Vanish (12 page)

Chapter 18

P
ain greets me when I wake.

I take several slow blinks before I manage to fully open my eyes. The torment in my head rivals the intense throbbing everywhere else in my beaten and broken body and I have to close my eyes again for several moments before opening them again.

My wings throb. I try to move the gossamer sheets, and the pain jolts deep, radiating along my entire length. I’d forgotten they were strapped together. I curl up into a small ball and moan my misery.

After a while and several deep breaths later, I lift my head, peel my cheek from the cold metal floor of the van. I shake my head, wondering if I’m even awake, wondering if this is all a nightmare.

I catch the sound of a whimper nearby. I turn, spot Miram pressed along a far wall of the van. With great effort I lift up, so glad to see her that for a moment the pain doesn’t matter. At least we’re together in this metal box.

“Miram,” I whisper, dragging myself closer to her, relieved that she’s here.

She’s visible, of course. Her eyes lock on mine.

I wet my dry lips. “What . . .”

“What happened?” Miram finishes my question. “You,” she says. “You always happen. I suppose it’s not such a surprise this would be your fate, but I can’t believe I’m here, too. That you’ve dragged me into this . . .”

“We’re going to get out of this,” I promise. It’s all I can say, all I can believe.

“Yeah,” she snarls. The ridges of her nose flex with hot emotion. “And how are you going to manage that?”

“I’ve escaped them before.”

“Okay.” She nods her head savagely, sandy brown hair tossing wildly around the tan, neutral tone of her draki flesh. “How? How are we going to do that? How’d you do it last time?”

Will
. Will is how I escaped. Except he isn’t here. I have to figure a way out of this for myself. For both of us.

Miram fills the silence, her voice eerily flat. “They’re taking us to the enkros. We’re as good as dead.”

“You don’t know that,” I whisper, testing the plastic ties at my wrists with my teeth. Useless.

“Oh, face it, Jacinda. Where else could we be going?
Alive?
They haven’t killed us. Clearly there’s a reason for that. They’re saving us for something. For . . . them.”
Them
. The monsters of our childhood nightmares. Heat feathers along my flesh.

She’s right. I know it of course. That’s how hunters live. They flourish through selling my kind. I can’t deny this.

“How long was I out?” I ask, turning my attention to our surroundings and focusing on something I can control. Assessing the situation we’re in so that I can come up with a plan.

Except there isn’t much to see. Only one small window positioned high in the van’s back door. Impossibly small. It only lets light in. Nothing out.

“I don’t know. I woke up hours ago.”

“They have to stop eventually,” I say, more to myself than her.

“Yeah, so they stop. Then what? Those doors aren’t going to open until we reach wherever it is they’re taking us. And at that point . . .” Her voice fades.

I grimace, release a slow breath against the unremitting agony of my bound wings. “I’m not giving up. I’ve got fire, and you can make yourself invisible.” If she could focus her talent and not cave in to her fear. “There’s no reason anyone should be able to take us down.”

“And yet they did.” Miram arches a fine eyebrow, as tan and nondescript as the rest of her. The ridges of her nose shiver with angry breath as she glares at me. “So, genius, how are we getting out of this?”

Will
. The thought of him is there again, but I don’t say it. Don’t dare. Why would I want to plant that hope? Even in myself. I have no idea where he is, why he didn’t meet me. For now, I need to rely on me.

I shake my head. Still, I can’t stop the longing from creeping in. He has to know. By now—he has to have heard of the fire-breather his father captured.

It’s this that keeps me calm as we hurl headlong into the hazy realm of my nightmares, the wind buffeting the van and sending shudders up my body.

They don’t stop for us. Not to feed us or offer us a chance to relieve ourselves. But then why would they afford us such a simple courtesy? We’re just animals to them.

The van is hot and suffocating, an airless metal box rumbling along dispassionately.

Miram and I lie on our sides, roasting on the hot metal floor like two parched fish tossed from the sea, desperate to return to water. We’ve long since stopped speaking to each other, too miserable with our bound hands and hobbled wings.

I can’t move without spiking pain through my body. I continually lick my cracked lips, swallow against the misery of my dry mouth. Breathing fire seriously depleted me. My insides are shriveling up, desperate for water.

But I haven’t quit. I’m reserving my strength, waiting for the van doors to open so that I might burst free in a blaze of fire.

I
tell
myself this. Believing I can summon enough fire is harder to do.

