The Horde Without End (The World Without End) (12 page)

But that was before the war.

“I thought this house went to the current head of state.”

Kenny shoves his hands in his pockets, gives me a cryptic smile. “It does.”

The door to the car opens. I’ve taken too long. But this new information is too much, too much to dismiss or process. I stare at him, unbelieving.

And see the naked shock, the wild hope. He takes a step, almost staggering as she slips her hand into mine.

“Kelsey?” he whispers, his voice shaking.

Nurrin makes an impatient noise and looks at me. "We're wasting time."

I'm still staring at Kenny. I see hope fade, replaced by devastation and the realization that, as much as she looks like Kelsey—and with her hair up and her leathers wrapped around her like skin, she does—it’s not her, just a lovely stand-in. She is a ghost, haunting this home.

Hunger flickers in his eyes, and then it's gone, locked away as he licks his lips and forces a smooth smile. "We haven't met."

And if there was any way to avoid this meeting, I would—I think I would rather face a horde than do this. But Kenny is looking at me, his eyes demanding, and Nurrin is twitching impatiently.

"Nurrin, Kendall Buchman."

She smiles, a pretty dimple appearing in one cheek, and I'm reminded of how innocent she still is, despite her time with me and the sharp edges I seem to hone.

"Buchman, huh? Any relation to the late president?"

"He was my father," Kenny says smoothly. He's still holding her hand, even though the handshake is over. I can't help staring at it, and Nurrin flushes, pulling her hand free.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, a soft acknowledgment of everyone Kenny has lost.

When your father is the president, your loss is a public tragedy, but it's no more than the private ones we have all faced since the world ended.

Nurrin refocuses on me. "Does he have any information on Collin?"

I grit my teeth. "I was in the process of finding that out, when you decided to join us. What happened to the damn car?"

Her expression goes sticky sweet. "Got hot."

I don't imagine the snort of laughter from Buchman, but I do manage, barely, to ignore it.

"I'll send word to the Order's Priestess. If your Black Priest is here, we'll find him. In the meantime, my Walkers will see you settled at the hotel."

Nurrin blinks. "You have a hotel?"

Kenny grins, the same charming smile his father used to win reelection. Except it looks different on him—menacing in a way Andrew never was. Or maybe it's because the smile is aimed at Nurrin, and I can feel the way she sways toward him. "We need somewhere for Aldermen to stay when they come into town. I've already called and had two rooms prepared for you."

Nurrin tenses next to me then grins happily.

Mother fucking happily.

I know she hates me. I know we're only together because she has no options, not if she wants to find Collin. But that she is so happy to be away from me—I shake the thought, refuse to dwell on it, and say, smoothly, "No need. I still have my house here."

Something crosses his face, and I go very still. Rage flickers in my veins. He didn't—.

"That place was mine. Deeded to me for my service under the Thrasher and in the war."

"Her name," Kenny growls furiously, “was Kelsey.” The easy-going smile is gone, and the man who stands here is capable of running our nation, even fractured as it is. It is the first time in my life I’ve felt a smidge of respect for him.

Except his anger sparks my own. “I know her name, Kenny. I spent years with her—don’t forget that.”

“As if my father would have let me,” he spits.

“Is that what this is about?” I ask, letting a little contempt slip into my voice. It might be the equivalent of poking a bear, but his self-righteous bullshit is grating on nerves—already raw from being somewhere I don’t want to be.

“Do we have to do this?” Nurrin cuts in sharply. “You can glare at each other later—I want a shower and a clean bed. Who can make that happen?” She looks at me expectantly.

“What happened to my house?” I grit out the question.

“Stay at the Embassy tonight. I’ll see about your house, and you can move back in tomorrow.”

I don’t like it. But I know she’s tired, and I don’t want to fuck with Kenny today—I want to use the rest of the day to reach out to the friends I still have in 1. So I nod. Success gleams briefly in his eyes. “Excellent. Let’s go.”

He draws alongside Nurrin, and I stalk behind them, silently seething. At first she is startled, but that gives way quickly to amusement as Kenny rattles off places in 1 that she should visit and asks innocuous questions about where we’ve been, what we’ve been doing, who we are looking for.

