GIDEON
Our private charter is still ten minutes away when we get to the airport, so the team fans out around the small terminal to wait. We’ve spent the past few days hustling and we’re all tired. No one passes up the chance to zone out or grab a few minutes of sleep.
I’m about to sit by Marcus and Jode when I see Daryn enter the women’s room.
I should go talk to her. Clear the air. The sooner the better.
“The men’s room is that way, G,” Marcus says.
“But Daryn’s not in the men’s room,” Jode adds.
Marcus’s eyebrows climb. “Ohhh.”
“Get your asses up and watch the door,” I tell them. “And shut up? Like, preemptively shut up about anything you do or do not observe in the next ten minutes.”
When I step inside, Daryn is splashing cold water on her face at the sink. She doesn’t react at all when she sees me. Just grabs a paper towel and dries off.
“Um … are you lost?” she asks. Her eyes are red, and I can’t tell if she’s been crying or if she’s just tired.
“No.” I reach into my pockets and pull out the butterfly bandages and antiseptic I grabbed earlier from a medical kit. It was smart of her to wrap the flannel around her waist. You wouldn’t be able to see the bloodstains on the plaid pattern unless you were looking. I was looking.
Daryn glances toward the door.
“No one’ll come in.”
Her shoulders relax. She unties her flannel slowly and sets it on the sink.
I stand behind her, putting the supplies on the counter.
The gray T-shirt she’s wearing is sticking to the wound as she tries to lift it up. “Can you—?”
“Yeah, I got it.” She props her arms on the sink and squeezes her eyes shut as I peel the fabric up.
I almost can’t contain my reaction. Three gashes run sideways across her lower back where her spine curves. They’re deep cuts. Angry.
Instantly, so am I. She dealt with this kind of danger. I wasn’t there to help. None of us were. It’s not right.
I draw a breath and concentrate on settling down. There’s nothing I can do to change this right now except treat it. But when the times comes, whatever did this to her is going to suffer.
I notice there are also pale scars running perpendicular to the cuts, faint lines on her bronze skin. Daryn told me how she got them, escaping from the mental hospital where she ended up when she started having visions. She’s been through a hell of a lot in the past couple of years. Most of it on her own.
“Is it bad?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “On a scale of one to ten this is probably a five.”
“Will I live?”
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Yeah. You’ll live.”
I clean her up with some wet paper towels, then use the gauze pads to stanch the bleeding. Since I’m standing right behind her she can’t see robohand, but its whirring sound seems louder than normal, and bad. I use it as little as possible, ripping open the packaging for the butterfly bandages and gauze with my teeth.
As I treat the cuts, a whole other part of my mind is noticing unrelated things, like the white lace peeking above the waistline of her jeans. The goose bumps on her skin and all the ways her body curves. The clean, flowery smell of her hair makes my heart bang against my ribs.
I’ll be revisiting these details at a later time, no doubt. And often.
When I apply the antiseptic, Daryn drops her head and laughs a shaky laugh. “Um, you said five? It hurts like a ten.”
“Five was a preliminary number until I got a better look. This is a seven point five—that’s an official diagnosis.” In several spots the cuts graze muscle. I’d be howling if I were in her place. I’d be crawling up the walls and begging to be put out of my misery. “But the good news is you won’t need stitches if you can keep these bandages on.”
“I promise I won’t rip them off.” I know she’s smiling but I keep my head down. Keep on task. “Can I ask you something? How do you work with Cordero? She’s so pushy.”
“She’s not that bad. She can be bullheaded but her heart’s in the right place. I know she screwed up with Shadow but I think she feels bad.”
“How can you tell? Did she appoint someone on the team to feel feelings for her?”
“Nah. Some people just have a hard time saying they’re sorry. They show it through their actions.”
“They showpologize?”
“Exactly.”
“I think I know someone like that.”
“Oh, definitely. Marcus is the worst. He’ll eat his shoes before he apologizes.”
Daryn laughs. “Weird how I don’t remember that about him at all.” She twists her hair over her shoulder, doing this spiral thing I remember, and shifts her weight. “You and I have made some real memories in bathrooms.”
I almost fumble the butterfly bandage in my hand.
She’s bringing this up?
Last time we were in a bathroom together it was in Rome and we kissed. A lot. First and only time that happened. I have no idea why she’s mentioning it and I don’t want to know.
“That’s right,” I say, like I’d forgotten about it. “Okay. All done.” I wad up the trash and toss it.
