by Casey Hays
“Yeah.” He sticks the phone into the front pocket of his shorts.
“What’s wrong?”
“She said to get home.”
“Oh. Okay. Well—”
“Both of us,” he interrupts, his face tense.
I blink. “Oh.”
A sudden apprehension floods me. Suddenly, I’m not so thankful for the interruption. Because something much more pressing than our problems over Rylin McDowell is about to go down. I feel it in my bones.
Seven
Five minutes later, we stand in Kane’s brightly lit kitchen. As usual, the smell of Italian spices floats in the air, mingled with the aroma of fresh garlic bread baking in the oven. The table is set for four, a bottle of Chardonnay, already opened, serves as the centerpiece. All is as it should be, minus Gema O’Reilly’s infectious laugh and warm embrace. Nope. We won’t be seeing any of that tonight. There’s a heaviness in the air that could give the other aromas some real competition. She doesn’t waste a minute getting to the point.
“Your father and I received a call from Mr. Connelly,” she begins, her short, black hair framing her stoic face. Her voice is hard, not a hint of her usual cheerfulness. “In case you’re wondering who that is, he’s the head regent of the Contingent.”
She casually stirs a pot of boiling shrimp, which kind of seems out of place in light of the grim expression on her face. Beside me, Kane is as still as a statue, his shoulder wedged up against me as we face his mom in a solid front. I can’t say his touch makes me feel better; Gema’s darts are sharp.
“He’s asked us to bring the girl when we come next week.” She sets aside her spoon and crosses her arms. “Any ideas as to which girl he’s referring to?”
My heart begins to thump a rapid beat against my ribcage, and Kane leaves off studying the brick red kitchen tiles to gape at his mom over the top of the island.
“They know about her?” Shock swarms in. “How?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Gema quips with an angry lift of one dark brow. She lowers the heat on the stovetop and settles her full and very stern gaze on Kane. “Does she know about herself?”
A chill captures me when she says it even though she doesn’t look at me. Her target remains solidly on Kane. His Adam’s apple bobs once with a hard swallow. He’s crossed a mountainous point of no return. No going back; no fixing it. No compelling everything away. No escaping Gema’s wrath. And all I can think is we should have come to her when I mentioned it. Maybe the blow wouldn’t have been so hard then. In full disappointment, she shakes her head.
“Kane Alexander O’Reilly,” she whispers.
Full of guilt, he peers at her sidelong, waiting for her to offer more than just his name. As for me, I might throw up.
I toss my eyes from Gema to Kane as my mind churns, working over my every move in the last few days. We’ve been careful, but maybe not careful enough. Maybe someone saw us flying after all. Or maybe we were careless and left a blind open at my house Saturday night. Maybe Rylin told someone. I guess it doesn’t matter how. They know.
“I told Jude a couple of days ago, okay? Only Jude. I felt like it was time. But I didn’t expose her to anyone, Mom.” Kane flashes a look toward Gema. “I promise you, I don’t know how they found out.”
Gema purses her lips. A beat, and she gestures over to the table. “Go. Sit down.”
She skirts the island and pulls out a chair at the dining room table. He sits; she tugs on his ear.
“Ow. What are you doing?”
“And there’s our answer.”
I move around to take a look. Gema rubs a finger over a tiny incision behind Kane’s left ear. I squint. It’s hardly noticeable.
“After Kane flared…” She looks at me to assess whether I know what she means, and when she’s satisfied that I do, she continues. “We had a visit from a couple of detectors. They brought the summons, and apparently stealthily inserted a tracker while they were here.” There’s a quiet anger in her voice. Kane holds stock still, clearly in disbelief. “It must be how they found you.”
“That’s bullshit,” Kane bounces to his feet. “They put a tracker on me without my permission?”
“You got yourself into this mess, son.” Gema picks up a half empty glass of wine from the end of the bar and works her way back to the oven just as the timer chimes. She swings open the oven door, and the scent of fresh-baked bread wafts stronger. “But I won’t argue with you. This was a shady move.”
