Range (2 page)

"It'll be chaos in the barn today, horses being delivered, remember?"

"Not during new cadet orientation, Junco."

"That's true. And you're sure my dad's not coming for the welcome ceremony? He's never missed one before." I want him to come. I miss him and he's been strange for the past few months. I need him to come be nice to me for a while.

"He's not, Junco. And if he does show up? You stay the fuck away. This is an order."

"But why?"

His face becomes serious as he looks down at me. "Junco, trust me. You don't want to know. Just drop it. Drop him. I'm sorry, I know you two were close, but this is the only way. I wouldn't lie to you, Snowbird. But I'm not gonna tell you everything, either. So just do what I say."

"And Gideon? Have you seen him?"

He huffs out some air and this time his words come out as a growl. "Goddamn it, Junco, I said drop it."

"So I'm alone. I have no one. Is that what you're telling me?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

I swallow and turn away, hoping he'll stop me and… I don't know. Hug me or tell me he's still here for me. Or that Gid will be around soon and it'll all be OK. Or maybe, if I'm really lucky? He'll say happy birthday, sorry everyone missed it this year.

But he stays silent and lets me walk out.

I get in the Goat and drive back to school and when I get there my eyes are puffy and swollen from the tears and the wind.

Chapter One

I wake screaming, but only on the inside.

Isten.

It's the only word I know, the only one that exists in my vocabulary. When the screams cease I say it over and over.

And over.

And over.

It never stops, his name is always on my tongue and even in the nightmares, when I am consumed with the vision of my hair swaying in the red gel as it passes before my open eyes, as I relive the pain when my body writhes up and out of the tank, Isten's name is still there.

"Isten," I murmur into the silence.

"No, Junco. Isten is gone."

I know this.
I know this.

"I know, Junco."

Lucan plucks the words right out of my head with little effort. And I cannot even explain how much I appreciate that right now. That he and Gideon can hear my thoughts. Because I have no desire to talk.

Even the soft whisper of Isten's name is too much. I need the silence and the darkness.

"Open your eyes, Junco. I need to leave soon, but before I can do that, I must talk to you. I must know that you will hear me."

I do not open my eyes.

"Junco."

No.

"Please."

His request is somber, not a demand, a favor, maybe? I open my eyes but the darkness is still there. That darkness is not going anywhere.

"Thank you, now look at me." He waits a few heartbeats to see if I comply on my own before once again adding, "Please."

He releases his tight grip on my body as I turn, then repositions one hand on my shoulder while the other gently pries my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze.

A smile from him. "I have to go, Junco. I've overstayed my welcome." He thumbs back to the wings jutting out from his shoulders.

It's weird seeing Lucan with wings. Especially demon wings. They have no feathers, just a bat-like membranous skin that stretches taut, spanning the phalanges that mimic the bones of a hand, albeit greatly elongated.

My eyelids shut tightly at the thought of being in this room alone, forbidding the tears from escaping. I made a deal with myself yesterday. I'd give up crying if I could just count something besides heartbeats. Heartbeats aren't enough anymore. I need the counting far more than I need the tears. I can control it, it's just a temporary defense. I'll only do it when I have to.

I can control it.

So I force the tears back and open my eyes again.

Lucan is still there, waiting, watching.

"I have to leave Earth today, but I'll be back tomorrow, OK?"

I don't answer.

"We have to talk, Junco. There is a lot you need to know, but not today."

No, it's never today, is it? Today is never a very good day for anything, is it?

"Today, just try and leave the bedroom. Can you do that?"

I breathe hard for a few seconds, forbidding the tears. I forbid them because I really need to count.

And then they're gone and I nod.
I'll try.

I look up at him and know he doesn't believe me. I can't read his thoughts like he can read mine, but I can read his face.

"Gideon is here."

Isten overtakes me again and I just want to crawl under the covers and die. His memories are always there, memories I should not be privy to without him.

"Junco, I said Gideon is here."

"I know, Lucan."

My reacquaintance with speech lights up his face. "You will be OK until tomorrow? I'll be right back."

"I'm…" I cannot even bring myself to say the lie. "I'm not OK, Lucan."

He sighs. "I know, Junco. But you will be, I promise."

I shake my head as I fight back the memories.

"Gideon is here."

"I know," I whisper, irritated. "I appreciate that. I love him and I'm glad he's here to help me—"

Lucan's laugh cuts me off. "He's rather pissed off at your self-pity, actually. He'll be in here shortly to throw you out of this bedroom, so please, Junco. Just get up and get ready. He won't tolerate your moping."

Moping? Is that what he thinks this is?

"Quitting, maybe that's a better word. Quitting. You're not a quitter, Junco. You must gather yourself."

"Right. Gather myself. Just go away. I'll be fine." If there's one thing I know how to do well, it's gather myself. Push that shit down and forget about it. "It's funny though, all that gathering I've done has gotten me exactly squat, Lucan. Nothing but pain. What's the difference? Between unraveling and gathering? The problem still remains the same, right?"

His smile falters at the recollection of the chat we had, long ago, before I was violated in a tank of goo for two years.
No matter how you choose to look at things, with emotion or logic, the problem doesn't change. Only your reaction changes.
Well, big fucking deal. You still end up in the same place—either dying of cold or dying of the poison fumes from burning the wheat beetle-infested wood.

Which do you choose, Junco?
That's what he asked me.
To die or die?

