Flame (7 page)

“I will,” Seth said.

From his bag Anthony pulled a small bottle of little white pills and held them up. “Antibiotics. You
must
take one twice daily with food until they’re all gone.”

“Thank you.”

“This is
important.
” He squinted sternly through his pert glasses. “We’ve got a drug-resistant bug going around. The infection in your pinkie is small now, but if it grows, you could lose your finger. These pills will keep it attached.”

“You guys all done?” Maya asked as she came back in, smiling weakly at Seth.

“He needs lots of good food and a couple weeks of rest,” Anthony told her. “Sound good?” he asked Seth.

“Yeah,” Seth said, grateful. Months in the brig had taken a toll on his health. Odd that he had to go to the enemy ship to get help. “Thanks.”

“Just doing my job,” Anthony said.

“I mean…” Seth pointed at the man’s knee where he’d injured himself to cover for Seth. “Thanks.”

“Oh. Well…” Anthony ducked his head, embarrassed. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on that hand.”

“See you tomorrow,” Maya whispered in the man’s ear. Though he wasn’t a tall man, she had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him. He nodded at Seth, then left.

“He’s a good guy,” Maya said with a broad, lovely smile. Her teeth looked jumbled together, but the imperfection made her smile engaging and sweet. She seemed to consider something, then stood resolutely, her hand on the large wooden wardrobe Seth had noticed. “I inherited this piece of furniture from my grandmother. It was in our ancestral home in Massachusetts, on the Underground Railroad. Know it?”

“They used to smuggle escaped slaves into Canada,” Seth said.

“For that, they needed tricky furniture, like this.” She opened the wardrobe door and pushed on the back panel, which gave way easily to reveal a surprisingly roomy compartment. “See? It’s a false back here. You hear anyone come into the apartment, get in. Okay?”

Seth studied her. “Why are you helping me?”

Maya sat in the chair next to his bed, leaning her elbows on her knee. “Because Anne Mather is looking for you. And I don’t like Anne Mather. Neither does Anthony.”

Seth nodded, taking another bite of the cinnamon roll. “Why not?”

“Mostly because of what she did to your families.”

“Why should you care about what she did to us?” Seth eyed her. “We’re your enemies, aren’t we?”

“That might have been true before Waverly and the rest of the girls came aboard. When we saw the way Anne Mather exploited them, attitudes started to change.”

“Oh yeah?” Seth asked. He watched her for any sign of pretense, but she seemed totally straightforward. “That didn’t stop people from taking their eggs.”

“Actually, that played a part in changing people’s minds,” she said. “Waverly and the other girls helped us make our babies. Our children will come from them.”

“Okay,” Seth said slowly.

“So in a way, Waverly and the rest of the girls are family to us. That means Anne Mather hurt our families.”

Something in her voice gave Seth pause. “
Our
families?”

Maya hesitated briefly, smoothing the fabric of her tunic over her middle before finally saying, “I’m pregnant with one of Waverly’s embryos.”

The glass on his tray began to rattle against his stoneware plate; he was trembling. His gaze dropped to Maya’s middle, and he saw that her tunic had camouflaged a small bump. He blanched and pushed the tray off his legs. Maya darted forward to catch it.

“Please,” he said. “I need to be alone.”

She stood over him, holding the tray, an expression of sorrow on her face. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled and shuffled out.

Seth cradled his hand to his chest. He wanted Waverly so badly then, just to hold her. Just to hold.

DUEL

Waverly had hardly slept since that awful reunion with the Empyrean kids. The way Serafina had clung to her, arms and legs wrapped around her, broke her heart.
I let her down,
she realized.
I was her babysitter before. I should have taken care of her, but I was too wrapped up in my own problems to think about her.
Afterward, she’d asked the guard outside her door if she could visit Serafina and the rest of the kids, but he’d flatly refused, and she’d slunk to her bed, feeling defeated.

She hated herself even more for the petty jealousy that haunted her. The way Kieran had held Felicity, his hands spread over the small of her back, his face in her abundant blond hair—that was how he’d always held Waverly, before. He could have sought Waverly out, wrapped his arms around her and held on, but he hadn’t. He’d chosen Felicity, and though Waverly knew she had no claim on him anymore, it still hurt. Seeing this proof that Kieran had moved on had brought a debilitating homesickness down on her. Not homesickness for the Empyrean, though she missed her home with every part of her. It was homesickness for the past, for her old self, for her mother, and for Kieran the way she used to know him.

