of our old familiarity. I smile but silence quickly falls once again.
Outside dusk is just beginning to fall. The shadows stretch to greet each other as the sun falls below the horizon. The smell of smoke still fills the air, a chemical burn that has lingered in the weeks since the Presidio fell. I pull a yellow handkerchief over my mouth and nose to filter out the worst of it.
Like Red, the streets have changed. Buildings collapsed into small piles of rubble. Apartments with holes ripped into their sides. Everywhere I look I see small memorials. Some nothing more than a single flower. Others overflowing with mementos of a life spent well-loved.
I force myself to look at each one. Making promises to all those have died. We’ve done so much in so little time. The Manor. The Presidio. The Westwick slums are nearly ours. Soon people will once again be able to walk the streets without fear. The Praetors will be gone, from this one place at least, and we can take a moment to breathe. And once the slums are ours, we’ll have a solid base to begin moving out over the rest of the lower city.
I smile as I imagine no longer being forced to live in the Hollows. Of finding a new home with Annie and Jaxon. With Red living next door and Kalia and Ki upstairs. Friends, brought together by war, but kept together by something far more powerful.
As we cross the last few streets to the Manor my smile falls away. Part of the outer wall has fallen. A handful of men scramble over the wreckage as they try to block the hole with wooden boards and thin sheets of aluminum. I glance up at the building and remember Garbrand Westwick’s fat, bloated body hanging from the roof. I look away, swallowing the bitter taste at the back of my throat.
The front lawn of the Manor has become a war camp. What must be close to fifty tents circle the area closest to the wall and a large square of grass has been cordoned off to run drills.
“Jeeze,” I whisper under my breath. Red rumbles his agreement deep in his chest. Who could have imagined this? Who could have thought it would come to this?
“Aspen!” Red shouts across the lawn. Jaxon’s Grandfather, Aspen Prayer, oversees a group of men practicing blade-fighting. Aspen gestures sharply for them to continue as he turns in our direction.
“I’ll, uhm, see you around,” I tell Red and scurry off before Aspen reaches us. Red’s startled farewell hangs in the air behind me. But I can’t face Aspen, not in my half-injured and weakened state. Aspen frightens me, and not just because he’s Jaxon’s family, although that is bad enough. What must he think of me? The little slum-girl who somehow corrupted his grandson. But even that wouldn’t be enough to keep me away. No. I worry that Aspen Prayer has too much of the Great Uniter in him and not enough of Jaxon.
The manor overflows with movement as I make my way to the building. Grey-brown discolorations stain the marble steps. Blood, I realize. I close my eyes against the assault of images. The blonde fighter. The look of horror on everyone’s faces as the Presidio came crashing down. I harden my heart against the emotions that threaten to overwhelm. This is war, I remind myself. No one makes it through unscathed.
A flurry of movement greets me as I enter the manor.
The inside of the manor is so similar to the one at A239 that I imagine they were built by the same architect. Tall marble pillars spiral upwards to a balcony that overlooks the foyer.
To the right the Millennial Keevis sits cross-legged on the ground outside of a closed door. She’s surrounded herself with what looks like a small pile of explosives. Two other women I don’t recognize sit with her, filling thin red tubes with what looks like ash but I know must be something far deadlier.
“The red with a bit of the yellow,” Keevis speaks louder than she must to be heard by the two sitting with her. The boy – her grandson, must be hiding away behind that closed door. I smile at the trick, knowing that if he was Ki, all it would take is one mention of explosives and he’d be out the door faster than a strike of lightening.
Bypassing Keevis and her small group, I grab the arm of the next person I cross paths with – a woman with an armload of spidersilk jackets that smell freshly laundered. “Where’s Jaxon?” I ask in a sharper tone than I intended. I see the moment of recognition in the woman’s eyes and she attempts to bring her fist to chest in salute. Too late she realizes my grip on her and the pile of cloth tumbles to the ground.
Flustered, she crouches to the and nervously gathers the scattered pile. I crouch down to assist but she waves away my help. “He’s upstairs. In Gabrand’s office. Up the stairs on the right side. The door with the carvings. Ma’am.” She adds the honorific as an embarrassed afterthought.
