Fracture (The Machinists) (7 page)

Eight kids
, Allyn thought. His sister was enough to contend with. He couldn’t imagine having seven other siblings.

Then there were the family secrets or the little-talked-about truths. His grandmother on his mother’s side had two kids and then remarried, but refused to talk about her first husband. Then Aunt Becky was really his great-aunt, which means his cousins Jason and Jeremiah were… what? It made his head numb. But he had it on paper, and that was a start. It was also the best he could do running on twenty-four hours without sleep.

The feather mattress enveloped him when he finally lay down. The drapes blocked the light everywhere except for the edges, though, as tired as he was, he probably could have slept in direct sunlight.

Chapter 6

J
arrell Hartline hid from the woman’s screams. Helpless and frantic, they pierced the walls like an alarm in the early morning. He heard them, which meant everyone else heard them, too—and nobody was helping. They accepted it. He paced along the far wall of his room, as far from the door as he could get. The concrete floor was rough against his bare feet. He knew he should be doing something to help the poor woman. She was a silent and was being tortured in ways that probably confused her as much as they hurt.

He didn’t know what Lukas wanted with her. Rumor had it that she was the sister of the man they had tried to kidnap the week before.
What was his name? Allyn.
There would only be one reason Lukas was going after siblings. He had found an ancient line. The implications were profound. A newly discovered line would bring a significant number of new magi into the fray and could tip the number in Lukas’s favor, or at least even the odds a bit.

He’s building an army
, Jarrell thought.

Jarrell couldn’t let that happen. He’d saved the boy by tipping off Graeme to Lukas’s intentions, but he hadn’t been able to do the same for the girl. And now she was here. That was his fault, and he had to do something about that.

He stopped pacing. The screams had subsided—he wasn’t sure when—and silence hung in the air, thick and eerie. It wasn’t the kind of silence that meant the session was over. She would be crying and pleading for help if that was the case. No, she was unconscious—or worse. And that meant they would come for him next. Jarrell grabbed his book and sat down on his bare mattress to read. The fluorescent bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling cast a harsh light, creating long shadows and insufficient light to read comfortably, but he had an image to uphold.

The door opened without a knock, and Kaleb stepped into the room, a frown on his face. Jarrell looked up from his book in feigned surprise, sliding his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

“Lukas requests your presence,” Kaleb said.

Jarrell nodded and marked his place with a bookmark, then slowly climbed to his feet with a groan, holding his lower back.

Kaleb shifted impatiently. Lukas’s movement had no true command structure, but Kaleb and those who felt especially close to their leader treated Jarrell as if they were his superiors. Jarrell was okay with that. In fact, he encouraged it. It made him less of a threat.

“Sorry. I’m not as young as I once was,” Jarrell said, his voice strained. “Where are we going?”

“This way.”

Kaleb set a quick pace, probably expecting Jarrell to fall behind and have to eventually ask for him to slow down. Jarrell played his part, following with a slight limp and breathing heavily.

Kaleb glanced back, smiling wryly. He led Jarrell through the compound, which was a private single-level loft above an abandoned machine shop. Exposed ductwork ran along the ceiling, knocking and banging as the furnace kicked on. Stale warm air blew through the vents, offering a temporary reprieve from the cold before escaping through broken windows.

Lukas’s quarters were on the far side of the compound, near the barracks, so that he could gauge the pulse of his followers. Only a few had private quarters like Jarrell’s, and his privacy would be short lived as more magi flocked to Lukas’s cause. Two guards stood outside Lukas’s door. They nodded as Kaleb and Jarrell approached.

Kaleb knocked, waited for permission to enter, then opened the door and waited for Jarrell to enter first.

“Thank you,” Jarrell said, stepping into the room.

Kaleb closed the door behind them and waited.

Lukas sat in the corner, his back against the exposed-brick exterior wall beside the bed. The bed wasn’t his. That was near the front of the room, but a second bed had been brought in for the girl.

Jarrell shivered, not because of the cold winter air blowing through the dusty windows, but because of the woman lying unconscious on the bed. Her wrists and ankles were bloodied from fighting against the bonds tied to the frame. Her dark hair was matted and stuck to her face, hiding the bruises caused by Lukas’s abuse.

“Kaleb said you wanted to see me,” Jarrell said, tearing his eyes from the woman.

