Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles

by Brindi Quinn

  Tide wasn’t paying attention. And her fingers were nearly there. Closer than ever before. A hair’s width away.

  “NO!” Rye snatched her hand and flipped her over and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Tide’s eyes widened as the tattoo’s hold was removed. She felt embarrassed because of her actions, but it didn’t matter because Rye was kissing her. She squirmed a little, but then she realized how insanely much she liked it, and she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Rye held her around the waist and rolled onto his back and continued to kiss her even after the angry thunder invaded the sky. For both the Second and his princess, the kiss was their first, but for some reason, despite their falling stomachs and rapid pulses, it was as practiced as their hundredth.

  Somewhere across the city, in a place where it was already raining, Foster clenched his abdomen, doubled over, and vomited.

  Chapter 10: The Blood Bait

  The angry hunter was mourning, and because he was mourning, he allowed his impulses to flare. The princess did her best to understand.

  What she should’ve done was dismiss it entirely.

  “Hm. Hm. Hmmm. Hm. Hmm-”

  “WOULD YOU KNOCK IT OFF?!”

  Tide’s nonstop humming was driving Jobe crazy.

  “Boo, Jobe. Why’re you so crabby?”

  “A better question, INK, is why the hell you’re so happy!”

  “I’m not allowed to be happy?”

  “NO.”

  “You’re mean.” Tide couldn’t help her happiness. She’d be going to see Rye as soon as they finished their hunt. “Hmm. Hmmmm. Hm.”

  “You’re doing it again!”

  “Oops.”

  “Seriously, what’s the deal?” said Jobe, slamming his pack onto the ground. “You get a boyfriend or something?”

  “Ech-!” Tide’s throat gave her away.

  “So that’s it.” The hunter crouched to the ground and pulled out his mitts. “Girl, you are SO transparent. Well, anyways, be safe, okay? Can’t have my partner getting prego.”

  “P-! Pr-pr-preg-!”

  “Pregnant,” said Jobe. “You know, the thing that happens when a love-struck airhead gets it on with-”

  “Shut up!”

  “Aha! So you’re a virgin. Should’ve guessed as much.”

  “Hmph!” The angry virgin marched past him, stopping only when she reached the mine’s mouth.

  Nero’s daughter was frustrated. Because of Jobe, yes, but because of herself too. Because she was a coward. She wanted to ask the jerk about Rye and Foster. She wanted to ask why Jobe couldn’t stand Rye, and what sort of painful memory had spawned Foster’s Second. She wanted to know what had happened during the parts that Rye couldn’t remember. But because she was angry and a coward, she remained silent.

  “You all ready and whatnot?” asked Jobe.

  “Yes,” said Tide bitterly.

  Deciding to give it a second go, the pair had travelled again to the place where the tartaroise lived. They were to use another entrance this time – somewhere clear of tremor debris.

  “How’s your hand?” said Tide when she’d cooled off.

  “Good enough.”

  “And what the heck’s that on your head?” added Tide, noticing for the first time.

  “This?” Jobe pointed to the flashlight band that rested on his forehead like a googly Cyclops eye.

  “Yeah, that. Why’re you wearing something like that?”

  “For light, duh. Dummy.”

  Tide let out a growl. “I know it’s for light! Obviously it’s for light! WHY aren’t you wearing these?!” She gestured to the bulbed attachments that snapped to the side of her goggles.

  “Too spendy.”

  “Wha-? . . . Oh.”

  “Yeah, bet you feel like an ass now, don’t you?” Jobe smirked at her discomfort and entered the cavern. Tide lagged behind, feeling very much like an ass. “Besides,” he said after a bit, “I put it on last time, too.”

  “Right.” But Tide’s memory of their last attempted hunt was foggy. Foster had shown up and . . . “Hey, Jobe?”

  “Yes, Ink?” he said with sarcastic sweetness.

  “About . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. She couldn’t ask about him. “Uh . . . nothing.”

  “Dang, girl! You’re getting worse! Forgetting things mid-sentence now? Drink cactus juice. It’ll help raise your concentration.”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll try that. Thanks, Charles.”

  The boy who was both Charles and Jobe stopped to give her a deadly scowl. “What did you say?” he said.

