DARYN
I don’t know if what Jode and Gideon suggested is true.
Are these anomalies coming from our minds? Is the Rift peering into our heads and lobbing our fears at us?
It seems utterly unbelievable. Impossible.
But then again, we’ve seen the impossible too many times to doubt it can happen.
What I don’t understand is why. What’s the point of the Rift mind-torturing us? To get us to leave? That’s not going to happen.
As we ride past a never-ending parade of woodsy sameness, I become semi-paranoid about my own thoughts, because now they may have physical power.
Random images shoot through my mind. They swoop in like sparrows. I can’t stop them.
I see Shadow’s inky black tail, swishing.
Isabel’s warm hands wrapped around a teacup.
Josie’s chocolate-chip cookies.
Dad, wiping his red face with a towel after his Tuesday-night tennis match.
Mom with her gardening gloves and sun hat, kneeling at her flower beds.
I keep scanning the woods, waiting for one of them to materialize. But hours pass until we see another—and it’s nothing I’ve been thinking about.
It’s a dog.
A tiny white dog, tied to the root of a tree with a thin purple leash. It has a snowy white coat and beady black eyes. A purple ribbon is tied around its neck.
I love dogs, and I’ve always wanted one. It’s why I keep thinking about Chief—the puppy that would’ve been mine if only I were home in Connecticut.
In my entire life, I can’t remember ever meeting a dog I haven’t liked on sight. But this little ball of white fur starts to yap furiously and lunge at the leash as soon as we come near. Something about it instantly puts me off. A mean-spiritedness at odds with its adorable appearance.
Jode says, “Ah, lucky me. That’s mine again. Well, he’s my mum’s. His name is Baudelaire. Bodie, for short.”
“He seems … sweet,” I say.
“Yes,” Jode says. “Charming, as you can see.”
By his strained expression, I can tell there’s a story here. Maybe Baudelaire isn’t part of a tragedy, like some of the other anomalies we’ve come across. But he’s not part of many happy memories, either.
“Riot wants to eat Bodie,” Gideon says. “Can I let him?”
Jode laughs humorlessly. “No.”
“Then what’s the plan? Are we taking him?”
Jode shakes his head. “We can’t. He’s too loud.”
“Are we leaving him?”
“I can’t. He’s my mum’s dog.”
“Okay, so what are we doing?”
Jode looks from Bodie to Gideon. “This dog died five years ago.”
“Oh.”
Silence descends.
Baudelaire has stopped yapping. He pants as he looks at Jode, his tiny pink tongue lolling. Then he turns and runs right into the tree.
Into a hollow knot in the tree.
Into it.
Disappearing inside.
The leash snaps loose and trails after the little white dog like a kite streamer; then the knot closes, sealing shut. In seconds, an instant, there’s no dog, no leash. No sound in the air.
Then Marcus says, “The tree just ate the dead dog.”
“Yes,” says Jode. “So it seems.”
“Jode,” I ask, “were you thinking about him? Before we found him?”
“He crossed my mind briefly. An hour ago, though. Not recently.”
We look at each other, hoping theories will emerge. None do. All we have is questions, and we’ve already asked those.
The Rift, score a million.
Us, zero.
There’s no further discussion necessary. What is there to say? We sit in our saddles and quietly try to file this away, accepting the anything-is-possible-ness of this place.
The hours string together, one after another. We don’t see any planes or cars or dogs. We don’t see my mother, only occasional patches of flowers winding through the trees.
Dawn breaks. The sun reaches its zenith. Dusk falls.
Nothing new has appeared, and neither has Bas. Tiredness seeps into my muscles, but my imagination shows no sign of slowing down. I imagine the trees growing eyes and mouths and taunting us with deep rumbling voices. I imagine them hiding small dogs inside them. I imagine Sebastian inside them. And Harrows. Harrows like rotten black maggots, packed and squirming inside.
I don’t notice the chill in the air until Gideon speaks.
“It’ll be dark soon. We need to lay camp,” he says.
He looks unhappy with his own idea.
We’ve been riding for fifteen hours and haven’t slept in twice as long. The horses don’t tire, but we do. I’m sure I’m not alone in being exhausted.
As I dismount, my legs wobble and my stomach sinks with disappointment. We’ve accomplished nothing. And we’re going to sleep here.
Necessary, sure. But somehow it seems foolish.
After weighing the pros and cons of making a fire to warm up, we decide to do it. We’re already visually exposed, thanks to Riot and Lucent. A fire won’t make that much difference. And we’re not just trying to go undetected by the Harrows and Samrael. We want Bas to see us.
Jode and Marcus go in search of wood. Gideon takes a slow stroll around the clearing, like he might see something different from what we’ve seen all day.
I stay with Shadow, since the orb is in her pack and I’m not making that mistake again. I remove her tack and comb her mane out with my fingers, feeling her relax under my attention. “You’ll tell us, won’t you, girl? When Bas is close?”
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t twitch a muscle. But I know what she’s thinking.
Of course. Of course I will.
“Hey,” Gideon says.
I turn and he’s there, tall and so different in armor from the Gideon who came to my RV last night in a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. As War, he’s a little intimidating. He would be if I didn’t know him.
“You doing okay?” His eyebrows are drawn. He looks serious, but his mouth is tugging up like he’s thinking about smiling.
I feel it, too. Happiness. The flight of butterflies in my gut. The desire to laugh. Desire. So much of it. “I’m good, considering! My legs are still working.” I sound a little too enthusiastic.
He looks at my legs. “Right. A lot of riding.”
“It’s crazy. How about you? Are your legs tired?” My gosh. Calm down, Daryn. What’s wrong with me?
He eases his head to the side, smiling. “My legs are okay.”
