Infinity Bell: A House Immortal Novel (13 page)

I stared at the curved ceiling, where old fluorescent tubes shone hard white light against patches of paint that may have once held color but had been scraped and scuffed so that only squares of different sorts of dirt were left behind.

The rocking of the train should be soothing, but it kept me awake. Awake meant I started thinking through what we were going to do.

No matter how I stacked it, we had too little on our side. I still needed to find Grandma’s journal. At the next stop I’d get off the train and see if I could patch into a secure line. If there was any luck left to me at all, my
crawlers would have found information on where and how Robert Twelfth’s information was stored, and hopefully her journal would be there.

We had a handful of medical supplies, almost no valuables to hock, maybe one head of one House looking out for us. The train would get us only halfway across the distance we needed to travel.

Against us was the world and every ticking minute. So, yeah, things didn’t look all that great.

Still, if I had to spend my last days with anyone on this planet, Quinten would be the top of my list. So would Abraham and Neds, but for different reasons. I thought if I had enough time, I might get to really like Gloria. She had been nice so far, and plenty levelheaded under some pretty extreme stress. Plus, she liked my brother, which was nice.

Since I’d sort of been the reason that she’d just lost her home, I wished I had a chance to make things up to her before I . . .

Well, before whatever was going to happen happened to me.

The only other person I wished I could be with before I died was Grandma. Just thinking of her wandering our old house, unaware that Boston Sue, our neighbor and spy for House Silver, wasn’t watching after her out of the goodness of her heart made me angry.

I had trusted Bo to keep my grandma safe when I left to the city. But instead of keeping her safe, Bo was just another kind of danger. I didn’t know what Reeves Silver might want Bo to do with Grandma, but it wouldn’t be good.

A hand reached out and rested on my ankle. Abraham’s hand.

I knew I wasn’t the only one who had made mistakes. I knew I wasn’t the only one who wished things could be different.

But right now, in this speeding train, there wasn’t anything more any of us could do to fix any of it.

We’ve helped House Brown where we can. Quinten doesn’t want me to leave the farm.

—from the diary of E. N. D.

I
heard Quinten’s and Gloria’s voices over the low rumble of the tracks passing beneath us. Neds were sleeping in a chair. I would have thought Abraham was sleeping too, except he moved on the cot where he was resting often enough that I knew he was just as uncomfortable as I was.

The scale jelly did its work and cut my pain in half; I’m sure it had helped him too. I was healing, but neither of us would be better for days.

“What did he say?” I asked.

Only Abraham was close enough to hear me, since Quinten was sitting with Gloria a ways off.

“Who?” he asked.

“Welton.”

Abraham paused, maybe thinking about what he should tell me, maybe thinking there might be a camera on us here too.

I heard him shift, boots scraping across the hard floor, then grunt as he pushed up and took a couple steps, his hand catching hold of the bars above his head. He stood above me, looking down, one arm up, the other crossed over his stomach as if moving had fired the pain in him.

“We didn’t talk.” He dropped down into the chair by the head of the bed that Quinten had left empty.

“Do you think he’s hunting us down?”

“Welton? Undoubtedly.”

I tried to imagine what Welton Yellow would do with us once he found us. Help us again or turn us over to House Black? I didn’t know.

“It was nice of him to blow out the cameras,” I said. “Wish he would have done something more about Domek.”

“If I’d known . . .” he said.

I rolled my head to the side and looked at him. Gods, he was a handsome man. “Yes?”

He folded his hands together, unfolded them, placed them on his knees, then drew them back together. Every movement was discomfort, uncertainty. I’d never seen him like this, so unsure. But, then, his entire world had gone inside out recently; he had every right to be a little off his footing.

I held my good hand out to him. He tipped his head, then took my hand. “If you knew what?” I asked.

“If I knew that finding you on your farm and bringing you into House Gray would have meant this—Oscar dead, you injured, running from all the Houses, no credit to our names, riding the black market—I wouldn’t have come to find you.”

I thought that over. “Someone else would have. That
message my mom sent was meant to be found. Someone wanted me to be found. And even if no one had come out to my farm, I would have walked into the cities on my own eventually. I had a brother to rescue, remember?”

“You would have ended up in such a mess if you’d tried to find him on your own.”

“As opposed to this sweet situation?” I smiled slightly. “Someone was bound to screw up my life. I’m just glad it was you.”

He exhaled on a soft laugh. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

He gently rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand, thoughtful.

“How bad is it?” I asked. “Feeling?”

“The pain isn’t more than I can endure. But it’s foreign.” His gaze took in the crates behind my cot, the walls, floor. “It’s like I’ve been a blind man. And now I can see. Even pleasant sensations are strange. Jarring.”

