Another vein, p.11
Another Vein, page 11
“Nah,” I say. I think back on what Allie told me about resurrectionists, the bitterness in Meadow when she said she was the practice kid. Her brother’s the one with the blood. That’s gotta sting. “Just seems like a lot of attention wasted on someone born to be collateral damage.”
The instant it’s out of my mouth, I hate myself. I watch Meadow falter, her fists drooping as her brow wrinkles in equal parts surprise and hurt.
“And he throws his first real punch,” she says after a moment. “Told you it’d take three more hits.”
Despite resorting to the low blow, I’m glad it’s finally over. “You got in two,” I remind her before I start with an apology.
Suddenly, Meadow sends a left hook screaming at my temple. I duck it and stumble backward.
Anger radiates from her. “You think the only hits that count are the physical ones?” she spits.
I’m done with the game, the barbed insults. Meadow’s upset. “Look, we’ve all had a long day. Tomorrow, Allie’s going to find your brother.”
“How’s Allie supposed to find Jonah when she can’t even see what’s in front of her own face?”
Flustered, I scoff. “Your own mother flew cross-country to recruit her to the cause,” I say. “You don’t know Allie. She’ll do everything she can to help, including getting herself killed. Frankly, if she gets clear of you lunatics alive, I’ll be thrilled.”
Meadow lets out a mirthful chuckle. “Oh, like we’re the threat to her?”
A burning heat starts at the center of my chest as my anger grows. “Well, Meadow, hopefully the resurrectionists you do experiments on get better results than your Doctor friend.”
What I don’t say is that if Meadow’s attempt to alter Allie’s abilities harms Allie in any way… I stop the thought, because I’m picturing her with the black blood Israel had streaking under his skin and there’s not a doubt in my mind that if anyone hurts Allie, I’ll kill them. Present company included.
I want to walk away, but I don’t dare turn my back on Meadow. “What the hell is your problem tonight?” I ask, exasperated. “I thought we were cool.”
“No, we are not cool, Christopher Dean Ellis.” Meadow snarls my name like a curse.
It startles me until I remember her asking my last name when we first got here. Being split from Allie had distracted me enough that I gave it to her.
But I never gave her my middle name.
I stay silent as I wait for her to play her card.
Meadow presses her fingers against her mouth to smother her victorious smile. “You know your father pressed charges against you?”
Ice slides through me. The last of my grit spirals away. If she uncovered the assault charge, she’s got the police statements.
It’s not my name I should have been worried about her finding out. “Meadow, you don’t—”
“Jamison is the hunter Allie killed,” she says. “A year earlier, he kicked the ever-living shit out of your daddy. You and Jamison both caught charges, but you never showed up for your court date.” She’s frustration and rage and all those things I saw under the surface but couldn’t place when I first walked in here.
I have to lie, I think. Nothing comes. Instead, my mouth opens and closes as words fragment into stuttered syllables.
I’m back there. In that basement. Jamison choking. The slur of his last words. The gurgle of Allie trying to breathe with her broken ribs. My own chest, aching with every inhale and exhale where Jamison shot me. My nostrils fill with the scent of the wet earth from my grave, the rotting corpse of his father, the dew on the grass around the top of the hole.
“You slithered into Allie’s life and got her to trust you.” Each word from Meadow is seething with accusation. “That poor girl has no clue what you are, but I do.”
“And what do you think I am, Meadow?” I ask, the words dull and quiet.
“You’re after the blood.”
“Not anymore.”
“Right,” she says. “From how that cut healed on your cheek, you already got it, didn’t you?” From her tone she’s shocked I’m not denying it, not defending myself. She pauses as if some small part of her wants to give me the chance to explain.
Meadow spins. One of her hands clamps onto my shoulder. Her leg shoots out to sweep my knees. There’s a flash, a gap in my brain where the time’s gone missing. Flash. I’m standing in shock as she starts her attack. Flash. I’m at my father’s house, his grip on my shoulder tightening as I yank backward, flinching from the inevitable punch. Flash. I hit the ground, the breath rushing from me.
