But what would that solve?
“Hey, now, don’t look at me like that,” he warns, leaning back so that his hand slips from my flesh, leaving me bare and cold. “Gods, Lu, you’d tempt a saint. Which I am not.”
I clear my throat. “You look nice in Storm’s suit.”
He’s silent and watchful for a long moment, brushing the creamy linen tablecloth with his fingers. “I think that’s too much weight for one person to try to hold, Princess. I think you need to let go of all that stuff you can’t control for one night.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You think I don’t see it? When was the last time you let yourself be a young woman without a million and a half responsibilities?” Time slows to a halt as he stares at me. “Let’s just pretend, for one night, that we’re in a normal world. And I’m just a boy taking his pretty gal on a date. A real, honest-to-god date.”
“That’s…that’s mad.” But even as I say the words, a bright flare of hope pulses through me at the thought. His girl. A date. Jared busies his fingers along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh under the cover of the table.
“Why?” His lips curve into the smallest hint of a smile.
“Why…what?”
“Why is it crazy?”
It takes me a moment to pull myself from the fog of skittering senses and another long moment to see that he’s serious.
But we’ve been down this road before, Jared and I. Every time I give in to what I feel for him, what I want, something steps in to remind me that we can’t be. I have some sort of future to consider, they say. I have a responsibility to live up to my breeding, my class. Because I’m a Fox.
And each time I give in to what I feel for Jared, I only want him more. And it hurts.
I’m not certain how much more I can take: the exquisite torture of being close to him only to be set aside and held at arm’s length. Jared has been telling me in a thousand different ways that there will only be these stolen moments. But maybe, just maybe, I want forever.
I consider the elegant linen tablecloth in my lap, my hand folded over it like the wing of a bird. It looks like a freedom I’ll never have.
I recite the lesson I’ve come to think of as our family’s motto. “One’s duty never sleeps.”
Jared chuckles, but the warmth doesn’t enter his eyes, which instead fix on me with the wariness of a caged beast. “Right.”
My chest sinks. Right then, I would rather do anything, be anything, than the right and proper Miss Fox. I want to be my sister. I want to be some Laster girl or True Born or anyone but me. Someone Jared could want forever.
What would I do if I were someone else? If I were free?
I can imagine us being together in a thousand other lives: Splicer, Laster, True Born. There’s not a single outcome I can picture where we’re together and I am who I am.
I’m not someone else. I am Lucy Fox.
“Jared.” His name sounds like rust on my tongue. I’m terrified that I will lose him, just by virtue of being who and what I am. “Jared,” I say again.
My hand slips under the table, hooks around his fingers. They throb with heat and warmth against the cold marble of my thigh. I want that other life, the one where we’re together until we’re old and gray. And I still don’t know what I can say to this man, this True Born merc, except that I’m not ready to give him up even if we can’t be. And I’m praying to all the gods in Dominion that he won’t give me up, either.
The words are thick in my mouth, as though my tongue has swollen. “Jared. Don’t give up on me. Don’t ever give up on me.”
Jared blinks. Some deep emotion washes over his eyes, like the passing of a cloud. I don’t know what it means until his lips and one eyebrow quirk up, somehow making him look like a happy cat. “Do you honestly think I could, Lucinda Fox?”
We sit, transfixed in the luminous candlelight, as the waiter comes and goes. Something like a fist hammers through my heart. Jared’s pupils slit to a cat’s as he watches me with half-lidded eyes and listens to its violent tattoo. His fingers stay stretched across my knee. And suddenly there is no restaurant. No Plague, no political machinations to be wary of. There is just Jared. Jared Price and me, alive and together. And it feels perfect.
…
Without warning, Jared’s head jerks back, as though he’s been struck. He listens for a moment, head cocked, then turns glittering eyes on me.
Our little world of two is about to come crashing down around us.
“Dig in, Princess. Serena and Carl will be here in twenty minutes.” His hands squeeze mine for a moment before releasing them, leaving me feeling instantly lost and cold. It takes a moment for me to gather my composure again.