  “Er, thanks? I said thank-”

  “Don’t be cheeky. Whatever happened to, ‘the past is the past and rainbows and fluff and kittens and shit’?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Tide.

  “Hello? You called me ‘Charles’.”

  “I did?”

  “You did.”

  “Oh,” said Tide absentmindedly. “I guess I didn’t realize.”

  “A space-case through and through.”

  But Jobe was a little concerned. The secret he’d kept hidden was starting to unbury itself.

  The hunter and huntress traveled into the mine. It was a connection of dark tunnels supported by Bororore beams. The shallow caves had long been abandoned for deeper crevasses, which meant that, aside from clearing out tremor debris for safety reasons, the upper parts were mostly left for hunters and lesser scavengers. Tide and Jobe fit into the former, of course, so they we wholly entitled to exploring the caves to hearts’ content.

  “So,” said Tide, adjusting the right-hand light on her goggles.

  “So,” said Jobe.

  “So . . . which way?”

  Jobe shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “You don’t!?”

  “Why would you expect me to?”

  “Well, it’s just that . . . last time with the plain . . .”

  Jobe jabbed her in the chest with an accusatory finger. “Don’t you think that makes it YOUR turn to do the research?” he said.

  “Ehh.” That was true, Tide supposed.

  “Kidding,” said Jobe, smile as corrupt as ever. “Friend of mine said to check the northern part. Underneath Eeon.”

  Tide swatted his arm before shoving her way past him. From there, the pair followed a wide path that led to a large circular chasm. Tarnished cart rails ran the descending perimeter of the hole, which was wide and deep enough to fit several mid-level scrapers.

  Tide stole to the edge and peered in. The bottom, lost in darkness, couldn’t be seen from where she stood, and looking into it only made her nauseous. Jobe studied his partner with mischievous intent. What good was a dark, dangerous drop if he couldn’t have a little fun with it? Not wanting to miss the chance to wreak some havoc, Jobe lunged forward and gave Tide a good thwack in the back, in response to which the unsuspecting girl teetered forward and –

  “Whaaa!”

  – gave a girlish scream.

  Jobe grabbed her pack to keep her from falling. He let out a laugh.

  Tide did more than just swat him this time. She boxed him in the chest. “You’re such a sadist!”

  “Are you into that kind of thing?” said Jobe.

  “Grow up.”

  The two passed the pit and continued down another branching path. This one was narrower than the first. It was also much damper. Several drops of something dripped onto Tide’s head and slid to the skin of her face. The princess hoped it was water, but the strange stink of the liquid led her to believe otherwise.

  “We’re under a sewer line,” whispered Jobe seductively.

  “What’s with you today?!” Tide glared at him. “You’re being much more unpleasant than usual!”

  It was true. The hunter was peeved. He wouldn’t tell her why, though. This time, the cranky boy was the one to storm ahead, and he stayed that way until reaching the northernmost area of the mine – the northernmost part they could reach, anyway.

&
nbsp; “Okay. Round here,” he said.

  Tide was guilty as charged in regards to leaving preparation and research up to her partner. She hadn’t given the hunt much thought at all. She’d been too preoccupied with . . .

  “Hmm. Hmm. Hm-”

  “ENOUGH! Focus, airhead!” Jobe snapped in her face. “There’s a tartaroise around here somewhere, and you’re off in la-la land, and-”

  “How do you know there’s one around?”

  Jobe sighed. “Come here.”

  Tide obeyed.

  “Closer.”

  Tide gave a mistrustful eyebrow raise.

  “Closer,” said Jobe again.

  Reluctant, Tide did as he instructed, putting herself within reaching distance of the irritable hunter. Jobe grabbed her collar and pulled her down and pressed her face near the pavement.

  “OW! What the heck?! What gives?!”

  “Take a sniff,” said Jobe.

  “What?! Let go, you-”

  “SMELL.”

  Tide did. “Eew.”

  “Yup,” said Jobe. “That there. That white pile your nose is right up next to? That’s tartaroise crap.”

  “EEW!”

