by Theresa Kay
His eyes flash with anger and his jaw tenses. “Because I’ve done it before.”
My inquiry had more to do with how we were going to fix it than how he knew about it, but his response tells me some things I’m not so sure I wanted to know. Besides the fact that Stu has at least some rudimentary medical knowledge, something that is certain to come in handy, he is familiar with injuries—and he knows how to handle an injured child. No wonder he didn’t care what happened to his father. Lenny didn’t just bring pain to other people, he probably rained it down upon his own sons as well.
There’s a challenge in Stu’s expression as he studies my face and waits for my response. It’s as if he’s begging for me to start an argument so he can work off the aggression that fills him. Why is he assuming there’s anything to argue about? Does he expect me to defend Lenny? Press him for more information? Question his diagnosis?
Or maybe he’s just remembering that blood-covered floor and the brother he couldn’t save.
It’s as if the ground drops out from under me. My stomach twists and my heartbeat speeds up. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and focus on controlling my breathing. Now is not the time for this. Slow, steady breaths and one step back. I push down the jagged lump of fear and guilt threatening to explode within me and dig my nails into my palms.
What’s wrong with her? Ethan is focused on Stu, and the question is obviously meant for him, but I’m the one who receives it. The childish curiosity in the mental voice is enough to pull me out of my head—at least enough for me to realize I don’t want to upset Ethan any further.
He can’t hear you this way. My response comes by reflex, and before I have time to add anything, Ethan turns to face me with widened eyes.
But you can. Are you like me?
Yeah, but we’re not going to tell Stu about this right now, okay? It can be our secret.
Ethan scowls. “I don’t like secrets.”
Stu tilts his head to the side and his gaze goes from me back down to Ethan. “What kind of secrets, Ethan?”
“She doesn’t want me to tell you that she’s like me.”
Actually, I’m more worried about Stu finding out that the kid’s like me, not the other way around, but I suppose there’s no use trying to hide it now.
“Like you?” Stu prompts.
“A damned filthy half-breed,” says a low voice from behind us. “Now back away from it. Slowly.”
My knife is already in my hand, so I simply turn to face the three men who managed to sneak up on us. My fingers steady on the handle, I slide to the side as Stu rises to his feet beside me. Shoulder to shoulder, we stand in front of Ethan. Whatever his thoughts are on the half-breed matter, Stu at least doesn’t want to see the kid hurt any further. I breathe out a slow, steadying breath and readjust my grip on the knife.
The short, stocky man in front, probably the one who spoke before, runs his eyes over me and then turns to Stu. His eyes widen a moment and a surprised look flashes across his face. “Aren’t you Lenny’s boy?”
Stu gives a quick jerk of his head but stays quiet and doesn’t relax his stance.
“Where’s your father at then? We heard a commotion over your way earlier, but we were too busy with our own issues here to get over there.”
Stu raises his eyebrows and inclines his head in the direction of the crater. “That your doing?”
The man snorts. “Hell no. We don’t have that kind of weaponry. We were just coming in to clean up the mess.”
“By ‘clean up the mess’ do you mean look for any survivors you can sell off?” Stu’s snide tone and curled lip are lost on the man.
“Damn straight. Gotta make a living somehow. Looks like you got the only valuable one though.” He leers at me, his brown, stained teeth visible through his parted lips. “Think we can work out some kinda trade? After all, your father owes me.”
“A trade?” Stu’s voice has gone completely flat and his face is blank. He can’t possibly be considering this, right? Just in case, I step closer to Ethan and roll my shoulders back.
“Your daddy has no use for the girl,” the man says, “so what’s she worth to him? For something like that…” His voice trails off and he rubs his chin. “How about a couple modified jolt guns? With the erks out and about, those have become pretty valuable lately.”
Stu doesn’t move. “And the boy?”