Fight, Talia’s voice screams, even as my brain sputters. Never stop fighting.
Meadow straddles me. She grips my head and slams it against the mat. Fireworks explode at the base of my skull. The cushioned floor has some give but not enough. This isn’t the resurrectionist gym in Fissure’s Whipp, where Allie eased up when I couldn’t take anymore. This isn’t scrapping with Talia for bragger’s rights. This is real. This is life and death.
Meadow’s going to kill me.
Chapter 11
Meadow
If the floor were concrete, Christopher’s skull would be split, but I’m more than willing to put in the extra effort. I’m barely aware the alarm is flashing again until I wince against the white flare.
“Don’t!” he wheezes around my grip. His fingers clutch at my wrists, scrape as he struggles against me. He’s stubborn. I’m going to enjoy this.
I press on the vessels at the sides of his throat, cutting off his air along with the blood flow. His feet pedal and scrape for purchase. He finds none.
I rip loose to jab a fist at his nose and inexplicably miss, yanked backward. Someone is dragging me away.
“Get off me!” I gasp. I tilt my head to glimpse whoever has me from behind and call Allie’s name in surprise.
Her hand wrenches the back of my shirt and yanks it up. I’m not modest, but it stuns me, cold air conditioning running across the damp of my bare spine.
“What are you doing?” I screech.
She came in to find me on top of her boyfriend as he writhed underneath me, both of us sweaty and breathless. If she’s jumping to that conclusion, she has no idea how off she is in her assumption.
“Wait! We weren’t—”
Allie’s fingers slide under the material and grip the neckline of my shirt from the inside. Her leg braces against my hip. She’s traded hands, twisted the material until it’s constricted around my neck.
“He’s—”
She cranks her wrist to the right and the fabric strangles the last of my plea. We struggle, our feet tangling, and I’ve got the advantage when we tumble over together until she clambers onto my back and tightens her makeshift garrote around my throat. Squirming my fingers to get them underneath it, I claw uselessly at my neck. My squawk doesn’t come close to forming a coherent word, let alone a warning. I was taking care of him for you, you idiot! I want to scream.
I buck wildly as I rise to my hands and knees. Allie doesn’t slack. I kick my heel, strike her shin, and hear her scream in pain. Her grip is relentless. I struggle an arm behind me, tapping out on Allie’s shoulder, but if she sees it as a surrender, she’s ignoring it.
On the ground in front of me, Christopher rolls onto his stomach. He groans Allie’s name.
The tightness on my throat doesn’t relent. She’s pinched off the vessels going to my brain, the way I was trying to do to Christopher. I have seconds. I pat at her arm, telepathically pleading for her to free me so I can explain. Even as the edges of my vision fill with black static, my eyes find Christopher. I expect victory in his gaze instead of horror. What does he have to be afraid of?
As if in response, my own panic fades. I’ve never died before. I’ve always wondered what it felt like. My mother will find my body. She’ll make Allie resurrect me. Or even better, Allie will freak out at what she’s done and do it herself. I’ll use her guilt against her.
But to Christopher, I’m better off dead, aren’t I?
I go limp, my uncurled hand slapping flat against the mat as I collapse, start to lose consciousness. What if Allie and Christopher leave my corpse? What if they escape into the night? What if no one checks my room until morning? If I’m not found, I’ll be staying dead.
What if this is it for me?
Please, I think in the last of the fade to black. Not like this. Not yet.
Allie releases me.
My stunned body recoils before instinct kicks in and I draw a great gasp of air. It’s too greedy, chokes me to dry heaves that rake my throat even while I suck in the next breath. My legs wobble in my pathetic attempt to stand.
“Not what you think,” I rasp. “He’s...not what you think.” The room wavers. I blink to clear my watering eyes and pause in stunned confusion.
Allie didn’t let me go at all. Christopher’s got her in a hold, her arms locked behind her, her face red with fury as she struggles to break free.
