Kelly Meding - As Lie the Dead

“Your boss have a green thumb?” Wyatt asked, a little out of breath. My hand jerked at the sound of his voice, and I clenched the tire iron tighter. Someone snickered. Damned good timing. They must have walked up the eight flights of stairs.

I strained to hear, their footsteps almost gone. Then something squealed—a hinge, maybe? I hazarded another look over the edge of the roof, just in time to see a door swing shut on the left side of the greenhouse. Still no sign of perimeter guards. Didn’t mean they weren’t there. I couldn’t sit and wait. Had to risk it.

I closed my eyes and transported again. The familiar dull ache began between my eyes, increasing when I materialized in front of the stair shed. I pressed my back against the metal siding and waited. No one raised any alarms or took potshots at me. I took another peek around, closer to the greenhouse. The glass panes were either painted over from the inside or covered with dark sheets of something. I couldn’t see through them, but that didn’t mean those inside were as blind.

About six feet down the wall, halfway between me and the door, was a slotted vent. Good a place as any to try to eavesdrop. I focused on it, hoped it was a blind spot, and slipped in. The headache increased as I completed my third transport in as many minutes, like tiny hammers beating my corneas. I stayed low and shifted to face the vent.

The grille was angled down, which gave me an upward view into the greenhouse. It was dim inside but not dark, lending credence to my hope that the windows were blacked out. Several bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, interspersed among rows of what were probably sunlamps, all off. Long wooden tables were empty, grayed with age. The odor of wet earth drifted out through the vent, along with the sound of voices.

“Over there,” Eleri said.

Footsteps shuffled, then four people stepped into view. Wyatt and Phin stuck close to each other, profiles to me; both were alert, prepared for attack. Eleri was directly behind them, her tall, slim form encased in black, striking white hair bundled up at the nape of her neck. She kept her gun level with their waists, clean shots at their spines.

The fourth was Snow, recognizable by shape even without his black hat. He had no weapons in his hands. I didn’t doubt they were hidden well out of sight. “Far enough,” he snapped.

The quartet stopped. Wyatt turned to glance behind him, and I saw the welt on his jaw. I bristled and directed my unnoticed glare toward Snow, silently promising he’d get one just like it before the night was done. He walked up to Wyatt and started patting him down.

“Didn’t we go through this once?” Phin asked.

“Get over it,” Snow said. “Humans can’t be trusted.”

“Is that why your boss is human?”

Snow’s fist clenched; he didn’t swing. His temper certainly had a hair trigger. Eleri’s eyes never seemed to stay still, shifting her focus from person to person. Snow finished his pat-down and moved to Phin, who looked ready to belt his fellow Therian. Wyatt—to my utter surprise—seemed like the calmest one in the group.

My entire head shuddered, as though rocked by a silent sneeze. I froze, heart pounding, alarmed at the queer sensation of absolute quiet all around me and through me. Inside the greenhouse, Wyatt scowled. And then I realized—my connection to the Break was gone. Cut off. Shit .

Behind me, the air moved. I couldn’t duck in time. Color and lights exploded behind my eyes, then my face scraped concrete. None of my limbs wanted to respond. Stupid. So fucking stupid. Something dug into my ribs and rolled me onto my back. I blinked up at a tan blur, outlined by the night sky.

“I’d say it’s nice to see you,” an unfamiliar male voice said, “but you’re supposed to be dead.”

“Didn’t take,” I mumbled, unsure if I even managed coherent words.

He chuckled. My vision cleared as the severe ache dulled to a low roar, and a face Phin had described well came into focus. Brown hair and eyes, hollow cheekbones, stretched skin. Handsome if he’d gain a few pounds and smile. Leonard Call in the flesh. And hanging from a chain around his neck was an orange crystal the length and width of a finger. A crystal I’d seen before, several days ago in an underground jail, its infused magic cutting us off from the Break.

Call reached into the front of his knee-length black linen coat and produced a sleek silver pistol. “Upsy-daisy,” he said, and pointed the muzzle at my head.

I rolled onto my side, weighing my options and trying not to vomit on his shoes. My head felt swimmy, and I took small comfort in knowing it would go away soon. More than my temporary concussion, I was worried about the extreme disadvantage at which that crystal placed us. Was it the same crystal from the jail? Had Jock Guy given it to him? Call had to be the employer the Halfie had sneered about before blowing himself up. But had they started working together before or after I was snatched and jailed five days ago?

I couldn’t seem to focus enough to put the pieces together.

He stepped back, giving me space to stand and staying well out of striking distance. Smart bastard. It took serious effort to not wince when I finally made it upright; I did manage to give him a withering glare. He was a good half foot taller than me, almost Jesse’s height, and so wiry I couldn’t imagine how he’d been in hand-to-hand combat. Swimmer’s build, indeed.

The greenhouse door swung up, and Eleri stepped out. She froze when she saw me, expression blank. I wondered briefly if Isleen had managed to tell Eleri I was an ally—and not dead. Staying in character, she allowed her blank stare to melt into incredulity, which she then turned on Call.

“Seems I’m serving as my own protection detail,” Call said, ushering me forward. Eleri bared her fangs, stayed silent.

I moved toward the door, a little unbalanced by the loss of my tap to the Break, like a cat who’d lost half her whiskers. Eleri stepped back in, and I entered the stuffy greenhouse, assaulted by the ripe odors of damp earth and rotting wood. I felt as though I were being led to the guillotine, and any chance for clemency died with the locking of the greenhouse door behind Call. I stepped around a haphazard pile of broken tables and scrap wood that blocked the door and into the larger open area.

The remaining trio was a good fifteen feet away. Instead of focusing on Wyatt and Phin—whose expressions and reactions I could guess ranged from surprise to annoyance—I looked Snow in the eye. The Therian gaped at me. A slow flush crept into his neck and cheeks. I grinned.

Snow snarled and swung his fist. He belted Phin in the nose, and I heard the stomach-churning sound of cartilage snapping. Phin flew sideways into Wyatt, who kept both of them from pitching to the ground.

“You deceiving son of a bitch,” Snow said.

Blood dripping from between the hands that clenched his nose, Phin seemed to smile at Snow’s ire. “As I said, she has a talented mouth.” His voice was muffled, like a man with a cold. “Couldn’t let that talent go to waste.”

Wyatt scowled without comment and helped Phin right himself. Snow tensed, seeming ready to hit him again.

“Settle down,” Call said. Footsteps shuffled, and it occurred to me he’d remained hidden behind the scrap pile until now. “The time for recriminations will be here soon enough. First, let’s let old friends become reacquainted.”

Wyatt had paled beyond anything I’d seen before, his skin nearly translucent. He stared just past me to my right, at Call, so tense I thought he’d pop a spring like a cartoon windup toy. Didn’t move. Barely seemed to breathe. I wanted to run over there and shake him.

“I see you remember me,” Call said, a hint of amusement in his voice. I tightened my fist, aching to take a swing at him. “Come on, Wyatt, after four years, all you can do is stand there like a mummy?”