Abandon The Night (21 page)

“Mine.”

Marley nodded. “Fielding was one of the spearheads, Quent. He and a small group of others were the ones who managed it all. Oh, my father reaped the benefits, just like the rest of them. But he wasn’t part of the inner circle.”

“They just needed his money. And, yes, I know about Fielding,” Quent said. “And that’s what I need you for.” He gave her a pointed look. “Whether you want to or not, you’re going to help me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you think I’m going to do, play the prodigal son and ask for my own crystal? I’m going to fucking kill the bastard.”

“There’s no way,” Marley said, shaking her head. She crossed her legs and managed, somehow, to look elegant in her pose, despite her dirty shirt, tear-streaked face, and wrinkled trousers.

Zoë walked in at that moment, carrying a covered dish and a flat package of fabric. Absolutely delicious smells wafted with her to the low table.

“My God, she can cook too?” Marley muttered as Zoë disappeared back into the other room.

“Whatever it is, it smells unbelievable.” Quent realized how hungry he was. The last time he’d eaten had been late yesterday afternoon, when they’d stopped for the night to hunt. “And, I’m going to find a way, and you’re going to help me.”

“Even if you could get to him, how would you even do it? He’s not going to let you cut the crystal out of his skin. And that’s the only way. Believe me, I know.” She looked away. “I’ve thought of it myself.”

“There’s got to be a way. I’ll do it or I’ll die trying.”

Although Zoë must have heard his last statement, she gave no indication. “Eat before this shit gets cold,” she said, gracious as only she could be.

The meal consisted of flat brown bread called
naan
, as well as fresh tomatoes, carrots, and avocados sprinkled with cilantro and salt. She’d also pan-cooked some sort of poultry and seasoned it with lemon and cumin. The pot contained a mahogany-hued tea that was still warm.

“That’s tea made from
canela
,” she told him when he asked about it. “My grandmother had a cinnamon tree from…Mexico?” Quent nodded in affirmation, and she continued, “growing in her garden before the Change. She saved it and managed to keep one growing in every place she lived.
Canela
is just the bark.”

Then, as if she wanted to forestall any further conversation with Quent, Zoë looked at Marley. “After we’re finished, he can take you to the stream. It’s there.” She pointed off in a vague direction. “I’ve got things to do.”

Marley looked at Quent, then back at Zoë. “I could use a washing up. I…uh…don’t have any other clothes.”

Zoë looked pointedly at Marley’s generous rack. “I don’t have much that would fit you.” Then she seemed to recall her hostess duties, as grudging as they might be. “But I’ll look.”

Quent was managing to use the unfamiliar utensils and cup without allowing the memories of the objects to submerge his mind. Although they teased there at the periphery, like some low buzz of white noise, he was able to keep them there.
Progress. Definitely making progress.

“Tell me about the compound where Fielding lives,” he said to Marley. The sooner he could start making plans, the better.

“It’s in the ocean,” she said. “An island, a floating community about five miles from the shore. They fucking named it Mecca—of all the insulting things they could have done, calling a symbol of destruction after a holy place.” She shook her head, bitterness evident in the action. “There’s a long bridge that leads to it and the only way onto the bridge is through a gate that’s guarded by crystaled mortals. CMs.”

“You mean Elite?”

She shook her head. “When we say Elite, we—they—mean only the people who were alive before the Evolution. The Change.”

“Members of the Cult of Atlantis.”

Marley nodded. “Yes, or people like me who were family members or friends brought along and given the immortal crystals.”

“How many are there?”

“Maybe three hundred Elite.”

“That’s
it?
” Fuck. Three hundred people had brought about the mass destruction of the human race and caused the whole planet to change. The seasons, the environment, even, according to Lou and Theo, the axis of the earth itself had shifted.

“We can’t procreate. Well, the women can’t. The men are able to, but they have to impregnate normal mortals. That was how I started to figure out that what happened was not as I had been told. All these young, nubile girls started showing up. It was like something out of
The Handmaid’s Tale
.”

Nausea rose in the back of his throat. “And CMs? What exactly are they?”