“Yes.” Lukas rose to his feet and strolled across the room to a small circular table with two glasses and a pitcher. He filled one of the glasses with water and sipped it without offering any to Jarrell. “She’s stronger than I anticipated.”

Jarrell knelt beside the bed and examined the woman. She showed few signs of direct abuse, but dried tears sparkled on her flushed cheeks, and her clothes were soaked with sweat, urine, and blood. Jarrell took her wrist in his hand. “She’s alive.”

“I know.” Lukas took another drink.

Jarrell’s relief was quickly replaced by anger.
Control yourself
.
You won’t be any help to her if you’re dead.
“Then why did you summon me?”

“I want you to wake her up.”

So you can continue torturing her.
“What do you want with her?”

“I want to bring Graeme to his knees,” Lukas said, placing his half-empty glass back onto the small table. “He lied to us, Jarrell. They
all
lied to us, and I’m going to prove it. She is the key.” Lukas had been trying to break the girl all night, and every time she lost consciousness, he brought in a cleric to bring her back. It was his way of forcing everyone to play a part. Everyone became responsible for his actions. And now it was Jarrell’s turn.

Ashamed, Jarrell placed his hand in the center of the woman’s chest. He didn’t even know her name. He took a deep breath and held it. He increased his heart rate until it pounded like a jackhammer. His body grew hot, and the hand on her chest glowed red. When it became as bright as the naked bulb above him, he projected.

“I’m sorry,” Jarrell whispered.

The glowing energy burst from his hand into the woman’s chest, shooting pulses of white light through her body. It ran back and forth from her hands to her feet, then to her chest, where his hand had been. As each wave returned, he learned more about her condition. She was fighting the beginnings of an infection and had a slight fever. Making matters worse, she was significantly dehydrated. The wounds on her wrists and ankles were superficial but needed to be healed, lest the infection return.

Jarrell pooled his body’s strength and projected it into the woman. Instantly, the red, irritated flesh under her bindings began to heal, returning to the same creamy color as the rest of her skin. Simultaneously, the same wounds formed on Jarrell’s wrists. That was the consequence, the sacrifice. Jarrell gave her more than his strength—he gave her his health and his body, and in return, he took her injuries.

The color in her cheeks faded, and her breathing slowed, strengthening. Jarrell felt his own body temperature rise. He was suddenly thankful for the open windows. His mouth dried and his lips chapped. His sweat disappeared as he gave her his water.

Jarrell felt himself grow weak, but still, he continued. The weaker he grew, the stronger she became. He hadn’t been able to prevent her from undergoing this nightmare. He owed her this much—and more. He would give her everything he had to give.

With her physical health returned, Jarrell withdrew. The pulses of energy flowing through her body faded until they disappeared entirely. Jarrell pulled his hand back, rubbing the irritated skin on his wrist. His job was done. He tried to stand, but, dizzy, he staggered to the side and crashed against the wall. Blackness crept in from the edges of his vision.
What’s going on? Had she been poisoned?

No
, he thought. She had simply been worse off than he’d realized. He’d taken too many of her injuries and given her too much of his strength—and too much of his water.

Jarrell crawled to the round table that held the pitcher of water. He needed to replenish.

Lukas knelt, the metal pitcher ready in his hand. He set a single glass on the ground in front of Jarrell’s face.

Jarrell took the pitcher with shaky hands and tilted it over the glass. Nothing came out. He looked inside. It was empty. He groaned. The back of his throat was dry and cracking. He felt as if he’d swallowed fire. He needed water.

“Thank you, Jarrell,” Lukas said. “We need to be strong. They have the numbers, but we have something more important. Do you know what that is?”

Jarrell barely heard him. His arms buckled under his weight, the empty pitcher crashing onto the ground. Painful convulsions took him next.

“Conviction,” Lukas said. “We believe in what we’re fighting for, and we’re willing to give anything to achieve it. Even our lives.”

Jarrell rolled onto his side, inching his face closer to the pitcher. He licked the condensation off the outside of the pitcher. The cool water droplets soothed his blistered tongue, but it wasn’t enough. He was going to die from dehydration.

Jarrell rolled onto his back, his vision going dark.

A hand cupped the back of his head and a narrow object was forced between his cracked lips. Cold water poured into his mouth, washing away the stale taste of death.

