Infinite Risk (2 page)

“You must be new,” he said.

“How'd you guess?”

His mouth twisted. “Because you're sitting here. I won't take it personally when you assimilate into a better group.”

“I'm not much of a joiner.” I poked at my pizza sticks dubiously; they looked like normal pizza cut into thin strips. “Rectangles are better than triangles for some reason?”

He looked puzzled for a few seconds and then a half smile slipped, only for an instant; he swiftly locked it down in favor of the blank expression that I knew from experience hid a lot of pain. He scanned the cafeteria as if my presence heralded some badness he couldn't yet envisage.

My heart pinged.
Been there, lived that.
But I couldn't show any of those emotions as I studied him.
We're strangers; he doesn't know you.

Finally, he mumbled, “Maybe the cafeteria supervisor had her heart broken by somebody who played one.”

“Could be.” Though I hated lying, I couldn't meet him as Edie. Not in this timeline. So I said, “I'm Chelsea…” and was about to let that stand when a better idea occurred to me. “But you can call me Nine.”

“Why?” He made eye contact again, his interest piqued by the nickname I'd chosen.

I held up my hand. “It's better not to make a big thing of it. If I act like it bothers me, it'll be worse. You know how people are.”

He took in my missing ring finger and seemed to relax a little, as if imperfection was easier for him to process than a pretty face. “Yeah, that's true.”

It was too soon for him to ask, but I could tell he was interested. And since he was already firmly set as the skittish, wary one, I'd have to be friendly and open. “It was a dumb accident.”

“What happened?” Curiosity evidently got the best of him.

“To be blunt, I stuck my hand somewhere I shouldn't. And I would've died if I hadn't chosen to lose the finger.”

“So you did this to yourself?” His face reflected equal measures of awe and horror.

“Not for fun,” I pointed out. “But, yeah, to survive.”

“Wow. That's hard-core.”

“Not really. What's your name anyway?”

The casual question sent his eyes skittering from mine. He ate a few bites of his salad before muttering, “Kian Riley.”

“Are you a sophomore too?” I asked.

Like you don't know.

“Freshman.” By his terse response, he expected me to know something about his family background. And
I
did, but Nine would remain ignorant of his past until the day she transferred, offering him a clean slate.

“So give me the rundown on the school. Who should I avoid?”

“Me, if you listen to everyone else.”

I laughed like he was joking. Since he wasn't, it took a moment for Kian to return the smile, uncertain as sunshine on a cloudy day. “No, seriously. I can already tell you're awesome.”

“Excuse me?”

An exquisite ache went through me as I remembered how I'd felt when he praised my smile, back when I didn't see any good in myself. “It's your eyes. They're fantastic, and they prove you're a kind, honest person.” I added some New Agey stuff about how the eyes were the windows to the soul and then closed with, “I'm from California,” as if that explained everything.

From his bemused expression, it was pretty much exactly the opposite. Yet I was committed to this Manic Pixie Dream Girl impersonation. If I came across a bit flaky, that was fine because I didn't want him to fall in love with me so that it would break his heart when I left. Just by
being
here, I'd already changed things.

“Are you on any psychotropic medication?” he asked eventually.

“Nope.”

“
Should
you be?”

I snickered, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. From Kian's reaction, their stares ranked right below Armageddon, but I made eye contact and offered indiscriminately bright smiles that said I was having a blast. Eventually, they went back to their lunches, and I caught Kian trying to pack up his stuff while I wasn't looking.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked. “And please don't say, ‘It's not you, it's me,' because whenever someone says that—”

“I wasn't kidding about the meds.”

“If you're trying to drive me off for some reason, it won't work. I've already decided we're going to be friends.”

“How can you just decide that?” He seemed torn between pleasure and irritation. “It's your first day at a new school, so you pick somebody at random?”

“It wasn't random.”

Until now, it didn't occur to me how resistant Kian might prove to this idea. I'd thought I could just sweep into his life like the winds of change, and he'd be happy to see me. But he appeared to be getting pissed at my invasion of his silent world.

