Phoenix Freed

by Elise Faber

She barely heard their shouts of anger as a vision shot through her.

  Overcorrecting, she slipped on already wobbling legs.

  Her shoulder glanced off someone else.

  Car accident. No seatbelt. Ejected through windshield.

  House fire. Two dead. Husband and wife.

  Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Killed in Afghanistan.

  Murder suicide. Wife, husband, three kids dead—

  Darcy reached forward as if to touch Daughtry’s shoulder. “I started to follow you then saw John and I hid instead.” Shame darkened Darcy’s features. “I’m sorry I was such a coward. But I knew if he saw me, he’d tell Morgan and . . .” She shook her head. “In the end it didn’t even matter because Morgan found me anyway.”

  Daughtry blinked, curiosity pushing away the aftershocks of the memories of the deaths she’d pulled. “Why were you hiding?”

  “Do we really have to talk about it?” Darcy looked so miserable at the prospect that Daughtry shook her head.

  “No, I guess we don’t.”

  A sigh before Darcy said, “He broke my heart.”

  Daughtry glanced up. “I’m sorry.”

  Darcy shrugged. “Me too.”

  A moment passed between them, the discomfort fading along with Daughtry’s anger. “I do understand. You know that, right?” she said, about the heartbreak, about hiding from her life.

  “I’m not sure that anyone does.” Darcy blew out a breath. “Okay,” she said with a rueful smile. “I know plenty of people probably do.”

  “Glad you’ve returned to reality,” Dee said wryly.

  “Shut up, you.” But Darcy was smiling.

  They talked a few more minutes about mundane things before going their separate directions. As Daughtry closed the door, she thought that, perhaps, she and Darcy might be able to have a real friendship, instead of one clouded by secrets on both sides.

  It was a nice thought.

  Despite her promise of three, it was only two days before the rooms for the Forgotten were settled. Or at least habitable. They were still short a couple of beds and the rooms were far from cozy, but all the families were grouped together, and everyone had the privacy they required.

  “I feel like I’m in a college dormitory,” Brigette said.

  Daughtry laughed. “It does seem like that, huh? That was one of my first thoughts: a very dirty, very outdated dorm. But trust me, once you guys are able to see through the glamour, you’ll recognize the Colony for what it is.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Shove it down your throat opulence.”

  Brigette giggled before her face went serious. “I really do appreciate you guys taking us in, and what you’ve done for us in particular, but I miss my little house.”

  “I’m sorry it’s gone.”

  “Me too,” Brigette said, the not-entirely-unexpected loss making her voice tight.

  Yesterday, Morgan and Mason had teleported back to the Forgotten’s base and found it burned to the ground, the entire circle of beautifully hand-built houses reduced to piles of smoldering ash.

  Everyone had known that the Dalshie would return, had anticipated that they would be destroyed. But that didn’t take away the pain of its loss.

  “You know what I miss the most?” Brigette asked.

  Daughtry shook her head.

  “My mixer,” Brigette said.

  Daughtry couldn’t help it, she laughed.

  Brigette mock-frowned, the sadness of the previous moment giving way to an amusement that gave Daughtry hope. Because if this woman—who’d been experimented on, tortured, her life torn to shreds multiple times—could survive, then surely she could too.

  “It’s true,” Brigette said. “The food in the cafeteria is decent but the baked goods are crap.”

  “Well, I think you know how you can earn your keep.”

  “Not you, too!”

  Daughtry glanced over at the exasperated outburst.

  “First that pushy Dante and now you. I bake for myself, for family and friends, not for an entire group of people.” Brigette sighed. “I’m not a good enough cook for something like that.”

  “Trust me,” Daughtry said. “You are.”

  Brigette just shook her head. “You’re kind, really sweet to say that—”

  “This is about Benjamin, isn’t it?”

  Brigette’s mouth dropped out. “What? No! Of course not. That was ages ago, anyway. How do you even remember that?”

