The Gathering (28 page)

I toss him a pen and explain what I’m doing, a fresh bout of determination stretching its way through my muscles. On the front of each manila file, we write the person’s gifting, along with territory size and any special skills. Like computer hacking for Link. Pickpocketing for Bass. If Jillian were alive, we’d write gun-handling. Turns out, the information we have is sparse. Apparently, asking about territory and skill sets isn’t part of Glenda’s admittance interview.

I click the end of my pen. “We’ll have to re-interview everyone.”

“We should ask about connections, too.” Link scrawls
Fighter
on the top of a folder labeled
Benton, Emmett
and skims the intake form inside. “Joe’s a former Navy SEAL. I’m sure he knows other Navy SEALs. He can’t be the only one with helpful connections.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“I have them every now and then.” Link sets Emmett’s file aside and grabs the next one off the stack. “Hey, look. It’s your favorite person.”

Bedicelle, Claire.

My scowl is immediate.

Link laughs.

I don’t understand how he can. “You know what she did. You saw. And yet you joke.”

“You’ve heard the saying, right? If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Well, Xena. I’d rather laugh.” He pokes me in the ribs.

I jump.

His expression turns playful. “Ticklish much?”

I bite back a smile, because this is serious stuff. Claire is scum. “Don’t you dare.”

“But dares are so much fun.” He wags his eyebrows.

And somehow, I’m trying to squirm free while Link tickles my sides. Our laughter fills the small room. It feels good, laughing like this. Like a release. It feels—

“Are we interrupting something?”

Link stops.

I scramble into sitting.

Ronie stands in the doorway. So does Luka.

My cheeks explode with heat. I yank my shirt down and grab a file, unable to make eye contact with anyone. Not Ronie. Not Link. Definitely not Luka.

Link clears his throat. “What’s up?”

“I was going to add some extra security blocks to our data drives. I was wondering if you wanted to help, but it looks like you’re already busy.”

“No, I can help.” Link stands.

And then he leaves with Ronie.

I feign intent interest in the file I’m holding while Luka leans against the doorframe. I’m being a coward. I should look up and smile. Say hello. It’s not like Luka caught me in the midst of a crime. It’s not like Link and I were kissing or anything. The thought doesn’t help much with the fire-in-my-cheeks situation.

“What are you doing?” His voice comes out gentle. One hundred percent non-accusatory.

It breaks me a little. Here he is, in complete angst over his inability to protect me. And here I am, flirting with Link. Seriously, why was I just flirting with Link? If the tables were turned, if I was the one who caught Luka wrestling around on the floor with some girl that wasn’t me, I’d be sick to my stomach.

I explain the new filing system.

“Can I help?” he asks.

“Of course.”

Luka joins me on the floor, not as close as Link. And yet, his presence is stronger. It fills the room. The air crackles. My skin tingles. What I can’t figure out is whether it’s a Luka and Tess thing, or a Keeper and
anima
thing. And if it’s the latter, how in the world does Lexi resist it?

It’s not love if it’s not a choice, is it?

I shove her sentiment aside as Luka picks up one of the smaller piles. It only has two files—his and Connal’s. He stares at them intently. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

“Were you training with Connal again?” I ask.

He nods.

“Any progress?”

“It’s not really helping. He trains a lot differently than Gabe.”

I grab another file, an excuse to hide my relief. I don’t want Luka to see it. I read through the intake form and write
Shield
on the front. Territory,
unknown
. Special Skills,
unknown
. When I look up, Luka studies a different file with a deep furrow etched between his brow. I can’t tell if it’s the result of a question, a concern, or an idea.

The file belongs to Claire.

Complete

L
uka and I spend the rest of that morning and part of the afternoon labeling each file. When we’re finished, Felix calls for an all-headquarters meeting. One hundred forty residents sit inside the gymnasium while Felix lays out the plan of action. We will form into units, each with a different job, all with the same objective—victory.

Ronie and Link gather those who are computer savvy—most of whom already work in the command center—and begin nightly training classes. We put Kwahu—a sixty-seven year old Cherokee Indian—in charge of the Evangelists. By far, our biggest team. He keeps a running list of people we’re trying to convert, then assigns them to someone at Headquarters whose job is to do the converting. No special skill set is required. All that’s needed is the truth, and the ability to communicate it quickly and confidently. Any potential Believer inside Kwahu’s territory falls to him. Any outside, falls to Link. And any outside Link’s territory falls to me.

Once the person we’re trying to convert is on the verge, we reach out to someone in our growing network of Believers. They take care of the rest by making a simple, yet convincing phone call. The name of the game is
inform, convince, and invite
.

It works.

Our success rate hovers around ninety-five percent.

Our army grows.

The trickle of people arriving at Headquarters turns into a steady stream.

I work side-by-side with Cap and Felix, organizing and overseeing while Glenda and a couple others she’s taken under her wing (Ellen happens to be one) conduct extensive interviews with every single resident. There’s no down time. Not when I’m awake, and certainly not when I’m asleep. I prefer it this way. It gives me less time to miss Leela and my family. Less time to stew over Claire and Clive. Less time to worry about the future. Or dwell on things that happened in the past.

Turns out, the past is persistent. No matter how busy I keep myself, it finds a way to slither in between the cracks.

I jerk awake in bed, sucking in a sharp, loud breath and slapping at the point of pressure against my neck. My heart pounds into the silence. Fast, hard, insistent knocks, like whatever’s inside demands to be let out. I touch my throat. There’s no gun. It was just a dream.

