Worth Dying for (A Dying for a Living Novel Book 5) (15 page)

I drop the shield, beginning to feel a little tired, with a touch of headache forming behind my eyes.

Maisie bounces with excitement. “I could feel your power. Can you feel me?”

The answer is no. “I guess we won’t know until you do the back-to-life thing,” I tell her.

Ally helps me to my feet. In the back of my mind, somewhere far away, I remember our fight. But now with Monroe’s power coursing through me, I can’t seem to stay mad. A little sad, maybe, but I can’t hold on to my anger.

“If we can get Rachel on board—” Maisie says.

“If she
wants
to share the power,” Ally adds, sounding hopeful. “Then perhaps you won’t become unstable when you assimilate Caldwell and Georgia’s gifts.”

I meet her eyes. “Is that why you stopped me from murdering him in the church?”

I envision this again for the second time in as many days: Caldwell and I locked arm in arm, bodies blazing. I would have killed him then if Ally hadn’t stopped me.

Her face falls. “I’m afraid that if you—either of you—kill him, it will tear you apart. He has so many powers already. Even absorbing one makes a person unstable. Absorbing so many at once—”

“But we can share now,” Maisie says, so hopeful.

“But if Rachel and Caldwell and Georgia won’t let you share, it may come to violence,” Ally says.

Anger and fear washes over me.
No one is hurting my mom. They won’t dare. I’ll tear them apart—

Wait, what?

I turn to Maisie and see all of these emotions playing out on her face.

It’s Maisie who cares. Apparently Monroe’s hookup is more than a power share. Oh god, I hope the kid isn’t getting all my convoluted feels for Ally too.

“Gloria—” Ally looks away as Nikki and the others take hold of Monroe’s body. I too let my eyes slide to an indeterminate spot on the floor. “When I was searching for information on the partis, I discovered that Monroe attempted suicide at least twice. Why?”

“His boy was killed,” Gloria says without inflection. But she also won’t look any of us in the eyes.

He’s my heart, that boy
. Monroe had said once. But he’d only ever talked about the boy in present tense. I’d assumed he was somewhere safe, like my little brother Daniel. Alive and well and far far away from all this madness.

That’s what I get for assuming.

“He wanted his death to mean something in the end,” Gloria says. “And now it does.”

Maisie and I exchange a glance. She feels guilty. Or I do. I can’t tell. Maybe we are sharing guilt over Monroe’s bittersweet goodbye.

“But if Rachel is already unstable—”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s our friend.” The anger rises. But it isn’t as sharp as before. It’s tinged with doubt now. And fear. I shoot Maisie a sharp look.

“I’m sorry!” she says. “But she’s crazy!”

“She’s our friend,” I say, trying to flood her little sensor with all the trust and love I have for Rachel. I think it actually works. Her shoulders relax. “She will help us. I’m sure of it. Especially now that there’s another way.”

Rachel

I
can’t describe how excited I am to reach Arizona. Everything in me is begging for the next fight.

“Can’t you make it go any faster?” I ask, a headache building behind my eyes. It feels like tiny creatures are going to push the top of my head right off.

“I don’t have a gadget for controlling traffic, darling.” Gideon glances at me from the driver’s seat of a brand new Mercedes. It was the first luxury car we could find. At the edge of the lot, we walked right up to the door and climbed in. This was after I unlocked it from the outside, of course. The push button starter required no key at all.

“Drive on the shoulder?”

“What shoulder?” he asks. “There are concrete barriers on both sides.”

I look at the long line of red tail lights stretching before me.

You are subject to no one
, Uriel says in my ear. He isn’t visible. There’s no place for him to materialize in this two-seater.

A fresh wave of anger washes over me, flushing my cheeks with warmth. An idea comes to me and I look at Gideon and grin.

“I am subject to no one,” I say aloud.

He gives me a crooked smile. Not entirely pleasure, but also a hint of fear.

I wag my eyebrows. “Hold on, pretty boy.”