I no longer feel my wings. I try not to think about that, about what that might mean. It can’t be good. Lying on my side, my arms pressed close to my chest, they burn, tingle with pinpricks of pain.

The van slows. I slide a bit as the vehicle turns.

We stop. I can’t even summon much excitement. We’ve already stopped before. No one opened the door to check on us. They just gassed up, did whatever they had to do for themselves, and left us roasting in the back.

It doesn’t mean the doors will open now. Still . . .

I lift my head and whisper Miram’s name, just to make sure she’s awake. The sound comes out a croak. She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move. I drag myself closer and nudge one of her sleek legs with my foot. “Miram!”

She moans and cracks her eyes open. “What?”

“We’ve stopped.”

“So?” she rasps.

I cock my head, listening as the driver and passenger doors slam open and shut. Voices. The words are indecipherable.

She struggles to a sitting position, pushing up, using her bound arms for leverage. “Think we’re here?” She asks this so listlessly that I’m not sure she would even care if that were the case.

I shake my head, my every agonized muscle braced, pulled tight, thrumming in readiness. My ears strain, following the sound of their tread, the crunch of gravel beneath their feet as they circle the van. One laughs, the sound fading as they walk away, leave the van. Leave
us
.

After a moment I release my breath, unaware that I had been holding it. “They’re gone,” I whisper, then, realizing there’s no need, I repeat louder, “They’re gone.”

“Probably to feed their fat faces,” she mutters. “I would kill for something to eat.”

With a sigh, she settles back down on the van floor. I look at her. Really look at her. Always small, she appears emaciated, her face gaunt, her breath raspy. Her chest lifts high, laboring for each breath. Maybe my time in the desert prepared me for this. Arid heat. Discomfort. Misery. Because Miram isn’t holding up well, and she didn’t even take a harpoon to the wing.

I have to get her out of here. Soon. Or these hunters will be arriving at their destination with one dead draki.

Suddenly there’s a sharp sound at the door. I spring to a crouch, a surge of adrenaline staving off the pain. Something scrapes against the metal door. The scratch of metal raises the tiny hairs on my nape. My gaze drills into the doors. I inhale, readying myself, letting heat build and gather at my core.

Weak and parched as I am, the effort nauseates me, leaves me shaking and wasted. I’m not at full strength, but it has to be enough. I’ll get only one chance. I have to be ready for whoever opens that door.

“Miram,” I say, wishing she could get it together and make herself invisible—and hold it. “Get ready.”

She gives a small nod.

Curling steam wafts from my nose.

I part my lips, staring so hard at the door my eyes start to ache. There’s a thud followed by a sucking sound as the door pulls open. My heart clenches in my smoldering chest. Midday light pours inside the van in liquid-hot rays, momentarily blinding me. I don’t care though—can’t hesitate and lose my chance.

I reach deep, find smoldering heat where I feared none was left. Fire heats my windpipe, bursts free in a gust of flame. It’s enough.

The figure outlined in the afternoon light dives to the ground with a cry.

I jump from the van and manage to keep my balance on unsteady legs—especially hard to do with my hands and wings bound.

I bend down to search the hunter’s pockets for a weapon, something to cut into the binding on my wrists. And I freeze.

It’s not one of the several hard-eyed, black-clad hunters who trussed me up like a holiday goose and tossed me into the back of a van. It’s Will.

A sharp, strangled sound rises from the back of my throat. I choke his name, a sound he can’t possibly comprehend.

But he doesn’t need to understand. He knows. He’s here for me. That’s all that matters. And that I didn’t incinerate him.

He’s on his feet, sliding his hands up my trembling arms as if verifying that I’m real, that I’m before him. “Jacinda!”

Relief rushes over me. My adrenaline takes a dive, and the pain and weariness flood back, closing me in a clenching, unrelenting fist. I give in, collapse in his arms—let him rescue me, save me from his kind, from the agony that screams through every particle of my being.

Will carefully wraps an arm around me, looking over my shoulder at my strapped wings. I feel his wince as he takes measure.

Anxiety radiates from him, underlies his movements as he handles me, trying to guide me away from the van. His changeable eyes dart, scan the mostly vacant truck-stop parking lot.

I hold back, peer inside the van. “Miram,” I say, the urgency sharp in my voice. “Let’s go.”

She hovers in the far shadows, where the sunlight doesn’t reach, fiercely shaking her head side to side.

“Miram!” I repeat her name, sounding like a parent addressing a child that refuses to obey.