  “I’m recalling lots of things.” None of them particularly important, but all of them involving Brigette and Dominic.

  Swimming in the lake behind the Forgotten homes.

  Sleeping out in the stars one evening, the weather warm enough that they’d hardly needed the light blanket they’d brought.

  And Benjamin.

  Whom Brigette had been madly in love with.

  Who’d decided that he didn’t love her back.

  “Laila is his, right?” she asked, and a look of such agony crossed Brigette’s face that Daughtry immediately regretted saying anything. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

  “No,” Brigette said. “You’re right. You know you are. Benjamin is Laila’s father.”

  “Where is he now?” Daughtry spoke the question tentatively, not sure if she should ask it, but knowing that she needed the information if she was to help her friend heal.

  Anger pushed out the hurt. “The idiot went and got himself killed.”

  “What?” Daughtry grappled for a moment, trying to find the right thing to say. Eventually, she settled on, “What happened?”

  “He drove himself off a cliff.”

  That was about as far from what Daughtry had expected Brigette to say that she was struck silent.

  Then she said, or rather agreed, “Definitely an idiot.”

  Brigette let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

  “How long ago?”

  “Five years. He wasn’t the most responsible man. Going too fast combined with too many drinks after I’d told him I was pregnant and well . . .” Brigette trailed off and Daughtry felt a pang of sympathy for a little girl who wouldn’t know her father and for Brigette, who had to deal with the consequences of his death.

  “Poor Laila.”

  “I know.”

  The quiet stretched between them for a moment. Then Daughtry wrapped her arms around Brigette and hugged her tight. “I’m sorry for you, too.”

  Brigette sniffed. “He didn’t even love me.”

  “I’m still sorry.”

  They held each other tight for a long moment. The contact, the ability to comfort a friend in need made Daughtry’s eyes sting. Just months before, she’d been afraid of a simple touch.

  Today she was able to give it.

  The circle of life and all that.

  And great, now she sounded like a Disney movie.

  “About the baking—”

  Brigette’s protest was cut off when Cody’s voice shot across the bond and drowned the sound out.

  "Cowgirl, come meet me at Tyler’s cell." A pause then, "Hurry."

  Seven

  Daughtry burst through the door to find several members of the Council standing outside of Tyler’s cell, along with John, Dante, and Cody.

  "What is it?" she thought, not wanting to be blindsided. Already her anger was on knife’s edge. If they were going to try to execute Tyler again she’d—

  "He’s awake."

  "Oh my God." Cody stepped toward her and halted her when she would have pushed into the cell.

  “He wants to see you.”

  Yes. She wanted that too. There were so many things she needed to tell Tyler, so many things she’d been unable to communicate with him over the last couple of months.

  But the hesitation pulling the bond taught, vibrating it with the strain of Cody’s held back emotions, made it clear that something else was at stake here.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “He’s upset.”

&n
bsp; With a huff of frustration she finally turned to face Cody fully. “Of course he’s upset. He almost died.”

  “He’s upset because he didn’t.”

  That stopped her. “You can’t be serious.” Tyler had to know he wasn’t a Dalshie, had to know he hadn’t lost that intrinsic warmth and goodness inside of him.

  Cody just looked at her.

  Dear God, save me from men.

  “This isn’t a male-female thing,” he muttered.

  “Sure it is,” she countered. “Tyler can’t stand the fact that he needs help. You LexTals always have to be the rescuers.”

  “This is coming from the woman who single-handedly saved both John and me from the Dalshie? We wouldn’t have survived if not for you.” A raised brow. “So I think the rescuer gene isn’t excluded from your DNA either, cowgirl.”

  She smiled and risked a glance over Cody’s shoulder. Most of the group was pretending not to listen. Pretending because every one of their ears was pointed in their direction. The anticipation of her answer was practically tangible.

  "Didn’t realize we were so interesting."

