After everyone has finished dinner, they file back to the adjacent warehouse to get ready for bed. Aydan and I stand from the floor and, avoiding eye contact, let go of each other’s hands. We walk over to James’s table where he and the others remain. He’s waving us over, a stern look on his face.
James comes away from the table and puts an arm around my back. “Marci, I want you to meet everyone. Of course you know Rheema, Blare, Aydan and Clark already.”
I bite my lower lip, thinking of two more people who should be here and are not, both missing because of me. Blare stares bullets at me, her expression leaving me no doubt that she’s thinking the same thing. She blames me. Maybe it would mean something if I didn’t blame myself already.
“This is Salvador Lopez,” James says.
“Call me Sal.” He shakes my hand and gives me a perfect smile. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Yeah, I’m infamous.” I like him immediately, his openness, his genuine smile, the familiarity of his Latin features. “I’ve heard a lot about you too, but that’s because you’re famous.”
He throws his head back and, after a hearty laugh, leans forward and talks in a low whisper. “Only because no one knows everything I’ve done.” He pulls away and winks at me.
“Marci, these here are Jori, Spencer and Margo.”
They nod their heads, looking as stoic as stoic can be. From the way they carry themselves and, not to mention, their crew cuts, I guess they’re military stock. Even Margo sports the same closely cropped hair. She gives me a wide smile that glows against her dark skin. She appears to be genuinely nice and friendly.
“They are the leaders of the new Seattle IgNiTe cells that formed after The Takeover. We’re here tonight to discuss our unified plan. Sal is our technical consultant and a good friend of mine since high school. We were talking about the important work you and Aydan have been doing at Whitehouse and Hailstone.”
Sal shakes his head vigorously. “You kids don’t know how grateful we are for all you do. Your tips on shipments have been critical to our progress and survival. That list of Spawners you got for us,” he clicks his tongue, “we wouldn’t be anywhere without that. I would sure love to see you in action.” He makes typing motions with his fingers, and I almost bust out laughing. Salvador Lopez, the god of rule engine heaven, wants to see me in action? That’ll be the day.
“Let’s sit.” James extends a hand in invitation. Everyone takes a seat while Aydan pulls over two plastic, patio chairs from an adjacent table.
Blare is the only one who remains standing, a booted foot propped on her chair. She’s chewing gum, making smacking sounds and popping bubbles every few minutes. She goes on staring at me, the perfect object for her discontent.
“As I’m sure you understand,” James begins, “we can’t discuss our plans in detail with you guys. We can’t risk your detection and—”
“Your inevitable betrayal,” Blare puts in, sparing one of her hateful looks toward Aydan, this time.
A muscle in James’s jaw jumps in clear aggravation at Blare’s comment, but he lets it go.
“But your work is very important. Critical even. Aydan has successfully infiltrated Hailstone after a few weeks of hard work to accomplish it and, already, he’s provided some vital information that has greatly improved our numbers as far as armed troops is concerned. Thank you, Aydan. The weapon shipment was exactly where you said it would be.”
Aydan shrugs. “It’s nothing. All I had to do was follow Marci’s example. She has lost and sacrificed more than anyone in here.” He punctuates his every word, locking his gaze on Blare’s.
I appreciate Aydan’s solidarity, but I’d prefer it if he didn’t say things like this. It doesn’t help—not when half of what’s happened to me is due to my own weakness. If I’d been strong enough, Oso would still be alive, and I wouldn’t have to live amongst our enemies.
Blare scoffs and spits her wad of gum. It lands on the concrete floor several feet away.
Sal throws an impatient look her way. His tolerance for her seems much shorter than James’s. Jori, Spencer and Margo simply listen and watch very carefully, apparently trying to make up their own minds about the situation. Rheema sits quietly, playing with the pendant at her neck. She holds it between thumb and forefinger, sliding it back and forth on a gold chain and, occasionally, taking it to her mouth. She seems distant and preoccupied. Only God knows what she’s been through since last I saw her and what type of memories worry her.
James brings his hands together and presses them to his mouth as if in prayer. He sighs before continuing. “As difficult as it is to ask you to continue to put your lives at risk, it is a lot harder to give up the advantage that your presence there gives us.”
So he wants us to go back. No big surprise. Though it’s clear he feels bad about it.
“Maybe this time you could be a little more useful and could take care of Elliot and Luke.” Blare slides a black-tipped fingernail across her neck.
“Blare,” her name on James’s lips is a stern reprimand. “Do I have to enumerate the ways in which you’re out of line?” He keeps his gaze on the table, as if looking at Blare might cut the thin thread from which his restraint hangs.
“She killed Oso!” Blare says through twisted lips. “Has everyone forgotten that? Well, I haven’t. As a matter of fact, I can’t stop wondering who she’ll get next.”
James stands in one fluid motion. His chair scrapes against the floor and nearly topples.
“I can take care of this, James,” I say, standing too.
I walk to the other end of the table and stand in front of Blare, gaze steady and unblinking.
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Oso,” I start.
“Am I supposed to be touched by that?”
I ignore her. “Not a day goes by I don’t think of Xave, my mother, my father. All victims of this fight as much as me, as much as any of us. If you think this is a walk in the park for me, then you’re mistaken. But if it makes you feel better to tear me down, go right ahead. You can’t come up with anything I haven’t already thought of myself.”