She shakes her head harder, her eyes fixed on Will. “I won’t go with
him
.”

“Don’t be stupid. He’s here to help us—”

“What if it’s a trap? What if he’s just tricking you into going along meekly, like a lamb to the slaughter?”

“Do you even know how ridiculous you sound? Why would they do that? We’re already their prisoners.” I move between the van’s open doors, beseeching her with my eyes. Still, she shakes her head, shrinks back against the far wall as if
I
were the threat. “You’ll risk remaining in this van rather than going with us?”

Will tugs on my arm. “Jacinda! They’ll be back any second. This is our only chance!”

“Miram, please,” I beg. “Trust me.”

She jerks her chin once at Will. “I don’t trust him.” Then her eyes fix steadily on me. “Or you.”

Anger sparks my blood.
She
doesn’t trust
me
. She’s the one who’s been spying on me!

Will’s voice falls hard near my ear. His fingers flex on my arm, no longer so gentle. “Jacinda, they’re coming!”

I go. Tearing myself away, I leave her.

But not without her wide, haunted eyes imprinted on my soul.

Chapter 19

W
ill drags me across the parking lot. It’s an odd sensation. Running in broad daylight in full manifest in the human world. Such a strange, forbidden thing. Anyone could see me.

Not that I have a choice.

It’s either stay in the van, a prisoner awaiting execution, or risk the fifteen-second dash to the shelter of the waiting woods. For me, it’s an obvious choice. Why couldn’t Miram see that, too?

Will and I dive into the thick growth of trees edging the parking lot. One moment cracked asphalt burns beneath my feet, the next it’s the yielding, whispering soil of the forest floor.

A sense of desolation rises up inside me, suffocating. I look over my shoulder as if I can see the van through the press of foliage.

I’ve left Miram. I’ve failed her.
Failed Cassian.

I blink stinging eyes and tell myself it’s the sudden sunlight. The sweeping, incomprehensible pain hammering my body. Not this invading sorrow for the girl I left behind and what will become of her.

Will’s Land Rover isn’t far. He helps me inside. I prop myself on the passenger seat, mindful to sit forward. It’s impossible to lean back with my wings bound tight.

There’s a flash of light in Will’s hand and I realize he’s holding a knife. He swipes through my wrist ties and I sigh. Except the relief is brief, eclipsed as feeling rushes back into my hands in a searing flood of agony. I moan. Drop my head.

Will hands me a bottle of water and moves to check my back, his fingers gentle on my bare shoulders. I drink deep, noisily, water running down my chin and throat.

Over my gulps, I hear his sharp intake of breath as he saws through the bindings. “You’re hurt.” A curse follows this, humming with an anger I’ve never heard from him. And something else.
Regret? Guilt?

“They shot my wing.” The words rumble from my throat. At the guttural sound, I remember he can’t understand me.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says quickly, as if remembering the danger encroaching all around us, “It doesn’t look too bad.” His voice is a low rasp and I know he’s lying. It looks bad.

With a final jerk of his hand, my wings spill free. Again, agony. Red-hot as fresh blood rushes back into the abused appendages. The sensation makes the edges of my vision gray, my head spin. I open my mouth wide on a silent scream.

This pain is worse than the last time I was hit, the first time hunters pursued me. The pain was intense then, but I healed. Mom treated the wound . . .
Mom
. Has she left her room? Did she even notice I was gone? The notes won’t be waiting for her.

Will’s anxious eyes flit over me, and then to the surrounding press of trees. “We’ve got to go . . . Jacinda, can you change?”

He’s asking if I can demanifest.

I nod once. The fear is gone—can’t force me to stay a draki any longer. At the moment there is only pain . . . and more pain to come as I force my wings to merge back inside me. Especially the injured wing. But there is no choice. He can’t drive out of here with me sitting in the front seat in full manifest.

I take a deep gulp and clench the edge of the seat with bloody-slick fingers, burying my draki, pushing it back down, hiding it away.

My features relax and loosen, bones decompressing. My wings shudder, quake from their recent abuse. One wing settles back between my shoulder blades with ease. The other one possesses a life of its own, quivering, resisting the demanifest . . . the pain. Tears stream down my cheeks in steaming paths. I arch my neck, fight the scream that bubbles there.

With my draki finally buried, I breathe again, ease my grip on the dash, and crumple back against the seat.

Will tosses a blanket over me. Even though I was trapped in a hot, airless van for a day, I snuggle into the scratchy fabric, glad for the comfort.