I frown. “Didn’t they meet up with Storm?” Rather than answer, Jared fiddles with a knife. In his hands the simple dinner knife looks sinister.
“Are you worried about something?” I ask.
“No. Well, I mean, yes. Everything.”
“What?” I look around the room, half expecting glass to fly or people to drop dead. But no one here even shakes with palsy. Here are Splicers. People don’t get sick at Jacardo’s.
“Nothing to worry about, really,” Jared tells me. But there’s a shadow to his eye.
“Jared Price, tell me what is going on right this minute.”
“Nothing, Princess, I swear.” He half grins at me as his hands come up in mock surrender. The smile dies in his eyes before it falls off his lips. “It’s just—I was really enjoying having dinner with you.” My heart thumps painfully in my chest just as Jared’s stomach lets loose a loud protest. “And so was my stomach, apparently,” he jokes.
It hurts to laugh. But it hurts more not to.
…
Serena and Carl wait for us on the crumbling sidewalk as we exit the restaurant. An Upper Circle spot like Jacardo’s would never let in a True Born like Carl. Carl is a cat, all bristling marmalade fur, tightly packed muscles, and a mean streak strewn with bullets. The trio immediately launch into a form of shorthand, a kind of merc language that would require more training than my scant few months living at Storm’s.
Bored, I loose the thread until Ali’s name is spoken. That catches my attention.
Carl picks his jagged teeth with a toothpick. “The kid has been staying on the other side of the park. They’ve got some friends there.”
I break in. “What kind of friends?”
“The special kind,” Serena says, pushing her long ash-white hair from her face.
“The special kind… You mean the druids really might be like True Borns?” It’s not polite of me to butt in, nor is “True Born” considered a nice word to bandy about on a public street. But I’d as soon not wait for any more answers. If Ali and his ilk really are what he says they are, some sort of servants of Cernunnos, I want to know what they’re about.
Serena and Carl stare at me as though noticing me for the first time. It’s Serena who answers, licking her lips before forming a careful reply. “Possibly.”
“None of ’em are cats, anyways,” cracks Carl. He has all the sense of humor of his animal gen code, too. Which is to say, none at all.
“Oh.” Disappointed, I start to turn. Serena surprises me by whipping out an arm and halting me. A plop of rain falls. Then another. I look up, waiting for the sky to ruin the evening even more.
“What?”
“Wait a minute.” Her eyes are eerie blank disks. “Wait just a second.” She stares hard at me, and for a fleeting moment I feel as though the tall, lithe woman is seeing me inside out. Serena is a Salvager, that special kind of True Born, the lowest of the low according to the whispers.
Serena can see through the skin of things, trace their essence. They call her type Salvagers because they can find other True Borns. And she can see Margot and me.
I’ve often wondered how such a gift would have arisen, if it were a form of magic as old as the Gods themselves. Because surely, it’s an unnatural talent.
/> But now I’m watchful as Serena reaches out one long finger and traces the horns on the golden coin that sits across my breastbone, hidden beneath my blouse. I force myself not to cover Alastair’s gift with my hands as Serena’s eyes narrow to slits. She makes a restless motion with her hands until, alarmed, I bring out the chain. The coin catches the light as it falls across my neck. Serena studies the coin carefully with her milky white eyes. And then, startling us all, her head tips back as she lets out a loud, braying laugh.
“What?” I stomp my foot, annoyed.
“What?” Jared parrots, pressing himself to my side. His eyebrows knit together as he takes in the necklace that, by his expression, he hasn’t noticed until now.
But Serena can’t speak for tears as the sky unleashes dozens of tiny hammers of rain. “Nothing,” she says when she’s recovered enough. She wipes her eyes with the back of her fist. “It’s just—I didn’t realize things were quite so tight with the kid and you.” Carl and Jared and I share a perplexed look.
I scowl at the beautiful woman. “What are you talking about?”
“Your necklace,” Serena says, breaking out into another paroxysm of laughter. Rain quickly soaks the top of my sweater. I pull it tighter around me, my back straightening as I transform into the regal diplomat’s daughter.
