Author: Heather Marie Adkins
Category: Literature
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/heather-marie-adkins/page,10,478501-relics_and_s_anthology.html
Warren held my gaze a beat longer than socially acceptable, then said, “Your home is about to implode. You’re about to lose everything.”
I shrugged. “No. I lost everything when my brother died.” I gazed up at the quiet building, thinking of my neighbors – all the men and women I’d shared my life with for years. “Everybody is sleeping.”
Warren followed my gaze, his eyes sparkling in the ambient light from the stars.
“Does that make it hard?” I asked him. “You have the power to save yourself from catastrophes, but not a building full of people.”
“It is hard.” His voice was low. Intimate. As if he shared secrets no one else could be privy to. “I can’t think about it too much, or I blame myself for their deaths.”
“Was anybody hurt during the earthquake in the pueblos?”
“Yes. Several.” He lowered his eyes and made a show of studying his stitches. “Only a couple deaths.”
What did it say about the state of the Hollow that ‘a couple deaths' in the encampment didn’t warrant a second thought? Sometimes, death felt like a jealous lover who ruled my every move. Sometimes, I even liked it.
Other times, I vaguely recalled a little girl with hair like a spun web of night sky who had vowed to always be just and good.
We didn’t find the unraveled threads of conversation again. I had a feeling Warren was lost in his own guilt right alongside me.
Consciences were messy. They fucked with the reality of right and wrong until you couldn’t remember which was the correct course of action.
Maybe I was just the Reaper – a murdering hound of the Reina, robotically doing her duty regardless of conscience.
I thought of sweet, blind Mr. Popovich asleep in the bed he had shared with his wife of thirty years. He had no one to save him. He would feel the ground shake and die in the chaos of darkness.
I was thankful, at least, that Elroy would be safely at work, toiling away in the warehouse. One of my few friends in the building who would survive.
The rumbling started beneath my boots. Warren wordlessly threw an arm over my shoulder for support, and we ran.
I’d never driven my bike during a quake before because, hello, dangerous. But if we wanted to get far enough from the skyscraper to keep from being flattened like tiny people-pancakes, the bike was the only option. We had mere seconds to get to it, start the engine, and get away.
Warren stumbled as he mounted behind me, nearly falling off. I whipped an arm out to steady him and then gunned the engine.
Surprisingly, I managed to keep the Ducati upright. We rode the waves like surfboarders, dodging debris as it rained from the buildings around us. The noise was incredible, as if the earth had opened its maw and begun to roar. I couldn’t hear my engine; I could only feel its comforting purr between my legs. I’d never been so thankful to be so in tune with my bike.
I whipped right onto Main, the bike drifting precariously sideways for a breathless minute before we righted. People had begun to appear, racing from apartment buildings as if being in the street made them any safer. Made us any safer. I dodged them as if I were playing one of my brother's car chase games.
As I turned left onto the road that would take us to Headquarters, a woman clutching a small boy by the hand darted into the street in front of us. I jerked around her, missing the kid by an uncomfortably small margin, and lost control.
The Ducati fell. We slid. Asphalt tore through my jeans and pain ripped through the fleshy skin of my thigh. I reached frantically for my magick, Warren’s bare legs my only concern as I manipulated the street to ice on a flash of fae power. The burn of ice was infinitely less painful than road rash.
I dug my boots into the ice and came to an abrupt stop on my back. Warren crashed into me, sending us sprawling another two feet. The Ducati slammed into a streetlight, tires first.
I lay there, ice melting into my tank top, and stared up into the stars as the rumbling slowly ceased. I could still hear the roar; it nearly drowned out the cries around us, burned into my ears. But the ground had stilled. For now.
“You-” I coughed, looking for my voice. “You okay?”
Warren laughed, but I could hear the sting of pain in the sound. “I’m alive. ‘Okay’ is up for debate. I think there’s still some skin left on my good leg.”
“I admire your willingness to find humor in any situation.”
