Infinite Risk (3 page)

Jostling the shoulder sleeper, I got off at the stop that in no way felt like home. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten much of my pizza sticks at lunch and that breakfast had been a granola bar.
There's a bodega on the way.
I was thinking about what I could afford to buy—because Buzzkill's cash wouldn't last forever and the credit card couldn't possibly work—when I bumped into someone coming out of the thrift/wig shop.

“Sorry,” I said in reflex.

I moved to step past, then realized that this was the guy who had shared his Dickens with me earlier. He seemed frozen in horror, like seeing me here was the worst-case scenario. Other people passed us on the sidewalk, collars up, heads down against the wind.
One of us needs to say something. What's his name again?

Devon.

“Don't tell anyone,” he finally mumbled.

“That you buy your clothes here or you have a wig fetish?” Since he wasn't carrying any packages, I figured that was a safe joke.

But he scowled. “You think that's funny?”

“Apparently not.”

“If people at school find out my mom runs Madame Q's House of Style, I'll know who to blame,” he snapped.

Oh.

“So this is your family business?”

“Shut the hell up.”

Now that was surprisingly rude compared to how nice he was before, but he must think I was making fun of how his mother made her living. Which wasn't my intention at all. But I had no reason to correct his misconception. It wasn't like I'd be here long enough for it to matter.

“Okay, I'll pencil you in as my nemesis. I was kind of hoping I'd find one without looking on Craigslist.”

From his blank look, that joke didn't land, either.
Shit, when did Craigslist become a thing?
I couldn't remember, but it must not be mainstream knowledge yet. With a mental shrug, I moved to pass him.

“It won't help you either if people find out you hang around downtown.”

That sounded like a warning … or maybe a threat. So I turned. “Are you going to tell everyone I'm poor? And here I'm maintaining my image so carefully with haute couture.” I struck a pose, tugging on my hoodie strings so the front conformed to my skull.

He relaxed a little then. “Okay, fine. But you know what dicks people can be.”

“Seems like the haves would be pretty fiercely outnumbered in a town like this. Maybe we could organize and burn all their Gucci in effigy or whatever.”

“You have
no
idea what's popular, do you? But … that sounds magical.”

I shivered as the wind gusted stronger, with a frosty edge that hinted at snow.
Please, let this be normal winter, and not the winter king, searching for me.
“Okay, good talk, but I have to go buy dinner at the bodega. So…”

His brows went up at that, but he didn't try to stop me. I felt the prickle of Devon watching me until I went into the shop on the corner. This was the closest thing to a grocery store in this neighborhood; there was a small prepared-foods section, packaged so that I was pretty sure the owner's wife must cook it in her home kitchen. A tiny shelf of fruits and vegetables stood in the corner near the back, one section of canned goods, and the rest was liquor and snacks. After crunching some numbers in my head, I bought bread, cereal, apples, milk, peanut butter, jelly, and some instant noodles. Not the best diet, but until I figured out how to get a little more money, it would keep me alive and on the right path.

It was dark by the time I got back to my room. Putting the chain on helped for psychological reasons, though I could deal with any threat better than the flimsy door. I touched Aegis on my wrist for reassurance and then made a sandwich. Darkness didn't make my room more appealing, so I turned on the old-school, boxy TV for company. No free cable here, so there were four channels, all blurred with static.

I listened to the couple next door fighting until I fell asleep.

*   *   *

In the morning, I did my homework on the city bus, so it was messy but legible. Five minutes per subject did the trick. Another three blocks, and I was crossing the parking lot. Today, it was easier. My hoodie and jeans uniform granted me anonymity, or so I thought, until a group of letter jackets blocked my path.

“Hey, new girl. Hold up. You haven't met me yet.” The guy who delivered that deathless classic was clearly the alpha, Cross Point's answer to Cameron Dean.

