Public Enemies (13 page)

“Sure. Just let me shower. Coming?” I let us into my apartment and went straight to the bathroom to investigate how many bruises I had. Today, Raoul had been teaching me how to fall since I couldn't always avoid getting hit.

My right arm had a hematoma, so did my hip and my left leg. Raoul didn't pull his punches when we sparred, and if I didn't block, I bore the failure on my skin. If I was careful, Kian wouldn't see any of that tonight. I took a quick shower, washed my hair, and looked for clean clothes. Not sweats since I hadn't seen him in a week, but I didn't think we were going out, so it didn't make sense to dress up. It was ridiculous I could still think about stuff like this, considering all of my other problems, but some parts of being a teenage girl didn't yield to larger issues. Eventually I settled on black capri pants and a pretty purple sweater. Kian was perched on the couch when I came out, though his pose communicated his discomfort.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Are you really asking me that?”

“Sorry. I'll make sure we spend more time together next week.”

“That doesn't explain anything.”

“Do you want me to lie to you?”

That startled him into silence. Then he shook his head. “If you can't tell me, say so.”

“Okay. Well, it's nothing bad. Just … something I'm doing for my own peace of mind. But, no, I can't talk about it, just like you can't share whatever Raoul said to you that day in the church. And I'm not pushing. So it's fine to ask for the same back, right?”

Kian eyed me for a few seconds before nodding with obvious reluctance. “Well played.”

“Any news on Aaron?” It seemed like I should change the subject.

“No. But you know what's weird about him?”

“Everything?”

He laughed as I settled on the couch beside him. “Well, yeah. But specifically?”

“You'll have to tell me.”

“He didn't know anything about modern technology. Like the TV, computer? He couldn't remember how to use any of it. So I've been teaching him. But he acts like it's magic or something. When I start talking about the science behind it, the beams and rays, his eyes glaze right over.”

“Not everyone's as smart as you.” Ironic for me to be saying that—Kian loved poetry, but he also understood the hard sciences. In my experience, that was kind of rare.

“You had to be there, I guess. I swear he was like those old comedy sketches when some guy from the Renaissance is plopped in the middle of a modern city.”

“That's…” I stared at him, unable to believe the idea I was entertaining. “It would explain why nobody's missing him. Right now.”

Kian's eyes widened. “‘Now' being the key word?”

“Do you think it's possible?”

“That he's missing, not geographically, but chronologically?”

I nodded. “My hypothesis is on the table. Discuss.”

“As a theory, it's crazy. But—”

“There's a compelling rightness about it. This might sound incredibly basic but … have you asked him what year he was born?”

I got a stare in return, then a slow headshake. “No, it's not the kind of question I'd ask unless this was a movie where somebody's waking up with massive head trauma.”

“Do you mind if we do a little fact-finding at your place? I know you had something more romantic in mind tonight, but I'll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“Promise?” Kian asked, low.

“Yeah.” I kissed him quickly and then put my coat back on.

It wasn't strictly necessary but I also left a note for my dad.
Went to Kian's. Home later. Love you.
The fact was, he probably wouldn't see it until morning, if at all. But my conscience wouldn't let me go about my business as if I lived alone. I loved my dad, no matter what; he was pretty much all the family I had left. Sighing, I pulled a wool beanie on and then headed to the door, where Kian was waiting.

“Ready?” He reached for my hand as we left the apartment building.

It was a cold clear night, city lights sparkling diamond bright all around us, white from the streetlights, red from the stoplights, yellow and orange neon from restaurants across the street, blinking a garish invitation. My breath came out in a wisp of smoke, twirling upward into the night sky until I couldn't see it anymore. I thought of the molecules packing together, reacting to the cold air. Such tiny particles, making up the bigger picture; there was always science at work, even in the simplest process. For some reason, I didn't feel as scared as I did before—maybe because Kian was with me, maybe because I was slowly learning how to fight back. There was no way I'd turn into a ninja overnight, but those hours with Raoul were helping.

