The Decaying Empire (The Vanishing Girl Series Book 2) (4 page)

Food, maps, survival equipment, street clothes, a fake ID, and gas. I needed all of these before I could cross the border. It was easy enough to come up with a plan: find a mall, use the wad of cash in the glove compartment to buy half of these items. Then lift a wallet off a girl who looked roughly the same as me. Hit a gas station, grab the rest of the items.

Cross the border.

Step one: find a mall. This was LA; there should be one on practically every corner. I drove through a neighborhood and tightened my hold on the wheel.

Not a freaking mall in sight—

The car, the road, the sunny day all vanished in an instant.

My body slammed to the ground, my bare skin making a sickening thud as it hit a hardwood floor. I moaned from the pain.

From somewhere in front of me I heard a chorus of gasps and a muffled scream.

I moaned and pushed myself up off the ground. I’d teleported again. That was three times within, what, an hour? Two?

As I pushed myself to my feet, I realized that once again I’d appeared naked.

At least my ability had remained predictably asshole-ish.

I covered myself and scanned the scene in front of me. Over a hundred faces stared back at me. Most wore shell-shocked expressions, as though they didn’t know what to make of me.

“Ember?”
someone to my left spoke. Not someone
. . .
Adrian Sumner
. The name came out of the ether.

I glanced up at him, even as other voices began to speak all at once. He stood behind a podium, looking at me like he’d seen a ghost. Then his eyes moved down my body, pausing when they landed on my gruesome scar.

He sucked in a breath. “What—what happened to you?” he asked, eyes wide.

“I was spliced,” I said, not bothering to ask him whether he knew the term.

He swore under his breath and shrugged off his coat, coming over to me and draping it around my shoulders. I stared into his face, mesmerized by his masculine beauty—just as I was the first time I met him. “I thought you were dead—” Adrian lowered his voice. “The reports I hacked into suggested that you were.”

“Yeah, that’s what I keep hearing.” I slid the suit jacket on, recalling how Adrian used to be some techie hotshot before I’d come into his life. Another piece of information I hadn’t remembered until a second ago. Now he openly acknowledged that he used his skills to hack into classified government files.

“Ember, what happened to you?” Concern laced his words.

I scrutinized him. He sounded worried about me—
me
, the pesky girl that had haunted him all those months ago. I’d assumed that he’d considered me a nuisance—someone who continuously ruined his life. I’d thought he’d be relieved when I’d stopped showing up.

“Ember?” Adrian asked again, this time more gently.

I blinked and furrowed my brows. “I wanted to expose the Project. They found out, and I was punished for it.”

His hand cupped my chin, and he eased my face upward until we stared into each other’s eyes. He gazed at me like he was trying to pillage my mind for answers. “So you hadn’t been double-crossing me this entire time?”

My eyes widened. “Really?
That’s
what you thought?”

“The last time I saw you, I’d decided to help you. But then you threw those lodestones into the ocean, and I assumed you’d been conning me the entire time.”

My brows pinched together as I struggled to remember. Red dress, mini blowtorch,
lodestones
. I still didn’t understand the importance of those stones.

“I didn’t toss them into the sea,” I said, recalling the memory. “I hid them in the hotel room.” I focused on him. “Richards found out I knew you shortly after that.”

“Dane Richards?” Adrian asked, piecing together my words.

I nodded.

“What happened once he found out?”

Around us whispers turned to murmurs. I could hear chairs scrape and the rustling of fabric, yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Adrian.

“A mission went awry. It was a setup, and I got ganked.”

“Richards set you up?”

I rubbed my forehead again, trying to remember the intricacies that led up to that mission. “I’m not sure, but I believe so. I know at least one other teleporter helped stage it,” I said, my mood darkening.

His hand dropped from my chin. “So you hadn’t been conning me that entire time?” There was no emotion behind his words, but I saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. The distinction had mattered to him.

I shook my head. “No.”

Adrian’s hand ran over his face. “So this whole time . . .”

“I have no memory. I think I might’ve been unconscious—that’s the best theory I’ve got at the moment.”

Horror shone at the back of his eyes. He let out a breath and tentatively touched the side of my arm. “I’m glad you’re still alive.”

“Me too.”

CHAPTER 4

I
reappeared several feet off the ground, right where my car should have been. Only there was no longer any car here. I had a split second to react, shielding my head as my body slammed into the asphalt. The pain of the impact had me gritting my teeth. As soon as I hit the ground, I rolled. I grimaced as the street scraped my exposed skin.

So this was what happened when one teleported while awake.

Tires screeched and I felt a gust of air stir around me. I glanced up in time to see a car veer to the shoulder of the road to avoid hitting me. My breath caught when I peered beyond the car.

The Oldsmobile I’d stolen had wrapped itself around a light post. I pieced together what I hadn’t seen: I’d teleported, leaving an unmanned car going forty mph. It’d listed off the road and crashed. Luckily I’d driven along back roads. I shuddered to think of what might’ve happened had I teleported while driving down Wilshire Boulevard, or worse, the freeway.

