Mortal Danger (The Immortal Game) (24 page)

Kian touched the gold statuette, wearing a melancholy expression. “It wasn’t my first choice, but I needed to pad my college application; I can’t sing, and I hate team sports. At the time, I didn’t realize how little control over my future I had left. Wedderburn waited until I graduated to spring the news.”

I imagined Kian applying to college, not realizing he’d lost his status as a catalyst and how he must’ve felt when he found out. “Is that standard?”

He nodded. “They have no use for underage agents; too many questions from mortal authorities and irate families.”

“That makes sense.”
So I won’t know if I go off track and fail my purpose until I graduate.
“And from their perspective, a year or so doesn’t seem like long to wait.”

“Pretty much.”

Putting aside the trophies, I examined the dates on all the yearbooks and picked up the earliest one. “Freshman year?”

He winced slightly and put his hand on the cover. “Edie—”

“I don’t care, okay? I want to see who you were.”

With a sigh, he pulled back and let me open the book. I flipped through the ninth graders, poring over awkward faces dotted with zits, braces still on, glasses not yet exchanged for contacts. Now and then I spotted the future beautiful people, not because they were already perfect, but they had fewer physical faults to overcome. It made my life easier that the class pictures were alphabetized, so I flipped to the
R
s.

There you are.

The other Kian wasn’t heavy, as I half expected. Instead, he was thin to the point of gauntness with thick Coke-bottle lenses and terrible skin. The buzz cut didn’t help; neither did the weirdly patterned button-up shirt with the over-large collar. Looking at this picture, I’d never guess he came from money. He was dressed like he’d bought his clothing at a thrift store. But what really got to me was the dead, hopeless expression in his eyes.

I am alone,
that look said
. And it will never get better.

A year after this picture was taken, he tried to kill himself.

He shifted, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s bad, I know.”

“You’re still you,” I said. “And … I’d have dated you when you looked like that. If you’d asked me.”

A shiver went through him, relief or pleasure, or I didn’t know what. He put an arm around me and leaned his head against mine. “I would have, if I’d had the nerve. Remember at the diner? Before I optimized you, I said you have pretty eyes and a nice smile. But more important, you’re smart and brave and—God, stop me, before I say something ridiculous.”

I laughed softly. He was a person to me now, one with a sad past and a dark history, but he was real. He wasn’t a monster; he couldn’t be. Not with such awkward, painful signatures in his yearbook that said he had been almost as friendless as me. Most of them read, “To a smart guy” or even more damning, “Have a great summer.” I also noticed he had more comments from teachers than people his own age.

Another thing we have in common.

“You went for the ideal version of yourself, huh?”

He nodded. “It was Raoul’s suggestion … and why I offered it to you.”

“I’m glad.”

Nestled against his side, I worked through the rest of his box, unearthing certificates for academics and a bad poetry journal. That, Kian yanked away from me with red tinting his cheeks. He wore a hunted look.

“Please don’t open that.”

“You write poetry?”

“Nothing worth keeping. And not for a long time.”

“Read me something,” I demanded.

I’d never been close enough to anyone to feel comfortable being so bossy. With Kian, it seemed … safe. He paged through the notebook and mumbled, “I dream of sunlit streams / And moonless tides. / Of infinity / Among dark rocks. / I dream of quiet souls / And divinity / That breaks like a wave / Over me. / And instead of drowning, / You pull me in; / I swim.”

I was good at identifying themes and explaining them to teachers, but I had never listened to a poem and
felt
anything before. That didn’t mean Kian’s work had literary merit, and … maybe it was because I knew what his life was like when he wrote it, but I understood the words from the inside out.

“You were so sad,” I said softly. “Wondering if there’s a god, looking for someone to stop you.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “You see too much.”

“I want to see everything.”

This is happening. This is real.

I came up on my knees and hugged him; sometimes it felt like we were two halves of the same soul, and that was so stupid it made me feel like I lost IQ points just for thinking it. His arms tightened around me and he buried his face in my hair. For a few seconds, I imagined what this would’ve been like with him thin and me fat, if it would’ve felt better, worse, or just … different. Sometimes I felt like an impostor in my own body.

