Authors: Kate Wrath
Eden (4 page)
Before I can stop him, there's another huge rumble from
outside.
He turns toward the door. "What's happening?"
As we emerge, I'm wondering the same thing. How serious is
this attack. Kobee and Spec didn't seem too excited. It must be normal. But
it sounds like war.
We have a peek down the street and find no more Sentries.
It seems quieter now. As a matter of fact, with the exception of that last
blast, the fighting seems to be fading off into the distance.
"We should go back," Jonas says, his hand on my
arm like he's afraid he'll lose me.
I shake my head. "I want to see." I can't
explain my morbid curiosity, but I
need
to see what has happened. I
start down the street toward the first blast, where smoke is still rising in a
huge column. Jonas has no choice but to follow.
"I think this is a bad idea," he says as we stride
toward the tower of smoke.
"You might be right," I murmur. "But I need
to see."
What
do I need to see? I don't even know. Not until we
get there. And then, I'm not prepared for the blast of emotion that hits me.
There is a building—several, really, but one that matters.
It looks like an old warehouse with the whole front end blown off. People are
running with water, trying to put out the fire, but they're mostly too late.
Inside the warehouse are neat rows of what looks like charred sticks. A bunch
of burnt branches stuck into the ground inside the warehouse.
"No!" I run forward, sliding to a stop when I
reach the front of the building. I can see everything inside. All the crispy
black trees. Some of them are steaming. Some still glow red in places, though
they've been doused in water. I'm crying and helpless, looking at them. I'm
too late to save them. And I don't even understand why they mean so much—why
this feels like the worst thing that could happen.
Jonas' arms go around me once again, pulling me away from
the view, hiding me in a hug. I bury my face against him, though I'm aware
that he's still looking at the trees. I sob, and wonder if he feels the same
kind of pain that I do.
He smoothes down my hair and whispers soothing words to me,
and eventually, tear-streaked and dirty, we walk arm in arm back the way we
came. I'm half-aware of people looking at us, but I don't really care. I'm
starting to focus on the pain deep inside, letting it drown me, when I feel the
rise of anger. And before we're back, I'm fuming. This is not my pain. This
is not me. I shouldn't care. And yet it all feels so real.
For the first time, I realize the full weight of the
situation. There are two people inside me, and even if I decide which one I
want to be, in the end, it might not be up to me.
Spec brings up some food to us not much later. "We'll
talk about this tomorrow," he says, and he leaves us to ourselves.
The meal is filling, rich, and definitely fit for a king.
Fresh bread, oranges, shredded meat in a spicy sauce, and some sort of green
pear-shaped knobby fruit.
"This must be an avocado," Jonas surmises, turning
it over in his hands.
I shrug. "You deal with that one."
He peels it with his knife, then mangles the fruit,
struggling to get the pit out. But mangled or not, the insides don't taste
half bad.
I save my orange for last. For some reason, I can't stop
looking at it. In Outpost Three, Matt had apples, but never oranges. Aside
from what must be inside, it's a glorious color—completely unreal in its
brightness. But the best thing is the smell. I keep holding it to my nose,
just
smelling
it. "If we could make the whole world smell like
this," I murmur, "then everyone would stop fighting and be
happy."
Jonas just laughs at me, giving me a look like I'm crazy.
He pops a section of orange into his mouth and chews, then throws me a cocky
smile. "Tastes good, too."
I look at mine, and turn it over, but I don't want to eat
it. I consider—however crazy—hiding it under my pillow. Would I be able to
smell it all night?
But when it's actually time to go to bed, I place it on the
table reluctantly, stopping for a moment to admire it.
Jonas gives me a peculiar look, but manages not to ask if I
have completely lost it. We take off our shoes, turn out the lights, and climb
into bed. It surprises me a little that Jonas doesn't take the couch this
time, but then, sleeping in the same bed is completely normal. The only thing
odd is that we don't have Apollon, Neveah, Miranda, and Oscar in bed with us.
Oscar. Deep breaths. I try to make the thought go away, but then, I'm sending
thoughts out into the night.
I'm coming for you, Oscar. I'm going to find
you.
When I shut out the world, his sweet brown eyes are there. He has to
be alive. He has to.
"This place must have been the model for hell,"
Jonas murmurs beside me. "The sun went down hours ago, and it's still
hot."
I groan my agreement, thankful for the distraction from
other thoughts. "And to think we were tromping around in the snow not all
that long ago."
He snorts. "You and your fur."
Before I can say something, there's a noise. A scratching.
We both freeze and listen. It's coming from the door.
I whisper, "Is it the dog?" We left the dog
sleeping happily at the bottom of the stairs. It didn't seem to want to come
up. But surely it would have barked if there was something sinister out
there. That's what dogs are for, right?