For the last several days, she’d given in to her depression, had hidden in her room, head under the covers, her mother bringing trays of food and taking them away barely touched. She was waiting.

She knew Mather would come for her. It was in the woman’s DNA to invade, meddle, control. So when the knock came at the front door, Waverly jerked in her bed, listening to her mother greet the holy Pastor with utmost deference. Sighing, Waverly reached for a black cardigan that had been left in her bedroom closet along with a full wardrobe of the simple, somber clothes that people wore on this ship. She slipped it on and looked at herself in the oblong mirror hanging on her bedroom door. She didn’t know the girl in the drab shift standing there with the ratty brown hair and the haunted eyes. Too thin, too pale, too wispy. Weak.

“Waverly!” her mother called from the living room.

She took a deep breath, walked the length of the hall, and found Anne Mather in the doorway, two armed men behind her. They held their guns across their chests, their eyes on Waverly.

“Hello,” Mather said, betraying a nervousness in the quick movements of her hands that Waverly had never seen before.

Waverly did not return the greeting. She stood in the middle of the living room with her hands at her sides, waiting.

“I thought you might join me for a pot of tea and some treats?”

“I don’t suppose I can refuse,” Waverly said with a glance at the guards.

“You absolutely
can
refuse,” Mather said. “I want a fresh start with you. That means you’re free.”

“Except for the guard posted outside my door,” Waverly rejoined with a look at the snide, balding man she’d come to despise.

Mather dropped a beat. “Yes. I do need to worry about the safety of my crew.”

“And your own safety.”

“Yes.” Mather flicked her chin up defiantly. “Well? Will you come?”

A small part of her was curious about what Mather had to say, so she kissed her mother, strode out the door past the armed men, and headed toward the elevators.

Mather caught up with her, stooped, struggling to keep pace.
She’s short,
Waverly realized. She’d never thought of the woman’s height before. Mather had always seemed beyond physical considerations, but now she looked small and weak. Maybe what Dr. Carver told Waverly was true: The Pastor was losing her grip.

Mather’s office looked different since the last time Waverly was here, more disordered, like a war room. Papers were spread across her desk, and she quickly stacked them on a credenza in the corner. A woman carried in a tray laden with tea, biscuits, and fruit preserves, and nodded when the Pastor thanked her.

“Have what you like,” Mather said, pouring herself a cup of tea. Waverly noticed that it was black tea instead of the chamomile Mather had always drunk before. Waverly refused any food or drink and sat in the soft chair across the desk from Mather, who sipped at her dainty teacup.

“Is Sarah Wheeler okay?” Waverly asked. She’d been worried about Sarah ever since she’d been dragged out of the central bunker by Mather’s thugs. “And Randy Ortega?”

“Sarah … is she the one who caused the scene at the Empyrean reunion?”

“More like she suffered a breakdown.”

Mather nodded sadly. “The poor girl has been through too much. She’s being treated for depression now, along with her friend.”

“With drugs?” Waverly asked. Is that what they’d done to her mother?

“Gentle ones,” Mather said. “Harmless.”

“Where are they?”

“I’ll look into that for you,” Mather said, but the disingenuous look of concern on her face made Waverly think the woman knew very well where Sarah was.

She wants to keep us separated,
Waverly thought angrily.

“Well. How is your mother?”

“She’s very … changed,” Waverly said with quiet fury. “I know you’re drugging her somehow. Why haven’t you drugged me?”

“Drugs? No.” Mather wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. “Your parents staged a hunger strike for a period of weeks before our rendezvous. It’s likely your mother was weakened by it. A period of reduced calories can have an effect on the brain.”

The assured way Mather told this obvious lie was the final insult. Waverly stared at her, so angry she imagined the liquid coating over her eyes boiling away.

“Knock, knock,” someone called from the doorway.

Waverly turned to see the decrepit old man, Dr. Carver, standing there, his hands grasping his cane with what looked like preternatural strength.

“Hello, Doctor,” Mather said with reserved politeness, though she looked discomfited.

