by Trisha Leigh
“But how are we even going to talk to him? He didn’t say a word just now, and I doubt he’ll be coming around for chats.” Lucas threads his fingers through mine, spilling cool relief into my burning palms.
“I don’t know. But we’re together; we’re all alive. It could be worse.”
I snort in response to Pax’s optimism. “How on earth could this be any worse?”
As though we conjured Deshi with our idle thoughts, he appears at the bars holding us captive. He’s shorter than I remember, and thinner than either of the boys flanking me. Strength flows from him, though, and self-assurance.
That same elusive flicker of emotion flashes in his gaze, then disappears. “You’re still here.”
Despite the fact that I hurt all over, I get up and walk closer to him. Lucas and Pax stay put, maybe to give me a chance to get through to him. “We’re not leaving without you, Deshi. You have to believe us, we’ve never forgotten about you, and there are things—”
I break off with a gasp when the bars disappear again. Before I can react he reaches toward me and wraps strong fingers around my arm, yanking me to his chest. The thick smell of freshly turned earth, the tinny scent of a spring rain, cloak me like an extra layer of clothes; it’s suffocating.
Lucas and Pax are shouting, and their fingertips brush my hair and shoulders, but Deshi moves me back a few steps, out of their reach. I glimpse Kendaja twitching at the edge of the invisible stairs, her hungry gaze on the boys trying with all their might to reach me.
Deshi sets me a little away from him so it’s easier to walk, and it’s then I realize why Pax and Lucas are so hard to hear, why I feel slightly covered by Deshi’s scent. He’s thrown a protective barrier of moss around us. Not a thick one, but enough to block any wind or water the boys might try to throw our way.
They won’t try that, though, not with the chance of hitting me instead.
I open my mouth to try again to get him to see our true intentions, but he puts a thin hand tight across my mouth. “I wouldn’t. Kenda’s been promised free access to you if you speak to me.”
We step out onto the empty space, the weightless support solid even though it’s invisible. The freak of a girl stays close behind us, but my mouth moves anyway, without any thought to what Deshi just told me. “Where are we going?”
I’m rewarded with a poke in the back, her fingernail stabbing through two layers of clothes and into my skin, trailing downward with a familiar slicing pain. I grit my teeth, grunting and breaking into a sweat, until Deshi pulls me away from her.
“The Prime has been contacted about the change in our fortunes, and requested that the three of you be separated. So, you’re being separated.”
The reminder of what Kendaja can do with a featherlight touch keeps me silent the rest of the twenty-minute walk to the ground, and even though the growing distance between Lucas, Pax, and I aches in my core like a physical wound, the solid rock under my feet straightens my back a bit.
We wind downward through tunnels too dark for me to make out much of anything until Deshi stops in front of an arched doorway smaller than the ones in the big room and with a marble grating on the front. He reaches above the door and it disappears, then he shoves me so hard I smack my face on the back wall.
I can’t see him leave through the tears of pain in my eyes, and blood gushes from my nose until it coats my lips. His footsteps, accompanied by Kendaja’s erratic shuffle, disappear into the blackness.
The knowledge that Deshi betrayed us to the Others, that he helped orchestrate the entire evening that led to our capture, torments me. I should have put the clues together sooner, should have realized he might have been brainwashed by the aliens who had access to him all this time.
Not brainwashed the way the humans are, not in his mind. But convinced because they presented him with facts skewed to make them out to be the good guys.
But I’m the good guy. Pax and Lucas are the good guys. How we can make Deshi believe that if we can’t talk to him?
The truth sinks in, a heavy burden than knocks me to my back in the dark, head cradled by nothing but cold rock.
I’m all alone with a smashed-up face, deadly acid eating my leg, trapped in a dark hole deep in the Others’ Underground Core.
I decide to never again ask the universe how things could get worse.
CHAPTER 29.
Not too much time passes before a throbbing pain starts on the outside of my ankle. A few hours, no more.
At first I blame the ache on the injury I sustained running from the Wardens last winter, perhaps exacerbated by tonight’s events. But Kendaja’s chanting and the serious looks passing between Pax and Lucas upstairs lodge behind my eyes and refuse to let me fool myself into believing it’s going to be okay.
The burns along my calf, the ones Lucas cleaned with his water, are tender to the touch and sting, but my ankle feels different. The pain there sinks deep under my skin.
Quiet footsteps interrupt my battered mind as it tries to piece together old chemistry lessons. They grow louder as I hold my breath, scared who might be coming and at the same time relieved someone is coming at all.
Maybe they’re bringing Lucas or Pax. The Prime told Deshi to keep us separated, so they won’t be in here with me, but even knowing they’re close would give me some small comfort.
I know in my heart they won’t bring them near for that reason alone.
Even though my eyes have adjusted, it’s dark enough down here to obscure details. A black shadow emerges from the inky tunnel leading toward me, and my hands grip the slippery marble bars of my cell. I wonder how long ago they built these, how they knew they would need to use a substance that could withstand the elements, if they planned all along to keep us in here—or if our parents had been the previous tenants.