“When Wedderburn told me to get close to you, I was, like,
shit.
Because anything
he
wants isn’t good for the people involved.”

“There has to be a way that this doesn’t end badly,” I said. “We’ll find it. You said I have to be with you or cut you loose. I’m ready, I’m not scared anymore.”

He exhaled against my hair. “I’m glad. Because it kills me when you look at me like I’m one of the monsters.”

His hands trembled on my back and he tucked his face against my neck. His breath was hot and damp, misting on my skin. Any other moment, that would’ve been exciting, but he was shaking, his breath coming in quiet gasps. I touched his hair, alarmed.

“Kian?”

“I’m so sorry. You have
no
idea how awful I feel. I close my eyes and I see what they did to you, and I should’ve stopped it. That moment haunts me. I wish I’d kicked Cameron’s ass. I don’t even care that it means I’d be gone, as long as you’d be all right. But—”

“If they hadn’t forced me to extremis then, they’d have done something worse, and you’d have died for nothing. Bottom line, I burn my favors, like Wedderburn wants, because my liaison doesn’t care. I end up dancing like a puppet on his string. You’re the reason I’m even remotely in the game. So stop torturing yourself.”

“I don’t think I can. That’s all I want, you know. For you to be okay.” His voice was low and hoarse, ragged as if he’d spent a whole night screaming. The intensity he radiated was thrilling but also scary.

“You have to care about other things. Yourself, your life, your freedom.”

“Sure, Edie.” He said it too readily; I didn’t believe him.

For long moments, I just held him, hoping I could hug the hurt out. Comforting him made me feel stronger, though, like I could let go of my shame and pain to make Kian feel better. Eventually I sat back enough to kiss him. His lips tasted faintly of salt.

“That’s enough personal history for the day. Want to take me home?” Belatedly I realized how that sounded, and heat washed over my cheeks.

Oh God, why?

“More than you know.”

“That was quite a line,” I managed to say.

His green eyes settled on my face, shining with such fervor that I might’ve burned from it. “It’s only a line if I don’t mean it.”

I had no answer for that. Silently, my cheeks still on fire, I helped him restore order to the storage unit and we went down to the car. “Why wasn’t all your stuff at the house?”

“Partly because I wanted a new start and Raoul warned me not to keep precious things too close.” That sounded ominous.

“Because you could be targeted by Dwyer & Fell?” I remembered him saying they’d gone after him before, and they just burned his house down. Damage like that could destroy all happy mementos of his former life.

“Yep.”

“Great, now I have something else to worry about. I don’t know if our insurance will cover ulcers at seventeen.”

He smiled, as I’d intended him to. The car started with a purr and he pulled smoothly into traffic. On the ride home, Kian told me a little more about his aunt and uncle, concluding, “I’ll call them and see if we can come for lunch on Sunday.”

“Lunch?”

“Dinner would get you home too late. It’s almost five hours, depending on traffic.”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, unless you just want me to meet them. It’s a long way to drive to reassure me … and I already believe in you.”

His throat worked visibly. “It’s been a long time since anyone said that to me.”

“I’ll say it again if you want, slower this time.” I tried on a flirty smile, and to my relief, I didn’t feel like an idiot.

He grinned at me, thanking me with his eyes for not making a thing about the fact that he wore his heart close to the skin. “Let’s not pack too much excitement into a single day.”

My mom and dad were waiting when I got home. They were weird and solicitous, as if Brittany and I had been friends for years. My dad made my favorite soup—homemade chicken noodle—and my mom produced a carton of ice cream. Tonight, however, I limited myself to a single scoop instead of filling a huge bowl. Both my parents were weedy academics, not prone to overindulgence in anything, except esoteric ideas. As we ate, I brought up my college application, and as expected, that occupied them until I could escape.

“Thanks for dinner. It was really good.”

They exchanged one of their looks, then my mother spoke. “Will you be all right tonight? I’ve been asked to do a guest lecture, and there’s a cocktail party afterward—”

“I’m fine,” I assured them. “I’ll do my homework and maybe Skype with Vi.”

