The Neon Graveyard (27 page)

“Help me lift her,” I said, still cradling her.

Hunter positioned himself at her head, but a soft utterance stilled us both. “No.”

“Just hang on a bit longer, V,” I said, gently cupping her cheeks with my hands. “I know a woman who can help. She’ll keep you going until you begin to heal.”

She laughed at that, spattering blood. Then she winced. “Please don’t move me.”

I glanced back up at Hunter. She was clearly dying . . . worse, it was obvious she didn’t wish to live. Given those two factors, it seemed cruel to cause her more pain just because it was the right thing to do.

“Besides,” Vanessa continued, in a voice that would have been dreamy if not so strained. “It’s nice here. I can see the stars.”

She gazed at the ceiling like it was the broad night sky, but I looked up and only saw softly swinging heads.

“Did Tekla ever tell you what a supernova is?” Vanessa asked, out of nowhere.

“Yes.”

“She loves them. Her violent, exploding stars . . .”

“I know. She told me that one of the stars in the Serpent Bearer constellation would soon explode.” I frowned at the memory, thoughts shifting like icebergs in my mind, slow but forging new terrain. “She said when something goes supernova, it turns into the thing it was meant to be all along.”

Gee, Tekla, I thought wryly. Trying to tell me something?

Despite her agony, Vanessa managed a small shake of her head. “She romanticizes it. It’s not the inferred meaning behind a supernova that’s so amazing. It’s the hard science. She never got that.”

“What do you mean?”

Vanessa’s eyes rolled, not derisively, but like she was going to pass out. I leaned close, stroking her head and murmuring her name, but after a moment, eyes still closed, she just picked up the conversation where we’d left off. “I mean us. Not just agents of the Zodiac, but all of us. Mortals. Animals. Plants and insects, even. Most of the atoms in our bodies—the oxygen we breathe, the calcium in our bones, the iron in our hemoglobin—all of it is from supernovae that blew billions of years ago.”

“So?”

She opened her eyes. “It means we are all, literally, children of the stars.” Then she gave me a consoling smile, as if I were the one who lay injured and dying. Softly she said, “It also means that good things can come from something that looks like total destruction.”

“Is that what this is, Vanessa?” I said, in a tone my mother would use. “Not a sacrifice, but suicide? Is that why you came after me?”

Because only now, removed from the literal heat of the moment, did I realize there’d been too much smoke for Solange’s nascent fire. Yet her flirtation with pyromania had masked Vanessa’s entry perfectly.

She half shrugged. “Had to make things right. No matter what. ’Member? Felix loved that about me . . .”

“Stop it! You could have returned to the Light, Vanessa. I know it.”

She raised her brows. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sometimes? When darkness surrounds you? It’s the approaching light that’s most brutal.”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “Then the grays.”

“Nah.” She smiled. “Can’t be tied down . . . not anymore.”

Damn her stubbornness. “He wouldn’t have wanted this, Vanessa.”

“This was destiny. Every life and death—”

“No. No!” I almost slammed my fist into the floor, but caught myself before I jostled Vanessa. “It is
not
written in the stars. These things are not fated. We change them daily, with every choice.”

She tilted her head toward me. “And I made mine.”

I winced at that.

“Shh,” she said, slowly lifting her arm and placing one bloodied hand on my cheek. “It’s okay, Joanna. Love is a damned good reason to cross worlds.”

And I couldn’t argue it. After all, that’s what I’d done. And knowing I’d probably fail, Vanessa had followed. My eyes widened at another realization, and catching it, Vanessa nodded. “Tekla’s premonition,” I whispered.

Tekla told me long ago that it was my fate to sacrifice myself for life’s greatest gift.

But she hadn’t been talking about Felix as Vanessa initially thought.

Vanessa’s eyes glowed in her sweaty face, and her rattling breath slowed in her chest. “Don’t let it have been for nothing. Please.”

I managed a nod while Hunter leaned close, his lips and the corners of his eyes pursed tight as he bent and kissed her forehead.