I expect him to pull some villain power move, unleash a prepped monolog or drag a gun from some hidden holster under his shirt and hold it to Allie’s head, use it to threaten me with until he can make his escape now that he’s exposed.
“Let me go!” Allie snarls.
She has to understand he’s dangerous, that she and I are on the same side. “I found a police report,” I start, alarmed by the raw croak of my voice. “Jamison. The hunter you killed. They were both in the report. They assaulted Christopher’s father a year ago. Your boyfriend and the hunter you killed, they were friends, Allie. He’s not who you think he is.”
Allie wrestles free from him, hands on her hips, head down as she paces in front of me. Crabbed over on myself, I wait for her reaction. Denial or an ah-ha moment.
Christopher’s eyes close for a beat and I want so badly to feel a pang of victory, but nothing comes.
“Did you hear me?” I ask, unable to process what’s happening as Allie moves toward Christopher. His gaze drops to my neck. With the shock wearing off, a dull ache has started in my throat.
One of Allie’s hands brushes his cheek to draw his attention to her. Her thumb strokes the swollen spot where I landed my original sucker punch, the split skin sealed and the tiny mark faded to almost nothing. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” he says to Allie, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it. The next words are so low I almost don’t catch them. “How are we playing this?” he asks her.
She bites her lip, her shrug almost imperceptible.
“You knew,” I whisper as I struggle to my feet.
Allie whips toward me. The silent alarm strobes through the gym, cuts shadows across her features.
Christopher struggles past her.
“No,” he says. “Allie wasn’t...she didn’t…” His expression cycles between shame, fear, and settles on acceptance as his jaw tightens. “It’s all on me.”
I don’t need the split second of consideration I give his lie.
“Bullshit.” I study the two of them. “If you think you’re going to—”
Allie punches my threat into silence.
I howl in shock as blood slides into my mouth, taste it vein through my teeth. “You bitch!”
“Stop!” Christopher yells.
Even as her boyfriend begs for mercy on my behalf, Allie’s glare bores into me. “You touch him again, you breathe a word of what you found to anyone, I’ll tear you apart,” she snarls. “And when you revive, it’ll be to my blade at your neck and I’ll kill you again. Understand?”
Christopher ducks his mouth toward Allie’s ear and though I can’t catch whatever he’s saying to her, it’s obvious by the vulgar word she hurtles in my direction.
“Yup! Not a resurrectionist.” I say, the words breaking from me drenched in sarcastic cheer. “I’m just an ordinary heiress. Give me a few months, though, and who knows?”
If anything, Allie’s even more unhinged by the news. Her chuckle of disbelief is cutting. “You don’t even have the blood to back your play?”
It’s not the river dripping from my nose she’s talking about. I think of how quickly she trounced me, how even now, she’s gunning for more. I am distinctly aware I’m outnumbered and alone, and I really don’t like the direction this has taken. I need to make a break for it.
“You’re an easy kill, Meadow,” she says, as if reading my mind.
What happened to the girl I saw on the jet, the one I wrote off?
A fresh trickle of blood slides from my left nostril and plops to the gym floor. Hooking my wrist across the stream, I cough before I spit out a mouthful of blood. The gob hits the floor and sticks. I’ve always been a good clotter, resurrectionist or not. “I mean sure, I threatened your boyfriend with exposure and death,” I say, my voice pure saccharine. “But that’s no reason we can’t be friends.”
Allie takes a single threatening step toward me before Christopher slides his arm around her waist and halts her forward motion.
He’s reining her in, I think. The Allie that almost murdered me over beating up her boyfriend, who went into full kill-mode at the drop of a dime…is that the Allie I need her to be to find Jonah? Is Christopher helping or hurting this mission?
The strobe lights of the proximity alarm deactivate. For a moment, the three of us are silent. In my head, I hear my mother. Use her or she’ll go to waste.
“How’s your throat?” Christopher asks me.
I don’t understand. His concern can’t be real, but he’s so genuine, I hesitate.