A blush rises in my own cheeks to match hers. My whole life has been spent hiding in the shadows but now suddenly everyone recognizes me. Everyone sees me. “Got it. Thank you,” I mumble and hurry past.
Garbrand’s office is impossible to miss. Leaves, that somehow bear the sensuality of dancing women, are carved into a door of wood so red I wonder if it can be natural. I push open the door open, knocking twice as an afterthought.
Jaxon sits behind a great desk so wide it could more properly be called a table. A distant expression mars his face but his eyes come to life as they meet mine.
“Evie, you’re awake!” He swings his feet off a pile of papers upon the desk and leans forward to. I cross the remaining distance to him in a few short steps.
Our moment is interrupted by a heavy knock at the door and Jaxon turns to me with a question in his eye. I shrug, having come here alone I’ve no idea who could be at the door. I step to the side, leaving an open path between Jaxon’s desk and the doorway.
“Enter,” Jaxon calls through the commotion at the door.
A small group of men struggle the doorway, all trying to pass through at the same time so they get stuck for a moment as they sort themselves out. I smile as I recognize the mastiff-like face of Cull, apparently having been promoted from the Hollows to the Manor. Next to Cull is another man of similar appearance but twice the size and between them a wiry looking fellow with his arms imprisoned tightly by Cull.
Jaxon settles back into his seat while I take a quick step back, leaving…whatever this was to Jaxon.
“Who is this,” Jaxon nods towards the man held prisoner,
“Caught him tryin’ to get to the Praetors,” Cull says. “Sneakin’ around the crematorium.”
“I wasn’t,” the man struggles frantically in Culls’ grip. “I swear Your Goodness. I wasn’t doin nothing wrong.”
“We found this on him,” Cull pulls out a piece of paper tosses it onto the desk before Jaxon.
Jaxon’s brow draws down as he examines the sheet. “May I ask why you have a map of all the entrances to the Hollows?” he asks calmly. I lean over to sneak a glance. Even I don’t know where all the entrances are -- only Vertigo, Jaxon, and somehow Ki know where they all are. Supposedly there are close to a dozen left, although once there had been far more before they were caved in as a protective measure.
Jaxon’s eyes dart to mine as he catches me looking. I smile innocently and lean further in, daring him to question me.
“That’s not mine!” the man squeals. His eyes dart, panicked, from side to side as he desperately searches for a way out. “They planted it on me. I was framed. I was just goin to visit my girl.”
“Shut up,” Cull cuffs the smaller man on the back of his head.
“What is your name?” Jaxon demands.
“Max, good sir. My name is Max and I swear I wasn’t doin’ anything. I wouldn’t ever go to the Praetors.”
“Well then Max, where did you get this map?” Jaxon leans forward and steeples his fingers. Max stares at Jaxon as if hypnotized by his gaze. “And why were you outside the Crematorium?”
“I don’t know!” he yells, shaking his head back and forth. “I told ya. I was framed. A set-up!”
I narrow my eyes at Max. He’s lying. Even I can tell that he is lying.
“I know things,” Max pleads frantically, “I know things so someone was tryin’ to get me outta the picture. That’s all it could be. Cause I didn’t do nothing.”
“What kind of things do you know Max?”
Max draws his mouth into a thin line as if betrayed by his own voice. “Nothin’” he spits out then clamps his mouth shut once more.
“Max,” Jaxon pushes back from his chair and leans his face closer to the other mans, “If you do not speak we will have to question you more…thoroughly.” And the menace and violence in Jaxon’s voice makes the implication clear. The blood rushes from my face as I look on. Jaxon sits there, discussing the idea of torturing someone as easily as if he discussed the weather. Impossible. Jaxon would never…
“I won’t ever betray the lady!” Max cries out. In an instant all the fear drains from his face and he stares calmly out at us. “Not ever.” He makes a sharp movement with his head. A muffled scream. I stare confusedly at him as his face goes pale and his eyes roll up. Blood begins pouring from his lips. It starts off as a steady dribble then it’s as if he’s vomiting the viscous liquid. Something small and thick drops from between his lips.
