Blood and Salt (4 page)

“Maybe we can buy her freedom. Cults need money, too.” I had cautiously picked up the gold brick I'd dropped earlier to place it back in the briefcase when I felt something embedded on the back of the ingot. I turned it over to find the circle with the dot in the center—the same mark I received this morning.

I ran my hand over the bandage near my collarbone. Either I was going crazy, like Mom, or I was really a conduit. And what did that even mean? She didn't prepare me for this.

I shut the briefcase, securing the latches.

My brother's arms were prickled with goose bumps. “I have a terrible feeling about this.”

“I don't know how to explain it,” I said as I touched the imaginary scar on my hand, “but I know we have to go there ourselves. It's the only way to save her.”

But it went deeper than that. Somehow I knew I needed saving, too.

• • •

I said my silent good-byes to the city as we crossed the George Washington Bridge in my mother's SUV.

Armed with enough cash and gold to float a small country, we were headed to Quivira.

I watched my brother drift off into an uneasy sleep, his breath fogging up the side passenger window. Even though he was sitting right next to me, I'd never felt so alone.

Pulling the black silk ribbon from my pocket, I draped it around my throat.

EVOLUTION

THE SUN ROSE,
flooding the car with hazy lemon light. I knew it was stupid, but it felt like nothing bad could happen to us as long as the sun was shining.

As the light skimmed my brother's face, he jerked awake as if he'd just come out of a nightmare. Raking his fingers through his hair, he let out a deep sigh. “Pennsylvania?” he asked as we passed a horse-drawn buggy with bright orange reflective triangles on the back. Inside the buggy, kids about our age stared back at us with the same kind of alien fascination our faces must've held.

“Ohio.”

“I'm sorry.” He stretched out his legs. “How long was I out?”

“Six hours.”

“I've got the next shift.”

“We need gas,
again,
” I said as I pulled off the highway.

Up ahead stood an old white house with a sweeping front
porch that had been converted into a gas station/bait shop. The paint was peeling off in sheets, and it seemed like one stiff breeze could blow the whole thing to smithereens.

I pulled up to the gas pump. Rhys swung his door open just as a pickup truck peeled into the parking lot behind us, nearly clipping him. Two husky men got out, dressed from head to toe in camo.

The bigger one, with the reddish goatee, slammed a beer and let out a gag-worthy belch. “Did you see that dumb look on his face when we stood up from the blind?”

“He was, like,
Oh, shit, man.
” His friend laughed so hard, he had to stop to catch his breath. “And then we went crazy on his ass. BOOM.”

They gave each other a series of sloppy high fives before strutting inside.

“I get that there are people who hunt to feed their families,” I said to Rhys. “But these guys have a brand-new truck with tricked-out radials and, oh my God, a Nickelback bumper sticker. They aren't living off the land. Whatever they killed, it's going on their wall.”

“Don't go all PETA on me. Not here,” Rhys said as he peeled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from one of the stacks and stuffed it in his blazer pocket.

“Seriously, how can they call that a sport?” I asked as I popped the gas cap.

“Yeah, I really don't want to be on their wall, either, so keep it down.” Rhys headed inside.

As I pumped the gas, I dug around in the backseat for something that would pass for breakfast. I finally settled on a warm Dr Pepper. While opening the can, I accidentally slit my finger on the sharp aluminum edge.

“Damn.” I'd stuck my finger in my mouth to slow the bleeding when I noticed a long wisp of honey-colored hair hovering in the wind above the bed of the hunters' truck.

I dropped the can. As the wet hiss of soda seeped into the gravel, a sick feeling twisted my insides, refusing to let go. Animals didn't have hair like that.
I
did.

Cautiously, I walked toward the back of the truck. As I pulled up on the shiny chrome handle to lower the door, my body went numb.

There, lying on her side, was the dead girl.

I stared in dark fascination. I'd never seen her lying down before. Her back was turned to me, but her left arm was stretched beneath her, exposing the deep slash in the palm of her hand, seeping blood. I followed the rope knotted around her mottled ankles to find the rest of it coiled next to her, like a cobra waiting to strike. The bottoms of her feet were caked in fresh soil.

A mass of dark blond waves covered her face, but I knew it was her—the same girl I'd seen my entire life.
Me.

Without another thought, I climbed into the bed of the truck, accidentally brushing my leg against the pile of rope. That eerily familiar crinkling sound sent a chill marching up my spine. Just the feel of it against my skin made my blood
bubble in revulsion. I kicked free of the rope, but the dread never left me. Every particle of my being told me to run, but I had to see her face. Katia said I was tied to her. I needed to understand what that meant.

