Exalted (24 page)

Flying
over South America was scary. Cities were burning. At least, they looked like
cities. From high up in the air, it was just bare-looking land or forest, but
most of what was burning seemed to feature large chunks of asphalt and cement.
Julia regretted not paying more attention in geography lessons, because she
couldn't quite be sure which country was which, and she kind of wanted to know.
She felt the urge to keep a record.

Her
immediate problem with mass unrest: Julia had nowhere to stop for a potty
break. The last time Cayne had landed, on a rural island in the South Pacific,
Julia had nearly gotten attacked by a big, brown bird with a freakisly large
beak. She waited until what looked like Florida; the skies were stormy, with
lightning that made her shake, and being panicked like that made her have to go
more. When she and Cayne were both drenched to the bone, she squeezed his arm
and pointed ungracefully to her crotch.

“NOW,”
she mouthed, because there was no way he could hear her over the storm.

Cayne
nodded, and a violent burst of wind tossed them a few feet up. Julia shut her
eyes and chanted poetry. For some reason, she found it calming, and she
reminded herself that she had some of Methuselah's power. Sure, no one knew
exactly
how
much, but hopefully enough to pad a ten thousand-foot fall.

Eep.
Best not think of exact numbers.

Cayne
stroked her cheek, and she instantly felt at least five percent better.

“I'll
stop soon,” he shouted. He said something else she couldn't hear, and she tried
to decide if she'd rather be eaten by an alligator or killed in a city. As it
turned out, Cayne picked a state park, and the sobbing park ranger in the
bathroom didn't do anything but cry while Julia raced in and out of a stall.

They
finally out-flew the rain somewhere over what Julia thought might be
mid-Georgia. They landed in a tiny, boxy tree house, built around the top of a
big tree. Cayne explained it was a wildlife lookout.

He
tossed her a towel, and she dried her hair and face, looking down at her body
with no clue what to do; she couldn't really get dry unless she pulled off her
clothes. Cayne was toweling off his own hair; with his arms raised like they
were and his biceps bulging as he dried himself, Julia felt like the inside of
a hot chocolate chip cookie. She stepped over to him, failing to notice he'd
opened a little yellow sticky note. His mouth made a pensive line, and she
stopped a step away from him, touching his abs with her fingertips.

“What
does Andre's note say?”

He
shook his head. “Atlanta.”

“Mmm-hmm.
What about it?” Julia couldn't get a deep breath. “Is it like, gone?”

“Not
gone,” he said. “Just compromised. They still haven't gotten the water
situation worked out, and the National Guard is not exactly appreciated by the
locals at the moment.”

Julia
frowned, and he said, “It's violent there.”

“So...Birmingham?”

He
shrugged. “That's the plan.” For a second, something strange passed across his
face; Julia watched his eyelids grow heavier, his green eyes darken...

Cayne's
mouth was closing over hers before she even saw it coming.

“I
won't do what we're doing without doing this just one more time,” he rasped.

She
spread her palm against his chest and shoved him back into the wall, where she
wrapped her arms around his delectable body and pressed a kiss on his scarred
throat.
 

“Ditto,”
she whispered.

***

From
the sky, Birmingham was pretty at night—all rolling hills and flashing lights.
By the time she and Cayne found the correct hotel, the finer points of their
plan to save the world were making Julia feel sick with nerves. She pulled her
messy hair into a rubber band she'd found inside her jeans pocket—a sparkly
pink one, given to her at the Swosen resort by Meredith—and she and Cayne
walked into the lobby holding hands.

As
soon as they got inside, it was clear that something big had happened. The
upscale leather furniture in the lobby was crammed with guests, many holding
tissues, and everyone was watching two mounted flatscreens set to news
channels.

Julia
didn't even look at the screens. She didn't want to know, at least not until
they got to their room and got settled.

Cayne
squeezed her hand, and as they stepped up to the check-in desk, the employee,
dabbing her eyes with a tissue, didn't even look up at them. After an awkward
second filled with sniffling and swallowing sounds, Julia said, “Ma'am? Are you
okay?”