“They’re immortal too, but they weren’t original members of the Cult. They’re people who have been given crystals and immortality, but over the last fifty years. Some of the women had their boy-toys crystaled, or even their damned pets.” She glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes. “I didn’t, but that’s only because David Beckham didn’t make the Elite’s cut.”

“Did they actually
find
Atlantis?” Quent asked. “Is this what was all about?”

Marley’s lips pursed in thought. “They found something. I suspect it, but I don’t really know, Quent. They kept things pretty tight and close, and once I started asking questions, even more so. But, I mean, these immortal crystals have to come from somewhere. Maybe the bottom of the ocean, maybe Atlantis, maybe not. I know the Inner Circle of the Elite—the ICE—leave the compound regularly. No one knows where they go, but they could be mining more crystals, or going somewhere else. To Atlantis.”

“Some friends of ours, a set of twins from before the Change, hacked into satellites about a year after all the events. They found a new landmass in the Pacific Ocean, which now covers all of California to Vegas. Is that the compound you’re talking about?”

“What?” Marley said. Her eyes had grown wide and he saw her face drain of color. “I had no idea.” She shook her head, looking about as nauseated as he felt. “In Mecca, you’re completely cut off from whatever is left of the world. Until I got out of the compound, I had no idea what the rest of the earth looked like. In fact, I expected a wasteland. Like in…um, that old Mel Gibson movie…
Mad Max
? I mean, what about all the nuclear power plants? What happened to them and their waste? It’s got to be Radioactivity City around them for miles.”

“Or at least, it was. Even Chernobyl is—was—coming back green ten years after the accident.” He turned the subject back. “So if the compound is only five miles from shore, it couldn’t be the separate landmass they saw.”

“God, maybe they did find Atlantis,” Marley whispered.

“But how? Did it rise from the bottom of the ocean? Impossible. And I’ve studied the legends. Atlantis was either an island in the Mediterranean, likely off Greece, or it was in the Atlantic. No one’s ever suspected it was in the Pacific.”

“Someone must have been wrong. Or it’s not Atlantis. It’s something else.”

“Well, for now, I just want to get to Fielding. Where is Mecca?”

Marley looked at him a little helplessly. “Quent, you have to understand. I was running for my life in a terrain completely unfamiliar to me, and then the Marcks caught me. I’m not sure I can help you find it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

She drew in a long breath, then let it out. And looked away. “It’s too dangerous.”

“That’s not your damned decision, Marley.”

Before Marley could reply, Zoë stood abruptly and began to gather up the dishes. Quent began to help her, but she gave him a look and said, “Take her to the river. I’ve got an ass-load of things to do here and I don’t want to be bothered.” And she turned and walked back through the beaded doorway.

“Guess you’d better listen to her,” Marley said with a glimmer of her old sense of humor.

And that was when Quent realized what Zoë was doing. Severing their connection. Sending him on his way—in more ways than one.

He looked at Marley, who, despite her flash of irony, still had a deep weariness in her eyes and a pale pallor to her skin. But she was familiar. And she understood him. She’d known him and his silver-spoon world in ways that Wyatt and Elliott hadn’t comprehended.

“Right,” he said.

Just then, Zoë stalked back into the room, pushing the beads rather more roughly aside than she needed to, and strode over to a trunk shoved up against the wall. She dug around in it and yanked out several articles of clothing, rejected some and bundled up the others, and thrust the wad at Marley.

“Water’s nice for a swim. Here’s some soap if you want to wash up. Sun’ll be setting in about two hours, so you have time to enjoy.”

Run along with you, kiddies,
Quent could almost hear her say.
Have fun.

Fine
. He straightened his shoulders and replied, “We’ll be back.”

The last thing he heard as he followed Marley out of the room was the clanging of dishes, and the low, threatening growl from Fang.

As if he were saying
good fucking riddance.

A rubbish-mouthed dog, just like his mistress. If he weren’t feeling so dejected, Quent might have smiled at the thought.