“That’s nice, but I can still smell Felix, you know. Just like before . . .” She inhaled as deeply as she could, then winced, her breath catching so long I wasn’t sure it would start again. But then her whole body relaxed, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “I would smell him everywhere—on my skin, under my nails, in my hair. Sometimes he slept, and lived, the whole night inside of me. I loved that,” she whispered. “I liked to think of him disappearing in me, so fully he was coming out my pores. I loved that,” she repeated, another tear streaking over her cheek.

After a full minute of nothing but the rattle of her breathing to punctuate the silence of the room, her head lolled my way. “Remember when you were telling me about your power? How you’d like to be able to create a world where loss like this couldn’t happen? One where none of us had to wear masks?”

I nodded.

“All you talked about was what you didn’t want. But creation is about what you
do
want. Maybe you should focus on something the world needs more of . . .”

I looked at Hunter, still awed by his presence, and knew exactly what she meant. Vanessa’s eyes crinkled knowingly when I dropped my gaze back to hers. Then she closed her eyes. “It’s a good reason to cross worlds . . .” she slurred, and finally dropped away, where we couldn’t follow.

21

I
t was over quickly, passage gained, crossing made. There was no smoke or fire as with the tunnel passage, no sacrificed soul required for entry. In fact, this time the passage was remarkable for being unremarkable. For a moment I felt a surge of relief. Not contentment, not with Vanessa weighing down my arms, but a feeling that there was still some sort of hope to salvage in the world, if only because I’d made it back to this room alive. And so had Hunter.

Then came a moment where I felt a kind of psychic pause, an unexpected hesitation so brief I wasn’t sure I hadn’t imagined it. It was like being plucked mid-step from my feet and suspended in the air. Silence pulsed through me, thudding in my ears, like a gong was planted at the base of my skull. The reverberations sent a metallic thrust buzzing across my tongue, and my sight clicked to black like a changing slide show before snapping back to white, obliterating sight, though not the gritty, slinking sensation of the Serpent Bearer emblem uncoiling from my legs.

The sensation oddly repeated itself along my arms to dissolve in my fingertips too, as if each of my limbs was tingling back to life after a long sleep. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone, and I stood swaying in the center of the mountainside stupa, fighting for my bearings.

All of this was why I was late in noting we weren’t alone. Strong hands yanked Vanessa from my grasp, pushing me back into another unyielding grip as my sight returned in static grains of black and white. Shock traversed the room on a zip line, a half-dozen voices crying out at the same time, and I was abruptly released. Stumbling, at first I thought I was literally seeing stars, but then the black tapers in Joaquin’s precious underground chamber snapped back into three dimensions, and my gaze moved from their lighted wicks to follow the movement clustered around Vanessa’s supine form.

“You killed her.”

Warren blocked the door, but Gregor and Micah had Vanessa folded between them, and Riddick and Jewell flanked them. As when I’d met him just over a year earlier, Micah’s size was the first thing I noticed. But the tears staining the healer’s eyes were a close second, and they were echoed in the gazes of the other agents of Light.

They were all there, I noted. Briefly ignoring Warren, and Tekla beside him, I thought of the last time I’d seen the others, converged on a rooftop to mourn and honor another of their own. As each of their gazes touched mine, I knew they were recalling the same—remembering too that the woman they now knelt around had been alive; that they had watched her walk away; that they had just let her go.

Then every gaze slid from mine and I also remembered that our rooftop truce had expired, and we were firmly enemies again. A brief glance at Chandra—alone on the room’s other side, with her arms crossed over her chest—confirmed it. Hunter stepped between us, blocking my view of her—a warning—before placing himself between Warren and me.

“Stay behind me,” he said sternly, clearly expecting an argument.

I couldn’t blame him. Usually Hunter could insist all he wanted and I’d still step forward for a fight. I’d also just stubbornly risked my life again to save his in spite of his warnings . . . and Warren’s, Solange’s . . . even Carlos’s. I knew there was no perceivable reason for me to stop now.

Yet my reason for hanging back was just the opposite of that: it was unperceivable. If love was a good reason to cross worlds, as Vanessa said, then the life created because of it was an irrefutable one. Hunter had fallen under Solange’s control because he thought it was his only chance to recover his child. If he lived and I died—if he found out
our
child had died with me—the sacrifice would have been for nothing. He’d never be able to go on after that. And he’d probably curse me for risking his child’s life all the way into his grave.