His tongue. He bit off his own tongue.
My stomach knots. I take two quick steps backwards until my shoulders meet the wall behind me. Jaxon shows no reaction to the whole situation; his face is blank and calm. How can he just sit there like that? When there is a piece… My eyes flick down to the lump of flesh on the floor. A bitter tang coats my mouth. I swallow hard, trying to prevent the rising nausea.
“Get rid of him,” Jaxon orders Cull.
“Gladly your highness,” Cull says with a smile. “Everyone knows only way to kill a rat is drowning.” He shakes the man once more for good measure. Max’s head lolls back. His face is pale and motionless like a man already dead.
“Do it,” Jaxon says with a hard glance.
“No,” I step forward between Jaxon and the group of three. “No,” I repeat again, shaking my head to emphasize the point.
Jaxon looks confused at my behavior. He raises one brow in question. I have to concentrate to keep my gaze on his face. My eyes keep wanting to drift to the bloody mess in front of the desk as if they have a will of their own.
“Get out,” I say to Cull. “Take Max with you, but don’t do anything. Not yet.”
Cull looks to Jaxon for approval and I feel a frown pull at my lips. Jaxon jerks his head towards the door, ordering Cull out.
“Don’t execute him,” I demand of Jaxon. “Throw him in a prison for the rest of his life if you must, but don’t execute him.”
“Evie,” Jaxon says my name gently. “If we allow a betrayal to go unpunished....” he trails off, leaving the thought unfinished.
“The Great Uniter executes everyone who betrays him,” I spit.
Jaxon’s face goes cold at the insult. “I am nothing like my Father.” He jumps up from his seat and places his hand on the desk, leaning forward so our faces are only inches apart.
“Then don’t execute Max,” I argue again. “If you do, you show that you are exactly like your father. Killing anyone who disagrees with you.”
“Max did not merely disagree with me,” Jaxon respo
nds heatedly. “He tried to betray us. Had he gotten to the Praetors we could all be dead right now. He could have exposed our plans to attack the Crematorium. Or worse.”
I shove my jaw out stubbornly, refusing to back down. Jaxon is better than this, I know he is better than this. I will not allow the leading of criminals turn him into one. “Don’t rule these people through fear Jaxon. Don’t allow yourself to turn into your father. The people here,” I gesture around us, “The people of the slums, they love you Jaxon. Do you understand that? Do you see how they look at you when you walk by? Any one of them would give his life for you. Don’t ruin that. Don’t let that be corrupted. Don’t turn into the man they are giving everything to fight,”
With a look that is far more frightened teenager than rebel leader and a muttered “excuse me” Jaxon suddenly jumps to his feet and darts across the room to a small door tucked in the far corner. He rips it open without a word and disappears up a too-dark stairwell. Shocked, I stare blankly after him for a moment before quickly following.
I charge up two flights of a twisting stairwell, the sound of Jaxon’s steps always just a beat out of reach. I arrive at a second door and pull it open as it still bounces on its hinges. As I step onto the rooftop I am greeted by the sudden chill of winter’s air.
I spot Jaxon leaning over a stone railing, his back heaving with panicked breaths. I approach slowly, afraid of this frightened creature before me.
“Jaxon?” I whisper as I inch closer to the rooftops edge.
He turns at the sounds of my voice, running his fingers through his hair, mussing it up slightly. “Sorry,” he smiles with a self-mocking grin. “I just needed to…I need to--” his words trail off and I see the panic creeping back into his eyes.
“Breathe?” I offer.
“Yeah. Something like that.” He drops to the ground and slips his legs between the stone pillars of the railing until his feet dangle over open air.
I settle next to him and rest my cheek against the cold marble as I face him. “You okay?” I ask.
“They hung him from here.” Jaxon kicks his feet off the edge of the balcony. “A Millennial. Garbrand. They hung him from the rooftops like he was nothing.”