She
could feel the flare of auras as everyone else in the room reacted with outrage
to her question.

Sniffing
into the tissue, the woman shook her head, pointing to the TV mounted on the
wall behind Julia. “My nephew's on a plane today. Went to Cincinnati. He's in
sales.”

When
Julia frowned, the woman cocked her head at the TV behind Julia. She
reluctantly turned to see.

Pictured
was a jumbo jet. The headline underneath read,
“FOUR PLANES DEPARTING ALEXANDRIA
CRASH INTO ATLANTIC.”

***

Three
hours later, Julia stood staring out at the city through a penthouse window.
Behind her, Cayne sat on the bed, rubbing his shadow-scruffy face obsessively,
like a man disturbed. All he'd done since they arrived in their room was ramble
about The Adversary, then fall into silence when Julia stopped listening. She
didn't care anymore.

Everything
was over.

Again
and again, she tried to picture how big those planes would be. Big, she
thought. Like, really big. There were enough seats on those planes to hold all
the Chosen.

She
tipped her head against the window. Shut her eyes. Took a deep breath.

The
Adversary was a full-blooded Celestial deity. Of course he could do things like
this. If Authorities and Chosen could get glimpses of the future, surely The
Adversary could, too. What had they been thinking? That they could just sneak
up on him and take him out?

Julia
blinked out at the city, surprised that she could still think straight. Her
mind was racing a million miles a minute, her body shaking slightly. Her
fingers and her nose felt cold, like she'd been walking around outside in the
snow.

Shock.
Maybe that was what was going on.

She
heard a funny sound and turned her head. The movement felt too slow, like she
was mired in Jello.

Cayne
was sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked hot, like always. Also tense, she
thought. He opened his mouth and spoke like someone way far underwater.
“Jooooliiiaa. Arrrree youuuuuuu okkkkkaaay?”

She
nodded, unsure what else to do.

“Whaaaat
diiid I juuuuust saaaaay?”

She
shook her head, laughing a little, because seriously, she couldn't remember,
and Cayne came over to her. She watched him put his hand on her arm, and felt
his squeeze seconds later.

She
wished he would stop touching her. Stop touching her and stop talking. If he
would shut up for a little bit, she could go to sleep.

That's
all she wanted. Just some sleep.

“Juuulia?
Arrrre youuu okaaaay?” He frowned, and she managed to whisper, “Fine.”

She
went over to the bed and stretched out on it, face-down, shutting her eyes as
the mattress indented with Cayne's weight. He stroked her hair, and it felt
weird. Like her hair wasn't really her hair. When he spoke again, his voice was
normal, but Julia had trouble believing it was really Cayne. Shouldn't he be
dead, too? Everybody else was.

“Julia,”
he said, and she was hypnotized by his green, green eyes, “there's no guarantee
they were on those planes. They were with Lille. I think he would have
protected them. I think there's a chance The Adversary is just fucking with us.
He likes to play games. Maybe none of those were Chosen planes. You know just
as well as I do, the media is not going to release the names of people
chartering private planes. I think you should try to hold out hope. At least
for a few more hours.”

“Hope.”
She laughed.

Then
her eyes were feeling drowsy, so she shut them.

She
dreamed of Carlin, complaining about her wind-blown hair and smeared mascara.
Typical Carlin, saying, “I look like I came from the gutter!” She dreamed of
Drew with his unhappy face on. Lille walked between them down a long hall, past
two leather chairs and a coat tree. He turned to Drew with caring eyes.
“Andrew, just wait, you'll see. They'll be in here.”

A
knock sounded on the door, but Julia didn't give a shit. She was sleeping. She
felt her mind drift off a little further as her stupor tightened its grasp.

A
second later, Carlin was saying something else. Being really loud. Julia sat up
when skinny arms locked around her, and someone started screaming in Spanish.

***

According
to Lille, the four planes that crashed had contained exactly four hundred and
two Chosen, which still left one hundred sixty-six.

“They're
flying over now—in a different plane.”