Blare’s upper lip curls and trembles. From the corner of my eye, I notice her fists clench. All my instincts, alert me to be on guard, but I ignore them. I see her punch coming from a mile away, but I don’t move. It lands on the side of my face and sends me staggering back a few steps. Everyone at the table jumps to their feet, except Rheema.
I shake my head, regain my balance and step back up to Blare. My entire body shakes with ire. I want to jump up and front-kick her right in the teeth, but sometimes it takes more strength and courage to do nothing.
My gaze issues a challenge: Do it again, if it makes you feel better. I have never been anyone’s punching bag, and I don’t really intend to be hers. But I sense this is what it will take to deflate her anger. She wants opposition, argument. She’s the kind of person who craves that sort of drama. I refuse to give it to her.
Blare’s shoulders shake, her fingers twitch. I wait, the side of my face throbbing. For a moment, a host of emotions war inside her dark eyes. She seems ready to punch me again but, instead, she stomps away, shoulder bumping me from her path.
When she disappears into the adjacent warehouse, there seems to be a slight exhale from those at the table. I turn, face them and evaluate their expressions, unable to discern their reaction.
“I wish she would …” I say apologetically, worried that I’ve overstepped my position.
“It’s a hell of a person, the one who fights her own battles without throwing a punch,” Sal says with an approving nod. “I doubt she’ll bother you anymore. Thank you for defusing her. We don’t need that kind of counterproductive behavior here. Don’t you think?”
Everyone at the table nods in definite agreement. They sort of look glad to be rid of Blare and, for some reason, that makes me feel worse and sends my thoughts back in her direction. Reluctantly, I find myself feeling sorry for her, wondering why she’s so bitter and unhappy. Not that there is any reason to be joyful, but maybe she’s lost the only thing that can keep us going: hope.
God knows I’ve been there before.
I always thought she was in love with James, and I guess she’s lost that too, now that he and Kristen are clearly a couple.
James sits back down. “She’ll simmer down.”
Everyone else retakes their seats, but I remain on my feet. I’m too restless for that. Maybe it would be best if I leave now. I don’t want to get too used to this comforting silence and sense of belonging—even if I have to take a punch or two every once in a while.
“As I was saying,” James picks up the thread of our interrupted conversation, “Marci and Aydan’s help has been invaluable. They have infiltrated the strongest factions in Seattle. Their computer skills give them just the edge we need. They’re irreplaceable for more than one reason. Moreover, they’re brave and committed to defeating our enemy. They can correct me if I speak out of turn.”
My gaze locks with Aydan’s. He smiles and nods. I nod back. We’re in the same boat, and apparently, we’re masochistic enough to be on it voluntarily.
“I can’t say very much, for obvious reasons,” James goes on, “but I want you to know we are making big strides toward ridding our city of these parasites. And it’s my hope that you won’t have to remain with them for much longer.”
My heart beats faster at the possibility. The dregs of my hope for victory rear up and begin to gather. My chest fills fuller for a moment, until I check myself, curving my expectations. With too much hope, I may lose my head. A dose of realism is always needed to temper the errant daydreams that might distract me from the everyday horrors of living among Eklyptors.
Still, it’s hard to push down the elation this possibility has unleashed inside of me. “You talking about a cure?” I ask, even if the answer is obvious. A cure is all we have to hope for.
To my surprise, James throws a morsel of information my way. “A cure and a vaccine.”
A murmur of approval goes around the table. Rheema straightens, drops the pendant she’s been playing with.
“Are we finally close?” She looks so expectant, and I know, from the look in her brown eyes that she’s feeling the same elation I am.
James shrugs to indicate he’s already said too much.
Rheema sinks back down, disappointed. “Sucks to be a Symbiot,” she says.
“Speak for yourself,” Aydan puts in.
“Well, not everyone has it as easy as you do, electric boy. Some of us have to work harder than others.” Rheema bares her neurotoxin ridden fangs at him and hisses.
Aydan examines his nails in an indifferent gesture. Tiny volts of electricity jump from one fingertip to the next, crackling gently.
Show off.
Like me, his skills just manifested. We didn’t work to build them, physically changing ourselves like Rheema and James have done. At least their skills work reliably, something I can’t say for myself. Though, I shouldn’t complain. Kristen doesn’t even have a talent—not that I know of, anyway. I guess Aydan did have it easy.
As soon as the thought forms, however, I realize it’s not true. Meditation isn’t easy for any Symbiot, especially in the beginning. Just because I didn’t witness his struggles doesn’t mean mastering his powers was a walk in the park.
“Sorry if this information remains ‘needs to know’ only,” James says. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain why.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rheema waves a hand in the air. “If we’re done here, I have a van that needs a new radiator. Those bullets holes just aren’t helping for some reason.”
Jori laughs a bit too loudly at her joke, making me think he likes her.
She pushes away from the table, then stops when there’s a knock at the door from the main warehouse.
“I’ll get it.” Spencer gets up and opens the door.
Kristen, her eyes wide and startled, addresses James as soon as she steps in. “We need to talk.”
James hops to his feet and follows her. We stay behind, our hearts in our mouths, wishing we could be flies on the wall to hear what has cool, collected Kristen looking flurried. Does it have something to do with my blood? I wouldn’t be surprised.