I hate that he’ll be punished for what he did to help me. I want to run over and ask him a million questions. Punch him for having left with me, hug him for not letting me go alone. And tell him thank you, or I’m sorry, or both. I feel awkward and bashful, an emotional oxymoron not sure of what to say.
The glassy look in his eyes has worn off, thanks to Lina’s herbs. But there’s still a slight malaise about him. His hair is wet from a shower, the waves brushed to the side. Without his hat, he no longer hides his striking eyes. He places a headphone to his ear. “Lower,” he says to the girl with the pretzel braid. “To throw off the Legions, the frequency has to be slightly lower.”
“And add more bass. Pulse it like a heartbeat,” someone else says. The voice cuts the air from my lungs. The crowd moves enough for me to see a guy in a wheelchair with his head wrapped in thick bandages and a scarf the color of silver moonlight draped around his neck.
In that moment, Tanji knocks a pounding beat on an electric drum. Her explosive dark curls bounce with the rhythm that echoes into my bones. “A lot softer.” The guy winces. “And keep it steady.” Then he points to Amide, who is tinkering with the knobby board. “Record it.” His voice may sound raspier, but the skinny jeans and sharp boots haven’t changed.
“Rhys.” I choke on his name. He wheels around, searching for my voice. Half his face is draped with clean gauze. The one exposed eye, void of eyelashes or eyebrows, blinks at me.
How do you say sorry to the person you nearly destroyed? How can words be enough to erase the pain and scars grafted under those bandages?
The next thing I know, I’m at his side, falling to my knees, fighting to hold back tears. “Rhys, I’m so sorry. I never should have gone out that night. It was all my fault. You were selfless and brave. I was impulsive and naïve.” I’m sobbing now. Stupid tears rush down my face as the whole room turns quiet. “If I could take it all back, I would. I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” He touches my wet cheek with the tip of his finger. “At least I nail the bandaged look. I totally miss my hair, but I’m kind of a legend now.” He attempts a smile but winces when his blistered lip bleeds. “I keep forgetting.” He blots it. “We all make mistakes. But we find a way to get up again.” He rests his thick-bandaged hand on mine. “I can’t be in the field, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help fight the war,” he assures me. “This time we’ll get it right. We’ll blast those creatures back to dust. Deal?”
“Deal,” I agree, wishing his buoyant optimism could unpin the weight clotting my lungs. I look around. “But I’ve got a Council to meet, first. Is there somewhere I can change clothes?”
“Everything you’ll need is in the back room,” Rhys says. He inspects my face. “Strengthen and highlight. Don’t cover up.” He winks, or blinks rather, and then resumes directing the group. “Where are we on the projections of the Wall?”
Harper has come over and helps me to my feet. “Why are they making images of the Circuit Wall?” I ask her, but my gaze is locked on Cole, who is so enmeshed with the group, he hasn’t even glanced my way.
Harper walks me down a short hall. “There’s talk that Council is planning an attack on Sage. To help the fight, they’re developing fake explosions that mimic a sparking hit on the Circuit Wall. They’re hoping to confuse the creatures so they can corner them for an ambush. I’ve come up with a few things too. I modified Gloss, the elixir that takes away the bruising. Now it emits a fragrance that will throw off the Cormorants and mask our scent. We’re basically turning the creatures’ strengths against them.” She stops at a door. “Come take a look when you’re done.”
Rivulets of hot water run over my head, washing down my cheeks, arms, legs. I scrub away the feel of Sage’s clothes, his touch, any trace of his scent, until my skin is red and burning. Harper is bringing me new clothes. I hope she burns the old ones, disintegrates them in the hottest flames possible.
Satisfied that I’m clean, I wipe a small circle in the foggy mirror. A tired-faced girl stares back at me. Golden eyes, circled with green, like my father’s. Delicate nose and soft chin like my mother. But the low cheekbones and arched brows are my own.
I know I don’t have much time, but I’m determined to make a statement. Now that I’m seventeen and both powers are fully manifested, it’s time to change. Time to let Council see who I am as soon as I step into the room.