So his surprise as I tucked in tight behind him was palpable.

So was Warren’s. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally stopped confusing agreeableness with vulnerability?”

“I can actually honor the wishes of others,” I said, though his taunting words had me fighting to stay put. “Unlike you.”

“Don’t compare your selfish choices to those I’m charged with making as troop leader. You’ve considered only yourself from the day we met. I remain conscious of the whole of the troop.”

Neither of those things was true, but it wasn’t worth arguing now.

Warren had taken a lopsided, testing step in Hunter’s direction. I checked myself only because Tekla, still guarding the door, was perhaps even more of a threat. She had her weapon out, one similar to my old crossbow, but with a chain and retracting anchor to recover her missiles. I stared at it, numbness and exhaustion hitting me, before returning my gaze to those gathered around Vanessa, also armed. Who was I kidding? I didn’t have enough physical strength to take on a “Real Housewife,” much less a Zodiac agent. Yet I was still expected to fight.

What was wrong with these people, this Zodiac world, that they couldn’t just let me
live
?

“Joanna didn’t kill Vanessa,” Hunter finally said, breaking the silence with that dark, dusky voice. The others turned their faces up as if he were Lazarus, and why not? As far as they were concerned he was
risen
, a man come back from a world where men never returned. Their lifelong familiarity with him indisputably played a part in the automatic reaction, overriding any newfangled orders that he was the enemy.

Warren saw this, and took another threatening step forward.

I kept my eyes on him, mostly because I couldn’t look at Hunter at all. Tears were threatening to fill my eyes—God, we’d almost made it!—but I blinked, cleared my throat, and with a little more effort, emptied my mind of the thought.

“Vanessa gave her life for Joanna,” Hunter continued, the accusation—
while the rest of you turned your backs
—piggybacking on his inflection whether he intended it or not. Riddick briefly closed his eyes, and Jewell began to shake, but no one refuted it.

“A waste, then,” Warren replied coolly, either not noting his troop’s emotions, or choosing to ignore them. So much for being conscious of the whole of the troop. Nodding at Tekla to keep Hunter in her sights, he strode to the room’s center in his uneven slap-and-glide gait. There he eyed the Serpent Bearer with narrowed curiosity. “Though lots of people seem to lose their lives around Joanna.”

Then he flicked his gaze dismissively at Hunter. “Except you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Hunter replied, but like me, he remained cautious. One small move that Tekla didn’t like and he’d suddenly be sporting a very bloody third eye.

But Warren
was
disappointed. It was as clear as the bent nose on his face . . . at least to me. His back was to the rest of his troop, so only Hunter and I saw his thoughts flashing behind his eyes like fast-moving minnows. He was trying to figure out a way to kill Hunter without it looking like blatant homicide.

“Gregor, Micah,” he said suddenly. “Take Vanessa to the hospital. Revive her. Riddick, go with. You share the same blood type—”

“Warren, she’s gone—” Micah tried.

“I won’t accept that,” Warren said, angling his head sharply. My heart began hammering. To some it might look like he was broken up over Vanessa’s death, blaming himself, acting out of guilt and denial. Even when Zane eventually wrote this up in the comics, it would show a troop leader pulling out all the stops before acknowledging one of his agent’s deaths.

But I knew better. He was ordering away the people who might be most sympathetic to us. Yet there was no way to say that without losing that selfsame sympathy.

“Jewell, you remain here, but aboveground. Guard against Shadows.”

Which would leave us alone with Tekla and Warren, bedmates in their quest for troop power. And Chandra, I thought, catching her gaze before she bit her lip and looked away, but she was a well-known enemy of mine.

Well, at least our odds will be better, I began thinking . . . but that was before I realized no one had moved.

