Aprilynne Pike: Earthbound

He couldn’t be more wrong. I’m willing the red numbers to scroll up higher , faster. Wish the driver would speed a little more.

I hear a turn signal click and sit up straight, staring out the front windshield. The driver pulls off the main road and into a quiet neighborhood. Not fancy, but nice.

Unfortunately, it’s also the kind of neighborhood where a taxi will be noticed.

“Hey.” I lean forward. “Can you drop me off like a block from the address?”

“Of course,” he says, then adds in a grumble, “You’re the boss.”

He pulls over about ten seconds later in front of a two-story stucco and brick house, and as he circles the cab to come open my door, I’m frozen in terror. Terror? No, it’s not precisely that. It’s fear and nerves and giddiness all mixed together and it glues my feet to the floor. Then the door is open and warm sunlight pours in, thawing my skin and somehow melting my paralysis. I move slowly, but at least I move.

The cabbie is looking at me with real worry in his eyes now. “That’s twenty-nine eighty,” he says, obviously assuming I can’t pay. I don’t blame him—I look like I can’t pay. But I peel two twenties from a small wad of bills in my pocket and hold it out to the driver, my eyes already traveling up the street toward my ultimate destination. He says something, but I don’t hear. I make a noncommittal sound and step away from the car.

The driver almost runs back to his seat—probably afraid I’ll ask for change—but I don’t have the energy to pay attention to him. I’m barely managing to breathe. I can feel my chest starting to convulse and have to make myself take a breath and hold it for three seconds to keep from hyperventilating.

Again.

Again.

My heart is still racing—my pulse deafening in my ears—but at least I’m not light-headed. My feet move, carrying me up the street.

I don’t have a plan. Four days of thinking about Logan and I still don’t have a plan.

It’s Saturday. He should be around. It’s still early afternoon—too early for dates and parties.

What if he has a girlfriend? My mouth dries up. I hadn’t even considered that.

A smile hovers at the corners of my mouth. Just one more hurdle. If there’s anything the last week has taught me, it’s that I can jump hurdles.

I’m here.

What now?

Ring the doorbell? That seems a little awkward. Hang around like a stalker? Probably not the best idea, but I have nowhere else to go.

I’m hesitating there in front of his house—probably looking like a moron—and as though he can sense me, the front door opens, then slams shut and a tall guy comes out of the house. My breath is ragged as my eyes drink him in, but his head is down and he’s peering at a cell phone. All I can see is his golden hair.

Quinn’s hair.

It’s got to be him.

My throat is too dry to make a sound even when I realize he doesn’t see me and is about to plow me over.

He’s almost on top of me before he lifts his head and jumps to the side. “Whoa!” a low, quiet voice says. “I’m so sorry. Texting—I’m a total jerk. You okay?”

His eyes meet mine and my lingering doubts flee.

It’s Quinn. My Quinn, with shorter hair, more muscle on his arms and shoulders, and a quick smile.

And in that moment I realize I can’t wait to discover this person, who he is now—what the last two hundred years have turned him into. Warmth steals through my body, and the reality that I’ve found him fills me up and overflows. My lips smile, and I can’t make them stop.

“Do … do you live here?” I ask, finally finding my voice.

“Here?” Logan says, jerking his thumb toward the blue house. “Yeah.”

“I—I—” I stumble for words, but then the plan snaps together. I shove my hand into the side pocket of my backpack. “I found this out on the sidewalk,” I say, forcing my fingers to open. “It’s looks like it might be valuable. Is it … your mom’s maybe?” I finish lamely.

My palm is sweaty and I know Rebecca’s charm will be slightly damp, but I’m not embarrassed. As soon as he touches the locket, none of that will matter.

He holds out his hand and I turn mine over, purposely brushing his skin with mine, almost gasping at the thrilling rush that courses through me. It’s better than all the dreams I had of him, the vivid memories the necklace gave me.

Because this time, it’s real.

Real in a way that Benson never was.

I kick that thought away and let go of the necklace.

It falls from my palm into his, pooling like a liquid.

He’s studying it.

He keeps staring at it.

I want to scream at him to look up at me, but perhaps this incarnation of him is shy.

That’s okay; I can wait.

For a second.

His shoulders shrug. “I can go ask her if you want,” he says casually, “but I’ve never seen her wear anything like this.”

My mouth drops. He’s toying with me. He must be. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen.

“Do you want me to come with you to ask my neighbors?” His green eyes turn up to me.

They’re blank.

My heart dies. I’m not sure my legs will support me.

It didn’t work. Not my touch, not the necklace. He’s still just Logan; he’s not my Quinn.

Not yet , Rebecca reminds me. And from somewhere deep inside—a reserve I didn’t know I had—I find new strength. New resolve.

Back when Quinn met me as Rebecca, I was the one who didn’t know him . Maybe it’s only fair that the tables are turned now.

The important thing is that I found him. He’ll remember, eventually. I have the old journals to help me—Logan’s sparse file that I’ve practically memorized. The answers are there somewhere, and I’ll find them.

Until I do, I’ll stay with Logan. I’m not simply his partner; I’m his protector too. The Reduciata are looking for me. For us. Eventually they’ll find us.

Again.

Hell, Benson’s probably already told them we’re in Phoenix.

And if I don’t wake Logan up before they kill me—or him—and do whatever it is that’s supposed to recharge us, then we’re done.

He needs me.

And the world needs us .

I hold out my hand for the necklace and shrug casually. “I don’t think that’s necessary. But if someone tells you they’ve lost it, will you let me know?” I dig into my backpack, trying to shield its contents from Logan’s eyes. I cringe as I rip a corner off the file Sammi gave me, but it’s the only paper I’ve got. The tip of my pen touches the page before I remember that Elizabeth’s phone is in a landfill in Pennsylvania. After she died, I didn’t chance it; I got rid of everything.

“Shoot, I totally spaced it,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I lost my phone and I’m not sure when I’ll be getting a new one. Can I get your number?” I ask as I peer up at him from beneath my lashes.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Logan says, and rattles off ten digits.

“How ’bout a name?” I ask, playing dumb.

“I’m Logan,” he says, shoving his phone into a pocket and holding out a hand to me.

I shake his hand, feel our warm skin meet, and euphoria tingles through me. He’s a little different—modern, I guess—but most parts of him are the same. The eyes, that lopsided tilt in his smile. I don’t know if I’ve ever managed to find him this young.

A lifetime. That’s what we have.

A twinge shoots through me at the memory of Benson saying those same words, but I push it away.

I don’t have time for regrets.

“Tavia,” I say, and cling to his hand just half a second longer than necessary. “Thanks for this,” I add, holding up the scrap of paper. “I’ll call you.”