by Zile Elliven
“I know you want to help, and I thank you for that. It’s really nice of you, but really, you need to go.” She stood up slowly, testing her legs. He assumed they held firm since she didn’t fall back down. “It’s been nice meeting you under the circumstances.”
Nice? He watched her make her way back off the porch, not offering to help when her hair snagged on a nail. Instead he observed quietly as she fought her way free and stumbled down the steps into the night. Fourteen didn’t do nice; he didn’t know what nice was. He gave her a minute and followed her.
The girl continued in the direction they had been running, but instead of choosing deserted streets, like an amateur might, she chose streets with people on them. She did her best to stick to populated areas, but after a few moments of hesitation, she trudged down a dark street with no signs of life, her heavy steps showing her reluctance. She moved with extreme caution, forcing him to stay well behind her to remain unseen. If he’d been closer, he might have mistaken what happened for an explosion, but from far away it was something completely outside of his expertise.
It looked to him like all the shadows had peeled away from between two buildings and jumped at the girl. She sensed it at the last minute and hit the ground rolling, landing between two parked cars. When the shadows hit the wall next to where she had been walking, the brick exploded and dust billowed out, covering the street and bringing visibility down to nothing. Fourteen darted into the cloud and aimed for the cars the girl had tucked herself between. On a whim, he went around to the other side of the cars and found her crawling on her hands and knees, directionless and coughing hard enough to break a rib.
He bent over her, ready to scoop her up and run when he saw a hole appear in midair. It floated toward them slowly, its edges shimmering in the dust and gloom. In its center he could just make out something resembling a glowing ball, but instead of creating light, the ball seemed to be stealing it from its surroundings. When its antiglow intensified, he instinctively jumped between the girl and the mysterious hole, taking the blast himself.
A crackling distortion streaked through the air, flowing around and over him, but it hovered several feet away from his body. Then as though it had decided to give up, it swirled up and away, dissipating into nothingness.
The girl behind him was still gasping and choking, but she managed a strangled, “What . . . are you doing?” And something that sounded like, “Get out of here—”
He gave her a dirty look she probably couldn’t see and glanced back at the hole and its glorified raver toy. He couldn’t tell if the attack had done what it was supposed to do or not, but he didn’t plan to see what would happen if he got hit with it again. He pulled out his SIG P220, fired six shots at the center of the hole, and heard a very human yelp of pain. The hole closed abruptly with a sharp shriek that reminded him of metal on metal.
Silence fell around him, and the senses that had gotten him though many dangerous missions told him he and the girl were alone. Though after what he had just seen, anything was possible. He needed to question the girl to find out what the hell he had gotten himself into.
She was slowly pulling herself up using the car beside her as leverage. “I don’t know if it was just him, but if it was, you’ve bought us a little time. Let’s go.” She turned and made it two steps before collapsing like a broken puppet. As shaky as she had been, it came as no surprise to him she had reached the end of her resources.
Steeling himself, he reached down to check her pulse. When his skin brushed hers, he was engulfed with the sense-memory of sunshine on clean cotton. It made him think of bright blue skies and wispy clouds. Made him think of . . . Mother?
Before he could cling to the forgotten memory, he was swept into another memory. He was high in the air and felt like he was flying. His small hand reached forward to steady himself, and it met his father’s head. Together they ran down a hill at breakneck speed, but instead of fear he felt safe and confident. As long as his father was around, nothing bad could happen to him, they were a team.
Peace stole over his body, temporarily rendering him insensate to the outside world. If an attack came now, he would be defenseless, but in that moment, he didn’t care. Walls that had taken years to forge through unbearable pain and anger had vanished. More suffering than most people saw in a lifetime had gone into building his barriers. And now they were gone.
He snatched his hand away from the girl’s skin, and the sensation disappeared. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched her cheek. It felt like his entire body had been plunged into warm sunshine after being cold for far too long.
It burned.
He wanted more.
Who was this girl?
Chapter Three
The Girl
When The Girl opened her eyes she was facing an unfamiliar wall. She could see a heavily chipped, ancient porcelain sink with exposed piping underneath that was more rust than pipe. Normally, waking up in an unfamiliar room would be cause for alarm, but the shabbiness of the room let her know the Family didn’t have her. If they had, she either would have woken up in the suffocating luxury of her bedroom back home, or she wouldn’t have woken up at all.
Closing her eyes again, she listened to see if she was alone in the room. She couldn’t be sure, because she didn’t hear anything, but it felt like she wasn’t alone. With effort, she managed to get her mind to cough up a memory of the strange man from last night. She’d only had fleeting impressions of him in the gloom and chaos of the night, but the feeling he inspired in her gut was concrete.
Safe.
From the day she’d been stuffed into her gilded cage to the moment she’d found herself running into a gunfight, safety had been as mythical to her as Santa Claus. The fact that her gut had decided to feel safe in the middle of a shootout next to a stranger told her she needed her head examined. She wasn’t even sure she knew what he looked like. It had been too dark to know for sure.