I think today I'll choose… to die, yeah that's it. Today is a good day to die.

But maybe tomorrow I'll choose to die instead.

It's so stupid. Nothing makes any sense at all.

"Faith, Junco. Sometimes you just have to muster up a little faith that things will get better."

But they won't get better. I know this. I feel it inside me, in every molecule, every atom, every subatomic particle that makes up my body. I feel the wrongness of everything. "Faith is a waste of time."

"Mostly," he replies. "Yes, mostly it is. Faith always takes second chair to action. But sometimes, Junco, you're the only one playing the song and you've got no one else there to rely on. In those times, faith really does help. So you have to have a little faith."

"That's funny, coming from you." I peer up into his eyes. They are a lovely blue-green now. Not the blue like when he's in his Archer form. The need to know suddenly overtakes my prior urge for a fight about faith. "Were your eyes green as a man?"

He lets out a small laugh. "Yes, very green. Are they green now?"

I study them. No, not really green at all. More like aquamarine. I've never seen such eyes in all my life. I gather myself and continue. "You seemed pretty happy when I said my faith was gone. Now all of a sudden you want me to find it again?"

He releases me abruptly and sits up in the bed. "Will you get up, or shall I make you?"

I take a moment to think about it but he doesn't wait. He shoves me off the bed and I plunk to the hard tile floor, a sharp pain radiating up my spine as my hip takes the brunt of the force. He's in front of me now, pulling on me, and then I'm standing there, Gideon's boxers almost falling down my legs.

I tug them up self-consciously.

Lucan laughs. "You smell, you look ridiculous, and you need to sit in the sun for about a week, Junco. I expect you to be well on your way back to normal by tomorrow night when I call. We have to talk and I won't tolerate your—" He stops for a moment to reconsider his word. "Quitting."

I stare at him. His body armor is made up of tiny black scales, a very smooth metal I know from touching them over the past day or so. They clink and chink with his movements. He looks like something straight out of the angel apocalypse. All he needs is horns. "Do you ever have horns?" I hear my mouth ask.

He shakes his head and disappears.

Shit, I really wanted to know the answer to that one.

Chapter Two

Selia and Gideon are sharing the apartment I woke up in, but thankfully after I take a shower and clean up, stopping several times in there to force the tears back when my fingertips find the scars along the back of my shoulders, they're nowhere to be found when I venture out of the bedroom and into the hall.

But there is a strange man standing out on the terrace talking on a comm. I begin to turn to bolt when he catches me. I stop and wait as he dismisses the call and walks back into the apartment in a rush.

I step back a little at his decisive movements.

He stops. "Sorry, Junco. I didn't mean to scare you. Gideon and Selia will be back shortly."

I nod and retreat, hungry, but not able to subject myself to a stranger no matter how badly my stomach is rumbling.

There is no screen in my room, there are no books, no devices to fiddle with, or comms. So I just sit on the edge of the bed and listen with my head cocked slightly for movement beyond my door. There's a small terrace but it's nighttime, and it's way too early to allow myself to look at the stars. I need to work up to that one or I'll be totally gone.

So I just sit in the darkness and wait.

But even after Gideon arrives—I can hear him talking as he moves through the rooms—he does not come to me. Selia says my name once or twice in a hushed whisper, but nothing ever comes of it.

And after hours of waiting I force myself to accept the truth of what is happening. I get up and walk across the room, gulp down the dread, open the door, and walk through.

They are playing cards on the terrace. Gideon, Selia, that guy from earlier, and several other men dressed in uniform. The Asian guy, the one who scared me back into the bedroom, nods at me and everyone turns.

I want to shrivel up and die at the attention.

My chest heaves as it draws in breath after breath and I'm just about to turn when Gid calls for me. "Snowbird," he says calmly. "Come join us."

I finish my turn and shake my head, then make my way into the kitchen to find food. There's a very nice autocook—the kind we had at our house back in Council 3. We always had maids and cooks and housekeepers, so my dad never cooked and I only did on special occasions—Christmas and stuff—or when camping, but I'm a pro at autocooking. My finger traces down Gideon's menu on the side of the machine and I choose seafood. The salty smell of the ocean outside has piqued a craving.

I stand still, dreading footsteps.

But none come.

The machine beeps and I set my meal on the countertop, then walk around and set myself on the tall stool. I eat it all and still, no one comes to bother me.

And when I'm done I just sit there and stare. I can hear Selia asking to come check on me, but Gideon says no. A very forceful no.

Selia does not argue.

So I sit by myself.

And come to the conclusion, after many loud and boisterous bursts of laughter from the poker-playing group later, that these people do not care one way or another if I join them on the terrace.

So I slink back to my dark room, crawl under the familiar covers, and count the seconds until I fall asleep.

When I wake his name is on my tongue once again.

Isten
.

The tears spill out before I can stop them, but I get it in check. I need the count, I tell myself.
I need it, I need it, I need it.

"You don't need it, Junco."

I do. I need it.

Gideon slips into the bed beside me. "You can't go on like this. You have to snap out of it, Juncs."

Silence from me.

"Just let the tears out. You need to cry more than the counting."

I shake my head. "I do not want to cry."

He breathes out with my words. "Please don't do this."

I sniff away the unwanted runny nose. "Do what." It's not a question. It's a half-hearted attempt to stall what needs to be said.