Warm fingers closed over mine, and Warren’s face hovered into view. “Are you okay?”
“Just winded. Give me a minute.”
He touched my face. “That was some good work there. Even if my balls are cold.”
I laughed.
Before I had the chance to sit up, my Com beeped. I lifted my wrist to look at the screen. It wasn’t dispatch. It wasn’t even work.
It was Lila. GET HERE NOW.
16
I barely recognized Headquarters.
I slowed as I passed the front door. Warren and I gaped at the crowd of people outside. They surged en masse against the glass front of the building, banging fists on the windows. Half the SEA stood on the other side of the glass in their distinctively human uniforms, guns drawn and poker faces on. I didn’t see any familiar Bureau faces. The realization pinged my radar. Coupled with Lila's cryptic demand, I felt like the apocalypse had come to call.
I sped up before we gained any notice and turned onto the side street. I set my Com against the scanner on the employee garage and eyed the road behind us as the door slid open. We got inside unmolested, and the guard secured the door quickly once we passed through.
I pulled the bike up on the sidewalk in front of the staircase, because if there was ever a time to ignore parking laws, it was now. The Ducati had been functional enough to get us there, though I’d have to look at the insides before its next ride if I didn’t want to destroy it completely. Even a machine of its fortitude couldn’t walk away from a collision unscathed.
Warren groaned as I helped him off the bike. I wedged my body under him and supported his weight while he breathed through the pain.
“At least it’s not bleeding anymore,” I remarked, studying the vicious red wound. The thick black stitches buckled his skin together, fascinatingly Frankenstein-esque. I flashed him a grin. “Sorry I’m not a plastic surgeon.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over my face. I recognized the look in his eye. I'd recently become acquainted with it in my kitchen.
Warren tucked a hand into my long, wild hair, jerked me against his hard body, and kissed me.
I knew Lila waited for me, and I knew some kind of nightmare had befallen Headquarters. But I didn’t want to worry about that. Not when his full lips were so hot and soft, and my body still ached from our interrupted sojourn earlier.
Warren finally broke the kiss, his lips brushing over my cheek as he said, “I don’t need a plastic surgeon. You’re a damn impressive woman all on your own.”
I flushed, heat rising on every visible surface of my body. Thank Senka for my dark skin.
Warren winked. “Wait till the guys back at the encampment hear my girlfriend can stitch wounds. I’m gonna look cool.”
I didn’t respond, though a response wasn’t necessary as he draped an arm over me and we entered the building.
Girlfriend? That was a tall order. I wasn’t entirely sure I'd come to terms with the fact I'd almost boffed a shadow touched at my kitchen table. Add “girlfriend” to the mix, and I was one Ducati ride away from a cut-and-run.
For the second time that night, I called an elevator for him. In the dim garage lobby, he slumped against the wall. His eyes had gone dark with pain, and his lids were heavy. I shook him.
“Hey. Don’t pass out. Did you hit your head when we crashed?”
He peered at me with one eye. “Maybe a little.”
“Dammit. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He rallied and looked down at me. His free hand trailed down my cheek. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Now I know you have a concussion.”
“Shut up.” He kissed me again, slowly but thoroughly.
When he pulled away, I’d forgotten where we were. I wasn’t sure my feet were even firmly on the floor anymore.
“Okay. Maybe not so concussed,” I murmured.
The elevator still hadn’t arrived. I tapped the button again and realized the little orange light inside wasn’t activating. I pressed an ear to the cool metal door and was met only by silence. Above my head, a light flickered.
I gazed up at it, realizing for the first time it was the auxiliary power light. The main LEDs were black.
“Something’s wrong,” I said.
“Half the Hollow is at gunpoint outside the doors,” Warren pointed out. “The something-is-wrong ship sailed a few blocks back.”
He had a point. “We're going to have to hoof it. I can glamour your leg to ease the pain. Temporary, but it will get us upstairs.”