I quickly brush my tangled hair. No more messy ponytails. I braid and then twist my hair into a tight knot, securing it with a band. I sift through the bins of makeup, choosing striking eyeliner to highlight my Seer eyes and complementary eye shadow to make them glow. My cheeks I paint soft and natural to heighten my features. The lip gloss I keep blush pink.
Harper knocks lightly on the bathroom door. “I brought clothes. Let me know when you’re ready.”
I step out. “I’m ready.”
Harper’s mouth gapes. “You look . . . stunning.” Well, that’s never been a phrase used to describe me. “Forget these outfits.” She tosses her pastel rainbow selections on the bed. “You need something bold.”
“No jeans or T-shirts,” I tell her. “I want to make a statement.”
“I’ve got it. Give me a second.” She returns in less than a minute with a neatly folded bundle. “This outfit was made by Gladys. Claire has been designing others for combat.” The charcoal fabric is thin and hums with a slight warmth when I touch it. “The group brought these here, and Lina’s been dying them in a vat mixed with metal shavings from the Paradise Steel.”
I slip on the top. The tunic dress hangs just shy of my fingertips.
Harper adds a flowing sleeveless vest. “The fabric is holographic and will reflect the surroundings, keeping you hidden. And with the fragments of the Paradise Steel coating the fabric, it’s been tested to withstand a blast. Not like the shields, but better than street wear.”
I run my fingers over the silken fabric that somehow still holds a trace of Gladys’s scent: vanilla and peaches. “Is Gladys here? Or . . .” My voice trembles. “The attack—did she . . . ?”
Harper shakes her head. “From what I heard, she busted those Legions like nobody’s business. Put Tanji and Kellan to shame, if you can believe it.” Harper grins as she hands me a pair of matching leggings. “I would have liked to see that. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be there with the Legions but, you know, to see Gladys fight.”
I try to smile, imagining Gladys whipping around her rolled-up dishtowel with a simultaneous side-kick or maybe even a duck and roll.
Harper steadies me as I put on the pants. “She chose to stay behind. Said she wanted to pick up the pieces and rebuild. But I heard there’s bad blood between her and the admiral and she was ordered not to come.”
Someone pounds on the door. “What?” Harper demands. “We’re busy.”
“Council is ready,” a girl’s muffled voice answers. My stomach tightens at the news.
“Give us a minute.” Harper fastens a leather belt around my waist. “This is for your weapon.” She points to the divots. I doubt I’ll get a weapon, but her optimism is kind. She rummages through a drawer, finding a few black nylon straps.
“And these”—she kneels beside me and fastens the straps around my thighs, just above the hem of the tunic—“are designed to fit with the leggings. They hold extra weapons and serum in the pouches. And this one”—she fastens a third band on my arm and drops a metal cube inside the sack—“will hold the frequency scrambler. They tested it when they went to rescue you, but they’re modifying the tone for stronger effect.” She fine-tunes the outfit, adjusting the cowl-neck and vest. “When you want to camouflage, pull this over your head.”
I’m stunned. “I was only gone one day. How did everyone pull this off so quickly?”
“You mainly met new recruits to Hesperian.” Her voice is muted while she digs in the closet and then hands me a pair of ebony riding boots. “But Maddox has been working on these pieces with some of the more advanced artists for a whi
le. He contacted Hesperian as soon as we arrived in the Garden. Everyone was on board, pulling together whatever they had. When the attack happened, Maddox convinced Lieutenant Foster to let the group come here and finish the work.” She straightens the band around my arm. “I think you’re more than ready.” She stands back, inspecting me. “You look killer.”
“That’s not exactly the word I was looking for.”
“I mean, you’re clearly not someone they want to mess with.”
Then Council will get the message. Good.
I walk into the bustling common area. Despite the undercurrent of an impending fight, the room is filled with laughter, excited voices, and the dissonant sound of dueling notes and pulsing beats. We’re on the edge of uncertainty, but somehow the creative energy pulses ten times stronger than it did at Hesperian.
Maddox sits on the steps, guitar in his lap, adding a chord to Rhys’s soundtrack. He looks completely at home.