“Jacinda, are you okay?”

I try to still the trembling aftershocks, but the harder I resist, the more fiercely the shudders rack me. “Just get me out of here.” The words sound rusty, unnatural.

With a single nod, he’s around the truck and inside the car in a flash. Soon, he’s guiding the vehicle out of the woods, through the thick trees until he reaches a small country road leading somewhere. Anywhere. Away. Nothing else really matters but that.

I slide weakly in the seat, reach out a hand, and brush the sun-warmed glass of the window. The pads of my fingers squeak as they slide against the smooth surface.
Miram
.

“Where were you?” I manage to choke out in a scratchy voice.

“I couldn’t come. Out of nowhere, Dad scheduled a hunt. Ever since we spotted you, he’s obsessed over that same area. He paired me up with a group that he sent out on the other side of the mountain. I hoped if I didn’t show up you would just head back home. I didn’t think they would move so close to the pride. God, Jacinda, I’m so sorry.”

I nod numbly. “You didn’t know.”

He releases a heavy breath and I know my words do nothing to alleviate his guilt. If I could say more to make him feel better, I would. I just hurt too much.

I lift my legs up on the seat and hug my knees, thinking about the girl I left behind. Thinking about Cassian’s face when he finds out.

“You couldn’t have helped her,” Will says, reading my thoughts. “She wouldn’t leave.”

“I should have forced her.”

“And caused a scene? You could hardly walk yourself. I practically had to carry you.”

This doesn’t comfort me. I lift my head, relishing the cool breeze of air-conditioning on my face.

“Rest now, Jacinda. You’re safe.”

Safe
. The word trips through my mind until I feel so dizzy I have to close my eyes. My lids sink, so incredibly heavy. Bursts of color flash against the solid black, but it’s still better than opening my eyes again and facing the world.

Somewhere between thoughts of Miram and safety and the pain plaguing my body, I surrender to sleep.

I wake in a mostly darkened room. A dull orange light hugs one wall. I sit up, wincing at the pull in my back. With the pain comes reality.

“Will?”

“I’m right here.”

I follow the sound of his disembodied voice and locate him. His dark shape unfolds from a chair in the corner.

“Where are we?”

“In a motel. We’re safe.”

I carefully maneuver myself into a sitting position, biting my lips against the ache of my tender back. Still, it’s nothing compared to before. I can at least move without feeling the overwhelming need to scream. “How’d we get here?”

“You were exhausted. You needed rest. On an actual bed. Food, water—”

At the mention of food, my stomach growls.

“I got you to eat a little before you passed out,” he adds. “Do you remember? You consumed a burrito and soda in less than a minute before dropping into bed. You haven’t moved from that spot. Not even when I cleaned and bandaged your back. I was so worried.”

I shake my head. “I can’t remember any of that.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

I nod. Sleep must have been my body’s way to heal. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Eight, ten hours.”

My entire body tenses. “Ten hours! What time is it?”

“About one in the morning.”

A thick lump rises in my throat. Miram must be far away by now. She didn’t have the luxury of a bed or food. I swing my legs over the bed, my head full of thoughts of reaching her. Saving her.
How could I have left her?

“Whoa there.” Will sits beside me on the bed, his warm hand on my shoulder. It’s a touch I remember. A touch I want to lean into, absorb and forget everything else. “Where are you going?”

“To get Miram.” Where else? A chill skates over my bare legs as the sheet slips to the side. I glance down and see that I’m wearing only a white undershirt that must belong to Will.

“I helped you into that,” he explains, a faint tinge of red coloring his face.

“Thanks,” I murmur, remembering I didn’t have much on when I fell asleep in the passenger seat. Just that scratchy blanket. I curl my fingers around the shirt’s hem, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Here I am. Alone in a motel room with Will, but this solitude is not something I can enjoy. Not with everything that has happened.

“Miram’s your friend?” he asks quietly, patiently.

I wince. “Sorta.”

He stares at me starkly, moments stretching between us. “I’m sorry. Jacinda, she’s gone. There’s no helping her now.”

“No!”
I shake my head wildly, a snarl of hair catching in my mouth. I swipe it free. “It’s my fault she was out there—”

“How is it your fault when she wouldn’t come with us? There was nothing you could do.”