“Now?”
Julia croaked. Her voice was hoarse from crying tears of relief. “Aren't we
worried their plane will crash again?”

Lille's
handsome face twisted in an ominous way, his lip ring shifting as his gorgeous
mouth turned downward. “What The Adversary wants, The Adversary gets, so long
as he's made his home in this realm. But regardless of all that, flying is
still the best way to get across an ocean. So they fly.”

Julia
shook her head, and Lille said, “I think Cayne could be right. This might have
been a message. After all, our plane, the first one we could get on to meet you
guys here, contained mostly non-Chosen. We didn't crash.”

“That's
how he does things,” Cayne agreed. “He'll hurt you, but he wants to make sure
you come back for more. He knows we'll still come at him, no matter what he
does...so he enjoys making us suffer until then.”

Julia's
stomach flipped when she thought about her role in the offense. If their crazy
plan failed, it was over. Not just their lives, but probably everything. She
felt the same queasiness in the pit of her stomach that she had back when Harry
would watch those Armageddon specials on the science channel. How pointless
would that be? For everything to just...end.

Lille
gave her a sympathetic look, like he was reading her thoughts—he probably
was—and then he turned to Cayne. “You want to take off? We can come back as
soon as we find him. Should only take a few hours.”

Julia
opened her mouth to say
no way
. Being separated from Cayne now...it made
her feel like she'd felt back in the days of group home. Desperate. Then she
thought about the kids in that clothes store. Little kids with little sticky
fingers and chubby cheeks. Foster kids still waiting on a forever family. She
shut her mouth.

“I
have cell phones,” Lille said, handing one to Drew. “There's a fifty-fifty
chance the towers are working at the right time. But I can easily communicate
with Julia if she keeps her mind clear.”

Julia's
jaw dropped, and she found herself glaring at the breathtaking Authority. “Are
you saying you could have told me you guys were okay?!”

Lille
nodded. “Your mind was too busy, though. I couldn't get through.”

“Well
isn't that a bitch?” she snapped.

Carlin's
eyes widened, probably because Julia usually didn't cuss, and he laced his
fingers through hers, glancing down at her with a face that, to others, would
seem expressionless; she recognized the unhappiness in the cinch between his
brows. He didn't want to leave any more than she wanted him to, but she knew
Lille needed him.

His
eyes shifted to Drew. “If anything happens, don't worry about Lille and me.”
Julia could read between the lines there, too:
Don't let Julia worry about
me. Don't let her put herself in danger over me
. “We'll find you.” He
turned to Julia. “Remember, you're stronger than anyone you'll meet, so blast
them back to Hell. And please, be careful." He jerked his thumb at Lille.
"And keep your ears open.”

He
gave her a small, tight smile. Julia raised his hand to her mouth and kissed
his knuckles, ignoring the exaggerated wink
 
from Carlin. Cayne leaned down to kiss her lips, and Julia melted a
little inside.

After
goodbyes all around, Lille and Cayne walked out the door.
 

“Hurry
back, please,” she murmured.

Chapter
Thirty-Four

There were four bar stools, but only three were occupied.
Julia, Carlin, and Drew sat side-by-side, tasting tiny liquors from the wet bar
and eating pistachios out of tiny pistachio packets.

There was music on. Music from somewhere. The ceiling?
Julia recognized the Brittney Spears song—one of her newer ones. Suitably
light, nothing about it to make her eyes water. But of course, they did. Four
bar stools = one for Meredith.

She tried to comprehend...about Meredith's body, left
inside the pyramid. But it didn't make any sense. Was as insane as imagining
that Harry and Suzanne had died in a house fire. People couldn't be there one
second and gone the next.

Where did they go?

Heaven?

Julia had a horrible thought: If the net was thrown over
Heaven and even the Authorities couldn't get in or out, how could souls get
there? Was Meredith wandering around, still back in Alexandria?

She rubbed her throat, where it felt like there was metal
wire, wrapped around tightly, slicing into her skin.

Carlin just kept telling her stupid story, about a horse
and a rider and a bowling ball. Drew was listening, but his shoulders were
hunched, his head tipped low.