I focus on the cars ahead of me. I concentrate until I can feel that part of my arm, the extension of my power, wrap over the metal bodies. I enclose one after another with my power. Then I lift. The cars go straight up into the air.

Gideon makes a choked sound of surprise. “
No
.”

“Drive,” I tell him as the first few cars reveal their underbellies, a map of axles and fuel lines. A few tires spin desperately but find no ground to cling to. “Drive!”

Gideon swears and throws the car into gear. The Mercedes accelerates beautifully, a flawless advance. I look up at the undercarriages as we speed beneath one car, then five and ten. Gideon has to slow once when I don’t lift the car as quickly as he’s accelerating.

I turn in my seat in time to see the first cars falling back to the highway. They slam against the pavement. Windows burst out. Tires explode on impact.

I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt.

Gideon scowls at me from the driver seat. “You could injure someone.”

“Spoil sport,” I pout. “Don’t ruin all the fun.”

His worried features twist in on themselves, until it isn’t fear or irritation in that dark brow now. His lips crook up in a smile.

“Admit it.” I reach over the gear shift and give his thigh a squeeze. “You’re having fun.”

He puts one hand on mine, stopping me from going higher to yank open his belt. “We have 3000 pounds dangling overhead.”

“You do like it. Danger. Chaos.”
And it’s why I like you
.

He’s grinning now. A genuine smile. Gideon may tell himself that he has morals, but I know what he loves most. A semi begins to lift off the ground and Gideon slows the Mercedes.

“Faster,” I say.

He doesn’t.

“Hit the gas!”

He obeys and the Mercedes accelerates. I count eighteen wheels before I see the underside of the cabin.

“I’m amazing!”

Gideon laughs. “That you are. There isn’t another creature like you on the planet.”

I warm at his words. My desire to pull over and fuck the boy wars with my desire to get to Arizona and kill someone. Life is full of tough decisions.

The traffic jam breaks ahead and gives way to slow moving cars. But I don’t stop. I shove the cars off the road, clearing a direct lane for Gideon and I.

“How fast can this Mercedes go?”

“About 245 km/h.”

“Show me.” I press my head back against the seat just before he punches the gas. I focus all my attention on the cars ahead of me, shoving them from our path.

Gideon breaks out into gleeful laughter. “This is so much better than Grand Theft Auto.”

I’m laughing too even though a shadow passes over my mind.

Uriel?

Silence.

Something is wrong. I don’t know what, but something is happening.

I hear Jesse and Maisie. Voices chatter softly in the back of my mind. I can’t hear the words clearly, but I recognize the tone and pitch. And then the emotions come.

Panic. Anger. Fear.

I try to hold on to it, amplify it, and get a better sense of what is happening, but I can’t. A headache explodes behind my eyes and I clasp my hands over my face. I see Jesse and Maisie standing in a circle with others, holding hands and chanting They are in the center of a vortex, wind whipping around them ruthlessly.

Monroe steps forward and places both his hands on the side of my face.

White hot fire shoots from his fingertips into my skull. I try to stagger back from the old man, but he won’t let go. And I’m thousands of miles away from Louisiana on a turnpike in New Jersey. He shouldn’t have any power over me here.

Monroe’s hold on me tightens. “Remember who your heart is.”

“Fuck!” Gideon screams.

I pull my eyes open in time to see a car swerve in front of the Mercedes. I try to move it, but my power is thick and sluggish in my veins.

I only manage to move the baby blue Volkswagen beetle to the left enough that we scrape along its side, door to door. Sparks rain onto the windshield and Gideon. As soon as we are clear of the big blue Ford truck on the right of us, we coast right off into the ditch. Thank goodness the turnpike has grown shoulders. If we’d done this one mile back, there would’ve been nowhere for us to go but straight into a concrete barrier.

“Christ, Rachel!” Gideon yells. His voice is cold and sharp. “What the bloody hell?”

“Monroe,” I say, squeezing the side of my head. “He’s doing something to the powerlines.”

Gideon’s eyes slide up to the sky. His tone is kinder when he speaks again. “What power lines?”