The man makes a gun with two fingers, points it directly at Ethan, and makes a popping noise. “It’ll be put down. I’ve heard rumors about this particular group’s… odd tastes, that they had a couple erk bitches over here.” Disgust twists his features as he glares down at the small boy. “Didn’t think it was true till now. We’ve already taken care of its littermates, but that one gave us the slip.” And then he laughs, an awful sound that drips with viciousness.
“I think I’ll pass,” says Stu, a new bite in his tone. In three steps, he’s directly in front of the man, leaning down to say his next words in a hard but controlled voice. “My father’s dead, and I don’t owe you a damn thing. Now get the hell out of here.”
A bitter chuckle breaks out of the man’s chest and he shakes his head slowly. “Foolish kid. I would have let you live, too.” Before Stu has a chance to move back, there’s a gun pressing up under his chin. “Grab the girl.”
The other two men circle around, one approaching me from either side. I expect the stark, cold freeze of fear to lock me in place, and I hold my breath, waiting for it. But instead something else fills me—a fiery rage that starts in my chest and then extends outward to lick at my fingertips. These men have no right to me, and they have even less right to the poor child I’m shielding, the one whose terror leaks into me and feeds the flames.
A snarl twists my face as my body turns, the knife blade between my fingertips for only a moment before it goes spinning toward the man to the right. This thunk does not bother me; instead the darkness in me revels at the sound. The darkness wants to stay, to fight and kill, but I push it away. The boy is more important.
I scoop Ethan into my arms and dash back out to the main road, the third man close behind us. The knife was my only weapon, so my only hope now is to outrun him. Shouldn’t be a problem. An extra burst of speed brings me to the end of the block, and I veer to the right, then dart behind a large bush and crouch under the lower branches with Ethan behind me. And I wait.
The sound of running footsteps is clear in my head, drawing closer, slowing where I turned and then crunching through the snow—The snow! He’ll follow my footprints right to us! I gather Ethan up again and am turning to run when the sound of a gun cocking reaches my ears.
Stay here, no matter what! I send as much reassurance as I can to the little boy, then I set him down and turn to face the man behind me, my hands raised.
A grin lights his face. “Not too smart, are you? Did you really think you’d escape?”
I have no weapon. Ethan is injured. We’re cornered. Those three thoughts run circles in my head, but it’s not until he steps closer that my heart rate increases and my breaths get shallow. It’s the smell of smoke that wafts from him that does it—sparking a stab of fear that finds its way from my brain to my limbs and freezes me in place.
He takes another step, the gun centered on my chest. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Now I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to,” he says. “Step away from the kid.”
I don’t know which statement is more ridiculous. Whatever happens, his goal will end up with me hurt, and there’s no way I’m simply going to give up and let him kill a child. The absurdity of it all is enough to dispel the growing panic—and turn it into something more useful.
I laugh—a harsh, mocking sound that brings a look of confusion to the man’s face. I take three steps forward until the gun is pressed hard against my chest. “Leave him alone.” The swirling rage protects me, putting fire in my actions and stone in my heart. The gun doesn’t scare me. The stench of this man doesn’t affect me. I am stron
ger. I am quicker. And he deserves to die.
The man’s brow furrows, and one of his feet slides backward as if he’s preparing to run. There’s a hint of uncertain fear in his eyes. Good.
“You would kill him for what he is,” I say. “But you never asked what I was.” I smile sweetly and bat my eyelashes right before I place a single finger to his temple—and send every bit of the fire raging through me straight into his head.
His eyes roll back and he falls to his knees. I follow, now with my palms pressed to either side of his head much like the position Jastren took with Jace. But rather than decreasing or slowing, the flow of acidic emotion increases. My cheeks ache with the morbid grin stretching across my face. When a trickle of blood leaks from the man’s nose, I push harder and harder and harder…
“Jax!” Flint’s voice is too far removed to process, but his touch is not. A hand grabs my shoulder and yanks me back.
The man goes with me, collapsing on top of me, but the connection is broken.
And so am I.