  Tide struggled to release herself from Jobe’s forceful grasp. He let her writhe a bit before letting her go. Then he stood, intending to survey the area, but Tide had other plans. She was pissed off – maybe even more than pissed off – and she wouldn’t let him get away with giving in to his cruelty.

  “YAH!” The fed up girl let out a yell and ran right for him. Jobe was unprepared, and in the aftermath of such an angry plow, he was tackled to the ground. Tide pinned him.

  “Sexy,” said Jobe.

  “Shut up! You’re driving me SO crazy today! What’s wrong with you?! Why are you in such a bad mo-”

  “Having fun with that imposter?” said Jobe out of nowhere. He stared up at Tide with eyes that glinted like black beetles.

  Tide was panting. “What?”

  “Are you having fun with Ryon?” said Jobe.

  “Ryon? Who’s Ryon?”

  “That thing. Whatever it calls itself . . . Rye.”

  “Eh?! W-why are you asking about him all of a sudden?”

  “That’s the guy you’ve been swooning over all day, right?” said Jobe. “Tall. Blond. Built.”

  “Built? Well, I wouldn’t say he’s really built. He’s more of a strong, slender type, but-”

  “THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” fumed Jobe.

  “Well then, what-”

  “Is that your preference, Ink? Tall, blond, yada yada?”

  “Uh . . . I guess so. Look, what’s this about?”

  Tide contemplated the possibility of a jealousy situation, but there was no way Jobe was actually interested in her. No way at all. But then . . . what was the deal with the interrogation?

  “Come on.” Jobe easily pushed her off. “Let’s go after the mark. I’ll try to be nice.”

  Tide didn’t know what else to say, so she obliged. Again, Rye had been brought up by someone other than her, and again she’d gotten no info. It was a frustrating thing that was beginning to turn into a pattern.

  Jobe shined his light around the area until he found a large indent in the rocky ground. “There,” he said. He rustled through his pack. Tide waited. “Here we go,” said the hunter, pulling something out. Tide tilted her light. In Jobe’s hand there was a small spherical Bororore container with a plug.

  “What’s that for?” said the princess.

  “Bait.”

  Jobe popped the plug and poured the liquid into the divot. It was something thick. Something dark. “Is that . . .?” started Tide.

  “Yup,” said Jobe. “Blood.”

  “From what?”

  “A cat.”

  Tide cringed.

  “Now we wait,” said Jobe.

  The partners settled against the wall.

  “Did you bring a weapon this time?” asked Jobe.

  Tide had. She pulled from her pack something that resembled a miniature pitchfork. She handed it to Jobe.

  He turned it over in his hand. “What is it?”

  “No clue. It was in my dad’s toolbox. I just though it looked the most lethal out of everything in there.”

  “Maybe. Hmph. At least you came a little prepared.”

  Tide nodded. “So the tartaroise will smell the blood and come over and then what? We just pounce on it?”

  Jobe grinned. “Have you ever seen a tartaroise?”

  “No.”

  “Heh. Watch and learn, girl. Watch and learn.”

  But Tide wouldn’t get a chance to watch or learn. They waited there an hour more, but still the shelled creature didn’t show. She was getting antsy. Not because she was bad at waiting, but because Jobe had been quiet virtually the entire time. He’d followed his promise by not being cruel, but he wasn’t being anything, really. He was just silent, and he gave off a perturbed aura that Tide hated.

  “Okay, you know what?” said Nero’s daughter, fed up. “I don’t think that thing’s coming. And also, I don’t think I can stand this. PLEASE, just tell me why you’re acting all strang-”

  “You’re right,” said Jobe. “It’s not coming. We’re going to have to up our game.”

  “Huh?”

  Jobe held up his switchblade. “Blood. We’ll give it our blood.”

  “Whaa?!”

  “It kills me though – the disgrace of bleeding on another hunt. I’d hoped a cat would be enough, but it looks like the tartaroise around here is no baby. It’s got to be an adult. Otherwise, it would’ve come. I guess I should’ve known judging by the size of that pile of shi-”

  “How much blood are we talking here?!” cried Tide, flummoxed.

  “The more the better. I’ll go first. You can choose how much you want to donate after that.”