  Cody smirked. "Something banal always relieves the tension of the moment."

  "Noted," she thought. "You’ve never admitted that I saved your butt before."

  A shrug. Then with amusement, "I didn’t have to. It was obvious."

  "Too whom?" Annoyance coursed through her. He’d made her feel as though she had to fight for every inch of respect she’d gained.

  "As well you should," he thought. "I love you, but respect is earned, not gained."

  Her irritation didn’t fade. "Respect should be intrinsic."

  "We’ll have to agree to disagree. Of course a person deserves politeness, kindness even. But when it comes to making a place for yourself?" Cody thought. "It sucks, cowgirl, but that takes work."

  His words speared straight through her, the truth hitting directly in the gut. It wasn’t how she would have ever thought about it. But after her journey of the last months, however, "You’re right . . . of course."

  "I know how much you hate when that happens." His eyes were amused, but approval radiated down the bond.

  "That’s a lie," she thought, even thought it was partially true. "Now quit trying to distract me."

  "You’re more relaxed, at least."

  "I was until you just said that."

  She stepped away from him and shored up her spine. Fact was that Tyler was probably going to be pissed she hadn’t abided his wishes. But tough. He was her friend. He was important—

  Dammit. She wasn’t willing to give that up.

  The basement wasn’t exactly as she might have imagined a prison cell—very different from the hovel where the Dalshie had kept her and Tyler. The walls were stacked cinder block, painted in a pale, very institutional shade of blue, and the door was a heavy metal with a small glass window caged in mesh. That was set high in the panel, almost above her head.

  Standing on her tiptoes, she peered in and saw the white walls, the hospital bed. An IV was strung from Tyler’s arm to a hook on the wall.

  Steeling herself, Daughtry allowed her gaze to focus on the figure in the bed.

  He was staring right back at her.

  A breath escaped from her lips as she fell back onto her heels.

  Her heartbeat rose as she peeked in again, and found Tyler still looking at her. He lifted a hand and crooked his finger.

  "You don’t have to do this." A surge of compassion along the bond. "We’d understand."

  "Respect, remember?" she thought. "I don’t want to lose the little I’ve gained."

  "Daughtry—"

  "It was a joke. A bad one." Her hand went to the handle. No matter what kind of anger Tyler threw at her, she wouldn’t flinch.

  Without further delay, she pushed inside.

  “Shut the door.” Tyler’s voice was raspy, weak.

  Her eyes flew up. “What?”

  “Shut the door,” he said again.

  It closed with a soft click.

  The only sound after that was the soft squeak of her sneakers against the tile floor as she crossed the room to the bed. It was a struggle to keep her face placid and one she was sure she failed at. But Tyler looked terrible. Normally his skin was an almost burnished gold. Today it was ashen. Dark circles marred the skin beneath his eyes, whose typically striking blue irises were dulled with pain.

  “That bad, huh?” When she blinked, a smile crept across his lips. “Yeah. I figured as much.”

  Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth, stomach tense as she waited. Any second now he would start yelling, unleash the storm of his anger.

  Instead he stared at her, the pain slowly fading from his gaze as amusement took over.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, finally. “Aren’t you mad?”

  “Mad?” He grimaced. “I’m thankful that you stopped me from taking the easy way out. When I think of how I might not have seen my mom, my sister—” His voice broke and he half-leaned forward, his shoulders just barely clearing the pillow case. “Daughtry. You saved me from myself. From everyone else. Thank you.”

  The gratitude washed over her, taking much of her anxiety with it.

  In its wake was confusion.

  Tyler grinned and slumped back, exhaustion seeming to win out. “Suz says my blood is clear. I haven’t turned.”

  Daughtry took in the markings on his right arm, the pulsing lines of black trailing up his wrist. “Couldn’t you make her see that result?”

  Tyler’s telepathy was very powerful. He could manipulate emotions, plant suggestions and thoughts.