The dark heat that kept me up, kept me moving, shatters. Shards of frigid guilt and horror and fear lodge in my mind, my limbs, my stomach… my everywhere. The shivering starts at my toes and travels upward until my entire body is shaking on the ground. The buzz in my head morphs into a screeching pain that crawls from my mouth in a sob.
The limp body above me is removed. A hand slides under my head, preventing it from banging on the ground, and another reaches under my knees and tries to pull them up, to lift me. But I’m rigid with pain, and another sob breaks past my lips. The hand releases my knees and grabs one of my hands while my upper body is raised and my head is settled against someone’s leg. I want to scream at them to get away, that the pressure is building and it has nowhere to go. I can’t control it. I can’t do anything but lie here and let it out. A parade of faces flashes behind my eyelids. Rym, Jace, and that man. Anyone I touch could be a victim. And Flint is touching me.
I struggle against his hold. Command my tongue to speak. But nothing works, and it’s getting too hard to contain.
A voice yells, “No!” Was it me? And then relief as a small, cool hand brushes against my forehead, drawing the painful pressure away in a slow and steady stream until my seizing muscles relax and I drift into darkness.
IT’S THE GRAY LIGHT that signals the coming of dawn that meets my eyes when I finally open them again. I’m resting against Flint’s side, and he jostles my arm as he reaches over to shift gears. A couple slow blinks and I sit up, rubbing my stiff neck and rolling my shoulders. That was not the best position to spend time in, and my muscles are making sure I know it.
The snow-covered road stretches out in front of us and the sky still has a whitish cast. Though the flakes have slowed they’re still falling, and what’s on the ground is deep enough to be slowing our progress. The truck’s still chugging along though, and Flint’s whole attention is directed to the road ahead; he barely so much as glances at me when I bump his shoulder. I can’t imagine that driving into a ditch would be a good thing in any situation, but with me weakened and—I glance to the side—a kid in tow, hiking the rest of the way might not even be an option.
“How much farther?” I ask in a raspy voice.
Flint shrugs. “I’m not sure. We stopped to rest for a while after we got out of that town, and we’ve been back on the road around an hour, but it’s been slow. Another hour maybe.”
He’s stressed. And angry. I can tell by the tense set of his shoulders and how tightly he grips the steering wheel. The quiet extends, and I wait for him to lay into me, but he doesn’t. And the longer it goes on, the more anxiety that climbs into my body.
Running off like that was a stupid thing for me to do, and getting caught and nearly killed was even worse, though that part wasn’t really something I did. But it’s the other stuff that really haunts me—the things that are just now starting to come back to me in bits and pieces. E’rikon eyes. Guns and knives. Dripping blood. I look down at my hands and flex my fingers a few times. They look normal enough, but… I shudder.
I let the feral thing that lives inside me take over… and I killed someone with it. At least I assume I did, and I have no idea whether knowing for sure would be better or worse.
And afterward? My gaze slides to the little form curled up against Stu. Ethan is the only one who could have drawn it out of me like that, like I did for Jace, but how did he control it? How did he not end up seizing on the ground too? Has he had training of some sort? Maybe I can learn something from him—if his new self-appointed guardian will let me. Stu is awake now, studying me with a narrowed gaze.
“How’s his shoulder?” I ask.
Stu’s eyes travel down to the little boy and then back up to me. “It’s fine. Flint helped me get it back into joint last night when he was… passed out.” His gaze hardens.
“Oh.” I clear my throat and look away. So the kid wasn’t completely unaffected. My stomach turns with the knowledge of what could have happened, and I scoot closer to Flint.
The hands gripping the steering wheel are familiar to me, my friend’s hands, the hands of the boy who is like family to me. But if one tiny thing had been different last night, Flint might have died. I don’t think he even considered that when he came to help me. He trusted me enough, trusted my control enough to pull me away, something that probably prevented any more damage to my mind, prevented the darkness from taking over completely.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I have to learn to control this, to use this, even if it means throwing myself at the mercy of Jastren or some other more knowledgeable E’rikon. Next time I might not be so lucky. Next time that darkness could turn on a friend, and I don’t know that there’s much I could do to stop it. After all, Jace clearly wasn’t able to.