If three words from him have me doubting myself, I can imagine how his acting abilities influence Allie. She’s out of rational reach in the deep end of his psychological damage. And yet, I remember my first impression of him on the tarmac, the strange hard edges to him juxtaposed with his childlike excitement. Moments ago, he threw himself onto the theoretical grenade of this cluster’s wrath to shelter her from the fallout of me discovering his secret. He might have been lying, but I’m not naïve enough to believe it was to buy himself time. He was protecting Allie. He loves her.
I watch Allie and Christopher, the way she soaks up his presence like oxygen. This girl’s far beyond a starry-eyed crush. She’s indoctrinated herself in him. I can’t explain why my mind shakes loose an image of Tennisen in the pond, but I banish it.
Why Allie would ever choose a hunter over the blood, let alone for something as pathetic as love, isn’t relevant; what matters is that she has.
I abandon my plan to run and instead squeeze my throat gingerly as I attempt a swallow.
“Okay, I’m mistaken about something,” I say, offering them an out.
Christopher slides his arm free of Allie’s waist and moves to stand behind her, fingers laced over the crown of his head, his stress etched into every muscle.
Switching my attention to Allie, I give a nod in his direction over her shoulder. “You need to clear this up for me,” I say. I decide the safest bet is to nudge her toward a plausible cover for him. “Is this what you meant when you said he’s not new? Was he a spy for us?”
“Yes,” she says, the fib so obvious I cringe on her behalf. Allie’s tongue flashes across her lips. “The bad guy died. The blood stayed protected. End of story. The details don’t matter.”
I nod as if accepting her explanation. Her brow furrows. She’s not buying my shift.
“I’m the only one who can find your brother,” Allie blurts.
“And I’m the only one who can save your life,” I yell back. “You’re a complication. We barely swooped you out of Fissure’s Whipp before they euthanized you!”
For the first time since she whirl winded into the gym and attacked me, Allie looks uncertain. “None of it will matter once I get your brother home safe,” she says and then with more conviction, “I swear Christopher’s not a threat, Meadow. Please. Please trust us.”
I shouldn’t care. My mother was right. These two are nothing more than pawns. And yet, I can’t stop myself. “So he is a hunter,” I say.
“Was,” Christopher says, almost as if to himself. “I made a mistake. Jamison was a monster. And Allie...she…” He trails off with a hard gulp. “She saved me from becoming a monster, too.”
I hate the pang in my heart at his confession, the way I instantly believe it.
“Watching Jamison breathe his last was—” He cuts off. Red races into his cheeks. “I mean, when I heard he was dead I…” The words trail into a strained silence before he gives in and glances toward Allie for help.
“You were in the basement that night?” I ask him.
He doesn’t respond.
“You killed Jamison?”
For a long time, he’s silent. “It was Talia’s vial. She and Allie had a plan.”
I grunt in angry disbelief. “Yeah, a plan that would have ended with them chained in a basement until they starved themselves free.” I’m remembering that affidavit I read on the plane. The strange inconsistencies. “Allie used the bolt cutters on the shackles,” I say as the pieces come together in my mind. “But Talia said in her version that they were out of reach. It was you, though. You freed them?”
Neither of them confirms nor denies my words.
Another of the strange bits of Allie’s affidavit rattles into my head. “When she got shot in the cabin, she said she got herself into the woods and hid. You helped her escape. Was that the first time you betrayed your friend, or was it part of your ruse?”
His face clouds in a way that makes me pretty sure it might have been a little bit of both.
My disgust flares. I rub at my neck. “If you were involved,” I say. “If you knew Jamison, Allie didn’t need to track him, did she? And those other hunters? The crew she annihilated single-handedly?”
Christopher grimaces. “They found me. Brought me to their place.”
Allie can’t track. Christopher can’t either. He couldn’t overpower me when his life was on the line. “Jesus,” I whisper. “You had everyone fooled.” I give my head a shake. “You’re incapable of handling this.”
“I can do it,” she insists, and there’s something in her voice that makes me glance at her. “I am capable.”