He nodded, his face set. He'd called me impressive, but the truth remained that he had a damn hole in his leg and hadn’t once whined, complained, or begged to stop. In fact, he’d made constant jokes about it and even attempted to seduce me. Of the two of us, he was the more impressive.
I pressed two fingers to the skin beside his stitches and called my magick. My ice spell had taken its toll on my admittedly short reserves, so I had to really focus. My body wasn’t okay with multiple uses of magick back to back.
I had enough juice to ease his pain, though probably not for long. Thank Senka we only had to go up two flights of stairs.
The lobby looked the same as it had looked from the outside, only several dozen SEA uniforms blocked the view of the ever-growing crowd outside.
“It’s just an earthquake and a power outage. What the fuck is everyone freaking out over?” I wondered out loud.
Warren didn’t respond. His jaw clenched as he focused on every step beside me.
My magick clearly hadn’t lasted long.
I waved down the first uniform to catch my eye: a human SEA in a pristine uniform. He looked like he’d just joined the force that day, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“I need you to take this gentleman to Dr. Webster for medical attention,” I told the kid. “He has wounds on his legs and a possible concussion. Then find him some clean clothes and set him up in a suite on the third floor.”
The officer noted Warren’s black eyes but didn’t comment. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Com me with any updates, and let me know what room.” I paused, eyeing him. I didn’t know his face. His shiny brass nametag said KWAN. “Do you know who I am?”
He straightened, his brown eyes widening. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Then you know how to find me.” I gently extricated myself from Warren’s body, and the young officer stepped into my place. I thanked Senka for his gentle touch on Warren. Good kid.
Warren reached for me. “Wait, where are you going?”
“I have to find Lila.”
The officer shifted beneath Warren’s bulk – the poor kid looked ridiculously small beneath the shadow touched. “The Rein and Reina are below, ma’am.”
“Below?”
“With Senka.”
I thanked him. I didn’t think anything of his wording. Of the way he’d said “With Senka.” After all, she was real enough that to stand on the edge of her grave was to be with her.
I texted Lila on my Com. I’m here.
Meet me at the elevator.
The elevators doors opened, sparking with white magick. Lila appeared, her hands spread as she held the doors open.
I stepped in beside her. “Magick?”
“The power’s out, as if you couldn’t tell. We’re running on personal reserves for the moment.” She closed her fists, her magick manipulating the doors shut.
We descended in silence. Lila bit her lip, a habit I’d watched her fight to break over the past few years. She’d worn an angry hole in her bloodless bottom lip.
“Is it Everett?” I asked. I felt like I always asked this.
“That’s not even the half of it, Relle.” Lila’s shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes and swayed on her feet. “Life is changed forever. We’re in trouble.”
“If you need to leave him, I’ll help you,” I promised her.
She shook her head and lifted red-rimmed eyes to me. “No, Relle. This has nothing to do with Everett.”
A happy ding — obviously unaware of the power outage — announced our arrival on Senka’s sub-level. The doors whooshed open on Lila’s command.
A crowd of people encircled the edge of the grave in an odd, hushed silence. Faces turned to us as we passed, and the crowd parted. SEA officers and SEB agents lined the exterior. I recognized the interior circle as twelve of our council members – the thirteenth having been murdered last night. Everett stood beside the bent and broken outer fencing. His angular face was hard as stone.
Glass crunched beneath my boots as I followed Lila to the edge of the grave. It looked like every light that had once illuminated the cavern had shattered, leaving a layer of sharp edges over everything.
I stopped beside the railing. The solid metal bars were bent and twisted, as if a giant had folded them with a flick of his wrist. I followed every other gaze around me into the grave below.
Lit by the single working chandelier high above our heads, a young woman stood on the edge of Senka’s grave. The ground around the tomb had been demolished in the earthquake, exposing the dark interior of Senka’s resting place.
Her empty resting place.
The woman gazed serenely ahead. Her long black hair floated as if electrified around a face achingly beautiful and as pale as a moonbeam.
“Who is that?” I whispered. But I already knew the answer.