Zoë didn’t relax until she heard Fang walk over and lay down on his bed. He’d remained on guard through the whole meal, glaring at their visitors in a way she wished she’d been able to do.

Well, at least at Marley Huvane. Who hadn’t bothered to button up her shirt, and had been flaunting her substantial cleavage in some light blue bra since they arrived.

She washed the dishes as quickly as possible, then set them aside to dry. After she fed Fang some leftovers, which he wholly appreciated, Zoë drew in a deep breath.

What now?

She felt odd. Off balance, which never happened. Maybe she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her.

The sun would be setting soon. She should hunt, but that would take her out of her home and leave Quent and Marley here. She could be gone for days tracking
gangas
if she went too far to make it back in one night. That would mean they would be here, in her house.

Not a damned chance she was going to let that happen.

She could make more arrows. She
should
make more. She’d almost run out last night, and if that had happened or if she’d been alone…bad fucking news.

She didn’t feel like doing that either.

If she wanted to take a night off from hunting, as she did occasionally, she would normally curl up with a book and read. With Fang nearby and a cup of tea.

But Quent and Marley would be back. Wet and slippery and—

Ah, for fuck’s sake.
That was
not
something she wanted to think about.

So why the hell was it niggling at her? She had no claim on him.

Zoë slammed down a cup that, fortunately, was made from tin, and poured more
canela
. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to.

Just like Zoë would. She nodded to Fang and slogged back a huge drink of tea. It scalded the shit out of her mouth and she blinked back tears of pain, swearing silently.
Dammit
.

What the hell was she doing, wasting time anyway? She had too much to do, and now that Marley was here, she didn’t have to worry about Quent the blond genius anymore. Marley could take care of him.

Good riddance.

Yes. Marley with the big boobs and the lush curves and the eyes for Quent. They had a history. Oh, Zoë had recognized it right away. Fuck-buddies, maybe even real lovers. The pain and betrayal in his eyes, the shock, pleasure—then hurt—in hers.

Whatever had happened between them, they’d work it out. Down by the river.

Good for them.

And then they could get the fuck out of her place and she could get back to her life.

Quent heard the splash behind him and only then did he turn to look toward Marley, in the river. She rose from the gentle rush, her hair slicked back from her face. Even though the lowering sun was behind her, blinding his vision, he could sense her pleasure.

“You need the water?” he said, coming to sit on a huge fallen tree near the shore. There was no beach to speak of, just a well-worn track through the grass and overgrowth that led from the remnants of the town’s old road here.

He’d noticed other indicators of Zoë’s homesteading presence—three solar panels affixed to the eastern side of a building and a crude waterwheel tucked beneath an old bridge. Subtle signs that would easily be missed unless someone was looking for them.

Like him.

“Yes. Can’t live without it. And the water’s beautiful,” Marley said, treading in the middle. “You look miserable. Come on in. I’ll tell you about it.”

For the first time since Zoë’d discovered her, she looked like the Marley he’d known. Her face was clean, her hair sleek, and her eyes sparkled. And on the right side of her chest, just below the collarbone, he saw the small crystal. It was still too light for the glow to be noticeable, so now it simply looked like half of an ice blue marble stuck to her skin.

He glanced at the array of clothes strewn over a bush, noting her white shirt, taupe trousers, and the blue bra and matching panties she’d discarded. He figured he knew what would happen if he joined her—it always did with him and Marley.

They’d known each other since they were teens, since he was living with the bastard that was his father. Brandon Huvane, founder of a successful biochemical firm, and Fielding had been close associates, and the families often vacationed together.

And throughout the rest of his life, the Huvanes and Fieldings continued to run in the same circles. More often than not, if Marley and Quent were at the same function—fundraisers, premiers, parties—they’d find a chance to ditch their dates and sneak off for a bit. Sometimes they’d snog or shag, sometimes they’d simply gossip about the other attendees.

Quent pulled off his shirt and began to unfasten his shorts. The river did look inviting, dark blue sparkling with red and orange as the sun settled onto the horizon. Another hour of daylight, and then they’d have to go inside or chance running into
gangas
.