Eden (14 page)

Chapter 13: Dreams

Spec pushes through the ring of people, grabs me by the arm,
and marches me up the stairs.  "Seriously, Lily," he says, quietly,
intensely, as we climb, "disappearing like that—not OK."

I widen my eyes at him.  "I was gone for what—half an
hour?"

He gives me a dark look.  "Half an hour that had the
guards in a panic.  They didn't know if someone took you, or what."

I glance around as we emerge on the upper terrace. 
"Party's still going."  It's an understatement to say the least. 
Even Apollon's eyes will go wide on this one.

"We tried to keep it hush-hush," he mutters as we
move toward the stairs to my apartment.

I turn my eyes on him when we get to the stair well. 
"Have you ever heard of privacy?"

"Don't give me that crap," he says.  "You
scared the hell out of me.  You can't just disappear like that."

I yank my arm from his grip.  "I can do what I
want."

He blinks furiously.  That's when I realize—he
was
scared.  But he takes a deep breath and ducks his head.  When he looks at me
again, he's completely composed.  "You're my friend," he says
calmly.  "And beyond that, it's my job to keep you safe."

I sigh and shake my head.  I don't know what I'm supposed to
say, here.

"Look," he says, squeezing my arm, "if you
want to go somewhere or do something,
tell
me.  I can make
arrangements."

I nod once.

He glances up the stairwell.  "Jason and Celine are
waiting.  They've been worried about you, too."

I trudge up the stairs.  When I get to the top, I hear
laughing through the door.  I glance back at Spec.  "They're really
worried."

He clamps his jaw and says nothing.

I open the door.  I don't want to open the door, but I open
it.

They're sitting on the bed, straight across from me. 
Celine's arm is wrapped through Jonas'.  Her head leans against his shoulder,
an easy smile sprawled across her lovely face.  Jonas is grinning, chuckling. 
If either of them are worried about me, I'll eat my boot.

"Hey," Jonas says in greeting.  "You're
back."  Nope.  Not worried at all.

Celine untwines herself from him and stands up, stretching
out her arms to me—the offer of an embrace.  "I told him you'd be fine so
long as you were with Apollon."

I eye her and stay put.

She frowns.  At first, I think it's because I haven't
returned her hug, but then I realize she's looking at my hand.

"Blood."  She strides toward me, snatches up my
hand.  "Are you hurt?  Where are you hurt?"

Her concern is touching, but I shake her off.  "It's
Apollon's blood."

Alarm shatters through her ease.  Her gaze meets mine.

"He's fine," I say, then amend, a bit quieter,
"I think he's fine."

"What happened?" Celine asks, her hands scooping
up my face, turning it this way and that way to examine me.

I wince at her touch—not because it hurts—and shrug away.

Jonas walks quietly to our side.  He touches Celine on the
shoulder.  "Why don't you give us a minute."

She takes a little breath, closes her mouth, and walks out
the door.  It clicks quietly shut.

Jonas raises his eyebrows at me.

I fold my arms across my chest and consider him.  Finally, I
say, "We were looking for something.  I think there's another book."

He frowns.  "What would make you think that?"

I sigh.  "It's a long story.  There are clues, or
something, to follow.  If they're even real."  I place my palm on my
forehead and turn away.

There's a span of silence, then Jonas' hands on my
shoulders.  "Hey."

There's no fairness in the way that I melt at his every
touch.  Tension flees to be replaced by warm-and-fuzzies.  And I hardly care
about my exasperation.

"Are you OK?"  His breath is a little stream of
warm air, running by my ear and over my shoulder.

Another sigh.  "Fine."  My voice doesn't really
sound fine.

His arms slide forward, around my shoulders, slipping past
each other to draw me into a hug.  His chin tucks into the space between my
neck and shoulder.

I sigh again.  My body starts to go limp.  I give in to him,
letting my back sink against him.  He squeezes tighter, and everything is
suddenly OK.

"I can't believe you went on an adventure without
me," he mumbles.

Suddenly I'm laughing, breaking his hold on me to turn and
face him.  I put my hands on his upper arms—like his are on mine.  "I
wasn't sure you'd approve of an adventure... as protective as you are."