Lila took my hand. The strongest fae in the Hollow shook as she replied, “That is Senka.”
17
I clung to Lila’s hand, my gaze on the woman below.
“No. That isn’t... No.” I shook my head, only realizing after a few seconds how stupid I looked, like a dog shaking off water. My body had undergone some kind of change, my skin boiling but my insides cold as marble. Lightheaded, I clung to the broken bars of the fence, sure my knees wouldn’t hold me.
“She won’t respond to anything,” Lila said softly. “Many of us have taken turns calling down to her. She doesn’t move.”
“She’s been buried beneath the sand of the Hollow for a hundred years,” Everett said gruffly. “Of course she’s fucking wacko.”
“Don’t speak of her that way,” Lila snapped, hate in her pretty blue eyes as she looked at her husband. I’d never seen her look at him that way.
Something about her frightening intensity steadied me. I squeezed Lila’s hand. I’d forgotten who needed the support, me or her, until she reminded me. My reina relied on me to take charge.
I took two deep breaths and released them before I asked, “Has anyone gone down to her?”
Lila lowered her eyes ashamedly. “No.”
“Why not? She’s our savior.”
“She’s poisoned the Hollow,” a councilwoman spoke up behind me.
The voice might as well have been Haseya Nez warning me Senka Hollow is poison. My anger-rage reared its beautiful head. “No, Acura has poisoned the Hollow,” I snapped over my shoulder, not bothering to look at her. “I could see how you might mix the two up.”
I returned my attention to Lila. “Senka has lain beneath our Hollow and taken the brunt of Acura’s darkness for a hundred years. You might have a little more respect for her than leaving her alone down there when she needs us.”
I let go of Lila’s hand, my rage transferring from the faceless councilwoman to my reina. I was pissed she hadn’t stood up for Senka, that she hadn’t gone to her. I threw a leg over the broken fence.
Lila grabbed me by both arms. “No! It’s not safe! Gods, Relle, the entire tomb is demolished!”
“Let me go. It’s ju
st Senka.”
“Relle...”
I clutched the rails, vividly aware of the long drop behind me. “Five years ago, you told me you’d never love another person the way you love Senka. What changed, Lila?”
She let me go as if my skin burned. “The quake destroyed so much. What if you get hurt?”
“At least Senka won’t be alone,” I said haughtily.
I turned and leaned out over the grave. Senka didn’t move.
I let go.
The temperature dropped noticeably with my fall. I hit the concrete, my knees bending to take the impact. My palms slapped the dirt and steadied me from pitching forward onto my face. I rose and brushed the dirt from my hands.
This close to Senka, I could feel the darkness billowing from her. I gathered my wits about me and began my process of bricking up against the sharp prick of Acura’s power.
The sun rose over the Res like a brilliant orange pearl birthed from a shimmering horizon. I was seven years old in the dust with my legs criss-crossed while the hot desert floor burned my skinny ass. I had one knee pressed against Rice’s, our skin darkened from summer and our bones knobby: the kind of half-formed skeletons kids become before they grow up.
My other knee rested against my dad’s.
Daddy was shirtless, in blue jeans and moccasins. His muscles were already lined by sweat, painted by the ever-present red dust in the desert air. He traced a square into my palm, each line slow and precise. “Each side has a purpose.” He mimicked the movement on Rice’s palm. “Four sides to hold out the darkness.” He leaned to trace the square over my heart, his rough, callused finger scratchy on my skin above my dingy tank top. I watched, breathless, as he repeated the motion on Rice’s skinny bare chest.
“Imagine you are building a waterproof wall. You must place each stone exactly. You must fill the cracks so that nothing may flow through. Close your eyes, Maurelle.”
I hurried to obey. The same command didn’t come for Rice, which meant – as usual – I was always one step behind him. His quiet determination and uncanny way of anticipating everything around him often placed him worlds ahead of me. Mama always called him her Indigo Child – an old soul in a young body, wiser than his years.