She did know one thing: he had showed no signs of the fiery anger she was used to inspiring in others. Instead of ignoring her or yelling at her or, even worse, attacking her like she had grown accustomed to, he had actually tried to help her. Twice.
Being near him in the abandoned house had been intriguing. The gentle buzz of his aura rubbing right next to hers had intensified her sense of safety and—exhausted as she had been—it had been tempting to stay with him. But she couldn’t, she had needed to get away from him. In her experience, there was no such thing as a safe person. If by some small chance of fate he was safe, she didn’t want to bring the wrath of her family down on him. As capable as he seemed, he wasn’t prepared for that. Even with her untrained senses, she could tell he was just a norm.
So The Girl had left him, intending to blend in with the crowd, but her growling stomach overrode her better judgment. Instead of taking a more populated route that would have taken her an hour to traverse, she’d chosen a shortcut that would get her to her last stash of supplies quickly. Her body had been shouting at her, using every available method to convince her it wanted the contents of that backpack ASAP. She was confident that as soon as she got a granola bar inside her belly and shoes on her feet, she would be able to think her way to freedom. The fifty-dollar bill she remembered putting in there wouldn’t hurt her chances of escape either. And, of course, a change of clothes. She needed that the most. That lapse in judgment had cost her, and now it would cost him, too.
What she didn’t understand was why he had followed her and saved her again. How had he survived the spell her cousin had sent at him? The power she had felt rolling off it should have destroyed him instantly. Instead the spell had merely hovered around him for a moment like a confused dog, looking for the ball its owner had only pretended to throw.
“I know you’re awake.” The quiet voice of her savior broke her from her reverie.
The Girl gave up her pretense of sleeping and rolled over to examine her surroundings. Her bed was a futon kept off the floor by old pallets. When sh
e shoved aside the army-green wool blanket, she noted with relief that she was still fully dressed. So often in the stories she read, people felt compelled to undress someone after they passed out. It was good to know it wasn’t a common practice in reality.
She wasn’t ready to look at her savior yet—wasn’t prepared to put on the mantle of girl on the run, so she continued to inspect the spartan room to buy some time. It might have been an office or an apartment at one point in the distant past. Two walls were lined with windows that looked out into complete darkness, the other two were brick and unadorned. On either side of the bed were industrial shelves neatly arrayed with guns, ammunition, grenades, and other lethal-looking items she had no name for.
She supposed she should have been frightened or appalled by her circumstances, but the simple room felt honest to her. The plush décor of her own bedroom had always suffocated her, but this felt safe.
She shook her head at the fanciful thought. It was time to interact with her host so she could dispel the illusion of safety her mind kept taunting her with.
Across from the bed, he sat perched on the edge of a small desk in front of a window. A battered, bronze clip-lamp illuminated a strong, European brow furrowed over storm-gray eyes. Eyes focused on her with an intensity that brought heat to her cheeks.
She fought the urge to shrink back from his regard. Instead she stuck out her chin and asked, “Why am I here?”
“No one knows about this place, and it doesn’t have many neighbors. We should be safe here.” His gaze didn’t waver as he answered.
The Girl felt as though he expected her to do something and didn’t want to miss it. Was he waiting for her to try to escape? She sat up. “Am I your prisoner?” She might as well start with the basics.
“You can leave if you like.”
Good. That cleared that up. His unflinching regard made her feel awkward, but awkward she could do—anything was better than the unprovoked violence she was used to.
“Why did you follow me?”
“Call it a gut instinct. Other than that . . .” He trailed off unhelpfully and shrugged, the black leather of his jacket creaking with the movement.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did, but you didn’t have to. I wasn’t asking for your help.” The Girl pulled her legs against her body and hugged them.
“If you had, I probably wouldn’t have helped.” A minute crease formed between his eyebrows before smoothing away.
Silence filled the air. “You shot my cousin,” she said trying to fill the void.
“That would be the guy in the floating circle?” A brief smile escaped, lending warmth to his previously expressionless face. “Yeah, I think he probably had it coming.”
She glanced at his eyes, pleasantly surprised by his levity, but saw no humor there. “It wasn’t a complaint. I’m just trying to process what happened.”
“You and me both, kid.” He sat back but didn’t break eye contact.
The Girl looked away, intimidated by his scrutiny, then fell silent for a few minutes and tried to decide what to do next. She didn’t know what to do with this guy. If she left him, would he follow her again? Would it be a bad thing if he did? He wasn’t acting like anyone she had ever interacted with—most people couldn’t wait to get away from her. Was it because he was a norm?
She had kept her contact with the norms as minimal as possible. For the most part, they hadn’t been too keen about her either. Most memorable was the last time she’d stood in the checkout line at the store. One by one, everyone had gotten out of line, as though standing near her was physically uncomfortable. The guy behind the counter had avoided eye contact with her and threw her change down so he didn’t have to touch her.