“Huh?”

“You were sitting alone. Either all your friends are sick today or you could use one.” Maybe it was a mistake to be so blunt, so I went from there to straight up lying. “Me, I've been in fourteen schools in the last two years, and I'd rather hang out with someone who's happy to have me. If that's not you…” I acted like I was about to leave.

Stop me, you
have
to stop me.

At the last possible second, he whispered, “Wait.”

“Okay.”

“This is a little weird and really sudden, you know? This … Things like that just don't happen to me.” He didn't even sound depressed, just … resigned, and that was worse. With every fiber in me, I wanted to hold him, but that couldn't happen.

I can't let it.

“People transferring to your school?” I kept my tone light and teasing.

“Never mind.” But he clearly wasn't thinking about those watching and judging anymore—a step in the right direction.

“Do you want my number?” That was
way
pushier than I'd ever be, but the MPDG part of me didn't blink at the offer.

I could see Kian struggling to frame a reply. Like,
for what,
or
seriously, is this a prank?
Because I had been there. So I took his phone and entered my contact info. The thing seemed ancient compared to the smartphone I'd been using, and it actually flipped open. Since I'd acquired mine at a pawnshop two days ago, it looked no better than his.

“Now mine?” he asked, taking my phone like this was some kind of bizarre dark ritual that could only end in blood and tears.

“Yep. It'll make it easier for us to hang out.” That was pretty much my whole plan: saving Kian, which would in turn save me, my parents, and all the assholes at Blackbriar.

“I really don't get it. But okay.” Kian tapped out his digits with the precision of someone who hadn't done this much.

I tested the number to make sure he didn't give me a fake one, and his phone rang. He stared at it, as if he couldn't believe I cared enough to do that.

I smiled. “Awesome. Everything is working as intended.”

 

A UNIQUE SORT OF HEARTBREAK

At the moment, “home” was a shit-hole three-story historical building that never got gentrified. In fact, Cross Point had the air of a steel boomtown that lost all hope when the mills closed. The small downtown was more than half boarded up, and the businesses hanging on were mostly liquor and convenience stores, along with a thrift and wig shop. I shivered as I passed the head models draped in other people's hair.

I went to the Baltimore after school because I didn't have a choice. Using cash from Buzzkill's go-bag, I'd rented a room in a no-tell motel that advertised hourly, daily, weekly, and, as it turned out, monthly, as long as you paid up front. I had haggled a deal that offered me shelter, but when I let myself in, it was hard not to let the soul-deep loneliness seep in, just like the brown stains on the ceiling. Looking at the faded red carpet made me think they had chosen it because it could soak up bloodstains.

Peeling floral wallpaper, plastic furniture, and a minuscule kitchenette were only a few of the charms my temporary home had to offer. I also got bonus screaming from the thin walls and the constant threat of invasion via the rusty fire escape right outside my window. I didn't like cooling my heels here, but I'd already been plenty forceful in the initial meeting. If I called Kian tonight, he'd think I was both crazy and desperate.

When I'm only the last thing.

But it was definitely a unique sort of heartbreak, being the only person in the universe who knew my story. I touched the watch on my left wrist; if I could remove it without dying, I'd already have it off, but it was firmly affixed to my skin like a parasite. If the medallion I'd taken from Raoul's body didn't conceal me, my only extracurricular activity would be killing immortals. So far, things had been quiet, but I knew not to get complacent.

I dumped my backpack and headed out with only a few necessities in the front pocket of my jeans, covered by my hoodie. A CTA bus delivered me to the small public library, a cream stone building underwhelming in both size and scope. The librarian at the front desk smiled at me, so I risked a question.

“Do you have computers for public use?”

“To use the print lab, you need a library card, but we do have a couple of old machines in back that are free for anyone.”

“Thanks.” I followed her directions and found them already occupied.

