Resistance (11 page)

He pushes the dark hair out of his face and I again
want to punch Fi in the face. She’s so hell-bent on making sure
he’s alive she doesn’t realize she’s wrecking him in the process.
“Look, kid,” I say, “you ever want to talk, I’ll listen. I know I’m
not your sister but…I understand family drama really well.”

Eir nods and offers me a smile but he doesn’t say
anything more. I lean back on the couch and ask, “If you don’t mind
me prying a little, what do you mean she doesn’t believe you? Like,
she doesn’t believe you can make her feel better, or…?”

Silence settles over us and for a minute I think he
might bolt out the door. Finally he meets my eyes and makes a few
stuttering breathy sounds. “Well…” he manages after a while.
“Sometimes…sometimes I just know things…and I can’t tell you why or
how, but I can feel when something is true. And I can tell what
people are feeling a lot of the time.” He drops his head and looks
at me, looking fearful, as if I’ll scoff at him.

Instead I sit up and rest my elbows on my knees. I’ve
heard rumors of seers and the like but never believed any of them —
and never have I met one who didn’t scream nonsense about their
inner voices screaming that I hate my father (like that wasn’t
already public information). “Really?” I ask, and I actually sound
like a child. “Have you ever been right about anything? Like,
proven it to yourself somehow?”

A little bit of light sparks in his eyes but he still
looks guarded. I get the feeling people have pretended to believe
him before and then laughed when he went into detail. “I’m always
right…” he says after a moment. “But this time I can’t ‘prove it’
alone…and we can’t go out looking for them, but…I know they’re
still alive.”

“Who’s alive?”

“I can’t explain how I know these things,” he rambles
on, not answering me right away. “And Fi always used to believe me,
but when it comes to this, something in her won’t even humor the
idea. No matter how many times I tried to tell her, she just shook
her head and shut me out. She didn’t believe me at all.”

I open my mouth to ask him again what the hell he’s
talking about, but before I can he says in a hushed voice, “She
thinks our parents are dead, but
I know they’re alive,
Flint.”

I pause, unable to reply. Eirnin and Fianna’s parents
left months ago with whispered promises they’d return in no more
than two weeks. They knew more than they let on about whatever the
hell they were looking for, and left their children alone to fend
for themselves. To say I am not thrilled with the two of them would
be an understatement. But why would they not have returned for so
long if they were still alive?

“You don’t believe me,” Eirnin says slowly before I
can voice that opinion. “You don’t get it. My dad knows what he’s
doing, and he would die before he’d let anything happen to my mom.
It’s Fi I’m worried about. She thinks I don’t see what’s happened
to her since they left — but I see everything. Just because she
tries to keep things from me doesn’t mean I don’t find out. She
needs to believe me or she’s going to destroy herself!”

“Kid,” I say. He pulls in a deep breath and tries to
calm down before meeting my eyes. He looks like he’s about to cry.
“Listen to me. I believe you, okay? And I can help make your sister
believe you if you’d like some help.”

He stares at me for a moment before turning his eyes
up; trying to blink the tears from his eyes before they can fall.
He sniffles and nods, then swipes at his eyes with a quiet, “Thank
you.”

I nod and say nothing more. Instead I busy myself
with looking at the coffee table in front of us, trying to let him
compose himself in peace. Because I know if the situation was
reversed it’s what I’d want him to do. Besides, what good am I at
providing comfort anyway?

“I don’t know how you think you’ll get through her
thick skull, but I appreciate your help,” he says suddenly and I
look back to him. “I want my sister back. She used to smile, you
know. And laugh, and just enjoy life. The smallest things would
make her so happy. But it’s been so long since I saw her really
smile.”

“I won’t make any promises,” I tell him. “But I’ll do
my best.”

He offers me a sad smile and then his face goes
blank. For a minute I think he’s heard someone outside and we’ll be
crawling out a back window and running like hell away from his
sister and her obnoxiously large knives, but then the light comes
back to his eyes and he looks at me again like he knows way too
much. “By the way…you need to let go of your guilt.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

I don’t know what you’re talking about,
I try
to reply, but I know
exactly
what he’s saying and the lie
gets caught in my throat. The room seems to take a drastic drop in
temperature, but I still can’t make myself get angry with this
sixteen-year old kid who somehow knows something I haven’t uttered
out loud to anyone —
ever.

Instead I clear my throat and do my best to brush it
under the rug. Even if he means nothing but good by the statement,
I still don’t want to talk about it. “I’m trying.”

Eirnin picks up my discomfort and nods with a big,
dopey smile. “Trying is how you start.” I make a noise in response
and he continues on. “I’m glad you’re here, Flint.”

I offer him a smile. “Yeah…I am too, kid.”

He beams back at me like I’ve made his night, even
though his eyes are still bloodshot from his previous
almost-breakdown. “We should probably head back,” he says. “You and
Fi aren’t too close yet and I don’t want you facing her wrath.”

“Yeah, she terrifies me,” I say. “Quaking in fear
over here.”

He smirks at me. “I think that’s truer of a statement
than you’d like it to be.”

I roll my eyes and punch his arm as he walks by, but
I’m smiling anyway. Unfortunately he’s kind of right. The girl is
violent — what do you want from me?

The house is silent when we enter, but we still only
mouth goodnight at each other as we slip into our rooms. There is a
mutual concern of Fi finding out that her brother snuck out of the
house with no guard and the still-potentially-dangerous faery in
the building.

As I lie there in a box of iron surrounded by people
who would like to turn me into a nice pair of gloves, staring at
the ceiling and trying to fall back asleep, I smirk to myself. This
is going to be a fun time.

