Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

With a choked cry, he pressed his face against my shoulder and came, spilling warmth over my hand and wrist. He shuddered and gasped. I worked him through it, my free arm tight around his shoulders, holding him close until both of our heartbeats calmed to a reasonable pace.

I wiped my hand on the hem of his gown, then threw that arm around his waist. Our clinch became a hug—an embrace of souls I never wanted to end. The outside world wasn’t allowed to invade the little bubble of peace we’d created for ourselves—only I couldn’t stop it.

A shadow in the doorway reminded me of our deadline and, with regret, I gently squeezed Wyatt’s neck. “You okay?” I whispered.

He loosened his hold and pulled back. His eyes were red, cheeks streaked with tears, but he smiled. Nodded. “Thank you.”

I pressed my left palm flat against his cheek and looked right into his silver-rimmed eyes. And I smiled back. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m being pretty selfish this time.” At his curious look, I said, “I can’t lose you again.”

He leaned closer and kissed my forehead. As he pulled back, his nostrils flared and he tensed just a little. “Phineas is outside.”

“How do you know?” His back was to the door.

“I can smell him.”

“Oh.” That was going to take some getting used to.

“Dare I ask what I smell like?” Phin said as he stepped into the doorway. He had a bundle of clothes in one hand and a knapsack slung across his chest, likely holding our weapons. His expression was unreadable.

“I wouldn’t ask, no,” Wyatt said without turning around. “Gina’s not back.”

“She’s meeting us in the garage.” He put the clothing bundle down on the foot of the bed. “I’ll wait down the hall.”

“We’ll be right there,” I said.

The clothes he’d brought were Wyatt’s, right down to the black sneakers. I handed the items to him one at a time—boxers, jeans, polo, socks—as he dressed. I didn’t know how we were going to get him past Dr. Vansis, or anyone else who didn’t like our plan. Hopefully no one would be dumb enough to try to stop us from leaving the compound.

Wyatt peeled away the last of the bandages on his arm and neck. The wounds had scabbed over and looked nowhere near as raw and infected as they had only a few hours ago.

“You want me to rebandage those?” I asked.

“They’re fine.”

“Ready to go?”

“No, but I suppose we don’t have a choice.”

Did we ever?

I heard Phin and Dr. Vansis arguing before we reached the outer office. I squeezed Wyatt’s hand and held tight, as much for his courage as for my own.

“—still don’t know how infectious he might be to others,” Vansis was saying. “You’re putting thousands of people at risk.”

“We’re only putting me at risk,” I said, earning their collective attention. “I’ll be at Wyatt’s side the entire time we’re out there. Even if he bites me, I don’t think it’ll do anything other than bleed. I’ve been infected before and beaten it.”

Vansis scowled. “And if he’s not finished changing? If he attacks someone who isn’t you?”

“Phin has weapons. We’re all prepared to use them.”

“You’ll shoot your lover dead to save an innocent?”

I couldn’t seem to say yes.

“She knows that’s what I want,” Wyatt said.

“That didn’t answer my question,” Vansis replied.

“No, it did,” I said. “And I don’t plan on having to find out.”

“No one ever does.” He glanced at Phin, whose expression remained frustratingly neutral. Phin could make a fortune at high-stakes poker with that face.

“This might be our only chance to save Ava and Aurora.”

“I know. I won’t stop you, but please be cautious with him.”

“We will. The vampires?”

Vansis shook his head. “Three of their own healers are on their way with some specialized equipment. Maybe they’ll be able to find something I can’t.”

“We need to go,” Phin said.

We had a long walk from the infirmary to the garage and absolutely no way to hide Wyatt from sight. The Therians lingering in the corridor would smell something odd about the man with us, no matter what we dressed him up in, so we chose to walk with our heads high. Humans and Therians stared at us. A few texted messages. Someone even growled.

But no one was dumb enough to get in our way.

At the entrance to the garage, two figures lingered in our path, arms crossed over their chests like a pair of silent sentries. Milo and Marcus were certainly the last two people I’d expect to try to interfere.

“Astrid couldn’t be bothered to stop us herself?” I asked as we drew near.

Marcus frowned. “She’s choosing to not acknowledge that this is happening. She can’t condone Truman’s leaving the premises, but she does believe your decision is correct.”

“So why are you here?”

“To help.”

“Really?”

“We want to go with you,” Milo said. “Since we’re both technically wounded and not on duty, no one will look too hard if we aren’t here.”

The show of solidarity planted a little seed of pride in my chest. To Marcus (who’d lost his walking cast at some point in the day) I asked, “You’re defying your Elder?”

“Technically, no,” Marcus replied. “Not unless he finds out you’ve removed Truman from the premises and I’m assisting you and he orders me to bring you back. Then I’ll be defying my Elder.”

At that moment, I really, really liked Marcus. “Terrific. Then let’s go.”

We left the mall parking lot without incident or alarms. Kismet drove, with Phin riding shotgun. Marcus and Milo took the rear bench seat of the SUV, while Wyatt and I sat together in the middle. Without being asked, Kismet pulled into the first burger joint she passed and ordered a bunch of food off the value menu.

Wyatt worked his way through a bag of cheeseburgers with all the grace of a stumbling drunk, devouring three in the time it took me to choke down a grilled chicken sandwich.

“All right,” Kismet said after we’d settled lunch and gotten back on the road. “It’s three-twenty. Anyone have a thought on a good place to start?”

Looks were exchanged, but no one spoke.

“I do,” Milo finally said.

I twisted around in the process of unwrapping a second sandwich. “Where?”

“Amalie’s avatar was also the lawyer handling the property where the Lupa lived, right? Isn’t her name Edwina Fair?”

Damn, I’d actually forgotten about that connection during all the chaos around Wyatt’s infection. “Right.”

“Where does she live?”

Next to him, Marcus pulled out his cell phone and checked something. “A development called Forest’s Edge. 345 Applewood Lane.”

It sounded familiar.

“Forest’s Edge?” Phin repeated.

“Yeah, somewhere northwest of here. Why?”

Phin made a rude noise. “Because that’s the neighborhood where Michael Jenner lived.”

3:40 P.M.

Forest’s Edge was aptly named for its proximity to the mountains that surrounded the valley’s sprawling city. It was several minutes west of the up-and-coming neighborhood of Parkside East (my new body’s former address), and it took us twenty precious minutes via the bypass to even get there. It was polar opposite of the Watchtower’s location, and miles north of the historic district.

A fancy white gate announced we’d arrived at the community of condos. Dozens of freestanding buildings, with simple, modern architecture and between four and six homes per, dotted long, intersecting streets. They’d been built around existing trees, so decades-old and hundred-foot-tall oaks and maples lined many of the streets, giving the five-year-young development a homey, lived-in feel.