Round Trip Fare Page 6

  Nobody spoke while they ate. Marley was able to sit up against the wall on one side of the fireplace. Holding her soup with both hands wrapped around the tin cup for warmth, she studied Carey and Connor sitting cross-legged across from her. The small fire’s flickering glow should have felt warm and friendly. But Carey was fairly sure the shadows on each of their faces would have been there even in brighter light.

  Finally, Marley set her cup aside and sighed. “We have decisions to make.”

  Carey just looked at her. Who are you?

  Marley blinked. “Okay, you want me to fall apart over Harry and the crew? You want tears and grief and…”

  “And being human.” Connor’s voice was flat.

  Carey looked at the other woman. “I don’t know what you are or what he meant to you. But Harry was all the family we had left. We loved him, and he loved us. He gave up everything to be human. He gave his life for us. So did Simeon and Paul and Remy. Not crying now would be…”

  “Heartless.” Marley’s voice was very soft. “But Harry…” She stopped and looked at them.

  Carey knew the tears streaking lines through the dirt and soot on Connor’s cheeks and sliding down her own face were necessary and right and what normal people did. She wiped them off with her bandanna, and handed it to Connor.

  Marley’s words were barely audible. “If Harry heard us called heartless, what would he say?”

  Together, ignoring the fresh tears spilling from two sets of identical eyes, they whispered, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Carey took a shuddering breath and moved closer to Connor. He put an arm around her, and they faced Marley. “We didn’t escape.” She felt Connor’s arm tense as she spoke, but he remained silent. “They destroyed the St. Helens, they made sure we had to get out, and then they let us get away. I’m not sure why they let us leave or what they want, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Carey’s voice was shakier than she would have liked, but she got the words out. “It’s time for our test. We have to find Raziel.”

  Connor’s arm tightened briefly, but he nodded. “So if there is anything you know that could help us, now is the time to tell it.”

  Marley looked frustrated. “I don’t know what Harry was doing over the past month. He found something he thought pointed to one of the islands off the coast of Washington State. But then he sent a text saying he was following the trail to Null City. My…associate…Cory said they were following up on a sighting in France.”

  Carey nodded and closed her eyes. Picturing her multilevel game board, she mentally added every player she knew of. Then she sat back and tried to pull connections. It didn’t work. She hadn’t really expected it to. Usually when she put more than four people together, the connections multiplied out of her control until the game board looked like a bowl of spaghetti. Grimly, she began pulling away players. Luic, then Gaby. Harry. Connections snapped and disappeared. To her shock, game board-Connor moved to the opposite side of the board from her. He wasn’t remaining in place either, he was shifting backward. She wanted to know why. She reached for him, but he just…disappeared, leaving her alone with Marley on the darkened board.

  Carey’s eyes flew open. The connection was Marley? Without taking her eyes off Marley, she told Connor, “Take her hand. Can you tell me if she’s telling the truth?”

  “No.” Connor looked troubled. “I can only tell if she feels that she’s telling the truth at that moment. And I do better with yes or no questions.”

  “That’s going to have to do. Marley, would you hold out your hand?”

  With a trace of her icy smile, Marley complied, and Connor moved over next to her until his large hand encircled her slender outstretched wrist. He closed his eyes for a moment, shivered, and then opened them to nod at his sister.

  “What are you?”

  “I’m Marley.” It didn’t look like she was trying to mislead with her answer, but she didn’t add anything else. Connor said nothing.

  Carey tried again. “Do you have any special gifts? Like me being a harmonia warrior or Connor a harmonia concord?”

  Marley’s lips moved in her cold smile. “No. I have no special gifts.”

  Connor hesitated, his hand around the older woman’s wrist while he looked at her. “She believes that’s true. And when I was…keeping her from dying…I looked inside her. Carey, there wasn’t a life string before, but it’s there now. A regular, bumpy, human-colored one.”

  Carey met her brother’s eyes. How? He shook his head, so she looked back at Marley again.