He laughs softly.  "You're right.  I would have tried
to talk you out of it."  He touches my forehead with his forehead, the
tiniest of head-butts.  "I worry about you... with all this."

Another sigh melts out of me as I loosen myself from his
grip, slipping away.  "I'm fine.  Really."  I walk to the windows
near the couch and slide the curtains to the side, gazing out at the full moon.

Jonas is quiet, staying where he is.

I glance back at him.  "This book... this other
book....  I think it's about—"  I have to stop to clear my throat, which
seems to suddenly constrict.  "About us.  You know.  The whole
story."

No.  Reaction.  Jonas stares at me as though I've said
nothing.  Finally, he says, "Oh."  He walks to the kitchen and gets a
glass of water.

"Yeah," I murmur—not softly.  "I kind of
figured you wouldn't want to be part of it."

I'm turned half away from him, but I catch the movement, the
darting glance over his shoulder.

"I always forget how fresh all of this is for
you," he says, his voice so calm, so casual.  "Eventually, you'll be
able to let it go.  To look forward, instead of back."

I turn to him.

He looks at me over the rim of his glass as he gulps his
water.

"So you're just all over it?"  I put my hand out,
palm up.  "You just hit that point, and wham—no more confusion, no more
questions?  Forget the past.  All that matters is the future?"

Jonas lowers his glass, lowers his eyes.  "...I'm not
saying that.  Just... I'm done chasing something that I'll never catch." 
When he looks at my face, his eyes are filled with longing.  He wants me to
understand.  "We're here now.  We did it.  We found 'home'.  But it hasn't
changed anything.  It hasn't given me anything that I didn't already
have."  He sets the glass on the table and walks toward me.  "There's
no going back to that, Eden.  For either of us.  We need to move forward."

"But..." I sputter, trying to ignore the pain that
is squeezing my chest.  "Don't you just want to
know
?"

Again, his eyes shift away, over my shoulder.  He starts to
shake his head, but I don't want to hear his answer.

"It's changed everything," I blurt out, a note of
accusation in my voice.  "You say you're moving forward, but it sure looks
like you're settling into the past.  You're so—You're so
comfortable
with them."

He scoffs, makes a palms-up gesture.

I interrupt his answer again.  “I can’t believe you even
trust them.  I mean, Spec, maybe.  But Kobee?  Really?”

He shrugs me off.  “Apparently we have some sort of
unbreakable bond.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” he says.  “Just… Kobee will never go against
me, and neither will Spec.  You don’t have to worry about it.”

I stand there with my mouth open, a million questions, a
million confusions.  Jonas and Spec and Kobee and unbreakable bonds.  All of it
translates into one thing.  My voice drops low.  "You want to stay here. 
Just a few days ago, we were talking about leaving.  Now, if we go, you won't
go with us."

He doesn't like
that
.  Clearly.  He bites off his words
before they can form, looking away.  His hands shove into his pockets. 
Finally, he says, forcing the calm, "I do think we should stay.  I think
we have a sweet deal and we should make the most of it."

I start to reply, but now he interrupts me.

"And we have a purpose.  A reason.  We can't just walk
away from that."

There are so many words vying for space to come out of my
mouth.  I don't know which ones will win until they do.  "You're starting
to like it here, so you jump on the revolution bandwagon.  You haven't thought
everything through."

He still won't meet my gaze.  "
You're
not
thinking it through," he insists.  "Would you rather be starving in
some god-forsaken outpost?  Is that a better choice?"  He shakes his head,
his eyes coming back to me.  "Don't you see, Eden?  I'm trying to look
after you.  Even if I wanted to leave, I can't.  We have to get that chip out
of your h—"

"
My
head."  I slam my fist onto my palm. 
"It's
my
head, Jonas, and
I
get to decide if anyone's going
to cut it open or not."  I move toward the door.

"Eden."  He catches my arm.

I stop, turn my blank face to him.  "Or are you
starting to think that you're so wise and powerful that you get to make those
decisions for me?"

His fingers jerk away from my arm, blood draining from his
face.  He turns away from me, walks toward the kitchen.  Great.  Now he's
pissed.

Well, so am I.  I head for the door and shut it solidly on
my way out.

