by Jus Accardo
“Yes,” was all I could manage. His blue eyes pinned me to the chair. A mishmash of emotion raged inside my head. I was torn between checking the exits for men in weird suits and checking out Kale. And then I remembered Dad and the gun…
“You’re still alive.”
“Should I not be?” There was that look again. Like he was standing in the presence of some mythical creature and had been granted a year’s supply of wishes. It made me uncomfortable. It’s not like I wasn’t used to being stared at, and to be fair, I’d done my fair share of staring tonight, but this was different. Intense in a way I’d never felt before.
He took another step forward, head tilted to the side. “That’s never happened. Ever.” He reached for me, hesitating for a moment before pulling his hand back. “Can…can I touch you again?”
I probably should have been weirded out by a question like that. Any other day, I would have been, but Kale’s eyes sparkled with wonder and curiosity. Gone was the cold expression he’d worn back at my house. His voice was soft, but there was a fierce longing in it that made my mouth go dry. I pushed my discomfort aside, nodded, and stood.
For a big guy, he moved surprisingly fast, darting around the coffee table to stand in front of me. Close. Breathing-the-same-air kind of close. I expected him to grab my wrist, or maybe my arm, but instead he brought his right hand up to cup the side of my face.
“You’re so warm,” he said in awe as his thumb traced whisper light under my eye—like wiping away tears. “So soft. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Neither had I. His thumb, barely skating across my skin, left a trail of warm tingles in its wake that spread throughout my entire body. His breath, puffing out softly across my nose and forehead, was warm and sweet, almost dizzying.
A loud clanking rang from upstairs—Curd must have dropped something—snapping me out of it. I cleared my throat. “Um, thanks?”
“You helped me escape Cross,” he said, stepping back. “I tried to kill you, and you helped me escape. Why?”
I shrugged. “My dad’s a dick. Pissing him off is a hobby. ’Sides, you didn’t really try to kill me. You were scared.”
“I don’t get scared.”
“Everyone gets scared.”
Now wasn’t the time to argue. I needed answers. Things started churning in the back of my brain. Strange, late-night phone calls. Oddly timed trips to the office. All things that, had I been paying attention, might have popped up as red flags. “You said my dad was a killer. That’s some kind of euphemism, right?”
“I’m one of his weapons.”
“Weapons?”
“He uses me.”
The way he said it gave me chills. The creepy kind, this time. “To what? Like, spy on the other side’s clients?” Even though I knew it was likely crap now, my subconscious was desperate to hang onto the belief that Dad was a lawyer.
“No.”
I folded my arms, getting irritated. “Then give me a hint here. What is it you do for Dad?”
Taking two steps forward, blue eyes bright, he spoke softly. “I kill for him.”
I blinked and tried to visualize Dad as the big bad. Couldn’t do it. Or wouldn’t. Sure, he was a tool and we hadn’t really talked in years, but a killer? No way.
Turning his palms upward, Kale raised both hands and flexed his fingers. “They bring death to anything I touch.”
I remembered the ground he walked across at the stream had looked wrong. Discolored.
I passed it off on the beer at the time, but…
He jerked away each time I got close enough to touch him…
He wouldn’t take my shoes off…
The air caught in my lungs and the room began to shrink. “Your skin…?”
I would’ve called bullshit, but I of all people knew first hand crazy shit was possible. Plus, there’d been rumors floating through the raver scene for years now, ever since a local boy was arrested during Sumrun seven years ago. Rumor had it, the guy shorted out the electricity with a single touch of his fingers after being chased to the party by police. After they took him away, no one ever saw him again.
“Is deadly to anything living. Except you. How am I able to touch you? Everyone else would have died a horrible death.”
I took a step back. It was hard to concentrate with him staring like that. “Let’s focus here for a sec. You’re trying to tell me that my dad uses you as a weapon? A weapon against what exactly?”
His face fell. “Not what, who.”
“Who?” I really didn’t want to hear his answer. Either my mysterious hottie was crazy or Dad was… Well, either way his answer was bound to throw another bird at my building.
“People. He uses me to punish people.”
“My dad has you touch people? To kill them?”
“That is correct.” The shame in his voice was like a vacuum, stealing all the air from the room. Eyes rising to meet mine, he reached out and ran his finger along the line of my chin and to my cheek, letting his touch linger for a few moments. I found myself wanting to take it all away. The heavy, sad look in his eyes. The pain in his voice. I could do it, maybe. Tell him something about myself that might make him feel less alone. Less isolated. A secret I’ve never spoken aloud before.
I opened my mouth, but when the words came out they weren’t what I’d expected. “You’re wrong. My dad’s a lawyer.” The walls that had been in place for as far back as I could remember stood strong.
“A lawyer kills people?”
“Are you serious?” This so wasn’t happening. Dad wasn’t part of some super-secret conspiracy theory. He was a stick-up-the-ass control freak workaholic. With weird hours. And, for some reason, a gun. Not a killer.
Kale’s face remained blank.
“Of course they don’t kill people! They put the bad guys away, get rid of ’em so they can’t hurt anyone.” Not the most accurate description, but the simplest I could come up with.