She turns to me and I shove my hand into my pocket. This hangup I have with her and my prosthetic is getting old. I’m not self-conscious about it. I wasn’t, even when I first got it.
Daryn arches her back, testing out my patch job. “Thank you.” Her shirt’s still pulled up and my self-control doesn’t kick in fast enough to stop me from sneaking a glance. Her stomach is bare and smooth. Amazing. Just … amazing. “It hurts more, which I think is a good sign?”
Sign. Hurts. Wound—her wound. “It’ll feel better in a couple of hours. I’ll check it later and change the dressing.”
“That sounds good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Did I just say “you’re welcome” for something I haven’t done yet? “You may want to change into a clean shirt.”
Her mouth lifts on one side. “I’ll do that after you leave.”
Don’t let me stop you. Go right ahead. “Okay.”
I catch a glimpse of my reflection and want to bang my head against the mirror. I look insane. Partly like I want to jump her and partly like I’m watching the most incredible sunset I’ve ever seen. Time to get this under control. “Daryn, we need to be able to work together. For Bastian’s sake. We have to be professional. Civil. Let bygones be bygones.”
“Definitely.” She nods. Frowns. “Professional and civil. Of course.”
“Good.” With that settled, I get myself out of there.
Apart from sounding like a moron a few times, I handled that much better than yesterday. Didn’t yell or make stupid accusations. Did everything I planned to do, so. Successful mission.
Outside, Marcus runs a hand down his jaw. “Blake, man.” He shakes his head.
“What?” I look from him to Jode. “What?”
Jode laughs his psycho-kid laugh, a short one like a hiccup. “You’re a bloody idiot.”
* * *
Because we have to go around some weather our flight lasts slightly longer than it should, an hour and twenty minutes. We land on an airstrip on a playa, a wide stretch of paper-flat desert framed by low mountains. As we taxi I can see our base—a series of trailers, semis, and vans. A modular building is going up at the center. A crew lifts huge light panels that flash in the sun, like ants carrying around leaves. Then I see the plane sitting on the opposite end of the runway.
Shadow is in there.
A few seats over, Daryn’s watching it too, barely blinking.
The MI Trio are waiting for me as I deplane.
Soraya hands me a radio. “Just holler if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” I slide it into my pocket. A cool breeze blows past, carrying a slight scent of sulfur.
“Or push the button and tell us what you need,” Ben says. “That thing’s got a mile range. The whole point is you shouldn’t have to holler!” He laughs way too much, his shoulders shaking like he’s working a jackhammer.
“We’re really tired,” Sophia says.
Soraya nods. “Major sleep debt.”
I thank them and jog to catch up to Marcus, Daryn, and Jode, who are already halfway to the other plane.
Daryn sees me coming and frowns. “Where’s everyone else going?”
“Away,” Jode says. “To make it easier for Shadow.”
She squints up at Marcus. “You guys arranged this?”
“G did while you were gettin’ packed.”
“We all did.” I tip my head at the guys. “They came with me to talk to Cordero.”
Jode shrugs. “But it was your idea. Marcus and I simply stood there. You did all the talking.”
“That’s right. We just backed you up.” Marcus nods a few times.
I telepathically inform them that I’ll be kicking their asses as soon as the opportunity arises. “Shadow will have a stable by your RV,” I tell Daryn. “It’s being set up on the edge of camp opposite the generators, so hopefully it’ll be quieter. It might not help much, but … maybe it’ll help.”
She doesn’t say anything. I wonder if she’s thinking, Showpology?
I also wonder if it’s working and if I’m hitting the bar we’ve set for professional, civil conduct.
As we near the ramp I remember Shadow and Bas on the plane we took to Rome last fall. Both of them tall and spindly. Bas wearing the goofy grin he always got around his mare, and saying, You can lead a horse to Rome, Gideon. But you can’t make it drink every day. So random. I don’t know why Bas made me laugh so much. He just surprised me all the time.
Bas and Shadow were the first to bond. He was always a few steps ahead of the rest of us without even trying. Things just come easily to Bas, like he’s ad-libbing through life, no problem. That’s how I know he’s still alive. Bas is the least lethal one of us, but he’s the real survivor.
I stop as soon as I hear loud, labored breathing coming from inside the plane. Shadow. It sounds like she’s hyperventilating.
“Stay out here and keep the ramp clear,” Daryn says. She breaks into a sprint and plunges into the darkness of the cargo hold.
Seconds pass. A full minute.
Against the glare of the playa the hold is dark and I can’t see anything.
“Should we go after her?” I ask Jode.
