Scorched (7 page)

“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Trinity announced as she pulled the torn screen door open. The bank had changed the locks when they’d foreclosed on her former home, but they evidently hadn’t bothered to check all the windows. She wasn’t surprised, not really. After all, there was nothing inside worth stealing. Just dusty furniture and even dustier memories.

She drew in a breath. The last time she’d stepped inside this house, she’d stumbled upon a nightmare, her worst fears coming true. This time things were decidedly less dramatic. The house felt more like an ancient crypt than a fresh grave. Caked with dust and draped with intricate spider webs, it was an empty husk of what had once been a home.

She could feel its emptiness hammering at her bones. But Connor said he wanted to make sure. He cased the house, first and second floor, gun raised and ready, as she waited by the back door for his okay. After determining that it was, indeed, as abandoned and vacant as she promised, he set down his gun and allowed his shoulders to relax. Trinity rummaged about to find a few candles and matches, and even scored an industrial-strength flashlight from the garage that amazingly still held some battery power. She spread the candles around the living room and removed the plastic covering from the faded flowery couch.

Connor watched her at her tasks, still looking a little uneasy. He’d changed out of his strange silver jumpsuit and now wore slouchy dark-rinse jeans, riding low on his narrow hips, and a tight navy T-shirt, stretching across his broad chest and bringing out the blue in his ever-glowing eyes. Trin had to admit, for a guy from the future, he was pretty hot. If only she could snap a quick pic and text it to Caitlin. Of course, explaining how she met him might prove a bit difficult.

She shook her head.
Get
your
mind
out
of
the
gutter, girl,
she scolded herself. After all, he was here on a mission to save the world—not hook up with the locals.

That said, the guy from
Terminator
did manage to find the time…

“So you used to live here?” Connor asked, completely oblivious to her ridiculous thoughts, thank God. “It’s strange we have no record of that.”

“I wasn’t here long,” she admitted, sobered by the question. “My mom bought the place to convince the judge I’d have a quote—” she made rabbit ears with her fingers “—stable home environment.” She screwed up her face. “What a joke that was. Didn’t last long enough for the first mortgage check to cash.”

Connor regarded her solemnly. “Is that when she died?”

“When she blew her head off, you mean?”

He winced. “I’m sorry.”

She waved him off, not wanting to deal with the pity she knew she’d find in his eyes. It was bad enough to be back here in the first place. Everywhere she looked—everything she saw—a bitter reminder of that other Christmas Eve two years ago today. That fateful afternoon when she’d danced home from school with light steps and a happy heart. Eager to get the party started. To celebrate her first real Christmas in her first real home.

From
now
on, things are going to be different,
her mother had promised.
From
now
on, we’ll be a family.

But that, it had turned out, had been just another one of Mom’s fantasies.

“It’s amazing they managed to get all the brains out of the carpet,” she muttered, kicking the obviously bleached-out rug with her toe. The shotgun had made quite a mess—in fact, if it wasn’t for her mother’s bloodstained bunny slippers still stuffed on her feet and the emerald ring on her finger, she probably wouldn’t have even recognized the corpse sprawled out on the living room floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Connor’s cringe and immediately wished she could take back the vulgar words. After all, it had been her idea to come here—not his. And there was no reason to lash out and punish him for what her mother had done to her. Over the last two years, she’d tried to forget it altogether, to block out the memories and move forward with her life best she could. But being back here, at the scene of the unforgivable crime, was proving too much, especially with her nerves already stretched so tight.

“She was sick,” she found herself saying, surprising herself as the words spilled from her lips. She never talked about what had happened with her mother. Not to Caitlin. Not even to her grandpa. He’d tried to get her to talk about it, of course, even sent her to shrinks they couldn’t afford to help her release what she’d bottled up inside. But it had been no use. She’d never been able to voice the betrayal and hurt she’d experienced on that devastating day—the day she’d realized that all the promises in the world meant nothing and the only person she could truly trust was herself.

“Not physically sick,” she continued in a rush, twisting the ring on her finger forcefully. “I mean, she heard…voices…in her head. Sometimes they were so loud she couldn’t hear anything else.” She pressed her palm against the wall, hanging her head as she remembered. “They told her to do things. Things she never would have done otherwise.”

Like
abandon
her
only
daughter
without
even
saying
good-bye.

She trailed off, uncomfortably reminded of her own voices—the ones she’d heard back in the museum and at her grandpa’s house. Was it just a coincidence? Her mind playing tricks? Or had her mother’s illness been lurking inside of her all along? Waiting for just the right moment to dig its sharp talons into her consciousness and rip out her sense of reality?

I’m nothing like Mom. I’m nothing like Mom. I’m NOTHING like Mom.

She shoved off the wall, plopping down on the couch and scrubbing her face with her hands. “Anyway, that’s when my grandpa took me in. He didn’t have to. But he knew how miserable I’d been in foster care over the years when my mom was in and out of hospitals, and so he somehow convinced the judge to award him custody.” She gave Connor a sad smile. “And we became a family. Just the two of us.”

And
then
I
yelled
at
him
, she added to herself.
I
basically
called
him
a
fool
for
wasting
our
money
on
some
useless
artifact.

But it wasn’t useless. And
she
was the one who’d been a fool.

She glanced out the window, unease knotting her stomach. Where was he? Why hadn’t he called? Had the blood on the knife been his? The fact that the agents were looking for him meant, at least, they didn’t have him. But what about these Dracken people? Could they have captured him somehow? And if so, what would they do to him? Would they hold him captive until she agreed to turn over the egg?