My hand trembled as I reached out and grasped her shoulder, gently pulling her toward me. Her skin was cold, but I'd never felt so warm. I felt life surging through me—pure power tingling just beneath the surface of my skin right before I was ripped from my consciousness. I fought to hang on, but I felt myself disappearing into another time.

• • •

“Give me your arm,” Coronado commands as he pulls a blazing hot iron from the embers.

The breeze catches Alonso's hair, whipping it around his face. He steals a glance at me before stepping forward to comply, his face so beautiful it makes me want to weep.

As Coronado drags the tip of the iron across the tender skin on the inside of Alonso's forearm, I cringe. The sickeningly sweet smell of burning flesh overpowers my senses. I clench the folds of my gown, but keep my face expressionless. If Coronado discovers my true feelings for Alonso, he won't hesitate to throw him overboard.

“I claim you as one of the Arcanum. You belong to me now.” Coronado finishes the mark, then pours a bucket of seawater over his handiwork. I hear Alonso's skin sizzle. The pain from salt in his wound must be excruciating, but Alonso stands like a statue, staring out over the endless ocean separating us from the New World.

As Coronado and his soldiers retreat to the lower deck for another night of drink and tall tales, Alonso sinks to the ground, cradling his arm. I go to him, touching his wrist. He flinches.

“Do you trust me?” I ask.

“Yes,” he whispers, clenching his hand into a fist.

I reach out for his arm again, gently rolling up his dirty shirtsleeve.

Swiping my finger against the sharp edge of his dagger, I coax my blood to the surface. I hold my finger above his cut; he stops me.

“What will your blood do to me?” He looks up at me through long wild strands of sun-kissed hair.

“Take the pain and make you scar more quickly, but you will bear his mark forever.”

He pulls me closer. “It won't make me immortal?”

“No,” I answer, stunned by how painful I find the notion of Alonso remaining mortal.

“You'll be blood bound to Coronado.” I feel his warm breath pulsing against my cheek.

“I would rather die one thousand deaths,” I whisper, meeting his gaze.

He presses my cut finger into his wound.

He sucks in a shallow breath through his teeth and I see the broad muscles in his shoulders relax as the pain is extinguished. His flesh heals into a thick rope, revealing Coronado's signet, a winged creature, crudely etched into his skin.

I run my now-healed finger across the brand. “Your body is only a vessel. You belong to no one.”

“You're wrong,” he says, his golden brown eyes settling on mine. “I belong to you.”

• • •

The creak of the screen door wrenched me back to the present.

“Ash!” I spun around to see my brother hurrying down the steps. “What do you think you're doing?”

“You see her?” I whispered.

“I don't know what's going on with you,” he said as he approached me with his hands raised in front of him as if he were trying to soothe a wild animal. “But you need to get out of the truck . . .
now.
Those guys could come back any second.”

“I can't leave her like this.”

I reached back to touch her and felt short rough fur beneath my fingers. I whipped around to find my knees nestled against a white diamond-shaped patch of hair just above the rib cage of a young buck, its torso riddled with bullet holes.

The deer's leg twitched.

I scrambled out of the truck, knocking my brother to the ground.

The deer got to its feet in the bed of the truck, blinking big dark eyes at us. It shook its antlers, as if shaking off death, then leapt across the road majestically and disappeared into the thick woods.

The screen door creaked open. Rhys and I took off running back toward the car. My heart was pounding, which meant my brother was probably about to have a coronary.

The hunters strolled down the porch steps toward their
truck with toothpicks dangling from their lips, looking totally content—until they saw the empty space where their trophy used to be.

“What the Sam hell?” the guy with the goatee yelled as he looked under the truck.

“Son of a
bitch
!” the other one screamed as he paced the lot. “Did somebody steal him?”

Rhys slipped in on the driver's side and I got into the passenger seat.

My brother's hand was shaking as he pressed the ignition button.

“Do you need me to drive?” I asked.

“No,” he snapped as we pulled away.

I watched the woods in anticipation, hoping to catch a glimpse of the deer. I wanted one last look to know it was real.

“What just happened?” Rhys yelled as he merged back onto the highway. “How did you know it wasn't dead? Why would you
touch
it?”

“I saw the dead girl.”

“Where?” Rhys looked around in a panic, momentarily swerving into the other lane of the two-lane highway.

“Back there, in the truck.”

