SILVER: Acheron (A River of Pain) (The SILVER Series) (8 page)

Bravo!

The missile cracks Luka on the side of his helmet, exploding upon impact, and achieving precisely the reaction she’d hoped for. Following the trajectory of the shot he looks up to find his attacker, waiting patiently for him on the balcony, waving.

He makes chase.

Silver dives back into the second floor hallway and bolts for a secluded room in the corner of the building where she prepares to wait, but he’s faster than she anticipated. Only seconds behind her, he launches himself into the room and draws his weapon—the all-too-familiar PP-2000 sub-machine gun—on the back of her head.

“Hands where I can see them,” he commands.

Silver obliges, placing her palms flat against the back of her head and interlocking her fingers. “Don’t shoot me, Luka.”

Instant vocal recognition.

Luka’s finger releases the trigger and his aim falters. Certain his ears must be deceiving him, he lets her turn around—he needs to be sure.

And he is.

Silver greets him with a small, forced smile and he’s struck speechless. Without further hesitation, Luka shoulders his weapon and removes his helmet, revealing the prepossessing heartbreaker that Silver remembers. Clean shaven, his light brown hair is neatly chopped and styled into a Caesar cut, ruffled at the front, and a pair of deep, green eyes shine out at her, absolutely soaking her up.

“You’re alive,” he sounds movingly relieved.

Silver lowers her hands and relaxes her muscles. “You expected otherwise?”

He feared it, more like.

“They say the first twenty-four hours is the worst.”

“You’re telling me this gets better?”

Luka points both his thumbs toward himself, and grins. “It already did.”

He almost succeeds—Silver almost laughs.

Almost.

He reaches out and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Your papa’s gonna fix this. You know that, right?”

Silver hasn’t publically called Maydevine that since she was a child.

“Is he off the rails?”

“He filed your appeal already.”

Silver snorts at that, as if it’s the most ridiculous notion she’s ever heard.

“How many appeals do you know that have ever resulted in an overturned conviction?”

None.

Luka doesn’t say it. Keen to change the subject, he points out her botanically enhanced wrist. “What happened there?”

“The usual—my own clumsiness.”

“Let me take a look.”

Before she can object, Luka takes her by the hand and unravels her wrist from the Gunnera leaf.

“And, here I was, wondering when I was gonna get a chance to try out my new suture kit,” he smiles.

“Keep wondering.” Silver pulls back her wrist. “You can’t even darn a sock.”

“Cut me some, will you? I’ve been practicing.”

Ignoring her refusal to cooperate, Luka sets an upturned table back on its legs and arranges chairs on either side of it, holding one of them out for her to sit.

“It’ll only take a second,” he coaxes.

She has no choice, and she knows it; she’s completely at his mercy. At least the tools are clean, she tells herself, as Luka unfolds a basic field medical kit on the table.

“Where’re you staying?” he tries to make conversation.

Silver almost opens her mouth to speak, but doubt snatches back the words on her tongue at the last moment. There are so many reasons why she can’t tell him the truth, not the least of which is Alice.

“Can we talk about something else?” Deflection. “The weather, maybe?”

Luka cuts the old stitches out of her wrist and prepares to start afresh.

“How about you give me a list of the things you need, and meet me tonight—anywhere you like—then we’ll talk.” He looks up at her. “Probably not about the weather, but we’ll talk.”

Silver shakes her head. “Don’t do that, I can’t pay you.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“I mean it, Luka. I don’t want to be in your favor.”

“What’s wrong with my favor? We’ve favored each other once or twice before, if I’m remembering correctly.” He glances up, just in time to catch a brief flush of color across her cheeks. It was over a decade ago, but loneliness has a way of dissolving the years. “I’m a little fuzzy on some of the details, though,” he teases. “If you want to help refresh my memory …”

A voice inside Silver’s head screams at her to crush that thought before it has a chance to fully emerge. “You’re not funny, Luka.”

If he’s disappointed by her reaction, he does well not to show it.

Instead, “You used to think I was hilarious.”

“I used to think a lot of things. Like, if you put a cat in a microwave, it’d explode.”

“That was one of those weird thoughts you should never have put to the test.”

Silver shrugs. “My curiosity abounds.”

“How appropriate, then, that your curiosity did literally kill the cat,” Luka smiles.

He pours an antiseptic solution over her wrist without warning, making her squeal.