“What about my necklace? It was a gift from Alastair.” Regret swamps me as I feel Jared’s eyes rake over me.
“Yes, I’m well aware.” Serena hiccups and tilts her head to study me. Maybe she can hear my confusion. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what, Serena?” Jared jumps in. His hand tightens across my forearm, as though he’s ready to bolt with me.
“This necklace. It’s a promise token. Old as the hills. It means—” The laughter starts again. As her words hit, I feel a blinding faintness take hold of me.
“You’ve become engaged.”
12
The burning in my chest refuses to go away. But the rage I feel is nothing compared to the bloody, deadly heat Jared throws off.
Jared snarls, showing teeth. “I’ll kill that little weasel. I’m going to enjoy ripping his limbs from his body.” He paces the sidewalk before us in long, violent strides, his legs and back gaining that telltale thickness as the bones in his face lengthen.
“No, I’ll do it.” I pinch at the bones of my nose in an effort to shake loose from the violent headache that suddenly come upon me.
“Yesss,” Jared mouths, his tongue thick and uneasy in his mouth, “but I can break him into tiny pieces for you first.”
I lean over, wanting to vomit. Ali lied to me. And I bought it—all because I thought it would help Ali. Because I had the delusional thought that it might, somehow, bring Jared and me closer. More fool I. The gold of the necklace jangles against my chin. And suddenly I can’t stand it another second. I want it off. I stand up straight and motion to Serena. “Help me get it off.”
The Salvager shakes her head slowly. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I think we should speak with Storm first.”
“What? Why?” I paw at the back of the necklace, but I can’t seem to find the clasp. In a panic, I pull on it, hard enough to bite into the skin of my neck. The chain holds fast.
“You don’t recognize it?” Serena lets out an unhappy puff of breath. “Here,” she says, tracing the stamped horns with her finger. Serena’s voice drops to a whisper. “Can’t you feel it? This coin is not just a piece of gold, Lucy Lu. It’s as old as people. This tiny little coin sparkles. Sparkles and zaps like the Prayer Tree in Heaven Square.”
“So? It will be just as sparkly off my neck.”
But Serena shakes her head again. “No, leave it be, Lucy. You don’t know what this necklace is.”
“I can’t! I won’t. Carl, please, get it off me!” I plead. The marmalade cat man looks back and forth at us in alarm before stepping forward and grasping the chain of the necklace with both hands.
“Carl.” Serena drops just one quiet syllable. Carl steps back, a look of regret stamped on his fur-lined face.
I gasp in outrage. “Jared,” I say, lifting my chin proudly. “Take it off. Do it!” I command. But even though his eyes spit poison, as though he’d gladly tear the world in two, he shakes his head with a wry, thoughtful look.
“Maybe Serena’s right,” he says slowly.
My face burns. How can they leave me to suffer such humiliation? “Please take me back to Storm’s,” I command, dismissing them all as I look away.
Jared murmurs something, presumably speaking through his earpiece. He’s shaking with barely contained rage as he comes to stand in front of me and open the door of Storm’s vehicle that has just pulled up.
“I’ll take you back. And then I’m going hunting,” he promises.
…
Storm’s is quiet by the time we return. I immediately stomp in the direction of his office, Jared still heaving with anger two steps behind me. Kira pops out from nowhere, the ivory oval of her face bathed in shadows.
“Hey, Lucy, hold up there.”
“I need to see Storm.”
“Not right now.” Kira calmly throws up a hand to halt us.
“Kira? If you don’t get out of the way right now, I swear to God—”
Kira rolls her eyes at Jared. “Whatever, Prince Pain in the Ass. Hold your horses. Storm’s in a meeting and can’t be disturbed right now.”
Jared narrows his eyes but steps back, the air of menace hanging around him notching down. “This can’t wait.”
“Oh, but it can. And it will.” Kira twirls a strand of auburn hair between her fingers.
Jared’s a narrow hair’s length from turning. As the bones of his face lengthen, he snarls in the low, angry tones of a jungle cat.