  “Who sent you to us?”

  Marley didn’t hesitate. “Harry came to me in San Francisco and said he had two young harmonia who needed training.”

  Connor looked up and nodded. True.

  Carey thought about it for a moment. “Why you?”

  “A former employer recommended me.” Connor nodded again. True.

  “Who?”

  “It’s more of a what.”

  Connor looked confused, but Marley continued. “I worked for an agency based in San Francisco that was established right after the Nonwars ended. They train the children of those with Gifts who decide they don’t want to go to Null City.”

  Connor hesitated and then nodded at Carey. Uncertain.

  “Were any of those children harmonia?” Carey didn’t know why it mattered, but the Marley connection blazed in her head as soon as she said the words, and another shadowy connection began to take form.

  “Yes.”

  Connor nodded immediately. True.

  The shadowy player in Carey’s connections looked up with the emotionless eyes of the man she’d called Narcorial before fading away.

  “Were they concord?”

  Before Marley could answer, Connor pulled his hand away, shaking it. “Dead.” He was gasping. “Two kids. Both died.”

  For the first time, Marley’s cool demeanor disappeared. Her beautiful face twisted in a snarl of fury as she stood up, fists clenched, practically shouting. “Yes. They died. And do you want to know why? Their families killed them. Their stupid, judgmental families who would not let me train them because I wasn’t harmonia. They wouldn’t let them go to Null City where they could live a normal life. No, they just wanted me to give them a little training, teach their little concords how to make people feel happy when the child touched their hand. Like it was some cute magic trick.”

  Marley’s chest heaved and her voice was flat and dull. “Meanwhile, the gift had nowhere to go. It built and built until it broke them, until it transformed children into monsters who pulled out people’s thoughts and emotions. Until their own brains destroyed them. And the people they killed as they died? It was the ones who felt strongest about them—their own family.”

  She sat down and stared at the fire. Then she held out her hand until Connor hesitantly circled her wrist again. “And so when Harry came, I begged him. I told him that he should either send Connor to Null City, or let me train him, at least until he wouldn’t be a danger to himself or to those around him. And Harry said yes.”

  Connor nodded. True.

  Marley slumped back against the wall, eyes closed. Connor felt her wrist and shook his head at Carey. “She needs to rest. So do we.”

  »»•««

  In the darkness, Carey felt Connor settle beside her, their backs against the earthen entryway of the little shelter. Behind them, Marley slept. Silently he held out a hand, an invitation. She put her hand into his and felt the first delicate pulses. Comfort. Sharing. Love.

  Connor’s voice was quiet. “Do you remember the night of our rock concert?”

  She managed a small smile for the memory. “I couldn’t sleep because I missed Gaby, so I woke you up.”

  “And I thought we could make hot chocolate like Gaby used to do for us. Only we boiled over the milk, and it smelled awful, and it went everywhere. And you were crying.”

  “I never cry.”

  “And that housekeeper Harry hired—what was her name? S
he came in and was yelling about the mess we made.”

  “Mrs. Evans.”

  He shoved her shoulder. “And then Harry came in and asked why we were making more noise than a rock concert. So we told him we’d never been to a rock concert, and he pretended to be horrified. But that Mrs. Evans was still complaining, telling him we should be in bed instead of making a mess in the middle of the night. So he told her he appreciated all that she’d done for us, and she could have an extra month’s pay, but that she was fired and needed to be gone by morning.”

  She took up the tale. “And then he put the last album he made with Luic, Kaleidoscoped, onto that big-assed sound system in the living room and grabbed his guitar and started playing. And he was good. Better than good, because you could tell he just loved it.”

  Connor was laughing now. “And remember how he put the guitar down and turned the record up even louder and made us dance with him all over the house?”

  Tears were running down her face now, even as she laughed. “And we told him he was crazy, just to hear him say it.”