I suddenly can’t think. I sink into a chair at the dining room table, clutching at the key hanging from my neck. Pacing, Kane clenches and unclenches a fist, rubs a finger against the incision, the pained expression on his face crinkling his black brows and making my chest hurt. This really sucks.
“How does this tracker work, Gema?”
“Like a GPS. It tracks movements, but it also picks up high frequency sounds. Most likely, it detected your mantra, honey.” Gema takes an easy sip of wine and sets the glass down with a clink. “And if you linked—” She sets her eyes on Kane. “—which I’m sure you did—it was even easier for them to find you.”
“But Kane could have linked with anyone.” The question is tentative, searching. I lean on the tabletop, rubbing at my temples. “I mean, it’s common for Firebloods to link, right? So why would they know it’s me?”
“Because our mantras are like thumbprints. Or snowflakes. No two are alike. They serve as our identification with the Contingent, and we are required to register our mantra through the Muzičar.” When my face clouds with confusion, she clarifies. “The musician. She obviously didn’t recognize the mantra that entwined with Kane’s. And so, they want to know who this unregistered female Fireblood is.”
“So it’s not like a probe?”
“No.” Gema gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing like a probe. Which I pray we don’t have to worry about.”
She doesn’t sound confident. Eyes closed, I shake my head. I thought maybe Kane would get through that hearing without giving me away, which would keep him out of even hotter water. Call me an optimist; I understand much better now. He never had a chance; it’s inevitable. And with or without a tracker, the probe will find all sorts of blatant traces of me—the half-breed he camouflaged and the ring he compelled to do it. They’ll see my family, and they’ll know that Rafe Gallagher had a daughter with his human wife.
“This is my fault.” Kane slumps onto the chair next to me, sliding his fingers between mine, defeated.
I squeeze his hand.
“Stop.” Suddenly, I’m just angry. Who do these people think they are? Does the Contingent not believe in the right to privacy? I turn, nudging my knee into his thigh. “I told you… we’re in this together. And I meant it.” I reach up, smoothing a hand over his cheek. “I’m not sorry that I know. I’m happy.”
His eyes take me in, relief causing his shoulders to sink with a sigh. One turn of his head, his lips meet my palm, and tears sting us both.
“Great.” Gema pauses to scrutinize us, a pan of hot bread straight from the oven balanced on her bare palm. “So you two are planning to go down together like Bonnie and Clyde?”
“Something like that.” Kane keeps his gaze pinned on me, stifling a smile.
“For the record, it didn’t turn out so well for them.” With a sigh, she deposits the bread onto the stovetop with a clatter and faces us. “You shouldn’t have found out like this, Jude.”
“I get that it was bad timing.” I stand and take a seat at the island, concentrating on her hands as she rapidly stirs melted garlic butter and bastes it over the brown crust. The scent hits my nostrils, and my stomach growls. “But Gema, I’ve missed out on so much of my life, you know? This was, well, it’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”
At my words, Gema goes still and her expression completely softens.
“Oh, honey.” Her shoulders sink. “All any of us wanted was to keep you safe. We never meant to deprive you of anything.” She drops the basti
ng brush into the sink and leans on her hands against the countertop, suddenly looking exhausted. I see something in the green of her eyes. A small twinge of regret. Or sadness. Like maybe she lost her say in the matter once upon a time. Whatever it is, it helps me to remember that Gema is not the enemy. “We’ve made mistakes, but we did what we thought was best for you at the time,” she finishes.
“I know.” What else can I say?
“Have you told your mom?” Gema asks.
I shake my head. “I haven’t been able to reach her.”
“Obviously, she’s not going to be happy about any of this, but you need to talk to her. It will be better coming from you.”
Frankly, I hadn’t really put a lot of thought into how Mom would react. I’ve been too angry with her for keeping so many things from me in the first place. I nod, but I’m not making any promises.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now, it’s time for a hard lesson, little girl.” She dumps the shrimp into a colander in the sink before drying her hands on a dishtowel and rounding the island. “For seventeen years you’ve been a Fireblood without knowing it. Now that you’ve had a taste of it, being human all the time isn’t going to be enough. A door has been opened that can’t be shut. I’m sure you’re already aware of the urges.”