“Who’s that again?” My dad was frowning.

“I met her at the SSP. She lives in Ohio.”

“Oh, right.” His brow cleared. Any kid who could get into the science program was apparently good enough for me to chat with online.

“If you’re sure,” my mom said, pushing away from the table.

After that, she got ready in a hurry while my dad and I washed the dishes. Twenty minutes later, she came out in her standard black dress, having dotted her cheeks with blush and put on red lipstick that didn’t suit her. Last year, I wouldn’t have known that.

“Have fun.” I shut the door behind them and turned the deadbolt.

Though I’d been alone countless times before, this felt different, somehow. Strange noises rumbled in the apartment, nothing I could identify, and I couldn’t settle on my assignments. I roamed from room to room, checking in closets and looking under the beds. Soon I’d be rummaging through cupboards and making myself a tinfoil hat. Brittany’s specter haunted me, whispering accusations that sent shivers down my spine.

“It’s your imagination,” I said out loud.

My voice was supposed to reassure me, but the strange tinnitus was back, ringing so loud that I thought it was the phone for a few seconds. Then I realized it was, but it sounded like it was inside my skull. I ran to answer it, and when I picked up, there was only a single high-pitched note. I slammed the phone down and unplugged it.

Then it rang again.

Fear pounded a tattoo in my ears as something heavy hit the front door, hard enough to shake it on the hinges. My thoughts went frantic and disjointed.
Shelter. No windows. Cell phone. Call for help.
I sprinted down the hall to the bathroom, slammed the door behind me, then I leaned against it with all my weight, listening to the pounding. My hands trembled as I dialed the 9, then the 1. As if whatever it was sensed trouble, the noise stopped.

I listened for a full minute. Nothing. Silence.

Exhaling, I turned, started at a glimpse of myself in the mirror, then smiled in relief. My reflection did not smile back.

THE EYE OF A LITTLE GOD

I
can’t get help from 911 for this.

Cold suffused the room in a silent swirl, until my breath wafted like fog between me and not-me. Every instinct said I was in mortal danger, but I was afraid something worse lurked outside. Just because the thing had stopped banging, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

I backed up a few steps, until I stood near the door, but my mirror image never moved. “What do you want?” I asked.

“Your life.” The voice was warped and strange, a drowning mouth full of water.

I didn’t know if she meant she wanted me dead or to swap places, trapping me on the other side. No matter how you viewed it, I lost. As I tried to control my heartbeat, she lifted slender fingers to trace a pattern on the wrong side of the glass, and the surface rippled, stirred, as if she might conceivably crawl through. That was enough for me. I banged open the bathroom door, slammed it shut behind me, and bolted.

Wait, what’s the smart move? Danger outside. Danger inside. Can’t call 911. If the thing could break the door, wouldn’t it have already done that?
My life depended on working out the answers, and nothing had prepared me to solve this particular equation. While they couldn’t kill me, they
could
hurt me, or drive me to do something stupid in sheer terror. I took one breath, another, forcing myself to be logical when impulse suggested I should run and scream.

There are rules in play. What are they?

That was part of the problem. I didn’t know the regulations, how to avoid breaking them, or how to report a violation. But then, I wasn’t really a player, more of a pawn. In chess, the pieces couldn’t wave from the board and bitch over how they were handled. Actually, that analogy gave me some insight as to my position.

I’m not even a person. I’m a … what did Wedderburn call me? An asset.

Okay, so … what do I know?
Thinking it through kept me from panicking. In a lot of lore, monsters had to be invited or permitted to cross your threshold. Therefore, reason dictated that I was safer at home than I would be running around after dark. Plus, there were human maniacs to contend with as well.

Briefly, I considered calling Kian; he’d stay with me until my parents got home. In the end, I decided not to. I preferred not to get dependent on him. My chest ached as I went to my room. As I settled down, I listened for any sign that the creature outside the apartment had come back, but everything sounded still and quiet. There were no noises from the bathroom either. If the mirror-girl had been able to get out, she’d be here by now.