Kelly Meding - As Lie the Dead

Jenner easily navigated the underdeveloped, ghostly section of town not far from the skeleton of the Capital City Mall. We were less than ten blocks from the area where the hound attacked. Ten blocks from the place where I’d shot an innocent man. A pang of guilt settled in my stomach, sour as lemon juice. An unlucky shot from my gun had nearly killed a man on a bicycle who knew nothing of the secret battles we waged on a daily basis.

But that secrecy and his ignorance were the things I was fighting for. Weren’t they?

The city thinned out as we continued east, into a lower-class residential area. Block after block of crumbling row homes materialized, with cement front yards the size of postage stamps and bars on all the windows. It was a land of cracked sidewalks, cars missing tires, and the faces of people too bored to care why a fancy car was suddenly driving through their neighborhood—or they simply assumed we were on our way to sell something illegal.

After several more turns that wound us around a few times (I couldn’t tell if he was lost or just avoiding potential tails), Jenner pulled into a half-empty parking lot shared by a furniture store advertising “Best Seconds,” a linen outlet, and a few other similar businesses.

I stretched as I got out, my legs stiff from the thirty-minute drive from one side of the city to the next. It was like traveling between worlds. The odor of car exhaust was a far cry from the fresh-cut-grass scent of Jenner’s neighborhood. Shoppers went about their business, paying us little mind. I felt as self-conscious as a cat in a dog pound.

Jenner led us across the parking lot. I followed behind Wyatt, keeping him in front of me at all times and my attention constantly circulating. We weren’t equipped for an ambush from anyone—be it the Triads, Call’s people, or an old-fashioned mugging.

We entered a rug and flooring megamart. The sharp scent of new carpet made my nose itch the moment we stepped into the lobby. A long sample room was on our right, and a two-story, seemingly endless warehouse of carpet and linoleum rolls, flats of wood flooring, and shelves of remnants was on the left. Jenner went that way.

“Strange place for a meeting,” Wyatt said quietly.

Jenner glanced over his shoulder. “You were expecting some clandestine location, no doubt?”

“More clandestine than a carpet store?” I asked. “Where—?”

“Just follow me.”

He navigated a path through the maze of shag, pile, and Berber in dozens of colors and patterns, deeper into the cavernous warehouse, until I was sure we were lost. In the recesses, far from the lingering voices of salespeople giving their canned pitches, Jenner pushed through large swinging doors marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. I kept close to Wyatt, every sense on high alert. Watching. Listening.

Jenner bypassed a row of parked forklifts and turned down a dimly lit corridor. We passed a break room that reeked of cigarette smoke and greasy food, three office doors, and two restrooms. At the end of the corridor was another door marked PRIVATE. It was heavy and gray like a fire door, but without the crash bar. Just a simple knob and lock, for which Jenner produced a key.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Truman, but you must remain here,” he said.

Wyatt scowled.

I squeezed his wrist. “It’s fine,” I said. “I don’t plan on making an inaugural address, so this should be over pretty fast.”

Wyatt twisted his wrist so his hand caught mine. “Good luck.”

“Piece of cake.”

Jenner inserted the key, turned the knob, and held open the door. I released Wyatt, annoyed at having to leave him behind, and slipped into dimness. The door closed, adding to the near-dark. I felt Jenner shift, then move around in front of me. The air was danker, like a basement, but smelled clean.

“Stay here.” Fabric rustled, then Jenner was gone.

I stood frozen in place, listening to the varied sounds of people breathing. Footsteps. A chair scraped. My eyes began adjusting to the dim light. I could make out vague shapes and got an idea of the size of the room. Not large—maybe as long as a school bus and a few feet wider.

Sudden light glared at me from three directions, all high and from above. I winced and shielded my eyes, tensed for attack. Beyond the beams I could still see those shapes, but they didn’t move toward me. Jenner had to be among them, but I couldn’t distinguish him from the others. I felt suddenly like a criminal being sweated by the police. The light drilled in my head, setting me on edge and keeping me there.

“You may speak,” a male voice boomed. The acoustics prevented me from pinpointing the source.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I said. Seemed like a good way to start. “You know why I’m here, so I won’t bore you with repetitive details. I’m sure you also know who I am and my history as a Triad Hunter, and that I’m no longer under their employ.”

A murmur rippled through my hidden audience. Okay, so maybe they didn’t know the last part. I backpedaled a bit, remembering what Jenner had said about speaking with passion. “For four years, I lived with the unwavering belief that what the Triads did was right. I followed orders, no matter what they were, and I slept soundly believing I’d done what was necessary to protect humankind. I began losing that faith almost two weeks ago, when my own people turned against me without proof and without cause. I lost it completely yesterday when I threatened the foundation of their faith, and they nearly killed me. To my knowledge, the Triads believe me dead.” With a small smile, I added, “Again.”

“Your situation is unfortunate,” a woman said. Her voice was soft, almost singsong in its cadence. “But why should we reveal to you one of our most protected secrets? Such information in the wrong hands would be devastating to the Therians in this city.”

“I know,” I replied. “Your only guarantee that I will protect this information lies in the fact that Phineas el Chimal trusts me implicitly. I don’t condone mass murder, and I can’t excuse what the Triads did to the Coni and Stri Clans, but I also can’t put the weight of that responsibility on the shoulders of one man. Not when someone else is ultimately responsible.”

I struggled for the words—the best way to put my thoughts out there for them to understand. “I may not be able to produce those responsible as I promised Phineas I would. And I tend to think with my heart rather than my brain, so it’s also entirely possible I’m seeing conspiracies where none exist. But even if you choose to not reveal the other bi-shifting Clans to me tonight, I leave you with a simple plea. Protect them. Because if there is the tiniest chance I’m right, then they’re in grave danger. Perhaps not from the Triads but from someone out there with the power to see that you’re destroyed piece by piece.”

“You speak with conviction, Evangeline Stone.” The same woman, louder. “It is true that we know your history, as well as the history of the Triads’ dealings with our people. We learned long ago not to underestimate the human need to control their environment, and their fanatical need to maintain power once it is gained. It’s why we choose not to draw attention to ourselves and prefer to keep matters internal.”

“And how’s that working out for you so far?” I could feel Jenner’s glare, but curbing my sarcasm wasn’t top priority.

“You have brought us no proof that the other Clans are in danger.” It was the first man who’d spoken, annoyance dripping off every word.

I curled my fingers into tight fists, frustrated. “I never promised you proof, just my theories and my experience.” Once again, I was drawn back to my conversation with Isleen. “There’s something larger at work here. Why can no one else see that? Maybe the Triads, for all their good intentions, were a bad idea ten years ago, but what were we humans supposed to do? What kind of help did the Therians offer us when Halfies and goblins started attacking in the streets?”