“This is the famous Waverly Marshall, I presume?” the doctor said, looking Waverly up and down as though he’d never seen her before.

“Haven’t you two met?” Mather asked with a tilt of her head.

The doctor hobbled in, leaning heavily on his cane, which was beautifully carved into the shape of two snakes intertwined, one white, one black. He extended a knobby hand. “I’m Dr. Carver,” he said. “Pleased to finally meet you in person.”

After a brief recovery from her surprise, Waverly shook his hand. “Hello.”

“I heard you two were meeting this morning, so I dropped by, unable to control my curiosity.” He motioned a hand for Waverly to move to the next chair. His imperious manner demanded immediate compliance, and she found herself obeying. He lowered himself gingerly into her vacated chair. “I’ve heard so much about you, Waverly, I wanted to come and see you for myself.” His eyes twinkled as though he were enjoying a private joke with her.

“Tea?” Mather asked him with controlled courtesy.

He shook his head. “My old stomach can’t take more than lemon water these days,” he said. “Thank you.”

“We were just talking about the hunger strike.”

“Oh yes,” the man said with a kindly chuckle. “I know you lost some sleep over that one, Pastor!”

“But we finally resolved it,” Mather said cheerfully. “When they learned we were on a rendezvous course with the Empyrean, they started eating again. Thank goodness.”

Waverly noticed the way Mather’s gray eyes darted over the frail doctor.
She’s afraid of him,
Waverly realized.

“So, Waverly,” Dr. Carver said with a gleeful tap on the handle of his cane. “How are you liking your new life in the bosom of your enemy?”

Waverly stared at the old man with no idea of how to answer.

“Come, now. You must have thoughts on the matter.”

“Doctor,” Mather broke in, tapping a pen furtively on her desktop. “I’m not sure stirring up past resentments is the right way to build trust with Waverly.”

“Resentments?” the old man said, his gaze trailing over the woven tapestry that hung on the wall behind Mather. “Is that how you’d put it?”

The Pastor looked at him, cowed.

“What word would you use, Waverly?” the man said quietly. “War crimes?”

“Atrocities,” Waverly whispered, her sudden rage choking her. “Monstrosities.”

Mather smoothed her smock with trembling hands.

“Come now, Pastor,” the old man said. “You must embrace your mistakes to embrace your enemy.”

“All right,” Mather said quietly, looking at the old man first, then at Waverly. “You’re right. What I did to you and your families was…”

“Unforgivable,” the old man said.

“Yes,” Mather replied, before Waverly could say anything.

“So how do we move on from here?” the old man asked Waverly.

Mather opened her mouth to speak, but Dr. Carver held up a hand to silence her, and to Waverly’s astonishment, Mather obeyed.

“Waverly?” He looked at her expectantly. “What do you feel would make life bearable for you and the rest of the Empyrean refugees?”

“She would have to go on trial,” Waverly said evenly, wondering if he actually had the power to make that happen. During her captivity on this ship, she’d thought the church elders were beholden to Mather for their power, but she was beginning to wonder if it was the other way around. “The Pastor and all her thugs would have to be punished.”

“You mean to send them to the brig?” he asked. “Or perhaps you mean for the Pastor … to be executed?”

Waverly stared at Mather, unflinching.

“Listen, now,” Mather began, holding up a hand.

“So you see, Pastor?” said the old man. “Your idea that we can all live on this ship as one big happy family is perhaps…” He waved a talon in the air, searching for a word. “Unrealistic?”

“No,” the Pastor said. All the fear left her face, and she looked doggedly at Dr. Carver. “I don’t believe that. Peace is always the better alternative.”

“A rather odd thing to say,” the old man said, “coming from the architect of the Empyrean Massacre.”

“You’re the one who wanted the rendezvous,” Mather shot at him.

He waved a languid hand. “A meeting is what I wanted.”

“
You
suggested the nebula. To surprise them.”

“I raised many concerns about your plans. You assured us there would be minimal loss of life.”

“Things did not go as expected.”

“Ah yes. The fog of war.” He chuckled. “Invoked by many a war criminal.”

Waverly could not believe her ears. She watched the old man’s profile as he sat back in his chair, grilling Mather ruthlessly, calmly, taking in every twitch and squirm as the woman shrank under his attack.