“Are you okay over there?” Joanna asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

I hear her roll over and a few seconds later, her snoring resumes. My body’s not so willing to settle. I sink back in bed and wait for my heart rate to return to normal. It doesn’t seem to know how. Sleep refuses to come. And even if it did, I’m not sure I want it to keep me company, especially with my work for the night already finished. I untangle my legs from the sheets, swap my sweaty shirt for freshly-laundered clothes, and sneak out of my room.

The hallway is dark and quiet. I don’t know where I’m going. I only know that I need a distraction. I end up in the common room, standing in front of the bookshelves, scanning the spines under the yellow glow of a nearby lamp. They have a diverse collection. I pull several out and read snatches of text, but not even Charles Dickens or Harper Lee can calm my nerves.

“Tess?”

I suck in another sharp breath and spin around.

Luka stands several feet behind me.

I set my hand against my chest. “You just gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.”

We’ve barely seen each other over the past couple weeks. I’ve been so busy with war tactics and he’s been … what? Meeting with Dr. Sheng? Training with Connal? Battling his inner demons? I don’t really know. Seeing him now, with his hair all disheveled, makes me realize how much I’ve missed him.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks.

I could ask him the same thing. Instead, I hold up a collection of poems by Jack Kerouac. “Some middle of the night reading?” My voice is as shaky as my hands.

Luka cocks his head and studies me through the dim lighting. We promised each other no secrets.

“I had a bad dream.” I slip Kerouac between Mark Twain and Stoker.

“A bad dream, huh? I wonder what that’s like.”

I turn around.

His eyes are filled with compassion. Of course they are. Luka gets it. If anybody understands, it’s him.

“What do you do when you have them?” I ask.

“Lately?”

“Sure.”

He takes my hand and we walk into the gymnasium where Luka flips the light switch. Brightness floods the large space, illuminating the basketball hoops and weight machines.

“Dr. Sheng says exercise is one of the best ways to fight anxiety.” He squeezes my hand and gives me this sideways smile, so subtle it’s almost not there. “I’ve been exercising a lot these days.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It’s better than listening to Link snore.”

“Snore, huh?”

“Really, really loudly.” His smile grows as he leads the way around the corner, into the mat room, and holds onto one of the punching bags. “Hitting things usually helps, too.”

It feels silly at first—punching the bag while Luka holds it steady against his shoulder. But he’s right. The activity chases some of the anxiety away. “So what else does Dr. Sheng say?”

“He’s a big proponent of talking.”

“Therapists usually are.” I give the bag a quick one-two jab, remembering the feel of the gun pressed against my neck. Usually, the weapon is pointed at my grandmother and I’m the one holding it. The deafening blast as I pull the trigger always wakes me up. I punch harder, until beads of sweat form along my hairline.

“I know you’ve been busy,” Luka says. “At night especially. But if you ever need a safe place—somewhere to visit between your nighttime evangelizing—you know where to find me.”

I throw a right hook. “Our beach?”

“It might help keep the bad dreams away.”

I stop and wipe my forehead with the back of my arm. “You still go there?”

His green eyes capture mine. “Always.”

*

I stand with my arms crossed at my chest, watching Anna’s cloak expand. It nearly covers the entire dojo (which Link has substantially enlarged for the purposes of today) before any thin spots appear. I’m impressed. Not just with her cloak, but her physical appearance. She has color in her cheeks and they aren’t so hollow anymore either. The transformation gives me hope. Evidence that worn-out things can become strong again.

All day, Ronie has sent Cloaks into the dream simulator as we search for the final member of our special ops team. Right now, it consists of me, Felix, Cap, Lexi, Connal, Link (in case we need an extra Linker), and surprisingly, Glenda, who can throw an impressive shield.

As soon as Anna’s gone, I turn to Felix and Cap. “I think we have our Cloak.”

Felix folds his hands behind his back. “We have one more for consideration.”

I’m about to ask who when that one more arrives. I turn incredulous eyes on Felix. “Are you joking?”

“You should see what he’s capable of.”

“I know exactly what he’s capable of. Unless Cap is suffering from memory loss, so does he.”

Cap, however, leaves me and my objection hanging.

“In case you
are
suffering from memory loss, let me remind you. The last time we brought him on an important mission, he
dropped
his cloak. If not for Gabe sacrificing his life, none of us would have made it out of there alive.” I glare at Clive, standing at attention in the center of the room, seemingly unaffected by the fact that we’re discussing him like he’s not there. “He
dropped
his cloak, Felix. And now you want to consider him for the special ops team?”

“I believe he’ll be a valuable asset.”

I shake my head, disbelief and outrage wrestling for attention.

“I think,” Felix says, “that Teresa is in need of some convincing, Mr. DeVant.”

I roll my eyes. Anna’s cloak is perfectly adequate. Unless Clive is able to cloak the whole of North America, I don’t see how he could possibly be an asset to our—.

My thoughts freeze midstream.

Clive’s cloak, while starting off as every other one I’ve seen today, slowly morphs into something strange. The umbrella of light turns into odd wisps that darken at the edges and creep closer to my feet.

I step back, but not fast enough. One of the wisps wraps around my ankle and curls up my leg. It’s hot. I try shaking it off, but my leg won’t budge. This cloak—
this thing
—anchors me in place. “What the—?”

The wisp wraps around my waist. Panic swells. White-hot, scalding panic. I try jerking free, but it’s no use. I can’t move at all. My panic builds. It paralyzes my lungs. Fills my chest. Shoots down my arms, into my fingertips, so intense I can’t keep it inside. So intense, I do the same thing I did when Gabe transurged. I throw out the mounting energy like a freaking hot potato.

A burst of light shoots from my fingers.

Clive’s cloak falls away. Disappears.

I take a couple quick steps back, my chest heaving. “Never do that to me again, understand?”