***

Tracking down the girl takes some effort.  Everybody is...
busy.  Everybody except for my guards, the circle of which is a terrible buffer
between me and halfway-normal communication.  I ask after Apollon first,
feeling guilty for not making sure he was alright.  Turns out he's with Celine,
and yeah, he's just fine.

Eventually, I find someone who is sober and with-it enough
to point me in the right direction.

They've taken the girl to a sickhouse, checked out her
wounds.  Her arm is bound up, there's a bandage across her cheek, and a few
scrapes on her legs shiny with salve.  She sits on the end of a high bed, legs
dangling.  Her eyes stare at nothing.  If there's anyone else around, they're
hiding.

"Hi," I say, hands in pockets.  "I'm
Eden."

She offers no response.  Just the glazed-over pout,
disheveled strawberry blonde hair falling into her eyes.  She's what—maybe
twelve or thirteen?

"Yeah," I say.  "I know.  Really. 
See?"  I touch the mark on my forehead.  "You're safe, though. 
You'll be OK."

She tries not to look, but her eyes flick to my mark.

"The first part is the hardest," I tell her, rambling
on.  I don't know if that's a lie.  I'm certainly not finding it easy after all
this time.  And her experience was different from mine, wasn't it?  I was
scrambling for my life.  So no.  Maybe the first part isn't the hardest. 
Still, it's a good lie, and I'm sticking to it.

"Alright," I nod, feeling the awkwardness of the
moment.  Feeling her eyes, now, boring into me, searching for answers.  For
hope.  All of this is bringing back uncomfortable memories—a knot of tension
pulling tighter in my neck and chest.  I'm not even sure why I came here, so I
turn to go—to find whoever's in charge and tell them to make sure she has what
she needs.

"Thanks," says a high-pitched voice behind me.

I turn and regard her.  She meets my gaze—nervously, but
solidly.

I nod once more.  "Sure."  I swallow, turn away. 
My footsteps sing of abandonment, even with the feeling clinging to the back of
my skull.  This girl—this kid—she's worked her way under my skin.  I came here
because I wanted to look after her.  But as I leave, I know I'll leave that
task to someone else.  I don't have room for anyone else in my life right
now—least of all someone who can so easily open the one wound that I
desperately need to heal. 
Oscar
.  I walk out into the darkness of the
street, and the warm air touches my face, enlightening me to the wet paths of
tears on my cheeks.  My thoughts run deep into the night. 
Oscar.  There has
to be a way to find you
.

***

Apollon drops into a chair beside me, interrupting my
reverie.  "Dream anything good?"

A bright wash of sun stretches over the terrace, reflecting
into my eyes and making me blink rapidly as I try to focus on him.  I squint
and glance at my circle of guards, who seem too busy being intimidating to
eavesdrop on our conversation.  Still, I'd rather not take any chances. 
"Give us some space."

They scatter into a wider circle that encompasses the
borders of the terrace on all sides.  Well, it's one trick I can make them do,
even if I can't make them go away.

I turn my eyes on Apollon.

His smile is quite dazzling, mirrored in the fine lines
beneath his baby blues.  But when he notes my expression, his dimples retreat.

I lean my body toward him.  "I dreamed about
Matt."

His eyebrows insist on more information.

I snort softly and look away, resting my hand on my knee. 
"I guess it's to be expected, with the..." I lower my voice and
glance around, "...Sentries."  I haven't told anyone what happened
last night, and I'm not really planning on it.  If I know Apollon, he hasn't
said anything, either.  But then, how would we explain what happened?

We search each other's gazes for a moment, then he says,
carefully, "It was pretty weird.  You think Matt did it?"  A possible
theory.  When we left Outpost Three, Matt was in control of the Sentries
there.  And later, it seemed that he was able to stop a Sentry in Baton Rouge
from attacking me, even over all that distance.

I shrug.  "Or Miranda."  I should've been saying
and thinking
Miranda
instead of
Matt
all along.  She’s the one
with the skills.  But I'm not.  I've been thinking about Matt all morning, and
now I notice I'm twisting the otter ring on my finger.  How long did I sit here
and think about those damned otters... think about
him
... before I
realized that the memories were full of... was it joy?  No way.  Too strong. 
There was too much pressure.  I was focused on escape.  But now, with some
distance, part of me longs for...  "Stupid fucking otters," I grumble
beneath my breath, but Apollon must hear me.