“Wait.” His knuckles blanched as he gripped the wheel. “You're telling me you thought the
deer
was the dead girl?”

“She seemed so real,” I whispered as I rocked back and forth in my seat, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with me. “Rhys.” I turned toward him. “I think Mom was
right. I think I might seriously be a conduit, and the protection marks . . . they're not working anymore.”

There was a long silence that neither of us knew how to fill.

“Can you at least clean the blood off your hands?” Rhys finally exhaled, looking like he was going to vomit.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize . . .” I dug the first-aid kit out of the glove box and ripped open an alcohol pad.

I braced myself for the sting of the alcohol on my index finger, but it never came. Wiping off all the blood, I found nothing there. Not a scratch. I could've sworn I sliced my finger on the edge of the aluminum, but I could've sworn a lot of things lately. I guess this is what it meant to be a conduit. We needed to find Mom soon so she could fix me. I didn't know how much longer I could take this.

I crammed the first-aid kit into my backpack, then pressed the side of my head against the glass, watching the woods blur into an endless stretch of brown and green. Rhys had slowed down to pass another buggy when an old wooden billboard caught my attention.
THE RAPTURE IS COMING
was written in large block lettering. Perched on top of the sign were two black birds. Crows. The harbinger of death.

One for each of us.

WRECKED

“YOU HAVE REACHED
your final destination.” The voice blared over the GPS, startling us both. We'd been on desolate back roads for so long, I think we'd forgotten what technology sounded like. We moved forward another ten feet, then the GPS signal died. It wasn't a gentle wane; it was abrupt, like we'd just fallen off the face of the earth.

“No. No way,” Rhys said, squeezing his phone like he was strangling it. “This is a joke.” He squinted through the bug-smeared windshield.

I pulled over into a makeshift lot full of old rusted-out cars.

Beyond that stretched nothing but corn. Miles and miles of corn.

Rhys flung his phone at the dash. “I told you we wouldn't be able to find it.”

“This has to be it,” I said as I scanned the area. Obviously, it hadn't rained in some time, giving the landscape a muted
palette, much softer than I'd expected. There was something so familiar about the surroundings, but I couldn't put my finger on it—maybe something from a dream or a Wyeth painting.

“I need to use the restroom,” Rhys said.

“Be my guest.” I glanced over at the towering stalks as I picked up his phone and tried to find a signal.

“No . . . I mean
really
use the restroom.”

I dug out some paper napkins from the discarded bag in the backseat and handed them to him.

He eyed me skeptically. “Are you serious?”

“Everybody poops, Rhys. There's even a book about it.”

“Just don't
talk
about it,” he hissed as he took the napkins and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He walked off toward the corn, shoulders hunched, looking completely mortified.

I cut off the engine and found myself staring at hundreds of abandoned cars—every decade was represented. It seemed odd to have a car graveyard in the middle of nowhere, but I guess it was as good a place as any.

I rummaged through the center console, hoping to find gum or a breath mint. My mouth felt like the inside of a Dumpster.
Tic Tacs . . . score.
I popped a couple and looked through the rest of the contents—a pair of sunglasses and a tin of lip balm. And I thought I was low-maintenance.

I dabbed the balm on my lips and glanced at myself in the rearview mirror to see if it made any improvement, but all I
found were dark blue irises lined with thick black rings—like Katia's—like shackles.

I put on my mother's sunglasses. They looked glamorous on her, but they made me look like a bug.

We'd been driving for nearly twenty hours, and my body felt welded to the seat. I was exhausted, but still felt the adrenaline pumping through me—that and a ton of caffeine.

The instant I got out of the car to check on my brother, my hair began to frizz and stick to my neck. I had pulled the black silk ribbon from my pocket to tie my hair back when a rogue breeze kicked in and blew it from my hands. I watched it hover in midair, graceful as a dancer, weightless and free. The black strand swooped in front of me before drifting into the maze of abandoned cars.

I hurried after it, my footsteps kicking up clouds of dust as I moved in and out of the stacks of twisted metal.

I took in a deep breath. The smell of rust, rubber, and oil filled my lungs, but there was something deeper underneath, something infinitely more appealing. Dark fertile earth, sandalwood, fresh rain, strawberries, a hint of tang.

I maneuvered around a column of hubcaps, following the ribbon as it plummeted like an arrow into the waiting hands of the man standing before me. He wasn't really a man, maybe about eighteen or nineteen, but he was the kind of beautiful that made me think I might still be hallucinating.

“Does this belong to you?” He held out his hand. The ends of the ribbon curled around his wrist like a secret caress.