I pushed myself to my feet, taking in the residential neighborhood as I did so. The other vehicle—the one that had narrowly avoided me—shut off, and the driver’s door opened. A middle-aged man pushed himself out.

“Miss, are—are you all right?” he asked, stepping out of the car. His face seemed pale, and his legs trembled. If I had to guess, I’d say he wasn’t quite sure whether I was real. I couldn’t blame him. If I saw a naked woman wink into existence in front of me, I’d be seriously questioning my own sanity.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to look as meek as possible. As my fingers curled around the skin of my upper left arm, I felt a hard bump beneath the skin. I frowned as I touched it. Something to look into later, when I wasn’t naked and running for my life. I began walking toward the man. “Do you have a phone?” I asked. I pitched my voice so that it came out high and sweet. Innocent.

I was about to do something bad again.

As if he’d read my thoughts, the man took a step back and bumped into his car. Then, seeming to realize the absurdity of the situation, he took several steps toward me. They must’ve cost him something, though, because I could see the sheen of sweat gathering on his face.

I could hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

Too slow. This is going way too slow.

Behind me I heard someone gasp as they caught sight of me. I turned in time to see a woman walking her dog. A couple strolling farther down the block had also stopped to stare at me.

I was gathering attention, which meant I had to triage my priorities, and right now I needed to regroup somewhere private. I backed away from the man.

“Wait, miss, are you okay?” Feeling braver than before, he stepped forward.

“I’m fine,” I said. I turned on my heel and began to jog, limping a little from my fall.

“Miss!” he called out after me.

I ignored the man and picked up my pace. I needed to disappear and fast.

I took in the looming houses as I passed them. I’d need to break into one of them to steal some clothes and additional supplies. As soon as I turned the corner and was out of sight, I picked a random house and ran over to it. Crossing the lawn, I opened the gate to the backyard. Two kids ran through sprinklers while a woman gardened. She looked up at me, her eyes wide.

Whoops. “Sorry, wrong house!” I said to the bewildered woman. “Thought this was the address to the nudist pool party!”

I closed the gate just as I heard her daughter giggle. “That girl was naked.”

The sirens were getting louder. I began to jog again. I couldn’t linger here long, now that multiple people had sighted me.

I jogged to another house and opened the gate to the backyard. A dog came running at me—a beagle, its tongue lolling out. Some guard dog it was. It licked my leg and wagged its tail as I closed the door behind me and hurried down the side yard.

I peered into one of the windows. All the lights inside were dark. I checked another window; this one looked into the kitchen. The place looked empty.

Here goes nothing.

I pulled off a screen and shimmied one of the windows open. Hoisting myself up, I swung first one leg inside and then the other, rubbing away my prints and closing the window after me. Once inside I silently checked the rooms to make sure the occupants were away.

In the bedroom I caught sight of my reflection through a full-length mirror. Reflexively I took a step back. My lusterless hair was longer, falling midway down my back, and it was darker. My body was scrawnier, and my skin, paler. Against it my splicing scar stood out, zigzagging down my body. But it was my eyes, my wild, too-bright eyes that unsettled me most.

I was a stranger.

I turned, catching sight of my angel-wing tattoo. The plumage stretched down my back, curving along the contours of my flesh. The sight soothed my jackhammering pulse. I reached around and touched it. Unlike almost everything else about me, this had remained unchanged, and it brought me some level of comfort. I hadn’t changed, not completely. Ironically, the thing I’d altered about myself was the thing that now reminded me of who I was.

I left the room. After a quick pass through the rest of the house, I determined it was all clear. Back in the kitchen, I snagged an old man’s sport coat thrown over a chair to cover myself. Unfortunately, from my initial search of the house, I’d picked a place that had no female residents. I’d have to get creative with my wardrobe before I left here. For now I’d gather the items I’d need.

A cordless phone caught my eye. Thank God not everyone had converted to solely using cell phones.

Snatching it up, I dialed a number I knew by heart. It rang once, twice
. . .
The line clicked as someone picked up the phone, and then I heard my father’s tired voice.

“Hello?”

I covered my mouth with my palm, a choked cry bubbling up. Hearing his voice after what felt like an eternity—after what essentially
was
an eternity—overwhelmed me.

“Hello?” my father repeated, his voice irritated.

I dropped my hand.
“Dad,”
I whispered, my voice breaking.

I heard him suck in a breath.
“Ember?”
Hope and incredulity tinged his voice. “Ember Bug?”

“Yes,” I sobbed out.

“Oh my God, Ember. It’s so damn good to hear your voice.” My father, my assertive, even-tempered father, began to weep. My father never cried. Never ever. The sound of his pain almost undid me. “Bug,” he said, “I love you. I
love
you. I never told you that as much as I should’ve.”

I rubbed my eyes as tears slipped out. “Dad, I love you too. I love you and Mom so much.”

“Ember, where are you? What’s going on? Do you need someone to pick you up? You give me the word, and—”

Right then I made the decision to confide in him. It was unbelievably selfish of me, putting my parents in danger by passing along this information. Last year I’d made a decision to not get them involved. However, between then and now I’d gotten spliced. It was time to admit that this was way bigger than me. I needed whatever help I could get, and my parents deserved an explanation—they’d
want
one, even if it put them at risk.