Jonas sits up, turning his face to the door where the noise
emanated. We both jump a little when it starts again. But Jonas is swiftly
out of bed and walking silently to the door. He jerks it open.
There is a noise that can only be described as a meow. And
then something small and furry trots across the room and jumps onto the bed.
It finds me, rubs its face on me, kneads me repeatedly with needle-sharp claws,
and purrs.
"We have a cat," I say.
Jonas closes the door and comes back to bed. "
You
have a cat." Before he lays down, he pulls his shirt off over his head.
"That's not fair," I protest.
"I'm sure the cat was your idea." He lays down,
turning away from me.
"That's not what I was talking about," I mumble,
giving in and rubbing the furry creature behind the ears as it settles on my
chest. Like I needed to be warmer. I feel like I have fur in my mouth and I
try to surreptitiously spit it out. But even though I'm sweating beneath the
little beast, there's something comforting to the way it rumbles. Something
that soothes me as I drift into sleep.
***
I wake in a panic, sitting up in bed, batting at the air
around me. I've been screaming. There is a sheet, twisted around me. Maybe I
was trying to get it off.
"It's OK, Eden," Jonas is saying, his hands trying
to stop mine. He catches them and holds them. "You were dreaming. It's
only a dream."
There is a moment filled with ragged breaths and heartbeats.
"I'm OK," I whisper, taking my hands back.
"I'm fine."
I flop back onto my pillow, kicking the sheet away. I'm
soaked in sweat. I pluck at the middle of my shirt and use it to fan myself.
It makes the scrapes on my belly sting, but I don't care.
"It's been a long time since you've had a
nightmare," Jonas says softly beside me.
I look at him, and he's staring up at the ceiling.
It's
too hot to sleep in your arms
, I think, but I don't say it. Instead, I
close my eyes and remember how safe his arms made me feel.
"What was it about?" he asks after a long silence.
I focus on the dream, but it's elusive. "I have no
idea."
He turns his face to me, looks me over, then rolls onto his
side. "There're a lot of things that could give you disturbing dreams
right now." His voice is so soothing. "I imagine I'll have some,
too."
I nod and close my eyes. Whatever it was, I want to get
back to sleep. Maybe my brain just really wants to process this, but I can
feel myself, already, getting sucked back in, and I don't try to fight it.
***
We're up early in the morning. It's already warming up, not
that it ever cooled off. Maybe we're just not used to it, but I feel
suffocated and smothered by the heat and humidity.
I stand looking at a set of drawers. Jonas watches me for a
moment, like he's unsure I have the courage to open them. I glance at him over
my shoulder. "Let's do this."
He manages a nod and walks to my side. We pull open the
first drawer.
A handful of tops are folded neatly on one side. I flip
through them. They're all light-colored—white or pale pink or baby blue—and
the materials are light, filmy. A definite improvement over my own dark, thick
clothes that I stubbornly insisted upon wearing again—once they dried out. For
a moment, my mind remembers sinking beneath the surface of the river. I shake
it off. My old clothes—leather and heavy knits—were fine for adventuring
through the snow, but even one layer of them is too much for Miami. It's time
to adapt.
I pull out the top shirt. Loose and flowy—I have a feeling
that the light color and thin material will make it semi-transparent, but it
doesn't look like any of the others will be any better. I try not to think
about it and turn my attention to the other side of the drawer. A pair of denim
shorts—I don't think they could get any shorter. I grab them, shove the drawer
shut, and turn to Jonas. "Your turn."
He eyes me, then pulls out the next drawer down. It's full
of his clothing, just as the first drawer was full of mine. As I watch him, I
wonder if we just got lucky with our first try, or if part of us still knows
where our things are.
Jonas does a little more rummaging than I did, which affords
me time to be jealous of his clothing. It looks comfortable, and not as
revealing. I'm wondering about swiping some of it, though I don't quite get
the courage to ask. It's stupid, really, because we're supposed to look like
Jason and Lily, and I'm pretty sure that Lily didn't go around in Jason's
clothing. I suck it up and go into the little closet that houses the toilet
while Jonas finishes looking through his stuff. It's completely dark in here,
but I manage to get changed, taking my time so that Jonas can change in
privacy, too. Just for good measure, I put the toilet seat down and sit for a
moment in the dark, listening to the sounds of him moving about. When the
rustling has stopped, I crack the door open. "Done?"
"Not like you haven't seen me naked before," he
says as I emerge cautiously from the bathroom. There's a subtle undercurrent
of bitterness beneath his sarcasm.
"Yeah, well, you're not sick and dying." I
deliberately fail to acknowledge the other idea behind his words. "I
think you can take care of your own bodily functions."
He laughs—that silent Jonas-laugh—a puff of air out his
nose, a mirthless face.