“I just hope he’s okay,” she said quietly. “I can’t stand thinking about him out there somewhere, all alone, maybe in trouble. It just makes me feel so helpless.” Her voice cracked on the last part as she fought back a sob.

For a moment she just sat there, staring out the window, not knowing what to do, what to say. Then, to her surprise, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Connor reaching out, without a word, gathering her into his arms.

Her first instinct was to resist, to pull away. To put distance between herself and this stranger. After all, she wasn’t the type of girl who just fell into a guy’s arms at a moment’s notice, no matter how hot they might be.

Yet she was so stressed, so frayed, so at her wits’ end. And his arms were so warm. So gentle and comforting. An embrace for her tired soul to melt into. She found herself relaxing, resting her head against his chest, breathing in his warm, rich scent. As he stroked her head with careful fingers, she could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against her ear.

“I’m sorry, Trinity,” he said so softly she could barely make out the words. “No one should have to go through something like that.”

She gave a choking laugh and pushed herself off the couch, out of Connor’s reach, stalking to the other side of the room, trying to ignore her pounding heart. Seriously, what was wrong with her? She paced the room, her nervous steps eating up the distance between walls, feeling embarrassed and awkward and not knowing what to say. Here Connor was, trying to save the world from a dragon apocalypse, and all she could do was babble on and on about her pitiful life story. As if it would matter to him in the least. So her mother died. Big deal. His whole freaking world had died. Hell, he probably only hugged her in an effort to get her to shut up for three seconds, so he could get back to the mission at hand.

She turned back to him, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to pull herself together. To appear strong and in control. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. Trust me, it’s not something I normally do. Even with people I know.” She scanned the room, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “I guess it’s just this place—filled with empty promises and broken dreams.”

Connor was silent for a moment, regarding her with serious eyes. At last he spoke. “The Surface Lands can be like that for me.”

“The Surface Lands?” she repeated, cocking her head in question, more than grateful for the sudden subject change. “What are the Surface Lands?”

“That’s what we call the world aboveground where I come from,” he clarified, waving an arm around the room. “You know, where the dragons rule. Every time I head up there—on mission or whatever—I feel like I’m stepping into a graveyard.”

“You mean because of all the people who died in the apocalypse?”

“
Because
of my father.”

His voice was gruff. Brittle. As if it hurt to say the words out loud. And they sent a startling revelation straight to her core. He’d lost someone too. Someone he loved. His family had shattered, just like her own. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so pathetic for spilling her secrets, for accepting his comforting hug. Because, she realized, he wasn’t looking at her with pitying eyes like the rest of them did. He was looking at her with understanding.

“Was he…?” she started to ask, then trailed off, not knowing how to voice the question.

“Burned alive by dragon fire?” Connor finished for her. Bitterness flashed across his face. “Yes. It’s a common way to go in my world.”

She waited for him to continue, but he fell silent instead, probably as uncomfortable as she’d been sharing such intimate details with a practical stranger. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that she’d never betray his secrets or mock his pain. But she stayed silent, thinking perhaps it was too much, too soon. The near-death experience and mad escape for their lives had stretched her emotions taut as piano wires. But that didn’t mean he felt the same.

“He was a Hunter,” Connor said at last. “A Dragon Hunter, just like me. He was good too. Maybe the best ever. Until…” He trailed off again, silent for a moment, then shook himself. “In any case, that’s the kind of senseless death I’ve come back to prevent. If I succeed in my mission—and I don’t intend to fail,” he added, giving her a fierce look, “the Scorch will never take place. And dragons will be gone for good.”

The fire in his eyes and the fervor in his voice sent a chill down to her bones. He was so passionate, so determined—especially for someone so young. Completely unlike any of the boys she knew from school. They were all too wrapped up in sports or video games or the latest viral something-or-other to hit the interwebs to concern themselves with the atrocities of the world. Never mind muster up the energy to do something about them.

But Connor was different. The travesties he’d witnessed had made him strong, not scared. Determined, not demoralized.

“Tell me about this Scorch,” she requested, wanting to hear him talk more, to unravel the secrets of his strange, futuristic world—and maybe a few about himself. “What was it like? I’m trying to picture it, but all I can think of was this really bad movie I saw once.”

Connor seemed to consider this for a moment. “If you want, I can show you,” he said at last.

“Show me?” She squinted at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

At first he didn’t answer. Outside she could hear the wind whistling through the trees, announcing the encroaching storm. A coyote howled mournfully across the plain, echoed by a few neighborhood dogs. But inside the house, the silence was thick and suffocating as she waited, on the edge of her seat, for what he was going to say.

Finally, he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I think it’s the only way to do this. Otherwise, it’ll be just words. You’ll never truly understand what it was like. Why this is all so important.” He gazed at her, his eyes darkening with emotion. “But I warn you, it’s not an easy thing to see.”

She squared her shoulders, not sure what she was agreeing to. But she’d come this far already—and she wanted him to know that she could be brave too.

“Nothing has been easy since I met you,” she declared, drawing on all her remaining bravado. “Why start now?”

“Right.” Connor gave her a wry look. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He reached out, taking her hands in his own. She felt something hard and cold between them and realized he’d placed a sapphire-colored gem into her palm. She stared down at it, wondering what it was for. Before she could ask, Connor closed his eyes, his face glowing with concentration as he squeezed her hands tightly in his.

A moment later the gem began to heat in her hand, hotter and hotter, until she was sure it would catch fire and singe her skin. Panicked, she glanced up at Connor, but his eyes remained closed and lips pressed firmly together—as if nothing was wrong. And so she forced herself to ignore the burn, closing her eyes and readying herself for anything.

But nothing could prepare her for what she saw next.