  “Ehh. All right.” Tide gritted her teeth. “Sure. So we just add it to the cat, or . . .?”

  “That’s the idea.” Jobe allowed the corrupt smile to return. He held his blade out to his partner. “Did you want to do the honors?”

  “What? Cut you? No! Masochist!”

  “Easy! Geesh. I was just kidding.”

  “But, Jobe! Where would you even do it!? You’re going to mess up and bleed to death!”

  “EASY, girl. No one’s going to bleed to death. I’d say the hand, but we need those, so . . . here.” He pointed to the tanned part of his forearm. “Just a little. I’m not going to gash myself or anything. The smell’s what we need most.” Jobe placed the blade against his skin.

  But Tide still wasn’t comfortable with the notion. “Wait!”

  “What?” said Jobe impatiently.

  “Jobe . . . I . . .” Tide pushed the blade down and grabbed the collar of his shirt. She stared into his eyes with a look of concentration.

  “Oh?” said Jobe. “Does the thought of blood turn you-”

  BAM! She pelted him the nose with her opposite fist.

  “WHAT THE HELL, YOU DEVIL GIRL?!” yelled Jobe, grabbing his face. “That hurt!”

  But Tide was smiling because a fine trickle of blood was streaming from his nose. “Shut it,” she said. And she pushed his face over the pool of blood. Several crimson drops fell into the earthy basin.

  “Damn you,” said Jobe. “It’s your turn now!”

  But Tide’s turn wouldn’t come to pass, for the rumbling stomp of a large creature in motion warned the hunters to ready their weapons. Scowling, Jobe held his bloody face in one hand and his switchblade in the other. Tide held the pitchfork in her fist, her body readied into a crouched-and-prepared-to-pounce position.

  When the rumbling creature rounded the corner of the tunnel, it wasn’t at all what the hunters had expected. Still, they held their ground.

  The tartaroise was entirely black. The size of a refrigerator, it was reptillic in nature with a shell like a turtle’s adorning its back. Its limbs beneath weren’t scaled, though. They were smooth and shiny and much more jointed than its tur
tleine relatives’. A long, lashing tail sprouted from the backside of the mark’s shell, but it wasn’t just a balancing appendage sometimes used for fighting, as a similar creature’s might’ve been. Like a leech, the whip-like thing felt around the air, curling and grabbing at anything in reach. It was for gripping things. Prey, Tide assumed.

  The tartaroise was fast. Following the scent of blood, it charged at Jobe.

  Forgetting about his nose, the hunter easily jumped out of the way and spun with the intent to wrestle the beast. That’s when the creature opened its mouth to show off a set of sharp carnivore’s teeth.

  “Eya!” yelled Jobe, stopping mid-sprint. He looked down at the inadequate blade in his palm. Then he looked to Tide. “Give me your weapon!”

  But Tide’s body was already acting on its own. Pitchfork above head, she ran around the backside of the beast. It was an unsafe move – that was where the lashing tail waited to grab its food – but that was exactly what Tide was counting on. She’d waved the pitchfork, which she’d dipped into the mixture of Jobe’s and cat’s blood, in the air above her. Again following the trail of blood, the tartaroise lashed at her, but ultimately settled on the weapon, assuming it to be a limb of its prey. The tail wrapped around the fake arm, and the beast, thinking itself triumphant, ripped the blood-covered decoy from Tide’s hands. It swung the fork around its body, through the air, and forced it straight into its own mouth.

  The pitchfork, becoming wedged between the shell’s head-opening, pierced into the smooth skin there.

  Jobe let out a whoop as the mark writhed under the pain of its own instinctive infliction. Then, while the beast fought with the prongs stuck through its face, he slipped around its side and stabbed his blade into its neck. He watched and waited for the struggling creature to bleed out.

  “Oy! Nice thinking, Ink!” cheered Jobe.

  But what the hunter hadn’t noticed before was that Tide had switched off her light and was staring into the darkness. Upon her mouth there was a mutter:

  “Rye. Ryon. Foster. Rye. Ryon. Foster. Rye. Ryon. Foster.”

  “Ink? INK?” Jobe ripped his eyes from the dying beast and ran to her. “What are you doing?”