It annoys the ever-loving fuck out of me. Not because she tells him anything—she’s a First, a survivor, and too fucking smart for that shit—but because I can tell the attention is alluring. And I don’t want her fucking allured.

I throw myself into the front seat, kicking the Captain out as Kenny helps Nurrin into the backseat, and remind myself that I have no right to be jealous. She isn’t mine.

She never will be.

If I could just fucking remember that, life would be much easier for all of us.

Kenny walks us in. By now, he’s found reasons to reach out and touch her. She’s got a tiny smile on her lips that makes me want to throttle the both of them. That fucking fast. Logic tells me to back off—Kenny isn’t a bad guy, just one I dislike.

I dislike a lot of people.

He steps over to the desk, and I lean into her space. “Forget that kiss already, little girl?”

She twists, a wisp of hair falling into her eyes as she smirks at me. “Jealous?”

Yes.
She pauses, her head tilting slightly as she stares, fascinated. What can she see in my eyes?

“O’Malley,” Kenny calls. I pull away from Nurrin, cursing softly even as I stare at her. She is such a bad idea. If I could just remember that. “Is a queen ok?”

“Give us the suite,” I say abruptly, not looking away from Nurrin. Her eyes go wide, and anger colors her cheeks.

Now
I look away, right into Kenny’s angry blue eyes, just before he grins and nods. He’s gotten good at hiding what he’s feeling. I suppose nine years and a presidency will do that.

“What happened to age restrictions for your office?” I ask lazily.

Even the unflappable receptionist reacts to that question, a shocked little gasp. Kenny smiles slightly. “Does it bother you?”

“It doesn’t affect me. I don’t give a fuck about shit that doesn’t affect me.”

The receptionist mouth forms a startled little
O
, and Nurrin vibrates with anger at my side.

Kenny just stares at me.

I step up to the desk and give the receptionist a cool smile. “Keys?”

“Suite 102. On the tenth floor, sir,” she says faintly. I think her professional curtsy is more habit anything at this point. I take Nurrin’s arm and pull her into me. “Thanks, Kenny. Appreciate the escort.”

I turn away and get halfway across the lobby before his voice rings out behind me. “It’s Kendall, O’Malley. Or better yet—President Stiles.”

I don’t look back.

She shakes my arm off as soon as we’re in the elevator. I eye the contraption briefly then shake my head, annoyed. Only fucking 1 would have something as ridiculously frivolous as an elevator. Damn politicians and their fucking obsession with keeping the world the same. It’s not. It can’t be. The rest of the world has adjusted—when are they going to wake the fuck up?

“What was that?” she asks softly. She’s not as angry as I expect, and that throws me off.

“Kenny Buchman Stiles. We”—I make a face—“grew up together. Sort of.”

“You hate him.”

I blink at her, startled. Nurrin laughs. “Come on, O’Malley. You all but peed on me to mark your territory. You embarrassed him in front of his people. You challenged him.” She smirks. “You weren’t this aggressive with Omar.”

“I can kill Omar,” I say reasonably.

It should bother me more, that I can say that
reasonably.

“Can’t assassinate the president of the United States, can you?” she muses. “Why do you hate him, O’Malley?”

“Mind your own fucking business, Nurrin. I’m going to shower and head out.”

She trails me into the bathroom, “Where are you going?”

I stop stripping to stare at her. “What does it matter? I’m not taking you. You aren’t leaving this fucking room, do you hear me? I don’t trust this haven, or Kenny. He’ll have people watching us.”

“Paranoid much?” she asks.

“My paranoia keeps me alive. And you, as well. Remember that.”

She rolls her eyes, and I nudge her toward the door. I need a moment, a space of breath between us.

“Why did you do it?” she asks, tilting her head back to look at me.

I don’t ask her what she’s talking about. I sigh and lean against the sink. I need sleep, so fucking bad. It feels like I haven’t slept since 8 fell.

“Do you really want to do this, Nurrin? Because we’ve done pretty good, ignoring it.”

“Can’t ignore the elephant forever,” she shoots back. I bite down on my tongue to keep from saying something snarky to her. Glance at her from under my eye lashes.