But then finally I hear Daryn’s voice. “It’s okay, girl. It’s all right. It’s just us. The guys are here to see you. Gideon and Marcus and Jode. They’re right outside.”
Shadow’s long black legs emerge from the pitch dark. Shaking legs, moving one at a time. Then her powerful chest and long neck move into the sunlight.
I’ve missed her. But this isn’t the horse I remember.
She looks broken. Eyes wild and unsettled. Ears laid back like she’s ready to fight. Foam dripping from her mouth. Hardly any wisps of smoke curling off her legs.
She stops halfway down the ramp when she sees us and lets out a loud whinny.
Daryn is right beside her, human shoulder to horse shoulder.
“Is she looking for Bas?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “She knows he’s not here. I think she’s looking for your horses.”
I summon Riot without thinking. He torches up, rising from the ground ten feet in front of me, the only thing out here brighter than the desert. Until Jode calls Lucent. The white stallion manifests like a lightning bolt bursting up from the ground. Heavily built like Riot, but more flash and less trouble. Marcus calls his mare, Ruin, immediately after. She swirls up like gold dust and bronze ash, the most perfect of the four, built for speed and strength. Entirely beautiful.
For a long while we stand by our horses. Marcus’s mare nickers softly. Lucent stamps twice. Riot looks at me like, Just hold your horses. We got this.
Then Shadow continues down the ramp, still terrified, one shaky step at a time, Daryn right beside her, until they’re standing with us.
“She was like this the first two months, after Bas,” Daryn says, stroking Shadow’s neck. “Worse, in the very beginning. But she got better over time. With me, anyway.”
“Can you ride her?” Jode asks.
“Yes. But she can’t fold. We both lost something that day. Besides Bas.”
I know Daryn means her Sight. Jode told me earlier that she stopped having visions—that it’s the reason she waited all this time to go after Bas. I can understand it now. All these months of waiting make sense.
Last year, when my dad died, I was seventeen. Already making my own plans, paving my own path. But when big decisions come up, I miss having him to talk to. Having that sounding board. Someone who I know would steer me right. Daryn didn’t lose her father’s voice—what she lost is divine, so it’s different. Way different. On a whole other level. But it’s a loss I can relate to.
My radio chirps. “Blake, what’s with the horse show?” Suarez asks. “Cordero’s blazing mad, man. She’s starting to look like Riot. You weren’t authorized to—”
I click the button. “Suarez … static … don’t … over.” I turn the volume all the way down and drop it back in my pocket. “What do you want to do, Daryn?”
“I think we can ride to the stable if we take a wide berth around camp.”
“Okay. Let’s horse up.”
We mount up and leave the plane gaping behind us.
Shadow’s skittish the entire way, tossing her head and shying like a racehorse approaching the starting gate. The other horses become anxious, too. Riot keeps wanting us to fold, to fly, and I have to keep shutting him down.
At the stable Daryn walks Shadow into the structure, taking her time. I notice dozens of people watching from a distance.
When Shadow and Daryn are inside and finally out of sight, Riot lunges beneath me and takes off. I barely hold on, almost flipping over his back. Ruin and Lucent are on the same page; both horses tear after us across the playa, straight out into a whole lot of flat nothing.
Jode and Lucent fold first, becoming a blaze of light shooting across the blue sky. Then Marcus and Ruin blur into a stream of bronze ash. Riot and I are last. An eruption of flames sweeps me out of my physical body, to fire. Then we’re shooting over white earth.
The desert and our base camp and the mountains grow smaller, farther away, as we eat up more of the sky. I catch Jode and Marcus and we accelerate to top speed, defying sound and gravity. Pushing beyond feeling.
Soaring.
When I’m with Riot this way I’m invincible, unstoppable. I know in my soul that God gave him to me—an ally, mentor, and friend. Riot is what I got for carrying the burden of being War. For having a red temper that I constantly have to manage. With Riot, I feel grace. I feel whole in a way that only Jode, Bas, and Marcus can ever really understand.
And maybe Daryn. I wonder if being a Seeker gave her this feeling of wholeness, which she’d have lost without the Sight. Brutal.
Bas, too. Without Shadow, he’s gone without this for a long time.
Do you think Sebastian is like that, too? Wherever he is in the Rift, do you think he’s as scared as Shadow was just now? As broken?
It’s both my thought and Riot’s. But I know we’re all thinking it. Jode and Marcus, too. Lucent and Ruin. We’re all feeling this worry, no way to fix it, no immediate way to get to someone who needs us, so. We do this to make ourselves feel better.
We fly.
It almost works.