Spark Rising (36 page)

Chapter 31

Lena curled on the couch, staring at the wall opposite her, thinking about her parents. What would they make of her journey? What would they think of her choices? Of Alex? She looked at him now.

He had settled her back on the couch, telling her it was time for him to do his part in gathering information. He moved around to the far side of Three’s desk and went through the drawers, lifting out leather binders and envelopes. He set them in front of him on the desk and pried them open, carefully preserving the wax seals of each. He didn’t say anything. He went through the papers with methodical efficiency.

She turned to stare again at Councilor Three. In spite of what Alex had done, she couldn’t deny how good it had felt to sit beside him earlier, working together to get the answers they needed from the Councilor to keep their movement, and Sparks themselves, safe. Somehow it made it easier to know that they were the same. Perhaps that’s why she understood the choices he’d made all along? They were the same decisions she’d have made.

Confronting Alex head-on, his actions seemed not far removed from those of the Council. But from the side, from the angle she had on his motives and their truth, was he wrong? She didn’t think so. He didn’t care about consolidating power. He only wanted to reserve a place for people like them. If his methods were similar, so be it. Sometimes fire wasn’t fought with water.

She leaned forward and scrubbed her face with her hands. A moment later, her head popped back up.

Was that a scream?

As if her movement had reminded him again of her presence, he started to speak. “Lena—”

She held her hand up for silence and listened. Her heart thumped in her ears, and she focused to hear above it. Yes, outside the silence in the room, faraway shrieks and shouting came closer.

He listened, too, then nodded and returned his attention to the paper in front of him.

She stared at the wall, focused on the sounds filtering in from the outside. “What’s happening out there?”

He turned a glance up to her and then back down. “The attack.”

She frowned. “Wait. Our attack?”

“Mm-hmm.” He set the slip of paper to the side and shuffled the other papers back together. He began slipping them back into binders and envelopes.

“I don’t understand. I thought it was a focused strike to come for the Councilor. Who is that screaming?”

“The caravaners.”

The caravaners? The people who worked the caravan? “But—are they being attacked?”

“It’s a necessary component of the larger strategy.”

“A necessary component? What strategy? And when did you throw that in there?”

“It was always a part of the plan.” He was matter-of-fact. “It’s collateral damage. But there will be very few actual casualties, and those who die were chosen for specific reasons.” He held her shocked stare, his own face utterly calm. “There has to be terror. They have to be in
fear
for their lives, Lena, or when they’re questioned at the Meet, the stories won’t support the evidence. But despite what you’re hearing, it isn’t indiscriminate killing out there. They just think it is.”

Before she could respond, the door opened and Jackson slipped in.

“We need to move her. Now.” He marched across to the couch and grabbed her hand.

Alex stood up. “What’s happened?”

Jackson pointed to the side of the car, indicating the sounds coming from outside. “All of that? It isn’t just us. There’s another group out there, in black and grey. Not us.” He yanked her up from the couch. “Their leader is tall and thin. He came in with them, blew right past me and told his men to focus on finding the Councilor and kill anyone who got in the way. They’re coming here, too.”

Alex cursed. He stood and gathered up all of the papers and little wax seals. As he shoved them together in a folio and stuck it under his arm, he told Lena, “Light him up.”

“What?”

“Light. Him. Up. Burn the car. It needs to burn hot and fast. This group may really be from the Council, and we can’t have the truth reported back to them.”

She turned to the Councilor.
The man she tortured to death
. She gritted her teeth. She would not feel guilt for what she’d done, nor for the darkness in which she’d reveled. He had earned it, and more. Now, the easiest solution would be to ignite the carpets beneath him.

She looked at Alex, shoving the last of the drawers closed and moving quickly to join them.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Alex stood in the entry. “Agents dressed in green and brown are ours. Black and grey,” he looked to Jackson for confirmation. At Jackson’s tense nod, he continued, “Black and grey are not. You follow Jackson, Lena.” He nodded at Jackson. “I’m clearing the way to the rendezvous point. Stay close.” Alex darted off into the twilit grey.

She turned back for just a second, sending out her wishes. The fire whooshed up, hot and pale, running up the man-shaped bulk on the floor in a bright wave that crested at the top and ran together in a bright twisting column. It threw off sparks that nestled in folds of the garish fabric covering the ceiling and walls and couch. The embers burrowed in, glowing, smoking, and then lighting. It was beautiful. It was just.

By the time Jackson pulled her away, pulling on her hand held tight in his own, little fires were already burning merrily. She looked back once. Orange light danced behind the curtained windows. One of the curtains went up, peeling away in a cascade of orange.

With her attention on the car behind them, she ran into Jackson.

“Pay attention,” he grunted. He had stopped beside one of the caravan cars. He leaned out, looking around the front of the car next to them. They slipped between the car and the truck it was tethered to, high-stepping over the joint. Ahead, she could see Alex in a similar position between a car and truck about twenty feet away, hidden in shadow. He leaned back against the car, nodding at Jackson when they appeared. The half-light of dusk colored his face grim before he darted away again.

They followed, racing across the opening, avoiding fleeing people who had realized too late there was no safety in following orders and remaining in their cars.

In front of her, a man wearing black and grey lunged to grapple with a fleeing caravaner, likely a truck tech from his rough, stained clothing. He gripped the back of the man’s collar and dragged him screaming back. The tech got in a kick and two blows before his attacker’s knife took him across the throat. The man gurgled and flopped over to try and crawl away, arterial blood spraying out before him into the dirt.