He had gorgeous olive skin and refined features, with thick, almost black hair that grazed his shoulders. It curled up slightly on the ends in a sexy, haphazard way. His almond-shaped eyes were so clear, so full of light that it was impossible to tell exactly what color they were. Blue, green, and brown flecks set adrift in a sea of gold.

I reached out, taking the ribbon from him, my fingers lingering on his. I waited for the usual wave of repulsion to hit me, but instead my pulse quickened as if I were standing on the edge of a precipice. A dizzying flash of heat rushed to my cheeks. This was something new.

Whatever was happening must be a physical malfunction of sleep deprivation or some kind of residual conduit feeling. Still, the urge to feel more of his skin overwhelmed me.

“Do I know you?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe from a fashion magazine or something?”

At first I thought he was trying to be slick, but there was something distinctly genuine about him.

“You read a lot of fashion magazines?” I asked as I tied my hair back with the ribbon.

“No, I guess not,” he said.

He started to step away from me; I actually prayed to any god that would listen to make him stay. I'd never felt such a strong physical attraction to anyone.

Even if it was just for a fleeting moment, he seemed to make all my problems disappear. I wanted to bottle that feeling and
carry it around in my pocket. The thought of kidnapping him crossed my mind.

He smiled back at me. “Are you looking for something . . . a particular part?” He had an amazing mouth. Perfect lips with a tiny dimple on the right side of his cheek.

“Not exactly.” I flashed a grin as I walked through a labyrinth of stacked tires.

He joined me. “Are you just passing through, then?”

“You could say that.” I stole another glance at him as I pretended to inspect the treads.

He cocked his head to the side, studying me. “This place is pretty far off the beaten path. Are you lost?”

“I don't think so.”

He bit down gently on his bottom lip. I could tell he wasn't completely satisfied with my answer. I followed his gaze to my attire. I must've looked pretty psycho in my school uniform skirt, dusty motorcycle boots, and bloodstained blouse.

“Oh, it's not my blood,” I said with a nervous laugh.

He looked at me quizzically.

I was giggling at blood. What the hell was wrong with me?

“There was a deer,” I tried to explain, but I was only making things worse. “The deer's fine. I mean, he got right up and hopped off into the woods . . . happy as a clam.”

Oh my God, Ash, shut up.

“So, I guess you know a lot about cars?” I asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

“A little.” I swore I saw him blush. “Just from the manuals.”

“You don't look like the typical junkyard-worker type.”

“I guess I left my undershirt and overalls at home today. That's what you were expecting?”

“No,” I replied sheepishly as I registered his worn linen shirt and pants. “But I didn't expect you to have all your teeth.”

He let out a warm unself-conscious laugh.

Standing just a handful of inches above me—at about six feet—he had surprisingly good posture, which made him seem taller. It was clear even through his clothes that he had a well-toned body. Not overly muscular, but athletic, maybe soccer or swimming—a sport that demanded a strong core. Everything seemed effortless for him—the way he moved, the way he spoke.

“It's too bad you can't stick around. I could show you the sights,” he said, stepping closer.

“There are sights?” I teased as I turned down a narrow pathway lined with orphaned fenders.

“Sure.” He smiled broadly as he followed close behind. “The sunflower field at sunset, maybe we could split a bottle of dandelion wine.”

I looked down at the ground, attempting to hide my idiotic grin.

“Then I would take you to Windy Point to watch for shooting stars.”

“Would we make a wish?” I glanced at him over my shoulder.

“You can if you like, but I don't need to.” He offered that smile again with the tiny dimple.

“Sounds like you've thought this through.”

“It's not over yet.” He grabbed my waist, stopping me in my tracks. My pulse pounded beneath his touch. He dragged his thumb across the top of my hip bone, and my stomach lurched as if the ground were caving in, sending me into a free fall. “At dawn, we could take a swim at Crystal Pond.”

“And then what?” I managed to ask.

He pulled me close, whispering in my ear. “You'd never want to leave.”

I felt giddy.

He removed my sunglasses. I thought he was going to kiss me when he suddenly dropped his hands.

“What's your name?” he asked as he took a deliberate step away from me, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“Ash-Ashlyn—”

“Surname,” he interrupted tersely.

My mind went blank. What was my name? “Larkin,” I answered breathlessly, still reeling from his touch.

His eyes went wide before his face turned into a solid block of ice. The muscles in his jaw and shoulders tensed. “It's you,” he murmured as he slowly backed away from me, then took off running into the corn.