But then I'm standing there looking at him, and he looks
absolutely amazing. He's selected knee-length shorts and a white,
short-sleeve, button up shirt, but it's not buttoned at all. The material is
slightly textured, like it really wants to be touched, but that's nothing
compared to the stretch of olive-skinned pecs and abs on display. And probably
the sexiest belly button that ever existed. Yeah, I have seen him naked
before, but I wasn't really looking.
Now
I'm looking. Until I realize
I am. Then I turn my face away, and I'm pretty sure I'm blushing. My flowy
shirt chooses this moment to fall off my shoulder. I snatch at it with my
opposite hand, pulling it back up, but it starts sliding already. Jonas steps
toward me, amusement playing on his face. "I think it's supposed to do
that." And he tugs the material to one side, off my shoulder.
There's no denying that I'm bright red. My face is hot as
can be. So I try to cover, and it's partly true. "I don't like this. I
feel a bit naked." I feel really naked, actually, with my legs completely
exposed and this shirt, as light and soft as a butterfly’s wing-stroke,
clinging and draping as though it means to be one with my natural form.
That smile curls onto his face like a cat waking and
stretching. "It's definitely a new look for you. But don't worry. I
think it's pretty normal, here. And you look good." The smile jerks a
little, then gets more serious. "Apollon will love it."
I'm not sure
how
I feel about that. Awkward, for
starters. Apollon will probably tease me mercilessly. But my heart leaps at
the thought—at the idea of just being normal with him again. And there's the
ache. I miss my friend so much. Of course, all this is layered with doses of
guilt and confusion and general angst. But my eyes scan over Jonas, and I'm
just thinking that what he meant was that
he
likes it, which brings on a
whole new set of emotions, in some ways similar to the last. And
light-headedness. Vertigo. Fluttering in my chest.
I take a deep gulp of air and move past him, tossing my old
clothes onto the bed. I find my belt and sheath on the table where I left it
last night, and put it on. My gaze stops briefly on the still untouched
sungoggles, then wanders away. I look at my boots by the door, and then down
at myself.
"Here." When I turn to Jonas, he's holding out a
pair of sandals, though I'm not sure where he found them.
"Really?" I eye them.
He shrugs.
I take the sandals, sit in one of the kitchen chairs, and
strap them onto my feet. They feel a bit odd as I try out walking in them, but
I suppose they'll do for now. "I'm going to go find Apollon," I tell
him, not waiting to give him the chance to come with me. I need to go get this
sorted out, whatever it takes.
He just nods and turns away as I head out the door.
Spec is on the terrace outside our apartment, sitting in a
lounging chair. Across from him, perched on a low wall, is the glowing girl—Celine,
I think it was. The dog lies at her feet. They all turn their eyes to me.
Spec smiles, but the girl remains expressionless.
I put on my best I-mean-business face and stride toward
them. I address Spec. "Where can I find Apollon?"
He opens his mouth to say something, but pauses. No, he
knows better than to delay me. "I'll take you to him." He climbs
out of the chair.
As we turn away, Celine clears her throat. We pause,
looking back at her. She hasn't moved from her perch, but she holds up a piece
of leather lacing, looking at it expressionlessly.
Spec looks from her to me.
"Uh... thanks," I say, snatching it from her
hand. Not sure what the hell I'm supposed to do with it, or what it means, but
I don't really care right now. We turn and stride off. Behind us, the dog
whines as it settles down at Celine's feet.
When I glance at Spec, he says, "For your hair."
"...Right." I stuff it in my pocket.
He doesn't comment. I don’t bother asking the questions I
probably should be asking. I’ve seen enough conflict to know it when I see it,
and honestly, my heart and head are not up for the answers I would probably
get.
We head down a flight of stairs, across a set of terraces—this
place seems to be made up of level upon level of terraces, scattered all over,
above the streets. I suppose it's warm enough here that people do a lot of
living out of doors. But it has an odd openness to it that doesn't feel much
like any city I remember. I can't quite put my finger on what it is that's so
weird. All the bright colors? The palm trees, bending over the terraces? The
city slumps together, building upon building stacking up across the distance.
The same broken windows, crumbling walls. There is something else, though. A
different feel. Maybe the warm sea air, or the unrelenting sunshine.
Something.
Eventually we make it to street level, and then climb up
some rickety stairs to some terraces on the other side. We find a tented
structure amongst some other tented structures. Spec stops short and gestures
at it. "Your friends are staying there." He nods toward a wall
along the edge of the terrace. "I'll wait for you."
"I can find my own way back, thanks."
He tries to hide the frown, but a touch of it exhibits on
his face.
"I think Jason wanted to see you." Maybe that
will put him more at ease.
But he looks uncomfortable as he turns to walk away.
I head for the tent, determined to just get through this, no
matter what kind of awkwardness exists, no matter how much Apollon might
protest talking about things. The door flap is pulled back to let in a
breeze. No sooner have I fit myself through it than I hear my friend's voice.
Relief floods through me at the sound of it.