Chapter 8—Fi

April 2102

Hugh’s face fills my vision; blue eyes arctic as he
takes me in. His breath smells like something spoiled and his hands
bite into my upper arms as he says quietly, “Do not make a sound.”
I feel fear clutch at my heart. I’d rather he screamed than unleash
this quiet fury. Quiet makes me think he doesn’t want anyone to
witness what he’s about to do. Suddenly I want to scream, and open
my mouth without thinking. His hands clench around my throat,
making it impossible to breathe. Panic floods in and I beat
uselessly at his hands; trying to unfurl his fingers so I can take
a breath. Dizziness sweeps through me and my eyes tear from the
pain building in my chest and throat. I feel consciousness fade as
oxygen evades me and spots dance in front of my eyes. I struggle to
stay alert as the dizziness worsens and everything falls away.

I hear rain pounding against my bedroom windows when
I bolt upright in my bed, shaking with remembered terror. My heart
hammers in my chest and I pull in a grateful breath as I try to
staunch the panic roaring through me. “He’s dead, Fi,” I tell
myself quietly; speaking aloud, needing to hear the words. “He’s
dead and he can’t hurt anyone anymore.” I wish I could tell myself
it was just a dream, my imagination torturing me some more, but I
can’t. Instead I repeat the
He’s dead
chant in my head;
hoping it gets through and this shaking will stop. I would like to
lay my head down on my pillow and cry, but I’m too exhausted. I
can’t remember the last time I slept peacefully. I sit there
listening to the rain for a few minutes before deciding it would be
best to just get up for the day and try to forget.

Twenty minutes later I’m pulling the back door shut
behind me and stepping out into the driving rain. The sky is still
dark, but there are street lamps scattered along the streets and in
the park that will help me see the path, so I pull the hood of my
navy blue sweatshirt over my head to keep as much of the rain off
my face as possible and take off. I focus on the rhythmic sound of
my feet pounding on the wet ground and the smell of rain in the
spring air, letting my mind clear. After three laps of one of my
usual routes I am soaked all the way to my skin; my sweatshirt
waterlogged and weighing me down, but finally I feel ready to head
home and face the day. The sky is just beginning to lighten when I
toe my sneakers off inside the back door and head to the
coffeemaker; trying not to drip rainwater all over the floor. I
pull a plate of muffins out of the cabinet and hit the power switch
on the coffee machine before heading to my room for a nice, hot
shower.

Today is my first day off. School is out for the
season, I have chores to catch up on and then I really need to take
a trip to the old department stores where downtown used to be.
Anyone who wants to brave the crumbling buildings and the possible
danger of being technically outside our city’s barriers can take
what they want from the abandoned stock rooms and warehouses that
were left when the Fae had the cities evacuated for everyone’s
‘safety’. I know Eir could use some new clothes; I’ve noticed his
jeans are almost showing his ankles at this point, and his tee
shirts are becoming too tight on his arms. He would probably enjoy
a ‘pillaging expedition’ as he likes to call it, but I would feel
better if he stayed within the walls of the city for now. I start a
mental list as I let the hot water massage the kinks out of my neck
and shoulders.

Thirty minutes later I’m dressed for the day in a
pair of khaki capri pants and a black tee shirt, and my hair is
parted down the middle and pulled back into two French braids that
hit my waist. I grab a muffin and coffee and sit at the kitchen
table to make a list of what we need while I eat my breakfast.
Forty-five minutes later, I have finished the pot of coffee and two
muffins as well as the list. The sun is still not fully perched
amidst the clouds, and I drum my fingers on my bottom lip as I
think about what needs to be done first. Somewhere between the
laundry and baking I remember Flint. I should make sure he has
clean towels and his hamper is empty. Then I realize he didn’t
bring anything to put into his hamper to begin with, and have to
wonder how he’s been faring with the whole clean clothes issue.

I sigh, debating if I
really
have to offer to
take him with me on my trip today. On one hand I’m sure he needs
clothes and things, but on the other hand that means I will be
spending the majority of my day with Flint. That man makes me want
to kick something if I spend more than five minutes in the same
room with him. I groan inwardly and lay my head down on the table,
banging it lightly a few times. I will have to at least offer to
bring him with me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he won’t want to come —
I can hope, at least. I get up and start my chores to fill the time
until I can reasonably expect Flint to be awake for the day.

Three loads of laundry, a disastrous batch of
cornbread and another pot of coffee later, it is still only seven
in the morning and I have a feeling there’s no way Flint is awake
yet. Frustration bubbles over and I barely refrain from stomping my
foot in irritation. I just want to go and get back already, but I
realize not everyone rises before the sun does. I decide to give
him until eight-thirty and then I will knock on his door if he
hasn’t emerged yet. In the meantime I can finish reading White Cat
by Holly Black. I haven’t had a lot of free time lately, so this is
actually a good thing. I take a fresh cup of coffee and head to my
bedroom, settling in the armchair by the windows. I pick my book up
off the stand and lose myself in someone else’s imagination for a
while.

I close the book with satisfaction and glance up at
the clock on the wall to see that it isn’t quite eight-thirty and
sigh. I sit there for another minute and then decide it won’t kill
him to get up now. I simply cannot sit here and waste another
moment. I return to the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee
before making my way down the hall to the room I have Flint in,
which is next to my own. I knock softly on his door and stand back;
hoping I didn’t just wake my brother up too. I don’t need to have
that argument now; that much is for sure.

Flint opens his door already fully dressed in his
jeans and tee shirt, looking confused. “Morning.”