Guilt, shame, and other emotions I can’t name bubble up and exit my mouth in two simple words. “I’m sorry.” Whether I’m apologizing for what I did to that guy, or for letting Ethan take on any of that, or for risking Flint’s life, I have no idea. All I know is that tears are burning behind my eyelids and saying those words out loud didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, as a tear slowly makes its way down my cheek, I realize that it simply gave all those feelings free rein to bounce around inside me, colliding with each other and amplifying until that single drip is joined by another.
A soft mental brush brings a splash of curiosity and innocence with it. Don’t be sad.
Since the bond between Lir and I was broken well before I got a chance to explore it further, and I haven’t been able to link with Jastren, I’ve never gotten used to having people other than Jace talk in my head, but the child’s voice doesn’t startle me. In fact, the connection is comforting, even without the emotional flow of the dhama. If I spent enough time with Ethan, would something like that develop between him and me?
He sits up and leans forward. That man killed my mama. He deserved to be hurt.
Pressing my lips together, I give a firm shake of my head. No one deserves that. Besides, I’m more worried about what you did. You could have been hurt. Why did you do that?
Ethan wiggles out from underneath Stu’s arm and moves closer to me. Mama taught me how to draw. She said I was the bestest drawer she’s ever seen. A proud smile takes over his face. I have no clue what he’s talking about, and his little brow furrows when I don’t respond with what I’m assuming is the proper admiration for this feat. That’s not the real name for it. Mama tried to teach me, but it was too hard for me to say. Kuu-vaa-too… His lips move as he silently tries to sound it out. Or maybe it was kaa-vee-tan… It was easier to call it drawing, ’cause that’s what it is.
How does a five-year-old kid know more about this than I do?
“I’m not five. I’m seven.” Ethan scowls.
Oops. I’m not used to policing my thoughts, and it looks like I need to learn—and learn fast. There are things hiding in my head that no kid should see. “Sorry,” I say.
Stu
adjusts his body until he’s leaning against the door and facing us. “I get that the kid’s part… E’rikon, but what’s with these weird little half conversations? What am I missing?”
“They’re telepathic,” says Flint. “It’s an alien thing. They’re having a whole conversation, it’s just that you and I can only hear the out-loud half of it.” He glares at me out of the corner of his eye. “Exasperating, isn’t it?”
Stu looks from me to Ethan and back again. “You’re talking in his head? Is that safe? I mean…” He flexes his hands as if resisting the urge to snatch Ethan away from me. Like I’m dangerous.
“I like talking in my head. It reminds me of mama,” says Ethan. He pauses, and his shoulders droop for a moment before he brightens again and continues. “’Sides, she’s a pusher and I’m a drawer. We kinda go together, like puzzles pieces or something.”
“Pusher?” I’m lost, and I’m the one who shares his heritage. Apparently his induction into the E’rikon world was a lot more thorough than mine.
“Like you can push things at people to make them feel bad or do what you want. But Mama said pushers can get overloaded, and they need us drawers to help sometimes. Like I helped you.” He grins, a dimple appearing on either side of his mouth.
I nod slowly. “Like you helped me…”
I hadn’t meant to prompt him, but now he really starts chattering. “There’s always supposed to be balance, that’s why every superpower has a countermove. At least that’s what Mama told me. She said that the most important powers are the ones like mine…” He stops to think, chewing on his lower lip. “And I guess like yours too. ’Cause we have big powers. She called them… umm… offensive.” He pronounces the last word slowly, as if to be sure he’s got it right, then looks to me. For approval? I give him a nervous smile. “Of course there’s little powers too, but I only really wanted to learn about the big ones. Some of them sound like so much fun.”
It’s starting to feel a lot like talking to a younger version of Peter: the constant subject changes, the information explosions, and the need for at least a few seconds to process everything before I can think to respond. I want to ask what other powers there are, but all I manage to spit out is, “Some of them?”