Finding out more about this companion—the only person who seemed unaffected by her power—was tempting. She hesitated but ultimately decided bringing an innocent person—a norm, no less—in on her problem would be a crummy way to repay him for helping her out. Well, maybe not entirely innocent. The small armory surrounding them proved otherwise.
Her stomach growled painfully.
“Here.” The man threw a bag of trail mix to her. “You need to eat more than you have been. When I carried you up here, you were almost as light as my equipment bag.
He cared that she ate enough? What was she supposed to do with that?
“It’s probably why you passed out.” He motioned for her to eat.
She tore open the bag with too much gusto, and it fell apart, showering the bed with food. “I deduced that for myself, Sherlock.” Apparently she was going to be bitchy.
Instead of being offended, he just gave another smile that melted away as soon as it appeared. “What’s your name, kid?”
With shaky hands, she did her best to herd all the trail mix into a single pile on the blanket. “Name?” She thought she had a name once. Not wanting him to call her Girl like everyone else she knew, she tried to remember something . . . anything. “Aeyli?” That wasn’t quite right, but it sounded familiar.
“Hayli?”
“No . . . I think it’s closer to Aeyli, maybe?”
“Are you telling me or asking me?” The man stood up slowly and came over to her side of the room. The way he walked reminded her of a bather getting accustomed to the temperature of the water.
She didn’t answer, instead began stuffing her mouth with food. Her hands trembled, so she kept dropping bits of fruit and nuts in every direction.
He kneeled beside her, and his voice was soft when he asked, “What did they do to you?”
It wasn’t a question she knew how to answer, so she kept eating as fast as she could. The more fuel she had in her body, the sooner she could get out of here.
She couldn’t seem to stop herself from stealing looks at him in between bites. Now that she had the time to process the information, she was starting to be awestruck by his appearance. His mahogany brown hair was trimmed neatly on the sides, but the top was longer and was an artful mess. It looked soft as rabbit fur, and she had to stop herself from reaching out to touch it. Her eyes traveled over cheekbones and a jawline that would have made the models in her fashion magazines envious. It was getting harder to summon the will to leave him behind.
He lifted his hand toward her face but stopped it inches away—hovering like it had been caught in a force field. “Do you want to be called Aeyli?”
It was as close as she was going to get to her name right now, so she nodded. “What about you? What’s your name?”
He pulled his hand away and settled back on his heels. “You can call me Fourteen.”
“Fourteen? Like soldier number fourteen? How many of you are there?” It was just like that book she’d read a few years ago, well, half of a book—she’d known she shouldn't have bothered to read something that was missing the last half, but she’d been bored. Maybe sometimes books were like real-life after all. She’d had no idea that agents actually got numbers instead of names.
He shook his head. “You’re better off not knowing how many of us there are or anything about us. If you need to call me something, just call me Fourteen.” His face could have been stone—there was no emotion there for her to read, which she found reassuring. If he hadn’t exploded at her yet, it was possible he wasn’t likely to.
Usually people had an immediate reaction to her. The few times she hadn’t made a person blow up into a towering rage or be incredibly unpleasant to her, she had found they tolerated having a conversation with her. They always seemed uncomfortable, though. Nothing like the nonreactive nature of Fourteen. What was different about him? She needed to leave before she decided not to.
“I need to keep moving.” She scooted over to the side of the bed not blocked by Fourteen and hung her legs over the edge. With the speed of an exhausted sloth, she stood up and found that—while her legs would hold her—putting weight on her feet was excruciating. Rest and food had made her vertical; she’d just have to deal with the pain.
“Your feet are
going to need some attention before you go.” Fourteen took a small box down from a shelf and began pulling out gauze, tweezers, and alcohol. Placing them on the bed about three inches from her hand, he asked, “Do you want to take care of it yourself?”
Aeyli’s face drained of blood, and she sat back down on the bed, making an audible thump—her vision had gone gray and sparkly around the edges. She couldn’t even force her mind to think about digging chunks of road out of her feet, let alone actually do it. She didn’t have much experience with injuries, mostly because she hadn’t had much opportunity to get any up until now. “Maybe later.” Her voice sounded pathetic and breathy.
“Later would be a bad idea in this situation. You were walking around in garbage. You need to clean your wounds before they go septic.”
“That doesn’t sound ideal.” After peering at her feet, she had to lie back on the pillow. This time, her vision had gone almost entirely gray.
“Stay like that, I’ll do it.” Since meeting in the alley, his voice had remained calm and matter of fact—almost robotic—but now it sounded a little frayed at the edges. She was pretty sure he didn’t want to dress her feet, but since he was insisting, she was going to make him do it.
“I’ll just lie back and think of Queen and country.” Her joke fell flat even to her own ears. Running for her life, being forced to rely on the help of a complete stranger, and getting her feet thoroughly abused were not the items she’d had on her to-do list this evening—though by her guess it had to be early morning now.
When she entered her microscopic efficiency earlier, she had planned on lying down and sleeping off the past several days. She had been running nonstop for almost three weeks, and this had been the first time she had gotten an actual bed to sleep in. What she had thought to be a safe haven had become a nightmare.