  One side of his mouth lifted. “I could.” A beat. “Which is why Suz sent the lab work off to another settlement and had the results sent directly to Dante.”

  “Oh.” Smart.

  “But you already knew I wasn’t Dalshie.”

  Daughtry shrugged, attempted levity. “It’s a gift.” Or at least in this case it was because Tyler hadn’t turned. The Dalshie made her stomach churn, her skin prickle and want to leap off her skeleton. Tyler evoked none of those sensations.

  “So why the markings?” she asked. “If you’re not Dalshie, then why are you stained?”

  A look of discomfort crossed Tyler’s face.

  “When?” she asked, pouncing on the look as dread spread ice through her limbs.

  He glanced away. “It doesn’t matter.”

  It did. Really, it did. “When?” she pressed.

  “The dungeon.”

  A torrent of guilt ripped through her. So he had been put through hell—twice—because of her.

  “Stop.”

  With difficultly, she managed to settle her emotions. Logically, she knew that it wasn’t her fault she’d been kidnapped. Elizabeth had arranged the abduction and Tyler had willingly thrown himself into the fray in his attempt to rescue her.

  It. Wasn’t. Her. Fault.

  But dammed if every bad thing that had happened to the Rengalla in the last months still seemed like it was.

  “Sorry,” she said when her throat had loosened.

  “Is this where I need to remind you that I chose to intervene, that you don’t bear the responsibility of what happened to me?”

  “No.” Part of her agreed with that statement and the other piece—the professional at self-loathing—was just going to have to stuff it.

  “Good.”

  A moment of silence passed between them. On her end it was filled with determination, her resolution to put the past behind her. She wasn’t going to take on all the bad things that happened to other people, wasn’t going to blame herself for them.

  Not any longer.

  She was a work in progress, but that was a hell of a lot better than stagnating in the same emotional crap-hole. When her gaze focused back on Tyler, his eyes were closed, the sheer volume of his fatigue radiating off him. Deciding to leave him to his rest, she stood.

  His eyes flew open.

  “Shh,” she
said, and settled a hand on his shoulder when he would have moved. “Get your rest.”

  His voice was gravel when he spoke. “You don’t think I called you down here to talk about feelings, do you?”

  Surprise wove through her. “You didn’t?”

  He smirked, the mischievous grin that was so classically Tyler. “No. That was for the benefit of all of those eavesdroppers outside the door.”

  Her gaze whipped to the window of the cell. From her angle she could see that the Council had left—or at least weren’t crammed into the hallway across from the cell.

  A rusty laugh escaped Tyler’s lips and had her looking back at him with what was no doubt an incredulous expression. “I like you, Dee, but discussing my emotions isn’t my first choice of activity on any day.”

  “Then what did you want to talk about?” It was a cautious question, filled with both curiosity and tempered anxiety.

  Because she had the feeling that the calm of the last forty-eight hours was about to end.

  “The Orb.”

  Yup. She was right.

  Eight

  The door to the cell opened with a creak.

  Daughtry whirled then released a breath when she saw that it was Dante.

  When she focused back on Tyler, a tingle went down her spine, her instincts screaming. She wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.

  Dante crossed the room and stood on the opposite side of the bed.

  “Tell her what you told me.” It was a calm order from Dante, the practiced ease of a leader who’d seen many bad things come and go.

  Tyler took a breath. His eyes slid closed, any sign of his previous amusement lost to the wayside. When he opened them and looked at her, the agony in his gaze stole her breath. “I’m still trying to piece it all together. I remember some things clearly. The cell. The pain of that dark magic. But then . . .”

  “What?” she asked softly.

  “Then there’s a long stretch of blackness. As though I woke up and my thoughts were no longer my thoughts. I remember you leaving.” He met her stare. “And that I was happy to see you go.” His eyes glittered with tears. “Fuck, Dee. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize what was happening. I’m so damned sorry that I wasn’t there for you. And then I tried to kill—”