“No, that’s definitely not what your father does. That’s what I do. The Denazen Corporation uses me to punish those who have done wrong. I’m a Six. Does that make me a lawyer?”
Ugh. So much for simple. “What the hell is a Six?”
“It’s what we’re called.”
O-kaay. “And punish those who’ve done wrong? Who says what’s right and wrong?”
“Denazen, of course.” He frowned and turned away. “And I belong to them.”
“Where the hell are your parents?”
Voice barely a whisper, he said, “I don’t have any parents.”
“You’re a human being, not a weapon. You don’t belong to anyone,” I hissed. “And of course you have parents, even if you don’t know where they are.”
Fuming, I ripped the little leather cardholder from my back pocket and tugged out a picture. My mom. I’d found it years ago in Dad’s bottom desk drawer. I’d only known who she was because of her name written on the back in scrawling blue ink. Dad refused to talk about her—he told me her name, gave me a brief, watery description—and that was it. As I got older, I’d started looking more and more like the woman in the picture, which was probably why he hated me. I’d catch him watching me once in awhile. Like he might have been imagining it was her sitting there, and not me. Like he wished it was her instead of me. It made sense. It was my fault he’d lost her, after all. She’d died having me. Sometimes I hated myself, too.
“My mom is gone—that doesn’t mean I don’t have one.” I shook the photo at him.
Kale closed the gap between us and took the picture from my hands. He purposefully let his fingers brush my wrist, giving a quick smile. “This is your mother?”
I nodded.
“You don’t visit her?”
“I can’t visit her, she’s dead.”
“S
he’s not dead. She lives at the complex with me.” He wandered away, picture still in his hands, and picked up a pair of Curd’s worn boots. Leaning back against the wall, he kicked off my Vans and slipped on the boots. The sneakers fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
The world stopped. The air, the four walls, everything, it all fell away. “What?”
He held up the picture. “This is Sue.”
4
I snatched the picture from him, gaping. “What did you say?”
“I said, that is Su—”
“I know what you said!” I snapped.
“But you just asked me—”
“You’re sure?” I held up the picture, jamming it close to his face. My pulse pounded and I was feeling dizzy again—though not in a good way. My buzz, so happy and peaceful, was totally gone now. “You’re sure this is the same woman?”
“I’d know her anywhere.”
“And you’re saying she’s alive? At Denazen?”
He nodded.
“Her name is Sueshanna. Are you sure it’s the same woman?”
“I am sure. She is alive. Why do you seem upset?”
I grabbed the side of the chair—it felt like the ground was going to swallow me whole. I couldn’t help the shakiness. Dad was a tool, but to lie about Mom being dead? That was a dick move that transcended epic.
A noise came from upstairs, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose in warning. It was taking Curd way too long. I drew in a deep breath, held it, and looked over at Kale. Putting a single finger to my lips and hoping he knew what the heck that meant, I crept to the base of the stairs and listened. Silence. Gesturing for Kale to watch me skip the first step—I’d been at Curd’s enough in the past to know it squeaked—I started up.
When I got to the top, Kale was behind me, standing very close. I was about to reinforce quiet, but he zipped past me, taking the lead. I reached out to grab the back of his shirt, but he was too quick, already to the other edge of the room. Heart thumping, and a lump forming in my throat, I followed him across the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, and when I tried to look around him, he blocked my way.
“No,” he whispered, grabbing my arm.
“No what?” The air grew thin. Something about the way he was looking at me.
“We need to leave now.”
“Leave? Why? What’s wrong?”
More silence. Kale was trying to nudge me back down the stairs.
The thin, icy air drained from the room. I pushed him aside and ducked my head around the corner. Curd lay in the middle of the living room, face down and still as a snapshot. For a few horrific moments, I thought he might be dead, but finally he stirred.
I jerked my arm from Kale’s grasp and lunged for Curd. “Oh my God, Curd! What happened?”
An unfamiliar voice boomed, jarring my attention away from Curd. “Living room!”
Kale was at my side, pulling me to my feet. We made it to the kitchen as footsteps thundered closer, and before I could blink, there were two men standing in front of us. One of them lunged for us as Kale jerked me backward. His fingertips raked across my shoulder, snapping the edge of my shirt. I stumbled, catching myself before losing the battle with gravity.
Kale’s fingers were tight on my wrist as the men, one wearing a dark blue suit, the other wearing the same leotard the group by the stream had on, advanced. They matched our steps—us back, them forward.
I turned toward the staircase at the other end of the kitchen that led to Curd’s room, where a third leotard clothed man stood, tranq gun in hand, blocking our escape. There had to be something—anything—I could use as a weapon. We’d backed into the middle of the room now, trapped beside a center island. I pulled down a large cast iron pan from the rack above my head and swung it in front of us.
“Subdue and capture them both—Cross’ orders,” the suit said, his face blank. He lunged for me while the man behind us made a grab for Kale.
Kale was like a ninja, skating easily out of reach and ducking under the man’s grasp. Pivoting, he spun full circle and brought his right forearm across the man’s chest. He followed hard with an upturned fist, whaling into the man’s hip. His attacker crumpled to the floor, howling in pain.