  Together, both recited, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  The sorrow, all the anger and grief and fear, were still a bitter taste coating her tongue and making swallowing an effort. Connor didn’t try to change it, but his hand silently told her he was there. He was the twin who had been with her in their mother’s womb and every day since, the only one left to understand and love her. The only one who could see her—not the warrior, not the strong one, but the sister, the girl, the other half of him. Without either of them using their gifts, without even speaking, they sat until their eyes finally closed.

  »»•««

  “Carey!” Connor’s voice was low, urgent. “They’re coming.”

  She staggered to her feet to join him outside, trying to follow his pointing finger. There! Lights flickered on the next hill across from their little shelter. “How did they find us so fast in the dark?” A dog’s sharp bark sounded, and the lights turned toward their hill. Dogs. They were tracking them with dogs.

  “Give me your shirt.” Without waiting for her answer, he pulled on his jacket and grabbed one of the boxes of emergency cash as she quickly rolled one of the sleeping bags and repacked his backpack. Together they saddled both horses, and she tied the shirt so it would drag on the ground behind.

  “Connor, I should go.” She thought about him disappearing from her game board, and her voice shook. “I’m a better rider, and I could lead them away faster.”

  He shrugged into the pack, and without meeting her eyes, slid Harry’s gun into his back waistband. “You have to get Marley away, and we both know you can protect her better than I could. Do you think you can make it to Winter Camp? If I can lead them far enough away, I’ll circle back. But don’t wait more than a day for me. If I don’t come by then…”

  “If you don’t come by then, I’ll find you.” She wanted to sound brave, but the tears were back and she could hardly force the words. “No taking crazy chances or acting like me.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He wrapped her in a fierce hug, and then he was gone.

  »»•««

  A day later the sun was gilding the edges of the hills outside the little cabin they called Winter Camp as Carey closed her eyes and pictured her connections. Her game board was blank.

  She ran hands through her tangled hair, absently tugging it into its customary tight braid as she pulled harder on the connections. She felt Marley’s hand on her shoulder, but she was focusing hard, pulling with every feeling about Connor she had. A faint image appeared on her game board, several empty layers between them. The image started to waver, and she thought she heard on a breath, “Love you, Midget.”

  Then…alone.

  She’d always known she was training for something. Now it was so simple—the ones who’d taken every member of her family had rung up a big bill, and she would make sure it was paid.

  Pulling the knife from her boot, she lifted the braid clear of her neck, sliced, and dropped it to the ground.

  Part I

  “Congratulations! You’ve completed our application process and written your letter to be delivered to your next of kin in the event of your death. Welcome aboard.” —Welcome Message, ACCORDS AGENCY EMPLOYEE HANDBOOK, third edition, revised July 20, 2009

  »»•««

  Please note: this document is highly confidential and has been blood-warded to be opened only by its specifically-assigned Warden. If you are reading this document, then one of the following must apply:

  —You are a fully-licensed Accords Warden, meeting all qualifications and training requirements and accredited through the Accords Agency as provided by the Accords Agreement of 1998.

  —You have just assassinated an Accords Warden and opened this Handbook using his/her/its/their/or? dying bodily fluids. [further note: if this is the case, please remain where you are and our recruitment team will be there shortly to discuss career opportunities with the Accords Agency. In addition to a generous weapons allowance, we provide excellent medical and dental coverage, Casual Fridays, and donuts once a week. Plus we offer a very competitive employer-match for retirement planning should you survive that long. It could happen. Possibly. For obvious reasons, however, we cannot offer life insurance. Acceptance of our employment offer is completely voluntary. However, as a courtesy to those who decline our offer, a copy of form AA402-Last Will and Testament, is attached hereto.]

  —You have bypassed our most securely-guarded safeguards and stolen this document from our supposedly-impregnable internal secured storage. [note: if this is the case, your name is probably Carey Parker, and while this may have been amusing the first couple of times, we really think it’s time you move on, develop a hobby which doesn’t involve breaking & entering, and fulfill your potential.]