“No,” I groan. I tap my temples. “The ones in here.”

He stares at me, lips parted. He doesn’t say anything else. At last he reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

No. It feels like someone has been reading my diary. Someone has gone somewhere they shouldn’t. I don’t like it one bit.

“Get back on the road.” I pry open my eyes and see trees. “We need to catch up to them.”

Something flashes across Gideon’s face. Fear? Apprehension? I can’t get a good read because of my pounding head. I curl up into the seat and press against my temples harder, hoping to relieve some of the pressure there.

“The road is clearing up ahead.” He shifts gears and gives me a strained smile from the driver’s seat. “It looks like we won’t need your immense talents at the moment.”

“Good.” Because I need to save my strength.

Jesse

“
A
uthorities say the Mercedes was stolen from a car lot just south of the city, near the interstate. We have positively identified the woman as Rachel Wright, asylum escapee and one of the five terrorists responsible for the kidnapping of Maisie Caldwell, daughter of esteemed church leader Timothy Caldwell. Anyone with any information is encouraged to call 1-888—”

“He’s probably still dead from the blood loss,” Maisie says around a mouthful of Reese’s Pieces. She tosses one to Winston who catches it in the air. “It takes like eight hours, right?”

“The database says six. Its entry was updated this afternoon.” Ally turns to me. “Can you imagine it? There are people out there, carrying on, having replacements, completely unaware of all of this.”

I watch Winston catch another candy in his mouth. “Lucky dogs.”

I curl up deeper into the cushions and hug my knees against my chest. I feel sick. It’s like my stomach acid is flooding up the back of my throat.

Winston licks my hand and I give him half-hearted thanks. “What a loyal little buddy.” I’m trying not to register the number flashing on the television at the bottom of the news program. What would I say if I called?

Hey, yeah, so that crazy bitch throwing cars all over the interstate is my friend. She’s sort of insane with these superpowers, so you should shut down the roads and stay the hell out of her way. By the way we’re not terrorists. Stop calling us that.

That’d go over well.

Ally sees my face and uses the remote to change the channel. “Let’s watch something else.”

Maisie crumples up the candy wrapper and tosses it across the room into a wastebasket. “I’m still hungry. Can we go get some Chinese? No, let’s get more of that fried chicken! That stuff was amazeballs.”

I rub my forehead. “I’m not sure we can leave.”

All three of us look toward the hallway. Nikki and Gloria are in the next room exchanging angry, hushed whispers.

Maisie huffs. “I’ll starve to death before they agree on anything. Then I’ll wake up and be even hungrier.”

Ally turns up the volume on the television.

A female announcer leans forward on her elbows, speaking directly to the camera while footage appears in the box by her head. “We’ve begun to see irregular flight patterns for birds. More whales than ever before are washing up on shores. Our very own correspondent Cameron Groove reports.”

The screen changes. The woman in the warm, dry studio is replaced by a man in a bright yellow wind jacket braced against the torrent tearing at his hair and face. He clutches the microphone against his chest while holding his hood in place with the other hand.

“Cameron here on the highland coast. As you can see behind me, three orcas have washed ashore.”

“How sad!” Maisie exclaims. She crushes Winston against her chest. Immediately, he starts rooting around in the folds of her sweater for dropped candies.

“It’s the latest in reported beachings. Scientists suggest that ocean conditions and navigational errors are causing these animals to—”

“Can we turn this off?” I ask.

Ally flips the channel. “Maybe something educational?”

“The NOAA reports a very active solar storm brewing on the Sun’s surface as we speak. Dr. Okasai is here with us to explain what a solar storm is and how it affects Earth.”

“That’s correct, Mrs. Hatchet. One storm alone could irreparably damage our ecosystems or extinguish all life on Earth. Thankfully, we have a shield that protects us from this threat. The strong electromagnetic field surrounding the planet prevents radiation, solar winds, and other space debris from entering our atmosphere. Without the shield, life on Earth may not be possible. In recent years, we’ve seen changes in our shield and given its importance, you can understand why scientists are concerned about the possible consequences of these developments.”