That’s an understatement. I toss a glance at Kane still seated at the table as Gema climbs onto the stool next to me, spins me toward her, and rests her hands on my knees.
“You are not practiced in living this kind of life, and well, you can’t camouflage yourself—which is an immense problem.”
I tense. This is exactly what Kane was trying to tell me earlier. Coming from Gema, it hits home. She prompts him.
“What’s the longest Jude’s been fully decamouflaged?”
“I’m not sure, maybe…” He rises to his feet, looking seriously ill. I count inside my head and answer for him.
“Like… fifteen hours.”
Gema inhales and leans back, propping her elbows on the arms of the stool and making a tent with her fingers. “Now see, that is something we can’t have.” A scolding frames the words. “No wonder they found your mantra.”
“It was only the one time,” Kane looks at me for confirmation. “The night I told you,” he says.
“That’s right.” I face Gema. “And then last night for an hour. Maybe two.”
“Okay, well, here’s the deal.” She leans forward, but the motion doesn’t interfere with her finger-tent, and I focus on her hands, anxious. “We have to make the Contingent see what a wonderfully beautiful asset you are to this world. I won’t lie to you, Jude; that is not going to be easy.”
I feel sick and scared, and I really want to cry. Gema drops her hands to my knees and squeezes, her voice tender when she speaks.
“Stay camouflaged, and we may be able to prove that you’re not a threat. We do have a decent record to work with.” Her smile penetrates through the slight worry. “It took them seventeen years to find you.”
I stare at her. Stay camouflaged? I think I’d prefer a death sentence.
“And you.” She targets Kane. “I don’t think you quite understand the magnitude of your situation. You need to stop piling more strikes against yourself. If we were just dealing with you flaring, it would be one thing. But now, you’ve revealed the mantra of an illegal hybrid.” She drops her eyes, sighing heavily. “Do you understand the severity of your actions, son?”
“Yeah.” His worried eyes settle on her. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“You can be sorry all you want. It doesn’t change a thing. You still have to stand before that board and account for what you’ve done.”
“Yeah.”
“And hope they don’t string you up for it,” she adds.
Her casualness doesn’t erase the irritation that flashes over her face, and I have a sudden urge to come to his defense.
“You know, I ask a lot of questions, Gema.” I fidget with my key as I pump my leg nervously. “I sort of demand answers.” I half-laugh when I say this, and Kane lifts a brow, clearly wondering where I’m headed. “The point is, I probably would have found out on my own eventually.”
I cling to his hand. His presence, his heat, the smell of vanilla, the journey we’ve taken together since our dance at Club Rockhouse over a week ago—all of this centers me, giving me the courage to keep talking.
“Once Frankie made up her mind to research the Vatra u Krvi, there were clues. Too many, and pretty soon I became curious. And when I understood Jezik on the audio, I—”
“Wait a minute.” Gema straightens, cutting me off. “Audio?”
Uh-oh.
I go rigid, and Kane’s face turns about as white as a new layer of winter snow. Of course, we both realize at once that it’s too late to change course. With tense caution, I answer her.
“The one you took from Frankie.”
A silence like death fills the room, and I think I might vomit if someone doesn’t say something—and soon. Gema is a statue, and Kane might as well have quit breathing as still as he suddenly becomes. The seconds tick by, and then…
“You heard the audio?” She asks it too quietly.
“Yes.” I wince. “Well, a copy of it.”
“There’s a copy?”
“Not anymore,” Kane interjects. “I took care of it.”
A flash of gold fire streaks through her suddenly wide, green eyes.
“You took care of it?” Panic defines every tone of her voice. “You knew about it?”
Kane says nothing. He just lifts his guilty brows until Gema sighs. She stands and makes her way back to her glass of wine, downing the whole thing in one swallow. My mind is churning again, grasping for straws.