The other leotard man sprinted forward as Suit Guy adjusted his grip on my upper arm. I swung out with the frying pan again, missing his head but catching the edge of his shoulder with a satisfying thwack. He released his grip in surprise, and I stumbled away.
But not far enough.
He recovered quickly and lunged forward again. This time, instead of the cold clinical glare, he wore a heated snarl. With a powerful arc, he slapped me across the face. Everything danced and spun. My cheek felt like it had exploded.
I barely registered the jolt as I landed, jarring my right wrist and knee on the floor. My vision cleared enough to make out the man’s hand darting forward again. I aimed for the back of his legs and kicked out, but Kale was faster. In a flash, he stood above me, hand intercepting the man’s before it closed around my upper arm.
For a moment, nothing happened. Kale froze. Eyes meeting mine, he wore a horrified expression. Then, like the most high-tech special effect Hollywood had to offer, the man’s skin shriveled and grayed. In a matter of seconds, he collapsed inward until nothing was left but a pile of clothing sitting amidst a mountain of ashlike dust.
Behind us, the two other men stirred. “Miss Cross—”
Subdue and capture them both—Cross’ orders… Jesus what the hell was Dad into?
I climbed to my feet, the room still spinning a little. Kale grabbed my arm, and we sprinted out the door and across Curd’s lawn. Subdue and capture, my ass. “Go, go, go!”
§
An hour later, we were tucked under a tree behind my high school. Could it have been this morning I’d been laying out in the sun, enjoying the first days of summer? It felt like weeks had passed. Was it only hours ago my dad had been merely a self-absorbed, coldhearted lawyer in whose eyes I could do nothing right? Now what was he? The head of some super-secret program that used people with strange gifts as weapons?
“I need to know,” I whispered, barely audible. My gut already knew the answer, but still…. Without confirmation there was still a small glimmer of hope—and hope could be a dangerous thing. “My dad told me she was dead—does he know? That she’s there, I mean. Does he know my mom’s still alive?”
Kale nodded. “I’m sorry.” He looked regretful and sad. Also a little scared. The corners of his lips were turned downward, expression darkening. He stepped closer, taking my hands. “He lied to you. You cannot trust him.”
When we’d left Curd’s, I was still debating what to do about Kale. Watching him deal with those guys proved he was more than capable of taking care of himself. So what was stopping me from wishing him luck and shooing him off on his merry little way? At first it was the look in his eyes when he’d demanded my shoes back at the stream. True fear. That same fear was mirrored in his expression when he spoke about Dad at Curd’s and when he told me about Mom being at Denazen. Now that same fear was back, but this time it was for me.
That was new and made me feel a little tingly—which was totally unwelcomed. I’d been taking care of myself for a long time. I didn’t need anyone watching my back—except maybe Brandt. Still, I didn’t pull away.
“And she can’t leave, right? He won’t let her?”
He frowned and nodded.
What kind of man does that to people? To his own wife? The same kind of man who doesn’t think twice about using a teenager to kill, that’s who. The kind of man who couldn’t be trusted. Kale was right. Going home wasn’t an option.
Kale had been through hell at Dad’s hands—I couldn’t walk away from him. A part of me felt responsible while another part felt… something else. Something I couldn’t
quite explain. Something that, like his concern for me, made me uneasy while at the same time caused my blood to pump a bit faster.
“Tell me about her.” My chest ached. Did she know my name or what I looked like? Did she know her own husband was the one responsible for keeping her there? “Tell me what she’s like.”
“A lot like you—kind, but strong. She taught me to survive.” He tilted his head to the side, examining me. My hands still in his, he turned them over. With his thumb, he traced circles across my palms. A shiver ran down my spine. “You have the same hands.”
“Is she—” I swallowed the lump lodged in my throat. “Can she do what you do?”
He shook his head. “She can become someone else.”
“Become someone else?” A shiver of excitement raced through my body.
“Change her appearance. They use us as a team sometimes. She becomes someone the target knows, leading them someplace quiet so I can punish them.”
I got to my feet and turned away. I didn’t want Kale—or anyone for that matter—to see the tears trailing down my cheeks.
“How could he do this to her? To me?” I whirled around, voice uneven. Forget the tears—bring on the anger. “How could he lock her away and tell me she was dead! She’s been there this whole time?”
Kale didn’t answer. When I turned back, he was staring up at the sky, fascinated. “Sue used to tell me of the outside world. Late at night when sleep wouldn’t come, she would come into my room and tell me stories about the things I could do and see—the people I could meet. She cries sometimes, in the middle of the night, when she thinks no one is listening. But I hear her. I’m always listening.”
The tears came harder now. I’d had it easy. This whole time Mom was nothing more than a ghost to me. A voiceless, bodiless figment of my imagination. How hard must it have been for her to know I was out here, living with the man who kept her locked away like an animal?“I asked her once, not long ago, why, if the outside world held so much wonder, she didn’t go back to it. Why she did not go to her child.”