“Jesus Christ!” I throw myself back against the pillows. “This planet is falling apart. Why bother saving it?”

Maisie gasps. “Because this is where Winnie Pug lives. And the orcas.”

I give Ally a look. “If you don’t turn this off, I’m going to explode the TV.”

“But I want to watch it,” Maisie begs, smushing Winston’s wrinkly face against hers. “I’m trying to learn stuff. This is the only education I’m going to get!”

Nikki steps into the room with her hands on her hips and scowls down at me. Ally reaches out and places one hand on my leg while looking up at Nikki. It’s a small comfort. Sasquatch looks at the hand, then tugs on her ponytail, tightening it.

“Jackson refuses to let us accompany you.”

Ally doesn’t say anything. She knows the plan as well as I do, and Nikki and Jeremiah have no part in it. It’s us and Caldwell for this final rodeo. More people means interference. And what good are they anyway? When Caldwell showed up, they stood there waiting for a clean shot that never came and now Monroe is dead.

You didn’t do anything either
a little hateful voice says in my head.
What did you do to save him?

“You’re going to get in your trucks and drive away because you know better than to cross Gloria,” I say. It’s more of a wishful statement than any kind of command.

“Then you’re going to follow us anyway,” Ally says still holding Nikki’s gaze.

Nikki’s face softens, going all doe-eyed. She kneels down so that she can look Ally straight in the eye. “I won’t be far.”

“Oh god. This isn’t a soap opera.” I push myself up off the couch. “Get off your knees, Lancelot.”

I storm out of the room only to be stopped by Gloria on the landing before I can run up the stairs and lock myself away again. I’m itching to talk to Gabriel. I want his help to decipher Brinkley’s message.
Remember
he said.

The problem is my memory isn’t so great. But Gabriel helped me with that once before. When I returned to my old house for my mother’s funeral, Gabriel made me remember everything I’d forgotten about my past. I’d remembered Ally. Some of the worst parts of Eddie’s abuse. My mother and little brother Daniel. It hadn’t been pleasant, but I’d remembered. And I want Gabriel to help me remember again.

Gloria stops me on the first step.

“I need to talk to you.” A rush of protests come to mind, but Gloria never asks me for anything. So the pure novelty of the request is enough to surprise me.

“Now?”

“Now.” She pushes open the screen door and holds it open.

Damn. Asking for Gabriel’s help will have to wait.

Before she closes the door behind us she turns to Ally. “We’ll be back in a little while. Stay near the house.”

“Okay.” Ally looks as surprised by Gloria’s request as I am.

“Bring me some chicken!” Maisie shouts. “And a biscuit!”

I wait on the little stoop for Gloria to pull the door closed behind her and descend the steps. She heads down the garden path without looking back to see if I’m following her. I meet up with her as she passes through the wrought iron gate and steps out onto the Rue Dauphine.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“I want to take a walk,” she says, offering no more explanation.

“O-kay,” I say, keeping up with her. This part of the French Quarter is relatively deserted. We hurry down the clean streets and vacant balconies. I keep waiting for her to give me a clue what this is about, but she just keeps hurrying along.

At the next intersection, she hooks right onto Toulouse, marching past the green shutters of a hotel, toward two large flags waving in the wind. Like Chicago, this place has a constant breeze that blows in off the water. Unlike Chicago or New York for that matter, this place is pretty warm for January. And I’m not complaining about that one bit.

I settle into the rhythm of our walk and appreciate the breeze on my face. The wind is a welcome change to the stuffiness of Monroe’s house. Somehow, it went from cozy to stuffy the moment he died. Funny how a dead body can totally change your mood.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” I say. “He seemed like a good guy.”

“He was a drunk and a fool,” Gloria says, without changing her pace.

I gulp down a fit of laughter. “Uh, I’m sorry about that too…?”

Her face softens as she adjusts her sketchbook under her arm, repinning it between her ribs and left arm. “He was a good man.”