“All done,” he grins. “I should take a picture. It’s like a work of art.”

“Take a picture of this.” Silver shows him her middle finger and gets up from the table. “I have to go.”

“Wait.” Luka holds her back. “The list?”

“You’re serious?”

“Every week, if you want? I’ll bring you food and water and whatever else you need, and it’ll be fun. I’ve never had a pet before.”

Ha.

So much for this being the highlight of her day. The smile drops from Silver’s lips and she turns away, dejected, suddenly remembering what she and Luka used to argue about all those years ago—his lack of tact.

Over her shoulder, “Goodbye, Luka.”

Instantly apologetic, Luka sprints toward her and yanks her back in from the doorway. He pulls her toward him and wraps his arms around her, leaving her with no choice but to accept his affection. 

“Okay, you’re right. I’m not funny. I’m an asshole.”

Too exhausted to keep up the pretence of not caring, Silver buries her face into Luka’s shoulder. Feeling her tears soak into his shirt, he kisses the top of her head and holds her tighter.

“I’ll be here for you, okay? No matter what.”

*************************

Silver hasn’t been back to the theatre, not yet, and dusk has already fallen—her promise to Alice broken. Luka’s shift ended almost an hour ago, and he should be on his way by now. Pacing back and forth on the east bank of the appropriately named Old World Silver Lake, a freshwater reservoir, Silver awaits his arrival. She finds herself craving so many things all at once, she can’t keep track.

Liquor.

A cheese sandwich.

Clean underwear.

A random assortment of things.

She checks her invisible watch; only a minute has passed since the last time she looked, she guesses.

Ooh, wait, what’s that?

A smell of something sweet drifts in upon the air.

Vanilla?

Yup, that’s right—vanilla.

Her stomach grumbles at the mere suggestion of food, distracting her from the figure approaching her silently from the shadows.

Luka.

Bearing a vanilla cupcake.

“A cupcake for my cupcake,” he flashes her a row of sparkling white teeth.

“No offence, but if that’s all you’ve brought, your hopes of rekindling some old ‘favors’ are way out of your reach.”

She snatches the cupcake out of his hand, barely noticing the giant hold-all full of goodies he dumps at her feet.

“I’m just happy to know it’s still on the table,” he winks at her.

She ignores that.

With a mouth full of cupcake, “Thank you, Luka. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Are you kidding me? Maydevine would kill me if he thought I wasn’t looking out for you.”

“You haven’t told him, have you?”

“What? That I found you? No, but only because I haven’t seen him. He’s been locked in meetings with the Governor and the Banishment and Enforcement Council all day.”

“You can’t say a word. You know that, right?”

“Why the hell not? He’s worried sick.”

“He’s pissed at me.”

“He doesn’t blame you, El.”

“Maybe not, but he sure as fuck cannot be happy with the way all this turned out.”

Silence threatens to creep in.

“Let me tell him you’re all right, at least?” Luka urges.

She says nothing, and he can tell that her defenses are up.

Trying to placate her, “You need time, that’s fine, but he already has men out here looking for you. He’ll find you, one way or the other—you know he will.” He reaches out and gently squeezes her shoulder. “Don’t wait too long, okay? He’s going nuts without you.”

All of a sudden, sirens.

Police Division sirens.

A Division truck screeches to a halt on the other side of the tree line and two armed Agents step out.

“Ella Cross!” one of them calls.

“Shit!” Silver snatches up the hold-all. “Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

Luka shakes his head. “No, I swear.”

“He got the fucking Commissioner to trace the GPS in your tag. He must’ve.”

“How would he know to do that?”

“Who cares? It’s done.” She reaches up and plants a brief kiss on his cheek. “I’ve gotta run.”

Another vehicle pulls up behind the truck and an older man steps out.

Maydevine.

Wearing a trench coat over a blood-stained Hunter Division uniform, he looks like military mafia. Fingernails caked in the blood of monsters, he lights up a cigarette and frowns into the shadows of the Fringe District.

“Ella!” he yells into the night.

Too late.

She’s already gone.

Luka is standing alone by the water’s edge, his skin still tingling with the faint but lingering memory of her lips.

*************************

Back at the theatre, Silver explores the contents of the hold-all for the first time. She didn’t stop running the whole way there. Even when she was certain the Police Division truck hadn’t been sent to tail her, she kept pace with the wind; kept moving as fast as she could toward the relative safety of her territory.