The agent, face set and focused in a familiar expression, already rose. He went in search of his next victim, even as Jackson pulled her away behind the attacker.

Was this the same horror Jackson felt earlier?

“Lena, come on!” He jerked at her hand again, pulling her with him toward the shelter of another car. They moved along the side of it, fast, before he pulled up shy of the end. He released her hand to grip her shoulder, exerting pressure to force her down behind a tire. She leaned her face out around the tire, trying to catch some glimpse of Alex ahead of them. Why were they stopping?

A movement from beneath the car flashed in her peripheral vision.

A boy cowered beneath it. Dirt clung to the silent tears and mucous flowing down his muddy, contorted face. He looked frantically around, trying to figure out which way to go. His enormous eyes reminded her of Marissa.

Lena dropped to her belly and squeezed under the car, reaching for the boy. He scrambled away, back and sideways.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

The boy scrambled back farther, terrified.

“No, no, it’s okay. You can come with us. You’ll be safe.” She lunged forward to grip his wrist before he could reveal himself by crawling back out of the shelter of the car on the other side. His thin, muddy wrist slipped through her fingers. Hissing with frustration and fear, she went after him.

He rolled out, stopped, stared up for a second, and then scrambled to his feet and ran away. Lena crawled to the edge to run after him. She froze when a pair of men’s boots stepped from behind the tire on the other side of the car.

A man dropped down to look under the car. He wore black and grey.

He lashed out with the club in his hand, smashing it into her forehead.

Darkness and pain warred with blurred vision. She tried to focus through a wash of involuntary tears as he grabbed her under the arms and pulled her from beneath the car.

He slid his hand into her hair, gripping it and holding her head firmly in place.

Did he have a collar in his free hand?

She had to focus, to talk to the Dust.
Stop him. End him!
Her brain tried to swim to black, but she fought it. She reached up, clawed at his face, his eyes. As soon as her fingers made contact, the Dust responded. He fell, heart stopped, dead already. She didn’t even know what had happened to him.

The Dust had chosen.

She fell to one knee and slumped against the side of the car. Through the darkness, as if from very far away, she could hear Jackson call out, searching for her on the other side.

“I’m here.” The words were almost inaudible even to her own ears. She pressed her hand to her forehead. Pain seared at her touch. The torn skin peeled away from a lump already firming. Her hand came away bloody. She pushed herself to a stand. She had to get back to Jackson.

Movement in the tree line a hundred feet away caught her attention. A blond man, tall and thin, hurried into the trees. Recognition zinged through her. Rage roared after it.

Lucas.

Her legs jerked into motion, running after the man who’d tortured her. She didn’t even look back until she made the trees herself.

She wasn’t sure if the falling night or the pain spreading from within her head made the caravan darken behind her. Cars burned bright in the closing black, brilliant points that made her eyes swim. She blinked. No pain.
No pain.

Jackson tore through the center of the caravan after her.

A faint shout sounded behind him. Alex pursued them, as well, shooting every man in grey and black along the way, leaving splashes of blood behind him. Apparently subterfuge wasn’t a priority anymore.

Was that croaking sound her voice? It didn’t matter whether they heard her calling them. The dark beneath the trees would hide her from them if she went in after Lucas.

Lena turned and ran on.

Find him. Find him and then—then what? A plan. I need a plan.
Every thought slipped away. The injury to her head acted like a collar, destroying her focus.

An image of the man she’d killed back in the caravan flashed. She still had touch. It had to be touch. She had to get close enough to lay hands on Lucas.

Ahead, he’d stopped to meet up with another man in black and grey. At the sound of her crashing through the underbrush, they turned together. She slid to a stop, reaching one hand out to use a rough tree trunk as a support.

Lucas took a sliding step back, warily watching her. Was he waiting for the attack on his body? It didn’t come. He paused.

“Is that—” the other man said.

“Yes.” Lucas stared, assessing.

She shoved at the darkness that threatened to overtake her. Her head throbbed in time to the blood pumping in her veins. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t reach out.

It has to be touch.

Lucas curved his lips into a smile. “She has a head injury. She can’t do anything. Kill her.”

The other soldier crouched, moving in cautiously. He feinted at her and pulled away.

Her fingers curled into the bark.
It’ll be brain bleeds for you both. Vessels bursting. Blood flowing. Vessels bursting….

The soldier lunged in, grabbed her arm, and pulled her from the tree.

With the contact, the desire she couldn’t project sang through him to the Dust.

He froze. Stiffened. His hands jumped up to paw at the sides of his head until a long breath gasped out of his lungs. He fell.

Lucas stared at them in horror.

She gave him a little smile, just a quick flash of teeth. “A brain bleed,” she whispered. “A massive bleed for you both. Just like my mother. Remember?” She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers, urging him to come closer.

Lucas lunged to the side and came up with a long, thick fallen branch, deadweight from a tree. “No. You’re damaged. You have to touch me, don’t you?” He laughed, lifting the branch between them. “That’s not going to happen, demon bitch.”

Lena moved toward him. Her fingers curled.

Vessels bursting. Blood flowing. Vessels bursting. Blood flowing.

He waved the branch between them, as if he could hear the chant she kept up in her head in anticipation of the moment she made contact with his skin. He glanced behind her, and new panic bloomed.

Dimly, above the throbbing of blood and her private chant, she could hear crashing behind her as someone came toward them through the woods. Jackson? Or Alex?