“How did his kid die?” I brace myself for some horrible story. Caldwell strung him up and skinned him, trying to get Monroe to comply, to fight and forfeit his power. Or something worse than I can imagine. With Caldwell, any level of depravity was possible.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was accidental, but he’s dead all the same.”

“Do you want to die?” I ask.

She stops walking.

“I just meant that you’ve lost a lot of people too.”

“Yes.” Her voice is deep with sorrow. “I think death will be very peaceful.”

Before I can add some platitudes about how much she has to live for, she speaks again.

“But I have work to do.”

And as if to illustrate this fact, her pace doubles.

My legs start to ache as she hooks a left on Chartres Street. The sound of jazzy trumpets erupts, but the spunky tune isn’t enough to cheer me. By the next block a cramp settles into my right ribcage. “Oh my god, where are we going? Are we getting our 10,000 steps for the day? Walking for a cancer cure?”

“I want to show you something.” She nods toward some unseen destination up ahead. “Come on.”

“Can you show me the light post right here? No really. Let’s sit down and admire its, uh, craftsmanship.” I wheeze.

“You’re out of shape.”

“Don’t body shame me, G! All bodies are beautiful!”

She picks up her pace. For fuck’s sake.

“If I’d known we were going to powerwalk today, I wouldn’t have had that fourth pancake at breakfast. You have to tell me these things ahead of time.”

Chartres ends at St. Peter, opening up the palatial Jackson Square. The jazz band is in full swing here, with onlookers clapping and dancing along to the tune. Two toddlers in light jackets spin drunken circles on the stone walk as if that is the best way to enjoy this kind of music.

I make eye contact with a girl at a card table and read her little sign aloud. “Tarot Reading. Looking for love, money, or truth? It’s right here.”

She grins and I see a flash of fangs. As we pass, I also realize her eyes are like a snake’s, slits from top to bottom. “Cool contacts,” I mumble, hoping both are fake as hell. After all, there’s already enough monsters in the world.

I dodge the twirly kids and catch Gloria on the steps of the Jackson cathedral. She maneuvers around the gawking tourists easily and slips into the dim atrium.

I place one hand on her arm, holding on so that I don’t lose her in the push of the crowd. She doesn’t shrug me off so I take that as permission to hold onto her, even though I’m pretty sure Gloria doesn’t like to be touched.

The church is barely lit inside with the exception of small, red candles ignited by patrons seeking blessings. A person can drop their money into the offering box, take a candle, light it, and make a prayer.

Save your money
, I want to say. If he loved you, he sure as hell wouldn’t pick my ass to save you.

Actually, why don’t you hand that cash straight on over to
moi
? I’m the best chance you’ve got.

Jackson slips into an empty pew and slides over enough so there’s room to sit beside her.

“Oh god, we aren’t going to pray for our sins, are we?” My heart hammers. “Because we don’t have enough time in the world for me to get through that list.”

“This is a safe place to talk.”

I look around the cathedral at the gaggles of tourists. “Uh, if you say so.”

She flips open her sketchbook and finds a page. “When we arrive in Arizona, I’ll probably need you to blow through this wall.”

She shows me the old military compound with its bright white barrier. It’s like a fortress sans moat.

“I can do that.”

“Then I will get the power turned on.”

“Yeah, don’t want to wander around a creepy deserted torture camp in the dark,” I say with a gulp.

“The device we intend to trap Georgia in will also require power.”

“Right. So blast the wall. Get the lights on and then wait for them to come. Do you think they’ll show up early?”

“We would be in danger of that if Monroe had failed to kill him.”

“That was on purpose?”

Gloria nods. “If we’d managed to kill him, the plan was to split the power three ways between you, Monroe, and Maisie. But the minimum objective was achieved nonetheless. Monroe bought us safe passage to Arizona. Caldwell will wake up before we arrive, but he will have a hard time tracking us in motion. He’s been trying to use A.M.P.s to follow our movements, but they aren’t as good as Micah.”

I feel like I should apologize again. After all, she had to kill her own brother in order to protect us from Caldwell.