  —Addendum to Welcome Message, ACCORDS AGENCY EMPLOYEE HANDBOOK, fourth edition, revised July 20, 2010

  Chapter Six

  March 2011: Seattle, eight years after events of Prequel

  Was it wrong that shooting people was so much easier than finishing up the humanities requirements for her criminal justice degree? Carey Parker sipped her coffee and—not for the first time—wondered about herself. But the Agency said this would be an easy one. A quick pickup and she wouldn’t even have to shoot anybody. Probably.

  There were two distinct advantages to her corner table at the rear of the self-consciously artistic coffee shop on the edge of Seattle’s eclectic Fremont district. Nobody could see her screen, and—infinitely more important—she had sole possession of the outlet currently charging both iPad and phone. She checked her iPad’s video screen to make sure the blonde teen she was tracking still had no idea she was being studied. Well, okay—studied along with the research materials for Carey’s overdue Humanities 201 essay. “Discuss the relationship of capitalism and patriarchal postconstructivist theory. Provide data and cite literature supporting your thesis.” She squinted at the assignment, minimized to parallel the video window, and cringed.

  Enlarging the video, Carey automatically evaluated her target. The teenager was a few inches under Carey’s own five-five. But where Carey’s cargo pants and hoodie hid a leanly muscled frame and a surprising number of weapons, the other girl’s designer goth outfit made the most of her soft curves. Plus that pink streak in the younger girl’s hair was a little too shiny, her dark eyeliner a bit too creamy, while her wannabe goth leather jacket, fitted black T-shirt, and long dark skirt screamed Nordstrom personal shopper and Daddy’s credit card.

  A lifetime of training—three years at the Academy, four more in the field—and they send me after Goth-Barbie. Carey sighed. Is it even worth it? But a flash memory—her guardian Harry’s blood-drenched golden hair, the almost-forgotten faces of her murdered parents, her missing brother and sister—stopped her. If she had a prayer of finding Gaby and Connor, she couldn’t afford to give up the all-important info access the Agency jobs provided. And th
en there was…him. For the past two months, the dark stranger had persistently edged his way onto the mental game board behind her eyelids where her harmonia gift visualized connections only she could view. Whatever trouble Mr. Six-Feet-Plus of arrogance is selling, I’m sure not buying.

  “Excuse me. Do you need both outlets?”

  Carey looked up to see the blonde standing in front of her, expectantly holding up her power cord. “Yes.” She returned her focus to the iPad screen, ignoring the muttered “bitch” as the girl went over to try her smile on the men two tables over. Her reversed video window showed the younger girl breathlessly thanking the man who leaped to free up an outlet for her. As she leaned over their table, the men’s eyes lit with appreciation for the way she maximized scoop-neck T-shirt, youth, and the best technology the foundations industry had to offer. Guess there’s all kinds of ways to say thank you.

  Shrugging, Carey returned to her own essay assignment. Her business partner, Marley, was pushing her to finish the degree that would let them bill the Agency at a higher rate. But at twenty-four Carey felt a generation older than her fellow students. With her erratic hours, she had to take classes offering online options whenever possible, so she was currently sentenced to Humanities 201: Postmodernist Applications for Economic Themes in Literature.

  “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting here for ages.”

  At the sex-kitten whine, Carey’s eyes flicked back to the little video window to see the other girl pouting up at a new arrival. But her complaints didn’t stop her from giving the young man—a boy, really, although Marley’s data sheet said he was nineteen—a thorough tonsil cleaning. Pulling away, he threw himself into a dramatic slouch across the next chair, giving Carey her first good look at him. He was thin, but more like an adolescent whose slender arms and legs had yet to develop a man’s solid outlines. His pale fallen-angel face sulked behind long hair too carefully slashed and tossed over one eye to be accidental. He looked, Carey thought, beautiful and brooding and more than a little stupid. Score!