That new mental ease also made me realize something and my smile faded. “It's probably not as great as you imagined.”

“What?”

Several cars passed before I spoke. “Being with me. You built an ideal from watching me. But up close, I'm awkward, annoying, not smart in a way that's
ever
helpful, plus I get mad over dumb things, and—”

“Hold up.”

He stopped walking between my apartment and his, and since we were holding hands, an extra tug twirled me back toward him. Kian caught me by my upper arms, just before I hit his chest. For a long moment, he stared down into my face before curving his palm to my cheek. The heat of his skin came as a small, sweet shock, sending a pleasurable chill through me.

Smiling, Kian ran his thumb over my cheekbone lightly. “You think you're a disappointment?”

“How can I not be?” I couldn't meet his gaze.

Changing how I looked had changed how people treated me but a complete internal shift would take longer. I didn't have the confidence I pretended, even now. Intellectually, I believed that Kian cared about me, but it was hard to accept emotionally—to put my full faith in it. It was hard to trust that his devotion could survive obstacles like the ones we were facing, and in my worst-case scenario, he couldn't stand me when the Harbinger called for payment, and Kian died wondering what the hell he was thinking, chucking his life for me.

“Sometimes you surprise me,” he admitted. “But it's never bad. I love getting to know the
real
you because it means I'm part of your life.” Then he bent, punctuating the rest of his words with slow, gentle kisses. “I wouldn't change this time with you for a hundred years with anyone else. Now let's go talk to Aaron.”

I followed when he tugged on my hand, hardly able to breathe for the ache in my chest. There was no way I deserved Kian, though part of me thought he might actually be some kind of karmic repayment for the shit I went through at Blackbriar. Not that I actually believed in any kind of universal balance. Supernatural forces were definitely at work, but they cared more about winning points and ruining another player's gambits than maintaining equilibrium.

Aaron was watching one of Kian's classic DVDs when we came in. He smiled at me and made room on the couch, all wide-eyed innocence.
Are you punking us, kid?

I thought hard about it, but in the end I still asked, “What year were you born?”

“1922.”

Kian sucked in a breath, sinking onto the love seat opposite. “Are you kidding?”

But the boy's blue eyes were clear as he shook his head. “I've been away a long time. The world is very different now.”

Shit. No wonder he didn't want to go to the police station.

“How old were you when…” Kian trailed off, probably not knowing how to phrase it.

“Six when he took me,” Aaron answered.

We had tons of questions, mostly historical, and Kian sat with his tablet, verifying trivia about what Boston was like back in the day. Considering his age when he was stolen, his right answer ratio seemed about what I'd expect, hovering near 60 percent. But it was really late when we wrapped up, and I'd ignored one text from my dad already.

Finally, I said, “I better head out. It seems my father's paying attention to my curfew.”

That was actually a welcome change. So Kian walked me home and then we were kissing on the stoop when my dad marched out. Never in my life had I seen him so furious. He actually hauled me away by the arm and fixed a hard look on us both.

“I asked you to come home hours ago, Edith. You didn't ask permission to go to your boyfriend's house tonight. You nagged me so much to be around more that I got groceries and I made dinner, so we could eat together like we used to. I'm making an effort here, in answer to
your
demands, and—”

“Excuse me, I had no idea we were having dinner because you didn't tell me. I haven't seen you in
days
, it seems like. How am I supposed to read your mind?”

“All you had to do was check your messages,” he snapped. “And this attitude is not helping. You're grounded, two weeks, nothing but school. Give me your phone.”

I shot a horrified look at Kian. Our time was limited enough already. And how was I supposed to work with Raoul? When he said I needed those skills, he wasn't screwing around.

“This is
complete
bullshit,” I protested.

For the first time in my life, my father slapped me.

 

IT CAN ALWAYS GET WORSE

Kian stepped between us. “Don't—”

“Stop,” I said, knowing there was no way this wouldn't turn into a huge mess. “You better go home.”