Though this guy had dark hair and hazel eyes, he radiated the same seamless confidence, as if life had never failed to deliver exactly what he wanted. Yes, he was built. Yes, he was hot. And I kind of wanted to kick him in the shins for assuming that my life couldn't be complete unless he acknowledged me.

I decided to be an asshole. “But we totally met last summer at that party. Remember? And you
never
called me. What's up with that?”

His smile froze. “Uh…”

One of his friends nudged him. “She's cute, Wade. Why didn't you call her?”

“Don't worry, I won't hold it against you.” I gave a cheerful smile and extricated myself from the biceps fencing me in.

As I reached the relative sanctuary of the front hallway, I noticed Kian watching. No question he'd seen the exchange. I hurried to catch up with him.

“Can you smell the testosterone burning, or is it just me?”

“Did you just screw with Wade Tennant's head?” he asked, looking incredulous.

“Maybe a little. Which is probably cruel and unusual because I suspect he mostly uses it as a counterweight.”

“Don't say shit like that. Maybe you can get away with it, but I'll get my ass kicked.”

“I'll protect you,” I promised.

“Well, that's emasculating.” But he was smiling, not as tentative as the day before, either.

“Bullshit. It's way more egalitarian for people to take turns being heroic.” I launched into some heartfelt commentary about Hermione and Harry, which Kian heard with growing interest.

“Wait, what did you say? I don't remember that scene.”

Crap. I always get the books mixed up. Has the last one been published yet?

I hurried to distract him. “Never mind. My point is, it's totally cool for girls to be heroes. See you at lunch,” I called as he went toward his first class.

By third period, everyone was calling me Nine. Which was weird, but I figured it was because of my hand, until I heard some guy say, “She's
totally
a nine, all good except for that missing finger. How do you think—”

His friend covered the dude's mouth when he realized I could hear. I raised my brow. “The answer is, obviously, that I crammed it up somebody's ass so far that it broke off. Probably because he was objectifying me, but I forget.”

“Bitch,” he mumbled from behind his buddy's palm.

As I walked off, the friend proved himself to be an ass too by whispering, “Dipshit, you can't say that in
front
of girls.”

God, I hate high school.

Only Kian could make me stay here. The classes were no challenge, compared to Blackbriar's curriculum, though, so I coasted to lunch. My pulse ticked like a clock, reminding me that I had a deadline. If I didn't improve Kian's life and his state of mind by his fifteenth birthday, everything would happen all over again. The prospect of getting stuck in a loop as awful as this chilled my blood.

Not happening, not again.

After I went through the line, I skirted the room, but before I could reach Kian, Devon stood up at a table near the window. He gave me a tentative smile; his friends looked nice, a mix of smart, friendly people, and if things were different, it would be cool to get to know him. So I was already braced to shut him down.

“Want to sit with us?”

Six pairs of eyes in a variety of hues met mine. Four of six offered smiles that said they were totally okay with making room. So I waved as I said, “Thanks for the invite, but my friend is expecting me.”

“Where?” Devon scanned the room, seeming surprised that I'd gotten a better offer.

Nosy much?

But there was no point in hiding it because I intended to make it super obvious that I thought Kian Riley was fantastic. Beaming, I raised my hand. “Over there.”

Kian reluctantly waved back, then ducked his head, clearly hating the attention. Style-wise, he looked worse than the day before. I started toward him, but Devon grabbed my arm.

“Okay, fair warning. That kid is so freaking weird; he never talks to anyone. I'm not kidding.” He invited the table to weigh in with a speaking look. “Nobody's ever heard him say a word, right?”

“He's a future school shooter,” another guy agreed.

My heart twisted. If they knew him, they'd never say that. Deep down, he wanted to be a hero, so he'd never hurt people, even if they made him feel like a worthless shit. No, given time, Kian would implode, taking all that pain and turning it on himself. I swallowed hard, fighting sudden tears. God, I wanted instant intimacy so he'd share those feelings with me instead, but we had to build a relationship first, and these jackoffs were standing
in my way
.