Cole has somehow taken center stage for a moment. He paces behind the couch. “That’s it. That’s the sound. Keep it long and sustained, and underscore it with a droning ‘C’ note, like this.” He picks up his cello and plays the note. “Got it?” When he’s done, he carefully sets the instrument aside. He scrubs out his hair, taking in the room, not looking for anything in particular as his mind whirls behind those bright eyes. His head suddenly jerks back in my direction with laser focus.
Claire comes up, blocking my view of him. “Foster says it’s time.”
“Hey, Claire.” I smile, hoping she’s forgiven me too.
“Your ride’s out front.”
My smile fades. I guess she hasn’t. “Thanks.” I make my way through the crowd.
Cole trips over the carpet as he dashes for the door, reaching it before me. There’s something sweet about the way he says, “Hey,” as he regains his balance.
“Hey.” I try not to notice the quick bite of his bottom lip. I focus on his hands instead. “Nice to see you’re back. Cord-free. Me too.” I hold up my wrist. “For now, at least.” I drop my hand, not sure what to do. “I was, um, really worried about you.”
“Yeah, you too. I guess we, I mean . . .” He squints as if searching for the words. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” I blush and look away, catching a glimpse of Maddox setting down the guitar.
My heart collides at seeing the both of them at the same time. Maddox, in his white T-shirt with hair swept back, now focused my way. And Cole with hypnotic eyes sparking against his black button-down.
Claire again. “Devon’s waiting for you. Outside.” Her words strike me with grief.
Devon! I race out the front door and down the porch steps, leaving everyone behind. As he steps away from the car, I throw my arms around him. “Oh, Devon, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop Pop before he reached the gate.”
“Pop was going to do what Pop needed to do,” Devon says as he pats my back. “No one was going to stop him.”
I’m terrified that an ocean of tears will burst out any minute. I let go of him and work hard to stay composed.
“Pop believed in you, Cera.” He glances at me with swollen and bloodshot eyes. “More than he believed in anyone else.” I glance down, knowing that can’t be true. “I was next in line to be the Caretaker for the Estate, after my parents. I wasn’t ready. I disappointed him.”
“Everyone disappointed Pop, including me.” I raise my head, realizing something for the first time. “Maybe you were never supposed to run this place because you were meant for something greater.”
Devon looks unconvinced. “What’s greater for a Caretaker than watching over the Empyrean Well?”
“Leading and caring for the Awakened in a new way, like you did at Hesperian?” My glance drifts to the cabin. Maddox and Cole are standing near the bottom step. “I think Pop could see that in you, too. Maybe he was waiting for you to see it yourself.”
Devon is silent for a moment. “One question,” he says as he opens the car door. “Do you know why Pop closed the gate to keep you inside?”
“Maddox told me that Pop said the Well wanted me here, but that doesn’t make much sense, since I’m a threat. The last thing Pop said to me before touching the gate was: ‘Time for spring to rise.’”
Devon shakes his head with a wry smile. “Then we go with that until we can figure out what he meant.”
Maddox approaches. “Hey, uh . . . I can take her. We can walk back.”
Devon, back in full military mode, doesn’t even entertain the idea. “Get in.” He motions to Cole, too. “Council wants all three of you.”
As I climb in the back seat, Tanji shouts from the door. “Hey, toddler!” With hands on her hips in that sleek performance wear, she zeroes in on me. “Stay tough.”
Thanks, Tanji. That’s about the only choice I have when facing Global Council. I imagine things will unfold in only one of two ways: I’ll live and get to join in the fight, or they say it’s time for me to die.
I ride in the back seat between Maddox and Cole as Devon drives up the sloping hill to the Estate. Thick afternoon clouds sprawl across the sky like a rumpled gray blanket, trapping us underneath. Here I am again. Seemingly on replay, but with each run, spiraling deeper. I’m not the same girl who rode up this drive days ago. There’s no more running or hiding from Global Council.
They know I’ve been with Sage.
They know I’ve had a vision in his presence.
They know I’m seventeen and my dualistic powers are fully manifested, and with that power comes the ability to join the realms.
What they don’t know is how hard I fight.