I ignore his logic, thinking only of Cassian when he learns his sister is lost. “You can do something! You’re one of them—”

He flinches, but I don’t care. For once this doesn’t twist my stomach into knots. Guilt doesn’t ribbon its way through me because I’m in love with one of the monsters that would hunt me, toss me in the back of a van, bind my hands and wings, and then sell me for parts. In this situation, what he is should be a help.

“No, Jacinda. It’s done. She’s already been delivered. . . .”

Delivered
. Like she’s goods, an inanimate object. A package. I feel something inside me withering, pulling away from him.

“You
won’t
help me, you mean,” I announce, my words a hard bite.

The air-conditioning unit near the wide, curtained window kicks to life, a loud rumble in the tiny room. A rush of cool air wafts over me, but even this fails to relieve my skin or calm my nerves.

In the gloom, his features look drawn and tight, pained that he can’t—
won’t
—give me the words I desperately need to hear. “I can’t,” he repeats. “She’s at the stronghold by now. Nothing escapes that place.”

Nothing escapes that place
. Meaning draki captives live there? As prisoners? They don’t kill them right away?

A flash of my father intrudes. He slips into my crowded mind. The image of his laughing eyes, his handsome face that I can’t recall as clearly anymore, fills my head. Lying in bed late at night, I sometimes flip on the lights and reach for a photograph of him, something real, something I can hold in my hands. Proof that he did exist, that I remember him and see him still, that I will never forget all the wonderful things he taught me. That I never forget him. Never forget his love.

I have no trouble seeing his face now, but I shove the memory aside, not daring to let myself hope for something as unlikely—as impossible—as my father alive after all these years.

“But Miram’s alive? They won’t have killed her, that’s what you’re saying.” I stare deeply into his eyes, their color lost to me in the shadowed room.

He winces, like he regrets implying that. “Yeah,” he admits with a heavy sigh. “She’ll live. If you could call it that. I don’t think they’ve seen too many draki who can make themselves invisible. Just a few. They’ll run tests on her . . . take samples. She’ll live. For a while, anyway.”

A sick feeling swells up from my stomach, but with it mingles relief. I deliberately keep myself from wondering what they would have done with me. I know from Will that they don’t even believe fire-breathers exist anymore. Now they know we do. I do.

What he’s telling me about the enkros is more than I’ve even known, and it gives me hope for Miram.

“So there’s a chance—” He starts to shake his head, but I cut him off. “There’s a chance.” I look at him intently. “With your help, there’s a chance.” My hand reaches across the inches separating us and seizes his.

“But there’s not. There’s no chance.” His voice is deep, that velvet rumble from my dreams pleading with me to accept, to let Miram go.

I can’t. I see Cassian’s face, my mother’s, my sister’s . . . the three of them when they’re left wondering what happened to us. My heart clutches with a pain that makes all I’ve endured seem such a small thing. Miram is lost. Because of me. I can’t just run away with Will pretending that didn’t happen.

Something in me dies, unravels like the last bit of a frayed rope that can bear no more. My grip loosens on his hand, fingers sliding free. I pull away.

He snatches my hand back, lacing his strong fingers with mine, pressing our palms together in a kiss. “Jacinda,” he whispers.

I lock eyes with him, see the need there, read the silent question that he’s asking me. Know that he wants assurance that we’re still on target with our plan.

A part of me longs to give him the assurance he wants. It would be so easy. We’re here. Together. I’m already free of the pride.
Free
 . . .

But am I? Am I really?

I know the answer in my bones, deep in my gut. Even if it doesn’t match up with what my heart feels. Except the way he stares at me just now . . . I can’t say the words.

“I-I’m going to take a shower,” I say hastily. “And then go back to bed. I-I’m still tired.” Not a lie. I feel like I could sleep another ten hours.

For a second I think he’s going to push, demand we have this conversation now. And I can’t. Not now. I can’t tell him there’s no way I can run away with him.

How can I be with him? How can I ever feel free if I subject Mom and Tamra to the torment all over again? Just like with Dad. The wondering, the never knowing for sure. The waiting, enduring the passing of days until you finally have to admit that he’s gone and never coming back. I can’t do that to them again. And there’s Miram. I have a responsibility to her family, too.

After a moment, he says, “I have some clothes you can wear. Another shirt. Some sweats, too.”

I nod, relieved that he’s going to let the subject drop. For now.

He stands and I watch as he riffles through his duffel bag and comes out with the clothing. I take the bundle, both thankful and regretful when our hands don’t touch this time.

Moving out from his shadow, I step into the light of the bathroom, closing the door on him with a soft click.