If he shifts, blood will spill. And it will be my fault.
I press myself against Jared’s chest, ignoring Kira and her dropping jaw. Jared blinks in surprise, too, the inhuman sheen brightening at my nearness. I trace my fingers across his cheek. Somehow the skin gets harder when he’s this close to turning. But I feel him relax. A tense few moments later, Jared rests his forehead against mine as though exhausted from fighting something.
The world falls away from us. I don’t know how much time passes before prickles of awareness creep in. Emotions drift through me like clouds. Joy, a sharp feeling of homesickness, and in there with the rest is a thick, awful blanket of misery. I pull back from Jared, unsure of how to put into words that something has happened. Then I feel it again: a sharp tug on that other sense, the one that marks me one of two.
Something is happening. And that something involves Margot.
Kira loudly clears her throat, stretching it out so there’s no mistaking the fact that she’s probably done it a number of times with no effect. One of her eyebrows is hitched so high it’s crawled under her hair.
“You’d best keep that just between the two of you,” she says, crossing her arms. “Stand down. I hear them.”
Three seconds later, the door swings open. Storm’s magnificent silhouette blocks the rest of the room, but he beckons us forward.
My eyes light on Margot, who sits on the cream-colored couch like a timid cat. She’s pale but happy enough, so I’m able to focus on the man sitting across from her in beaten, dirt-caked leathers. I rub my eyes, happy disbelief burning a hole in me.
“Shane!” I yell.
Then I throw myself on our father’s man.
The big man squeezes his fists. The gesture is so familiar it washes me with homesickness. A host of memories float through me: Shane taking Margot and me to school. Shane picking us up when we fell off our bikes. Kisses on the top of our heads. A hearty laugh when we behaved like monkeys. He’d been our father’s man for nearly as long as we girls have drawn breath and was as much a part of our family landscape—in some cases more so—than our parents. Having him return is like getting back a piece of our missing life. Still, it’s clear he’s not the same Shane we’ve known for years. The crea
ses on his face ring his eyes more deeply. His hair has grown in, a long shag rather than the tightly cropped military cut he’s sported for years.
The last time we saw Shane was the night of our Reveal party. Margot and I were to learn our fate: Splicer, Laster, or True Born. Instead we learned that our future was trickier still than these. That was the night our parents disappeared and Margot along with them. We’ve spent months putting out quiet inquiries to learn the fate of our parents. Now, after all this time, our father’s head merc may be able to finally put the missing pieces together.
The tiny cup Shane holds rattles in his large hand as though he’s developed a palsy. He nods in Margot’s direction. “I lost sight of Margot and your folks in the scrum that night.”
Storm leans casually against his desk, arms crossed as he coolly assesses the man before him. Jared, on the other hand, greeted Shane with a warm handshake and a clasp on the back, though now he stands against the wall, one foot propped on the plaster, looking strange in Storm’s finery.
“Heard through my contacts the next day they’d gotten on a private ship with that Russian count or whatever he is. And by the time I heard back from my old buddies in the Wasteland, it was too late to do ’en’thin’ but look for another post.” Shane blinks and stares at us.
The Wasteland. It’s the mercs’ word for the Siberian plains. The mercs train there because it’s a hard land, we’ve heard Shane explain often enough.
It doesn’t make sense to me. Why would our parents leave Shane behind without so much as a word? Why didn’t they take their head merc? But there will be time for questions like that much later. For now it is enough to know that he is alive.
“What have you been doing to make a living?”
Shane scratches his whiskered face. “Oh, this and that. Picked up a few security gigs, nothing too stable. Kept hoping the Foxes would return to the den, reckon.”
A pang goes through me, but it’s Margot’s rather than my own. “Do you think they’re still in Russia?” she asks.
Shane nods. “I do. I have people keeping radar out. I’m makin’ sure that smarmy Russian bastard doesn’t do something he’ll regret.” The heat in Shane’s words is not as surprising as the realization that he’s right. All this time, I had supposed that our parents had been, at the very least, misguided participants in whatever crimes Leo Resnikov had dreamed up.
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