“Maybe you just haven’t had the right pleasant sensations yet,” I said.

His gaze snapped back to my face. He raised one eyebrow and studied the innocent look I was probably not pulling off.

“What, exactly, are you suggesting, Matilda Case?” he asked.

I wasn’t expecting the man to take me in a passionate embrace. As a matter of fact, I’d stab him if he jostled me too hard right now.

But a little tenderness didn’t seem like too much to ask. “Maybe a kiss before the end of the world? Seems like we’ve both earned it.”

His wide shoulders and chest pulled up, but he tipped
his head down so he could better study me. I liked the look in his eyes. It was steady and intense, but there was a hesitance, a question there.

“I want to kiss you,” I said clearly, just in case he hadn’t gotten the hint.

His breathing shortened for several breaths before he seemed to notice and get his lungs back to normal.

“In front of your brother?”

I glanced past him. Quinten was leaning toward Gloria, lost in conversation. “I think I’m the least of his concerns at the moment. Neds are sleeping. And also?” I added. “It’s just a kiss. I’m not nearly well enough for anything more than that. Although now that I think about it, maybe it’s you we should worry about.”

“Why?”

“The one other time you kissed me, you drove off and got yourself shot and framed for murder.”

He took a moment to survey the train car. “Might be a little more difficult to do either of those things here.”

“Don’t bet on it.” I grinned. “My brother you’ve been arguing with? Very short temper and lots of capacity for revenge.”

“Noted,” he said, one arm braced above my head, the other still holding my hand. “But I’m not worried about your brother. I’m worried about you.”

Now it was my turn to breathe a little funny. He rested his forehead briefly on mine. “You make me want so many things,” he said, pulling back, his gaze lingering on my lips before slipping back up to my eyes.

“We could start a list,” I said, uncertain of what to do with the sudden heat his words caught in me. “Just to make sure we remember to cover all the bases.”

“Do you have a pen?” he asked.

“Not on me. Think we should probably just move on to the kissing.”

“Yes,” he said. “We should.” He finally lowered his face to mine.

His lips pressed against mine with heat and hunger that made me want him even more. He was gentle, catching my bottom lip with a slow stroke of his tongue and sending shivers of pleasure to war with the pain in my body.

I opened my mouth, wanting more of him. He exhaled, slanting his mouth against mine and setting off warm, rolling waves of electricity that radiated from my chest and pooled with a hot weight below my stomach.

I pulled back and he waited there, inches away from me, his eyes roiling with sorrow and need and regret.

“No guns. No murder?” I whispered.

“So far so good,” he said.

“I think we’re going to be okay,” I said, the truth of that, the hope of that, echoing behind my words.

“So do I.”

He gently pressed his mouth over mine again, a promise of comforting things we wanted to give to each other, but knew we couldn’t have.

Things we might never have time for. But we had time for this moment, this kiss.

We finally pulled apart. He leaned back in his chair. I worked on sitting, but twisted my arm a little too much and caught my breath. I paused, then sat the rest of the way, resting my back against the crates behind me.

Quinten glanced over at me, and I gave him a reassuring smile. His gaze ticked to Abraham, and he frowned
as if seeing something new in him. Maybe seeing the man I loved.

“If things were different . . . ” Abraham said in what sounded like the beginning of another apology.

I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t hear how sorry he was for things that were not his fault.

“You know what I’d do differently if I had the chance?” I interrupted him.

He pressed his lips together, and I couldn’t help but watch him bite his bottom lip before releasing it. All I could think of was those lips on mine, and that tongue exploring . . . well, more of me than just my mouth.

When I finally looked back up into his eyes he quirked an eyebrow at me, as if he had caught me thinking dirty thoughts and approved.

Which he had.

“What would you do?” he asked.

“I’d have taken you to my bed when I first had a chance, and never let you go.”

His small smile curved upward. “Now I really wish things had been different. If we were both still working for House Gray, if Oscar wasn’t dead . . .” He looked away for a second, as if finding a place to stash that pain. “Well, wouldn’t that have been something?”

And there it was. We both wanted this. Wanted more. For however long we had left, we’d have each other.

Ned yawned noisily and stretched in his chair. Left Ned took stock of everyone, and Right Ned rubbed at his eyes, still yawning.

“This is it,” Left Ned said. “First stop.”

I hadn’t felt any change in the engine. The only way he
would know that a stop was coming up was if he had ridden this line before.

As if on cue, the train’s engine geared down and the forward momentum changed quickly enough that I grabbed hold of the side of the cot so as not to get pushed out of it. Brakes squealed and then the lights flickered.

After what felt like a short forever, the sense of motion slowed, slowed, then stopped completely. It was strange to suddenly be so still. My legs vibrated with memory of the sway and motion.