“Maybe you should get to know him.” With a pointed stare, I added, “Funny how people who worry about being judged can do it to someone else.”

This time I won't fail; this time I'll save the boy I love.

 

MANIC PIXIE NIGHTMARE

At 3 a.m., I woke to find the Harbinger perched at the foot of my bed, head cocked in apparent fascination. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but when he leaned forward, I scrambled back, nearly knocking over the lamp on the bedside table in my hurry to turn it on. But he didn't vanish with the feeble glimmer of light. So close and unexpected, his aura scraped across my nerves like unchained lightning, so I couldn't get my breath.

Terror, dread, and awe fought a cage match until I managed, “Stop.”

He dialed it down so I could focus. Dark cloak, red vest. My heartbeat steadied as his boots vanished from his feet and reappeared on the floor. He came up in a crouch, looming in a way that was probably supposed to be terrifying. Without the aura, however, I could cope.

“What are you …
how
are you here?” Since I'd jumped, the Harbinger in this time stream shouldn't even know who I was, right?

“Time doesn't have the same hold on us, dearling.”

“Are you saying you followed me?”

“Not exactly. You know how a rock of sufficient size can be both in a stream and out of it at the same time?”

“Time being the river in this analogy.”

“Precisely.” He seemed pleased as he went on. “Like that rock, I exist here, just as I do there, and I retain awareness of those connected to me.”

“You're asking me to believe in cross-dimensional memory? Or that you can remember things that haven't yet happened, will … did happen, or will not have happened…?” I trailed off, giving up on figuring out the correct tenses for this convo.

It's three in the morning; I can't handle this.

“Is that so much stranger than nightmares given life by human credence?”

Sighing, I allowed, “Okay then. That doesn't explain how you found me. Isn't the medallion working?”

“Remember, it has limitations and I have eyes everywhere.”

“Flipping birds,” I muttered.

“Even without them, I'd have located you in time. Our prior exchange did more than just nourish me, and … some bonds cannot be broken.”

“Awesome, so there's some kind of ethereal tether between us?”

“You could say that.” He shifted from the predatory crouch and folded his legs lotus-style, as if settling in for a cozy chat. “Admit it, you're pleased to see me.”

I didn't want to give an inch, so I said, “Do you remember how things turned out there?”

“The longer I focus here, the blurrier it becomes. Despite immortality, we are not omnipotent or omniscient. So it's a bit like multitasking. You know how an old woman knits in front of the television, most of her mind on the scarf? Little bits from elsewhere slip in, snips of dialogue, noise from outside, but mostly she only notices what's in her lap.”

That actually made sense. Otherwise Wedderburn wouldn't have locked up the Oracle; he would've turned his attention on the future and learned things without needing technology to travel. But fixating on the future would be like disconnecting plugs in the present, leaving the winter king vulnerable to attack, and he had too many enemies to make that feasible.

“Interesting. But that doesn't explain
why
you're here.” His arrival felt like a boulder suspended on a fragile chain. After all, the word
harbinger
meant “bearer of bad tidings.” At least, I'd never heard anyone called a harbinger of
good
omens.

He leveled an assessing stare on me. “Would you believe it if I said I'm curious? You've done so many foolish and fascinating things. I'd like to know how your story ends.”

“I guess that depends on whether you intend to place bets against me, help other immortals track me down, that kind of thing.” With Aegis on my wrist, I could probably end him before he realized I'd made the decision.

But I don't want to.

“Technically, there's still a contract open between us, you know. Fell made it impossible for me to complete it as originally intended, and that is … bothersome. But I
know
you don't believe I'm here as your protection.”

“Not really,” I admitted.

“Honesty has never been a friend to me,” the Harbinger said. “But perhaps I'll try it this once. The bond I mentioned before … you're the closest thing I have to kin now.”