Deshi’s face melts out of the gloom, rigid and angry. His eyes refuse to meet mine as he stops a few feet away, far enough to prevent me from reaching out and touching him. Does he think I would hurt him?
“How’s your leg?”
Focusing on it makes the thumping pain worse, and I wince without really meaning to. The strange pulsing in my ankle sinks deeper, as though the bone is dissolving slowly into pieces. “The burns aren’t too bad but my ankle hurts.”
Without answering, he squats and places a small cloth bag on the ground. When he straightens, he crosses his arms and meets my eyes for the briefest of seconds. In the shadows only the whites of his eyes show, letting me forget about the black veins crawling toward the blue irises that match mine. “Did you understand what Kenda told you upstairs?”
I swallow hard, willing my voice to come out confident and not scared. Not desperate. “Yes. I mean, I understand the slugs or whatever they are secrete acid.”
“Different kinds. The burn on your ankle will kill you, eventually. Dissolve the bone and poison you with fluoride.”
When my brain doesn’t compute the facts fast enough, he takes a step forward, hands curled into fists against his sides. “You should have learned this in Cell.”
“Well, I…” Things are fuzzy, and suddenly I’m so tired. My face aches from smacking into the wall earlier, and the blunt information that I’m going to die from the acid burn on my leg retards my thought process.
“Never mind. There’s a salve in the bag. Use it all.”
Before I can answer, or figure out what to say to reach him, Deshi kicks the little pouch within reach, then turns and disappears the way he came. The soft material of the bag brushes against my fingers, and I tug it through the bars, retreating to the back wall of my tiny compartment before sitting down. I unscrew the cap on the little tub, finding cool gel inside, then put it down to roll my jeans up to my knee.
My ankle feels better after applying the gift, and with my mind clear to focus on something other than possibly dying in this horrible place, it turns again to Deshi. I wonder if someone sent him down here to save me, or if he came on his own. If he did, perhaps he feels the smalles
t bit of loyalty to the boys and me; perhaps he senses deep inside that we are the only people who understand him, not the Others. Not Zakej or Kendaja or the Prime.
They aren’t half-breeds. They’re pure, and they don’t understand what it’s like to have grown up the way we did. There has to be a way to change Deshi’s mind about whose side he belongs on, to somehow show him what’s true. The Prime and his family have been brainwashing Deshi the last three seasons, while Pax and Lucas and I have been struggling to figure out how to find him. They’re telling him we’re the enemy, that we abandoned him.
If the Prime is on his way back from the Harvest Site to deal with us once and for all, I don’t expect him to demand anything except our deaths. So why did Deshi bother bringing me the acid neutralizer, if the Prime plans to kill me anyway?
The question isn’t much, but it does give me the smallest bit of hope as I lie on the cold floor, letting the day’s exhaustion wash over me.
Althea? Can you hear me?
I’m so close to falling asleep, at first I think the voice must be a dream. But it isn’t. It’s my mother, her voice faint now that I’ve locked her out of my sinum. I’m too tired to block her or to be angry that she’s talking to me again.
Except they’re probably listening in. Though our alcoves are protected, they’re not impermeable. Even so, I answer her. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.
Yes.
She sighs, a whispered breath through my mind, one imbued with relief. You’re okay.
Oh, yeah. I’ve got acid eating my bones, I’m all alone with a busted face, and Deshi betrayed us. I’m super.
You’re alive. And you’re never alone.
Is that supposed to make me feel better?
She sighs again, and this time it’s with halfhearted amusement and impatience. You aren’t going to die. Not today. Be thankful.
Truthfully, my leg feels better already, but that’s hardly a reason to celebrate.
Althea, don’t give up. You can convince Deshi to join you.
How? He hates us.
The same way you were convinced to fight for Earth. Show him the things he hasn’t seen. Let him view the world through your eyes, instead of the ones he’s been given.
Her choice of words brings to mind the black veins in his eyes, and works a shudder from shoulder to shoulder.
She’s gone before I can ask her how exactly I’m supposed to do such a thing when Deshi won’t even really talk to me. Plus, we’re stuck in this Underground Core—how can I show him the Wilds the way I see them, or let Wolf nuzzle his hand, show him the way Brittany makes me laugh, or put a book in his hands?
Even if I don’t know how, the fact that she believes he could come back to us tosses a frayed rope of possibility into this dark pit of despair. I grab on to it. If there’s a way to convince Deshi which side is right, I’ll find it. There are forty kids, two Sidhe, one banged-up Warden, and a dog out there depending on our survival—not to mention the rest of the planet.
Not for the first time, my mother’s voice slides strength under my skin until it flows through my veins, latching on to my blood cells and coursing through me.
As long as Deshi keeps coming to see me, as long as Lucas, Pax, and I are alive, there’s a chance to turn the tables. If that chance is all we have, I’ll take it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As ever, a book is not something that gets made by the author alone. In fact, anything I tried to publish alone would be decidedly less pretty and more riddled with inconsistency and errors, especially in the area of proper comma usage.