“Dad, I can’t talk long,” I said, “and I don’t know when I’ll see you next. There are some things I need to tell you.”

As I spoke to him, I began moving around the house, gathering the items I’d need.

He took a deep breath, cleared his throat. “I’m listening,” he said, reining in his emotions. This was what I loved about him. He knew how to handle crises better than the average parent.

“Get a pen and a paper.” I moved to the pantry and grabbed several bottles of water and some protein bars, setting them on the counter.

“Ready.”

“Write this down: I’m a part of the Prometheus Project. It was a government project that publicly went by the name the Generation Project.”

I paused to let my father catch up, and then I continued. “The Project genetically engineered a group of humans with the ability to
. . .
teleport. Now they’re using them—
us
—as spies. And a lot of us are dying.”

Again I paused, but the silence on his end of the line stretched on and on.

Finally he spoke. “Dying?” he echoed. Another long pause followed this, and I got the impression my father was using it to collect himself. “I’d suspected there was something more to you and to them,” he whispered. “I’d suspected, and I let them take you anyway.” I could practically see my father’s hand scraping over the whiskers on his chin, and then I heard his soft sobs.

“Dad, it’s okay.” I mean, it wasn’t, none of this was, but I understood that people dealt with situations in the best way they knew how, and my parents weren’t the only ones who’d made mistakes. The last hour of my life was a testament to that.

“It’s not, but I won’t waste your time trying to make myself feel better when you’ve got to go. So you got anything else for me?” he asked.

I swallowed. An old thought took shape:
Can’t tell parents. They could be tracked down and killed.
I’d tried to shield them. Now, ignorant of that memory, I’d placed my father in danger.

No way to undo what’s already been done.
I could only move forward.

“Thanks, Dad, and I do,” I responded, my grip tightening on the phone. “There are some names I need you to covertly look up: Dane Richards—he’s one of the heads of the Project. You might not find much on him.”

“Good guy or bad guy?”

Ah, my father. My eyes pricked; he understood. “Bad guy.”

“Got it.”

“Here’s the next guy: Adrian Sumner. Good guy. He knows about the Project because his father was the lead scientist.”

“What’s his father’s name?”

I pinched my temples.
Can’t remember, can’t remember
. . .
Then,
wham
, the name hit me over the head.

“Dr. Brent Sumner.”

“Good guy or bad guy?”

“Good guy—but deceased.”

“Ember Bug, what exactly is going on here?”

“I don’t know,” I said, my throat thick, “but it’s a matter of national security, and I’m a part of it.”

“Are you okay?”

Loaded question. “I’m fine.”
For now.
“Dad—promise me that whatever you do with that information, you’ll be careful. Anything you talk about, read about, search for—the Project can trace it if they think you’re hiding something.”

“Of course.”

“Dad, I’m serious. These guys
. . .
they’re used to killing off people, and they won’t hesitate to target you if they feel you’re a threat. You and Mom are probably already in danger just because I called.”

He must’ve heard something in my voice because his next words were solemn.

“Ember Bug, we’ll be careful, but I am glad you called. Please don’t ever wait this long again, regardless of the consequences.”

I came dangerously close to explaining why he hadn’t heard from me in all this time. But reasonable or not, the man on the phone was first and foremost my father. He’d have an aneurysm if he learned just how not all right I’d been during the past year.

“Thank you for trusting me and your mother with this,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s so damn good to hear your voice and know you’re okay.” His voice broke, and I heard him choke back a sob.

The sound of sirens blared as an emergency vehicle sped by the house.

“Where are you, Ember?” my dad asked.

I bit my lip, debating whether it was better or worse for him to know. My father understood the risks; he deserved to have some answers. “LA at the moment,” I said, “but I’ll either be in Mexico by the time we speak next or
. . .
perhaps somewhere near Big Sur.” If they caught me. That was a very real possibility now that I knew I might teleport again at any moment; that limited my movement. “That’s where they were keeping me before.”

I heard him swear over the phone. “
Stay safe,
Bug. I already know what it feels like to lose you. I can’t go through that again.”

Another emergency vehicle passed by, its siren blaring. I knew my father could hear it over the phone.

“I will—I promise. I got to go.”

“Are you going to be okay? When will I hear from you again?”

I opened the drawers in the kitchen, fishing out scissors, duct tape, and what looked like a spare car key. “Whenever it’s safe to call. That might not be for a while—don’t assume I’m dead.” I never imagined I’d have to utter those particular words. “I love you, Dad—tell Mom I love and miss her.”

“Will do, Bug. I love you too. We’ll find a way to get you out of this.”

I swallowed down a lump in my throat and nodded. “You stay safe too. Talk soon.”

I ended the call and fisted the phone.

I’d just gotten my parents involved.

Shit.

With the car key in hand, I headed for the garage. As I did so, I lowered the coat I wore to glance at my upper arm, where earlier I’d noticed a bump. Running my fingers over it again, I felt the same hardness. It couldn’t have been more than a centimeter across, and it felt perfectly symmetrical. I could barely make out a thin white line just below it, what looked to be an incision mark.