He coughed. Water ran down the sides of his cheeks and filled in the crevice of his neck. Jarrell reared his head toward the glass, his body running on instinct. More water filled his mouth. This time, his body cooperated and swallowed. Jarrell felt the wave of life flow down his chest. His strength grew with every sip.

“It’s going to be okay,” Lukas said quietly. “We have the truth on our side. It’s going to be okay.”

Chapter 7

T
he chilly, late-morning air slapped away Allyn’s remaining weariness. The winter sun hung low on the horizon, below thick, high-level clouds, casting long shadows in the forest clearing. Wearing the same office attire he’d worn the night before, black slacks with a white button-down shirt, he wished he’d brought a coat. Allyn had come looking for Graeme. He’d searched the manor, revisiting rooms he’d already been welcomed into, careful not to go where he hadn’t. His brief encounter with Nyla the night before had reminded him that he was an unwelcome outsider, and the last thing he needed to do was go opening doors and angering more locals.

Graeme wasn’t in the clearing, though. Allyn cursed. Graeme needed the piece of paper in Allyn’s hand. He needed to know where Allyn had come from so he could discover who he was. There was one last place Allyn thought to look, but it was truly his last resort. He didn’t
dislike
the library. In fact, he thought it was majestic, but Nyla made him nervous, and he got the impression she spent a lot of time there. She blamed him for the loss of “someone important,” and Allyn had no way of apologizing because he didn’t know what he’d done.

So reluctantly, he returned to the manor. Graeme had made it sound as if hundreds of people lived with him, but Allyn hadn’t seen anyone since the night before. Descending the stairwell into the library, Allyn breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Nyla wasn’t there. Unfortunately, neither was Graeme. But
someone
was.

Toward the back, hidden behind a computer monitor, was a skinny young man approaching his teenage years. He sat hunched over a book, typing furiously. He didn’t see Allyn.

Before remembering that Graeme had entered a code on the metal keypad, Allyn waited for the glass door to slide open. When it didn’t and he realized he didn’t know the code, he knocked. The boy’s head slid to the side, looking past the monitor, in Allyn’s direction. Allyn waved. The boy glanced around the empty room, looking confused, before slowly climbing to his feet and shuffling toward Allyn.

He smiled, seemingly making the boy even more uncomfortable. He stood as tall as Allyn’s shoulder and was beginning a battle with acne. He entered the code on the keypad inside the library and eyed Allyn suspiciously as the door slid open.

“Thank you,” Allyn said.

“Can I help you?” the boy asked.

“I’m looking for Graeme. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s with the others.”

Others?
“And where are they?”

“If you don’t know, then you probably weren’t invited, were you?” The boy sneered at Allyn with teeth so large that Allyn wondered if he would ever grow into them.

Definitely a teenager
, Allyn thought, amused. It was refreshing to find that even teenagers growing up in a world of magic were still sarcastic little punks.
That
, he was familiar with. “I guess not. I just need to give him this.” He pulled the piece of paper from his pocket.

“What is it?”

“Just something he asked me to do.” Allyn unfolded the paper.

The boy strained his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what was on it. “You’re
him
, aren’t you? The one everyone is talking about.”

Allyn shrugged. “Probably. I doubt you get a lot of newcomers around here.”

The boy smiled. It was an awkward thing with too much teeth and not enough of… anything else. “That’s for sure.”

“What’s your name?”

“Liam.”

“I’m Allyn.” He extended his hand. The boy took it and gave him a weak handshake. “What are you doing in here, Liam?”

“Let me see that piece of paper, and I’ll tell you.”

Allyn laughed, handing him the paper. “Deal.”

Liam scanned it quickly, looking disappointed. “What is it?”

“My family tree.”

“What are you doing with it?” Liam handed the paper back.

“Trying to find out who I am,” Allyn said dramatically.

Liam laughed.

“That’s what I think, too. So what about you? What are you doing in here?”

“Working.”

“On what?”

Liam looked at his feet. “I’m the Family’s Librarian,” he mumbled.

“You manage all of this?”

“I’m saving it.”

Allyn waited for him to laugh again, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes flickered toward the computer at the back of the room. Allyn walked past him to the table with the computer, Liam lagging behind. An open book rested beside the keyboard. Allyn glanced at the first line of the book then at the computer screen. The text was the same. The boy was retyping the text, and as he was more than halfway through the book, he had been at it for a while.