“Not when you're in trouble.” He put a protective arm around me, which was sweet but by the way my dad's face darkened, it wasn't helping.

“While I appreciate everything you've done to help, this is a family matter. You won't be seeing Edie anytime soon.”

My heart in a knot, I stepped away from Kian. “It's okay. Night.”

He didn't look pleased when my dad dragged me into the house, and I got why. My cheek was still stinging. I'd never mouthed off like that to my father before, never cursed at him, that I could recall. He'd probably attribute the aberrant behavior to Kian's influence. Which meant I'd be lucky to see him ever again, let alone in two weeks.

I don't have time for this.

Inside the apartment, it was ominously quiet apart from the ticking of the clock. I sat down on the beige couch without waiting for my dad to order me. He took a seat opposite, anger knitting his brows into a formidable line. I tried to look penitent, but deep down, a sense of injustice percolated, bubbling away along with the witch's brew of anger and outrage that came with this grounding.

So unfair. He ignores me for weeks, then expects me to read his mind.

I got a fifteen-minute lecture, followed by a five-second apology. Though I said all the right things, I was still pissed off when I retreated to my room. He had no idea what I was facing, or how much worse things could get. These days I had battle scars, wounds I'd taken trying to fight. I doubted my dad would understand that, either.

Curling onto my side, I went to sleep only after a lot of mental gymnastics. In the morning, Dad stuck around to make sure I honored his edict about staying home. It could be considered progress, I guessed, since we ate six meals together over the weekend. Monday morning, though, he seemed half crazy with the need to get back to his research.

“What about drama club?” I asked, eating a spoonful of squishy high-fiber cereal.

“Hm?” In his head, he was already at work.

“I'm not allowed to go anywhere but drama club meets three days a week after school.”

“Oh. Extracurricular activities are fine. But come straight home.”

I choked back a joke about him fitting me with an anklet that tracked prisoner movements. Knowing my dad, he'd find someone at the university who could jury-rig one. So it was better not to put ideas in his head.

Nodding, I scraped out my bowl and put it in the sink. “I'll be back around six.”

“Have a good day.”

“You too.”

At school, the atmosphere was weird and hushed as I headed for my locker. Two students were whispering as I walked by, though not about me. “No, seriously, it's true. She has a picture and everything.”

“Yeah, right,” the guy scoffed.

“What's the deal?” Once, I would've been afraid to speak up like this, afraid of drawing negative attention.

The girl replied, “Apparently Allison Vega was working on a student council project after school Friday night and she saw something in the hall.”

I raised a brow. “Like what?”

If she was responsible for this gossip, there was a 99 percent chance it was malicious, designed to foment panic and chaos. But the other two were taking it seriously, and all around me, people were checking their phones. My dad had given mine back this morning with the understanding he'd confiscate it again tonight, once I was removed from any possibility of needing emergency assistance.

“Blackbriar's haunted. Allison thinks it's Russ or Brittany.”

Or Cameron,
I thought. But nobody else knew he was dead, apart from Davina and Jen, who were taking
my
word for it, and there was no way they'd talk to Allison about it. Okay, maybe this wasn't bullshit. Because there was a spirit following me around, enough to seriously freak me out, if I didn't have so much other weird shit weighing me down.

“You don't believe me?” the guy said, copping some attitude. “Check this out.”

He shoved his phone at my face, so it took a few seconds for my eyes to focus. I saw that the e-mail had five FWs before the subject of “Holy shit,” then the pic popped up. It was a hallway in the science annex, all of the overhead fluorescents were off, but there was enough ambient light from the high windows to give the sense the picture had been taken around twilight. Near the end of the corridor, an amorphous shadow stood, freestanding, framed in the doorway. It seemed to have shape and mass, independent of any light source, yet it was also transparent. A chill rippled over me. I'd never seen Cameron, apart from flickers in my peripheral vision, but this could be him.