“Vanessa is
dead
, Warren,” Micah said, and for a moment I thought I scented soured regret, and a rancid bite of anger. The moment, and scent, were quickly gone. “I think we all have the right to know why.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Warren look so surprised. His brow was both furrowed and raised, and would’ve been comical were it not for his fighting stance. But every one of his agents was steely-eyed and -jawed. Chandra had her arms folded behind her back, probably cupping the steel baton I’d seen before. The others looked more relaxed, though I knew their weapons were also at the ready. Yet right now they were all looking at Warren, the only one who didn’t carry a weapon—other than Hunter and me, of course. He hadn’t donned one since ascending to troop leader. Since murdering his own father.

A little fact, I thought wryly, that probably should have given us all pause sooner.

“Fine.” The word was clipped with annoyance. “Joanna, do you care to tell us why Vanessa is the latest in the long trail of bodies left in your wake?”

“That’s not fair—” Hunter began.

I put a quieting hand on his shoulder. “I’d love to.”

Stepping from behind him, though not breaking the touch, I stared directly at the group on the floor. “She died from a broken heart.”

Warren exploded. “Bullshit!”

“I heard it crack,” I said louder, but ducked back behind Hunter. I had no defense against Warren, even if he didn’t have a weapon. But my words were weapon enough. They’d all heard Vanessa’s cry. It’d rung out across the city like the sky itself was shattering. “She died because you people can’t seem to care for anything good or soft in this world. You break it.”

“We’re at war!” Warren thundered, and though he was obviously trying to marshal the others behind him, he looked more rabid than convincing.

“Yes. And that’s why you’re losing it. You don’t even understand the basic joys you’re fighting for.”

“Worried for us, dear?” asked Tekla lowly.

A shiver went up my spine as I turned to her. “Worried, anyway,” I answered honestly.

“Well, don’t,” Warren said shortly. “We take our battles one at a time, and right now? It’s seven full-fledged agents of Light against two outcast rogues . . . or one and a half anyway.”

“You’re right,” I said, surprising him again. “My humanity does make me different. I don’t walk around playing God with other people’s lives. And I fucking fight for the things I love.”

My words sizzled through the room, and Gregor dropped back to Vanessa’s side like the strength had gone from his legs. Riddick slumped against a honeycombed wall, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to push through it and disappear. Jewell still trembled. But Micah, dry-eyed and still frowning, didn’t move at all.

Warren’s stubbled, weathered face hardened further. “Well, thank you for the soapbox rant,” he replied stiffly. “But we’re doing fine without your morality tales. Or we will be once we have the Kairos on our side.”

And he looked back, greedily, at the emblem on the ground. I gaped, incredulous.

I wasn’t the only one.

“Wait a minute,” Micah said, shaking his head as he slowly rose from Vanessa’s side. “
When
we have the Kairos? You said we were here to look for Vanessa.”

I watched realization dawn on all their faces, a heartbreaking truth that I’d long known finally emerging: in their leader’s quest for this world’s chosen one, they were just collateral damage. What was a regular ol’ agent or two—or five, or
all
—if it meant gaining this world’s destined savior as his personal puppet?

Warren’s jaw clenched. “And now we have her.”

“Too late,” said Gregor, just as tightly.

“But with a chance still to gain the other.”

Hunter let slip an involuntary groan . . . and a muttered suggestion.

Warren’s head swiveled like a weathervane turning direction. “What?”

“I said be your own fucking Kairos for once.”

And no one, not even Tekla, argued with him.

I made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh, and though I was again tucked behind Hunter, I knew all had heard. But
kairos
was a word with two meanings. Yes, it meant the person destined to forever tilt power in favor of its chosen troop—team Shadow or team Light. Rah. Rah. But its secondary meaning, one less oft expressed, was a measure of time. It was the Supreme Moment: the short, perfect period in which something phenomenal could happen, if one would only act.

Warren lifted his chin. “You’re only saying that because you clearly couldn’t gain the chosen one yourself.”

“There is no chosen one,” I snapped, encouraged by the troop’s collective silence. Hunter stiffened in front of me, and I did too when I realized I’d just shown the last card in our precious hand.

“What?” Warren’s hard voice cracked to a whisper.

“The child is dead,” I said, lifting my chin.

“You killed her too?” Tekla asked, startled.

I shook my head, a slow left to right. “No, but I saved her from a fate worse than death.”