Devon parks the car a good distance from the water fountain because a line of expensive cars and shiny motorcycles clots the driveway. I stride with confident strength as the warm fabric hums over my skin. Maddox and Cole linger a few steps behind.
I’m thankful that the thick soles of the boots hold steady beneath me instead of sliding over the uneven gravel as I walk beside Devon. “What can I expect when I go in there?”
“The same thing I said before. Lay low, and stay in line. The admiral’s family was on the front lines fighting Sage in the Renaissance. Borgia Albrecht is an Elite Caretaker and a Blade with no patience for emotion.”
“Good to know.”
“Now go in there and show them who you are.” Devon has me walk up the steps first. “You look fierce, by the way.”
My eyes widen. “Threatening?”
“In a good way.”
I don’t know how looking threatening in front of Council can be a good thing. But I’m glad I don’t appear weak.
Before I walk through the front door, the ground trembles with violent force. Devon quickly pushes me inside the foyer. Terra-cotta shingles crash on the ground where I stood. Cracks break across tile floor and crawl up interior walls. Maddox swiftly dodges the falling shingles, rushing in behind us.
My pulse is roaring. “Was that an earthquake?”
“No. Sage has been using Legions to attack the Circuit Wall,” Devon says. “That’s the second hit today. And much stronger. The last one happened not too long ago.”
I glance at Maddox as he runs a hand through his hair. So the ground did tremble when we, uh—it wasn’t just because of . . .
Maddox dusts debris from his shoulders. “Why would Sage expend his army by splintering them against the Circuit Wall?”
“We’re about to find out.” Devon walks into the clanging sound of metal invading the War Room. I follow, stealing a brief glance over my shoulder. Maddox is close behind, but Cole hasn’t come in yet.
The War Room is filled with Blades and Caretakers, most of whom I don’t know. I recognize only two: one wearing a denim jacket with crossing swords on the back and another with a goatee and brass knuckles. Both I remember from Hesperian. They’re hunting through the crates lined near the Martin painting. Crates I remember seeing in the training room. Along with other members of the Alliance army, they take out weapons and a
rchaic shields in a frenzied rush. A team of five Blades blitz around us and out the front door. Soon after, the sound of buzzing motorcycles zips down the drive.
“Wait here until Foster calls for you,” Devon says. He leaves me at the archway and cuts through the swarm of bodies until he reaches Lieutenant Foster, who is sliding the gruesome war tapestry aside, uncovering what looks to be a large map underneath. He’s talking to a stout man in a decorated military suit with silver hair and a rugged face. It’s the face of a man that’s clearly taken a life or two—or a hundred. Foster appears dwarfed compared to the silver assassin Blade, who might be the admiral, since there is a distinguished bald man in a suit and suspenders standing diplomatically nearby.
Gray is over by the drink cart talking to another cluster of Blades. He seems a gnat compared to the men with Foster. But it’s when I spot a regal woman with crimson lips and a posture of absolute control that I suddenly get nervous.
Her head is crowned with spiky, burnt-orange hair. In her high-collar pantsuit and single-strand necklace holding a flower pendant at her chest, she stands in the middle of the room, speaking to no one, but thoughts churn on her face, as if she’s listening to every conversation at once. And deciding their fates.
When Foster notices me, both eyebrows rise. That’s a new expression. I tug at the tunic dress and reposition the straps as he waves me over.
Quiet whispers trail behind me as I cross the room. I glance out the window. Yellow leaves continue to fall. The Garden is supposed to be in spring all year round, but now the treetops are aflame in gold, red, and orange hues, changing at a much faster rate than when I was last inside the Wall. Either it’s me being inside the Garden or this is what happens when the Well transfers.
As I reach Foster, the steel-framed woman turns with sniper’s timing. She delivers a trained and elegant smile. “You are seventeen.” It’s not a question.
“Yes. Since sunrise . . . ma’am.” I hope my voice sounds as firm as I stand because her voice carries the unnerving trill of a preying hawk. I clear my throat. “That’s why I believe the gate wouldn’t shut and now the Garden is—”
Realms of Light (The Colliding Line Book 2) Page 21