Neds pushed up off the cot and rolled the kinks out of his shoulders. He paced over to the door, bent, and looked out it. “This is Callaway Station. We won’t be here more than five minutes.”

“Help me up?” I asked Abraham.

He did so, both of us doing what we could to work around our various wounds. Standing wasn’t as painful as I’d expected, though I was still a little light-headed, probably from blood loss and no food.

Quinten stood too, and walked over to me. Gloria stayed where she was.

“How are you feeling?” Quinten asked.

“Good,” I said. “Better. Did you give me a painkiller?”

“Last one. And the jelly should still be working. I’ll want to reapply it on both of you—”

“I’m fine,” Abraham said.

“On both of you,” Quinten repeated in his kind but doctorly voice. “First Gloria and I are going to go out for supplies.”

“Take my duffel,” I said. “Use anything you need for barter.” I brushed my hand over my hair, catching at my
braid and throwing it back behind my shoulders. The scarf over my head was gone. “And reload the gun before you go out,” I said, “I think there might be a couple bullets in the bottom of the bag.”

“Already done,” Quinten said.

My brother might not have been a farm boy for the past few years, but he was a born and bred scrapper who had been making his own way, off grid, through life. He knew that when going into unknown situations like this, the presence of a firearm was a necessity.

“What supplies can we find here?” Quinten asked Neds.

“What do you want?” Left Ned asked.

“Water, medicine, bullets,” Gloria said. “In that order, I think.”

“Water’s doable,” Right Ned said. “Medicine will take you too long to find, and there’s no knowing it won’t just be repackaged rat poison. Bullets won’t be easy either.”

“What do you think we should look for here?” she asked.

“Water. Food,” Right Ned said. “Cloth that can be used for bandages. Maybe clothing, so they’re not walking around bloody.” He pointed at Abraham and me.

“Wouldn’t hurt to look for a low-tech walkie-talkie. We could use a way to keep track of each other if we get separated and when we get close enough to the farm.”

“We’ll look for that,” Quinten said. “Good thinking, Mr. Harris.”

What Quinten wasn’t saying was that it was good thinking for someone he knew only as a farmhand. Neds was much more than he appeared to be.

“Anything else we should know?” Quinten asked.

“This isn’t like the station in San Diego,” Left Ned said. “Lots of people here, which means lots of eyes in this place. Lots of ears listening in. So don’t talk more than you need to, don’t use each other’s names, and don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. If anyone asks, say you’re on a trip to visit your aunt in Schenectady.”

“Schenectady?” Gloria asked.

“It’s code for
none of your damn business
,” Left Ned said.

The train door opened and Slip stuck his head in the room. “You’ve got four minutes.”

Quinten and Gloria shouldered the duffels and pushed past Slip into what sounded like a crowded, echoing station.

I needed to get out there too, to tap into the network and see if I could get any kind of bead on Grandma’s journal. But like Neds had pointed out, I was covered in blood. I figured even in an “aunt in Schenectady” kind of crowd, I’d stand out.

“You,” Slip said to Neds. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Blow off,” Right Ned said. “You got your fare.”

Slip leaned toward Ned, but slid a look over at me and Abraham. “Did myself some reading. And seeing as how there’s money on the table—a lot of money—I want you to know I can set up an arrangement that would be very beneficial to both of us.”

Yep. He’d just so much as said he would split the ransom on our heads if Neds would let him turn us in. Jackass.

Before Neds could say anything, Abraham strolled their way. The man was six foot four and had the shoulders
of an ox. He turned on Slip and cracked his blood-caked knuckles in a fist against his palm, first one hand, then the other.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He loomed over Slip, every inch of him a threat.

Slip worked the odds on his chances of surviving a fight with the grim and bloodstained galvanized who didn’t look like he had a lot to lose. Then Slip’s smile was back, even though his eyes narrowed with anger.

“Do you have a problem with me,
stitch
?” he asked Abraham.

“Bad move, Slip,” Right Ned said calmly.

Abraham shrugged one shoulder. Then grabbed Slip by the neck so fast, even I jerked.

He pounded Slip up against the nearest wall and leaned on him a little, his face inches away from the other man’s.

“Do you know what I was before House Gray took me in, little man?” Abraham asked.

Slip had enough sense in his head to save what breath he was getting past Abraham’s hand for filling his lungs, not words.

“A killer,” Abraham said. “Hundreds of years. Oceans of blood. Now there is no House to claim me. To tell me how civilized I should pretend to be. And I’m asking myself how, exactly, I want to behave. You are making my decision dangerously easy. If you want to stay alive, do not cross me.”

He pushed off Slip’s neck and leaned away.

Slip coughed and choked, his hand sliding up to his neck, his face red. “Off. Get off my train!” he yelled hoarsely.