Dianne Salerni - The Eighth Day

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Jax hesitated only a moment before clicking on the link and typing a message:

just had the eighth day for the 2nd time. seeking more information.

He included his email address as requested and tapped the send button.

Billy let out a horrible, bloodcurdling cry and stretched his arm over the back of the sofa, offering the controller to Jax. “Just got my brains slurped out of my head. Wanna turn?”

“Yeah.” Jax deleted his search history and logged off. He was just sitting down on the sofa when his phone chirped, and he pulled it out of his backpack to check his texts.

Riley: where r u

Jax’s heart lurched. Reluctantly, he thumbed in a reply.

Jax: @billys house

Riley: u didn’t tell me

Jax: i never tell u

There was a long pause after that. Then:

Riley: u coming home tonite?

Jax: staying weekend

Riley: WHEN r u coming home?

In four months, Riley had never kept track of Jax’s comings and goings. Jax remembered Riley’s hand on his arm, pressing him into the chair for the tattoo, and shivered in revulsion.

Jax: depends when will U b @ work?

There was another pause before Riley’s final message.

Riley: guess u dont want answers to those ?s after all

Billy’s mom let Jax stay the weekend, sleeping on the couch in their basement. “Your guardian says it’s okay?” she asked.

“He doesn’t care where I am,” Jax said, and she nodded grimly, as if that was exactly what she’d expected. Mrs. Ramirez was a lot less impressed with Riley Pendare than her son was. Jax kept his sleeve pulled down over his new tattoo lest her disapproval for Riley spill over onto him. He ate every bit of home-cooked food she put in front of him.

He didn’t go home until late Sunday morning, when he found a blue ’58 Thunderbird with its roof off parked in front of the house. He would have assumed anyone with a car like that must be visiting one of the neighbors, except it was a classic car with no computerized parts—and by now Jax was catching on. He scrambled up the front steps and pushed open the door.

Riley was sitting on the sofa next to a very pretty girl with long black hair. When Jax walked in, Riley stood up hastily. “Uh, Jax . . .”

Jax cleared his throat. “I can come back later if you’re, um . . .”

“We’re not anything .”

The girl also stood up and smoothed down her short skirt. “You must be Riley’s protégé. Aren’t you a cutie!” She barely came to Riley’s shoulder, even in high-heeled boots, and she wore a short leather jacket that matched a sheath at her hip containing an engraved dagger .

Jax gaped at her, and she raised her left hand to show him the tattoo on her wrist. It was delicate and feminine and bordered by red roses. When she walked toward Jax, he smelled the scent of roses in her perfume.

“This is Deidre Morgan,” said Riley. “She fixed our refrigerator, and then she was leaving .”

Deidre ignored him. “I didn’t catch your name, cutie.” Her dark eyes lingered on Jax’s tattoo.

“Jaxon Aubrey. You fix refrigerators?” She was like no repairman he had ever seen.

“I fix all kinds of things,” she said, leaning an arm on Jax’s shoulder. “Machinery’s my talent, especially engines of war.” Jax froze, suddenly realizing the dagger wasn’t the only weapon this girl carried. There was a shoulder holster under her jacket and something tiny and pearl-handled sticking out of the top of her boot.

Nope. Not your typical refrigerator repairman.

Riley rolled his eyes. “Just give him the radio, Deidre.”

“Spoilsport.” She unclipped a radio from her belt and offered it to Jax. “This is a secure radio for you to use on the eighth day. Channel two is how Riley will contact you, but in an emergency, call for help on channel one, and they’ll all get it.”

Jax frowned. “They?”

“Riley’s raggedy crew.” She turned to Riley with a smile. “Anything else I can do for you, sweetie?”

“No, thanks, Deidre,” Riley said. “I appreciate your help.”

“Say no in haste, regret at leisure.”

He laughed. “I’ve told you what I think.”

“Your counterproposal is weak,” Deidre said pleasantly. “You’ve got one thing of value to offer, and if you want my family’s manpower and weaponry to deal with the Emrys situation, you’re going to have to put that on the line. Think it over, sweetie. Jax, nice to meet you.” In a passing breeze of rose blossoms, she was out the door and gone.

“Geez, Riley,” Jax breathed. “Is that your girlfriend?”

“Deidre?” Riley laughed. “No.”

What, then? His personal assassin?

Riley waved a hand at the sofa. “Have a seat.”

Jax felt a surge of panic. He remained standing, bristling from head to toe.

“I’m not ordering you. I’m asking,” Riley said quietly.

Was that some kind of admission? “Did you drug me the other night?”

“Drug you? No.” He said it with the same amusement as when Jax asked if Deidre was his girlfriend. “Please, Jax. Sit down.” Riley sat down in the armchair, as if demonstrating how it was done.

Reluctantly, Jax put the radio on the coffee table and sat down.

“I asked Deidre to set up the radio so you’d have a means of communication on Grunsday. Keep it with you at all times on the eighth day.”

“And if there’s an emergency”— what kind of emergency? —“Deidre would come?”

“No, not Deidre. She just supplies me with these radios because she has access to them and we’re old friends.”

Old friends. Yeah, right. “She said you wanted weaponry—” Jax began.

Riley interrupted him. “Call on that radio, and you’ll raise me or the Crandalls. It has enough range to reach any of the corresponding radios within town limits.”

“What if I’m outside town?”

“Don’t be. A lot of Transitioners use Grunsday for their own advantage. I’m talking petty thievery, burglary, and some things a whole lot worse. My mother always said that having the extra day was too much temptation for some people. Maybe even most people.” Riley ran a hand through his hair and looked away, frowning as if he’d surprised himself by sharing something about his mother.

It surprised Jax, too. He opened his mouth to comment, but Riley sighed and looked up again. “It’s better to stay with your own group, where there’s safety in numbers. Your father learned that the hard way.”

Jax stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“What’d your dad do for a living, Jax?”

“He owned a company called Information Resources.”

“Which did what?”

“He always said he ‘moved information.’ He was a consultant.”

Riley stared at the floor for a moment, then met Jax’s eyes. “You mean people paid him to get information. Information other people didn’t want them to have.”

Jax frowned. “Now wait a minute.”

“Like plans for business mergers and new products and secret deals . . .”

“No!” Jax leaped to his feet. “You make it sound like he was some kind of spy!” Riley didn’t drop his gaze, and Jax glared at him. “My dad wasn’t a crook.”

“Your dad stumbled across something dangerous,” Riley said. “And realizing the danger, he approached me and offered useful information in exchange for my promise to look out for you if the worst came to pass. It did, and here we are.”

“What?” Jax demanded. “What did he find out?”

“He knew something that got him killed. If I told you, I really would be a lousy guardian, wouldn’t I?”