“Biological needs, Nurrin. You were there. I was there. It was fun. Nothing more.”

Her eyes go wide and startled, and then she nods, too abruptly. “Nothing more. Good. Then you’ll excuse me if I don’t want you marking me as yours. Kendall wants to have dinner with me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “When did that happen?”

“On the way here. Weren’t you listening?”

“I don’t want you spending time with him, Nurrin. He’s dangerous.”

“Says the man who would happily kill the Black Priest,” she says mockingly as she pushes away from the wall. “Keep your hands off me, Finn. We’re traveling together. Nothing more.”

“Not even you could make yourself believe that, Nurrin,” I say softly.

She gives me a thin-lipped smile. “I’m very adept at believing the truth.”

The door to her room is closed when I emerge from the shower. I consider knocking on it, but she doesn’t want to talk to me—she’s made that very clear. A closed door speaks volumes.

So I dress quickly, grab a few knives and my gun belt. Shove my feet into some dusty boots. “Stay here,” I shout.

“Fuck you, O’Malley,” she shouts back, amiably.

I grin and head out.

When I left 1, I swore I’d never come back. With Da dead, Buchman dying, and Kelsey worse than dead, I had nothing to keep me here but bad memories. There was a lot of anger over that last mission, and not many were sad to see me go.

There were a few, though. And those few are who I go to now.

Claire Donal was in the US visiting her new niece when the dead rose. She was one of the ex-pats Da scrapped together and evacuated to 1. A lot of them didn't survive. They didn't know how to survive in this new world, one so separated from the one that they always known. Claire, on the other hand, did. She didn't just survive in 1, she thrived.

In Ireland, she had been a town gossip, a skill that proved useful in our new world. She knew everything that was happening in the city and had no problems bartering that knowledge for anything she needed.

If there was anything I missed about 1, it was her.

Claire didn’t like the pretense most of 1 embraced—she didn’t have a shop in the market district, to peddle her information.

She’s a creature of comfort—she likes to be at home with her hot tea in front of her and her feet buried under a rug. If you have information, you can damn well come to her.

Which is what I am doing now. The house is quiet—no one's around it, but that could be because of the hour of the day. I tap on the door, and when I hear her voice, push it open. Her eyes go very wide when she sees me, and she makes a little noise like a shriek. I smirk, and she screams at me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demands.

“It seemed like a good time to come home.”

“This isn't your home. It hasn't been since—” She stops abruptly, and her face takes on a slightly apologetic look. Her eyes find mine. I shake my head.

“Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago.”

“It was. But not so long ago that you've forgotten.”

I shrug. “It's hard to forget something you live through.”

“Especially when you shouldn't have?” she asks archly.

My expression goes a little cold, and she laughs. “Don't bother with that—it's never worked on me. I saw you grow up, remember?”

“Bitch,” I say, fondly.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “I thought the world would end before O’Malley came home to 1.”

“Didn't that happen twenty years ago?”

She gives me a look that’s hard to read, even for me, then stands. “I'm going to make us some tea, and then you're going to tell me what the hell you're doing here.”

She’s still bossy as fuck.

Some things really will never change, I think, following her to the kitchen and watching as she putters around boiling tea and dropping in old tea bags.

Part of me wants to ask where she’s still getting her supply of tea, but I don't—some things about Claire you just leave alone and let be a mystery. We all deserve a few secrets.

She hands me a cup of bitter brew, and we go back to the living room. I wait as she settles into her chair. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you—of course, I am. But what the fuck are you doing here, O’Malley?”

I hesitate, not sure what to tell her. And then I say, “There's a girl.”

Claire laughs. “There always is, with you. Is it like Kelsey?”

Again, I hesitate, weighing the question. So many ways to answer. Because in ways—yes. They could pass as sisters, she is so similar to Kelsey. But there are differences, a refreshing innocence about Nurrin that Kelsey never had—couldn’t have, in the world we knew.

“Of a sort,” I say finally.

“I’ve heard bits and pieces about you over the years, O’Malley. You haven’t made many friends in the West.”