Slouching into a nearby chair, I waited my turn since the sign said
PLEASE LIMIT YOUR USE TO TWENTY MINUTES
. I didn't think I'd need that long. Finally, an old man stood up from his hunt-and-peck typing of a Hotmail something or other, and I slid in. Forums were the place to find info like I was looking for, so I dove into local-scene sites and keep going through sublevels until I found a quasi-underground site that recommended a vintage vinyl shop for “additional services.” Memorizing the address, I checked the bus routes and decided I still had time to get there before closing at five.

Seven minutes, not bad.

A twentysomething with pink hair was waiting for my machine when I checked over my shoulder. Before I got up, I cleaned the history and cache. She rolled her eyes as I slid by.

“You think anyone cares about your business?” she muttered.

More than you'd expect.

Not that the immortals would follow my trail that way but still. Right now I was out of my time stream and off the grid. If possible, I'd stay that way. Since the bus stop was a couple of blocks away and the computer said I had five minutes until the next one, I ran as soon as I left the library. As it turned out, the bus was six minutes late, so I could've taken my time, but missing this one meant putting off my business for another day.

Psychedelic Records had a
LEGALIZE MARIJUANA
shirt in the front window on one side and a giant poster of Bob Marley on the other. The smell of patchouli nearly knocked me out as I pushed through the front door. Row upon row of old records filled up plastic crates, along with rock-and-roll memorabilia that might've been “classic” when my parents were in high school. A signed guitar hung in a place of honor behind the counter, but I couldn't make out who had scrawled on it from the doorway.

There was no point in pretending I was a retro-music hipster, so I went straight to the guy behind the counter. “I'm interested in your additional services.”

He scrutinized me head to toe. “Show me your chest.”

“Excuse me?” This reminded me a little too much of the whole
show me your belly button
test I had going before I jumped.

“Just a quick flash. If you're not wired, I guarantee it's nothing I haven't seen before.”

“Fine.” I lifted my hoodie and shirt, giving him a peek at my plain white bra. “Satisfied?”

“Yeah.” To his credit, he did seem pretty disinterested in anything but verifying that I was a customer, not a narc. “What can I do for you?”

“I want two IDs, one that says I'm sixteen and, the other, twenty-one.”

“That's weird,” he noted. “Never had anyone ask me to prove they're underage before.”

“What do you care? It's your job to make IDs and collect the money.”

Basically, I needed the first ID in case my current identity came into question at school, and if the authorities grilled me elsewhere, I'd whip out the adult ID and make a quick getaway. There was also no telling if I might need to meet someone in a bar. Being a time traveler had ridiculous constraints, as it turned out, since my real self was twelve and completely obsessed with anime and rock tumblers.

“True. Questions are bad for business. How high-end do you want these?”

“Basic is fine, just something to pass first inspection.”

“That's easy enough.” He named a price that was less than I expected. Buzzkill's cash would pay for this too. “Half now, half on pickup.”

“Sounds good.” I handed over the money.

“Excellent. Come in back for a minute. I'll take your picture.”

He had a compact setup, though nothing so overt that anyone would notice his side business. It was all fairly typical office equipment. The various backgrounds for the photos were hidden behind an enormous framed Led Zeppelin poster. I posed but didn't smile, and he nodded approval.

“Good call. People always look surly in government ID photos. It's because they've all been waiting for over an hour at the DMV or whatever.” He smirked at his own joke.

I gave a pity chuckle, no point in pissing him off. “When should I come back?”

“Wednesday, after three.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Let me check the front, give me a sec. We'd have heard the bell, but I like to be careful.”

I waited in back until he called the all clear; then I emerged. Just in case, it seemed like a good move not to leave empty-handed, so I bought a peace-sign keychain from the counter display. He acknowledged that with a knowing grin as he bagged it up. Since the Baltimore had actual metal keys, I even had a use for this. On the bus back, I snapped the two together. An old man fell asleep on my shoulder, and I stared out the dirty window at the crumbling cityscape, hoping I could achieve all my goals.