“But you did a good thing, right?” I swivel in my seat, following her movements as she pops the cork and refills her glass. “You did what you could to keep the existence of the Firebloods a secret.”
“It’s not that simple.” Gema’s expression clearly outlines an appreciation for my innocence. Great. That’s just great.
“Why not? Why can’t it be that simple?”
“Because I redirected Frankie’s memories, Jude. I destroyed recorded evidence of Kane and Rylin McDowell—evidence I was required to turn in for assessment so the Contingent’s technicians could ensure that nothing had gone viral.” Her voice grows remorsefully soft. “I did all of that. But I’m not the one who flared. And I’m not the one to be probed.”
A flicker of understanding invades and then ignites. I cover my mouth. Oh no. No, no, no. The audio is in Kane’s memories because of me. I come to my feet; I can hardly look at him.
“It’s my fault.”
“No it isn’t.” Kane moves in, settling a hand on each of my shoulders. “Look, I’m the one who let Rylin provoke me. I’m the one who compelled Frankie and Jonas while I was flared, and I knew Frankie was recording.” He directs his next statement toward Gema. “I didn’t know about the audio, but there was video too. I destroyed it that night, and I didn’t tell you about it.” He refocuses on me. “I take full credit for everything that’s happened.”
It takes Gema a minute to compose herself as this new information comes crashing in. She presses a hand to her forehead, mussing up her dark bangs. It all becomes clear in that moment: Gema tried to protect Kane from one more memory, and it was in vain. He’s created too many all on his own.
“Okay.” Tears well in her eyes, but she blinks them away. “That’s that. We leave for Vegas in a week.”
Without another word, she busies herself with preparing shrimp, but I’ve lost my appetite. Kane attempts a smile that falls short. Turning, I dip out of the kitchen and into the hallway that leads to the den. Voices from the television thrum low in the distance. Kane follows.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
I press my back into the wall, concentrating on its hard, smooth surface as I study the intensity teeming in his eyes.
“I think so, yeah,” he whispers. His a
rms snake around me, pulling me in. “But you see, it doesn’t matter what you told me. It doesn’t matter what my mom did to try and help me out.” He cups my cheek. “I’ll take my punishment. But, you…”
His voice trails. He doesn’t have to say it. I’ve been found. And now, I have to decide what to do about that. Because turning myself in doesn’t seem like the best idea.
My vision blurs as the tears well up, and I wish with all my heart we could be transported back to last weekend. Because this sucks. Kane’s situation goes from bad to worse with every breath, and I want to go back. Back to when we were just a couple of teenagers dancing at the club. We watched movies on Sunday night, and Monday morning, Kane made me breakfast and convinced me that I belonged with him forever, and it was a dream instead of a nightmare.
But last weekend is a lifetime ago.
Eight
After supper, Kane and I escape to the backyard. The sun disappeared an hour ago, and the lights scattered here and there across the covered patio ceiling gleam at us. I spend a good five minutes pacing back and forth across the cement. I barely managed to make it through the meal without losing my mind. Because as I sat there listening to Gema relay all the ugly details to Connor with a half-drunken smile on her face, everything Rylin said earlier today came crashing in on me.
Truth. There’s a truth out there that I don’t know about.
Maybe it’s time I found it.
A week ago, “contingent” was nothing more than a vocabulary word I learned in seventh grade. I never in my wildest dreams thought it would become the definition of a menacing panel of strangers ready to rule on my fate. I mean, I’m not even full Fireblood. Shouldn’t humanity have a partial say?
No one can dispute how utterly unfair this seems, and my rebellious anger at this obscure entity who thinks they get to decide flares up again. I have yet to meet a single member of the Contingent, and already I feel an animosity toward them that provokes a fight in me.
I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to talk to my mom even though I’m dreading it. She would agree with me; I’m sure of it. I find her number in my speed dial section and stare at her picture a long minute before shoving my phone into my back pocket. Forget it. I’m still angry at her too.