I nod. I don’t look at his legs or comment on them. I just stare into his blue eyes and take a pass on talking, which seems like the smartest thing to do.
“All right over there?” Jode asks.
A moment ago, he and Marcus were stacking the wood for the fire. Now they’re both watching us, big smiles on their faces.
“I didn’t say anything to them about us, Daryn. They’re just idiots.” Gideon winces slightly with self-awareness. “I didn’t mean that there’s anything to say.”
“Isn’t there anything to say?”
Something settles in his eyes. A sincerity. A promise, like this moment is his and mine. Only ours. When he steps closer, my entire body buzzes to life. I feel actual voltage.
“I wasn’t exactly sober last night,” he says, pitching his voice low. “You may have noticed. But I wanted to say that I remember everything. And I meant everything.”
“So did I.”
He grins, and it’s true and breathtaking. A smile I’ll see again in daydreams and night dreams, I’m sure. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“Gideon, whenever you’re ready to get your horse,” says Jode. “We need a flame. This campfire won’t start itself.”
“Set us on fire, G.” That’s Marcus.
Then it’s Jode again. “Yes, Gideon. You’re so hot.”
I laugh, but Gideon doesn’t. “Be right there,” he replies without looking away. He bends close to my ear. “This is going to be good, Daryn,” he says. “I promise.” Then he brushes a kiss against my cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
* * *
We claim spots around the fire and unpack blankets, fruit, crackers, cheese, and water, and then set to eating industriously.
There’s no enjoyment. We need food, water, and sleep. We’re just refueling before we can get back to searching. I’m hungry, but not hungry. Chewing is work.
The mood is subdued. My stolen moment with Gideon is like a brilliant canary in a cage. Nowhere to go. But still beautiful despite the grim context.
When we’re finished we wrap ourselves in our blankets and stare into the fire with longing on our faces. For home. For Bas. For resolution.
The darkness presses into our golden circle and I keep imagining the Harrows out there beyond the light. Crouching on branches. Peering around the thick trunks. Watching us.
You won’t succeed until you fail … Your only hope is surrender.
The words of the Harrow I slung to the tree circle in my mind like a riddle.
Then Samrael’s. He’s with me. He’s safe. Sebastian is well.
Was he telling the truth?
Finally, I hear the echo of Isabel’s words from the last time I saw her. Evil is its own undoing.
They’re pieces of a whole I can’t quite fit together. A kaleidoscopic view of what’s right in front of me.
Gideon shifts beside me, reclining on an elbow and crossing his legs at the ankles. His pose is unconsciously seductive. An athlete in repose. His face is painted in flickering amber and gold. Contrary to his serene posture, he’s concentrating intensely. Somehow I know that whatever he’s thinking, it’s in the service of someone he cares about. All the intensity in him comes from love.
And from passion.
Heat builds on my cheeks at my own thoughts. It’s so strange to feel this—whatever it is that’s growing between us—in this place, at this time. How can something this good be happening in here?
Gideon becomes aware of my attention on him and his mouth lifts in a subtle, private smile. Caught, all I can do is smile back, my heart aching and stretching and expanding to make room to accommodate moments like this in my life.
Jode scratches the pale stubble on his jaw. He clears his throat, and I realize it’s the first sound I’ve heard in a while, aside from the crackle of the fire.
“I’ll keep first watch again,” he offers. “I’m overtired. I haven’t got much chance of sleeping anyhow.”
No one argues. It wouldn’t work anyway.
After a few minutes of willfully pressing my eyelids closed, I accept that sleep isn’t in my near future either, and give up trying.
Sitting up, I pull my journal from my backpack. Marcus has disappeared into his blankets. Across the fire, Jode winks at me, then goes back to panning the woods. Gideon is asleep eighteen inches away from me. But who’s counting?
I turn to a blank page and write Sebastian’s name a few times in all its variations.
Sebastian. Bastian. Bas.
Seb, which he once told us was what his brothers in Nicaragua called him.
Then I write Famine. And then hunger, and I don’t even look Gideon’s way, but my heart starts racing anyway.
I page to “Reasons.” It’s become a habit to add to this list. Going to sleep without reflecting on the day’s Reasons would feel incomplete. I reread the last few lines. I add to it.
19. Humor, in the face of the frightening and bizarre
20. Conviction, in times when hope is scarce
21. “This is going to be good, Daryn. I promise.”—I promise, too. I won’t let fear stop me.
I close my notebook and stash it in my backpack, double-checking to make sure the orb is safely tucked at the bottom. Then I twist my hair up, piling it on top of my head.
“For the record,” Jode says from across the fire, “I think the recent developments I’ve observed are excellent.”
I smile. “Thanks. I do, too. And who knows? Maybe he’ll lighten up on the Anna thing now.”
“One can hope,” Jode says, in a wry voice, devoid of all hope.
In the interest of newly added entry number twenty-one, and of the bravery it’ll require from me to keep my promise, I move to Gideon, lift the edge of his blanket, and burrow right against his back.
His armor isn’t bulky—it’s much tougher than leather, though just as thin and flexible—but it still makes him feel distant. I can’t feel the life in him at all, but that’s not the point.
The point is I’m here.
Gideon stirs, his body flexing with awareness. Cool metal slides over my hip, and he relaxes again.
For a while all I notice is his prosthetic on my hip. All I feel is surprise at how much I like it—this adopted part of him that makes him so unique. Then tiredness washes over me in waves. As I drift off, a blurry, brilliant happiness fills me.
He told me this would be good, and it will be. I won’t run, like I usually do. Even if he hurts and I can’t make it right, or even if I hurt and he can’t make it right, I’ll stay.
This will be good.