To Danielle Poiesz, the sweet, encouraging, and ruthless lady who does my developmental and line edits in addition to holding my hand and sending me chipper emails when I’m going through a particularly bad bout of writerly insecurity. My copy editor, Lauren Hougen, who edits with just the right amount of snark to make me snort aloud while slogging through copy edits at one in the morning. I can’t give enough credit to my brilliant, adorable cover designer, Nathalia Suellen, whose beautiful covers have gotten my books far more attention than I could have on my own. I owe her a great debt.
I have some of the best beta readers and critique partners in the world, and each of them make me laugh, are there when I’m having a meltdown, and know just how to tell me what stinks about my manuscript without make me want to chuck the entire thing out the window. So Denise, Leigh Ann, and Diana—I couldn’t have done this without you. Julia, you’re the only teen beta reader who has stuck with me from the beginning, and your text messages and tweets make my life.
Once again, I’d like to take this opportunity to say again how thankful I am to be part of such an opinionated, loud, unique, loving family. I adore each and every one of you and am thankful every day for being born who I am. Especially to my parents and sister, who put up with my many issues on a regular basis.
And to my readers, because without you there would be no point to any of this.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raised by a family of ex-farmers and/or almost rocks stars from Southeastern Iowa, Trisha Leigh has a film degree from Texas Christian University. She currently lives in Kansas City, MO, where she’s hard at work on the remainder of the series. Her spare time is spent reviewing television and movies, relaxing with her loud, loving family, reading, and being dragged into the fresh air by her dogs Yoda and Jilly.
To learn more about Trisha Leigh, please visit her at trishaleigh.com.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at another great Young Adult science fiction novel – Here (by Denise Grover Swank).
Chapter One
The second hand of the clock jerks with each tick in an odd, click-spaz movement.
“...and this is the closest the world has come to a full-scale nuclear war. If it weren’t for the cool heads of President Kennedy and the Soviet Union Premier Khrushchev, the United States, and the rest of the world for that matter, would surely have been bombed with nuclear weapons.” Mr. Archer drones on about the Cuban Missile Crisis.
My pen hovers over the open notebook on my desk, but the only marks filling the page are elaborate scrolls and doodles.
I started doing that after my accident.
My seat in the back corner of the room gives me perfect vantage of the windows that overlook the student parking lot. Storm clouds gather in the distance, but the dull ache in my thigh has predicted rain all day. If I hurry, I can probably make it home before the sky breaks loose. Otherwise I’ll be forced to take the bus.
My gaze drifts to the clock again. Twenty-eight seconds later than the last time I checked. With a slow sigh, I lower my head and freeze as a boy’s eyes lock with mine. My breath sticks in my throat.
I snap my eyes down to my desk. Why is Evan Whittaker looking at me?
My heart kick-starts into a gallop. My fingers reach up to my cheek to rub off some unseen smudge. The only reason one of the most popular guys in school would be staring at me is if something is wrong.
My shoulders tense as I lift my head to peer in his direction. He slumps over his desk, his pencil moving over his paper. I take a deep breath and allow my muscles to unknot just before his head raises. His neck twists to look back, his eyes holding mine again. Black hair, as dark as ink, falls over his ears and brushes the top of his collar. Heat rises to my cheeks, but I refuse to look away. I’m waiting for a look of contempt, instead finding curiosity and a hint of desperation.
The bell rings and shakes me from my stupor. The low murmur of voices fills the room as people rise from their seats with the same relief I feel. I reach down and grab my backpack, stuffing my notebook and pen inside. The room clears out as I stand and I’m relieved to see that Evan has left.
“Julia, can I speak with you a moment?” Mr. Archer calls as I make my way to the door.
I stop, hitching the backpack strap over my shoulder, and turn to face him. He stands behind his chair and taps a pencil on top of the desk. His button-down plaid shirt stretches across his protruding belly.
Matched with his silver hair and usual smile, he bears a slight resemblance to Santa Claus.
“It’s about your grade.” His gray eyebrows raise as his smile falls away.
I shift my weight while casting a glance out the window. Students scatter along the sidewalk, hurrying to the buses and their cars. The clouds are darker, and lightning flashes in the distance.
“Julia, you’re getting a D in this class. I know AP U.S. History can be difficult for a junior, but I checked your record. Up until this year, you were a straight-A student.”
I lift my chin and sigh. I know what’s coming.
“I’ve talked to some of your teachers. I know you’re not doing well in your other classes. I want you to speak to Mrs. Hernandez.”
I nod, avoiding his gaze. “Thanks, Mr. Archer. I’ll check with her tomorrow.” I have no intention of talking with the school counselor but know it will appease him for a week or so. I turn to leave.
“Julia, I know it must be hard…” Mr. Archer’s voice softens. “But they say time heals all wounds.”
I glance over my shoulder with a half smile. “Yeah, thanks.”
Bodies fill the hallway as I weave through the crowd to my locker. At the beginning of the school year, I learned if I pretended to be invisible, eventually I became invisible. No one sees me. No one notices me. At least they hadn’t until Evan. I still can’t understand why Evan would be looking at me.
Especially me.
Shoulders hunched, I grab my jacket out of my locker, ignoring the books piled on the bottom, as usual.
I slam the door shut, drawing momentary glances from the people around me. Shoving my arms in the sleeves of my fleece hoodie, I walk to the exit, eager to escape.