Night Forbidden (10 page)

Marley nodded. “If they had any idea this place down here existed, it’d be gone. We’d be dead. I’m not sure what would worry them more: the possibility of a communication infrastructure that ties us together, or all the information and data that Theo and Lou and Sage have collected from the hard drives and mainframes they’ve found.”

“Maybe the Strangers have somehow found out,” Vaughn said, his face even more strained.

“We’ve been damned careful,” Fence said. “No one knows about this but us, and none of us is fixing to tell.”

He could almost imagine what the guy was thinking: how so many lives were his responsibility, here in Envy. And how, if he weren’t offering—or allowing—a haven for the Resistance, there likely wouldn’t be a threat. The Strangers would let them live in peace—albeit a repressed peace that could be shattered by the disappearance of anyone at any time.

Fence studied Vaughn closely and wondered if the mayor of Envy would sell them all out in order to keep his people safe.

Or if he’d support them in their efforts to break the Strangers, despite the danger to so many lives.

Marley was speaking again. “If I had to guess . . . I’d think it would be logical to assume that any threat to Envy would come from the ocean.”

Vaughn swore softly. “That sparkling gray stuff. We still haven’t figured out what it was. But no one’s ever seen it before.”

But someone else had. Fence’s eyes wandered toward the ceiling, where, two floors above them, Ana and her father were in Elliott’s infirmary.

He hadn’t told her what he’d overheard from the bounty hunters, but it was time to have a talk with the sun goddess anyway.

A
na streaked through the sea, leaving a trail of bubbles sparkling silently behind her. This area of the ocean, on the northern side of Envy, was a place she’d never explored. And now that she and her father had received good news from Elliott Drake, she felt free as her dolphin friends to swim and dart about in the place she thought of as her second home.

Once they arrived in Envy, Fence took a few minutes to get them to the doctor, and then to help her arrange for a place to sleep—and all without one teasing, sly comment about joining him. Then he took off somewhere else, and she hadn’t seen him since.

To her great relief. It was a lot easier to ignore her attraction to him when he wasn’t around.

In the infirmary, Elliott had scanned his hands over her dad’s body from head to toe. It took him all of five minutes to pronounce George severely anemic—which he then explained would be easily cured by changing his diet to include more iron. It was ironic that with Ana so tied to the sea, and having partaken of everything from seaweed and algae to fish and shellfish, that George would have such a deficiency—but then again, he often forgot to eat unless Ana forced him to do so.

Which she would be doing more stridently in the future.

And that was one of the reasons she was flitting through the blue-green waters right now: looking for the species of sea plant that contained a good amount of iron and protein . . . not to mention taking the opportunity to explore and see if she could learn any more about that odd silvery substance that had washed up on Envy’s shore.

Unlike the ocean near her home in Glenway, the waters here were darker and murkier, even near the surface. Part of the reason was because they weren’t quite as deep, and much of what had been Las Vegas was, in places, only fifty feet below the surface. Tall buildings, some still intact and others crumbled remains—just as on land—created an unusual waterscape.

But here, too, Ana felt that unusual, unfamiliar sensation in the sea. The subtle change she’d noticed back home was even stronger here—either because of the geographic location or the passage of time. Either way, it made her even more concerned about whatever was stirring the waters. Whatever the Sea was waiting for, preparing for.

With her shirt pulled up and tucked in place to expose her torso, Ana’s crystals glowed brightly, illuminating the dim alleys between rooftops and towers. She dove deep . . . down, down, down . . . along the side of some massive structure, as if she were tumbling off the top floor to the ground below.

It was black and close, and the water pressed down on her, but she wasn’t frightened. This was her world. Red, pink, and yellow glowing fish and tiny anemones lit the darkness, and they scattered at her sudden downward rush. She darted through broken windows, the glass long gone, and out of rooms, through sagging doors, and along long corridors that in places were now hardly more than furry metal skeletons.

She turned a corner, spiraling up, up . . . and halted when she saw a flash of light at the corner of a dark building.

It was there for a moment, and then it was gone. Her heart lurched and she whipped herself behind an algae-covered column, startling a pair of sea crabs from their hiding place.

She hardly paid the creatures any mind . . . she was looking out from a shadow as she quickly pulled her shirt down to cover the glowing crystals.

The light given off by energy crystals was different from that of fishes and plants: it was sharper, more clear and steady, and cut more deeply through the murky deep. She knew what she’d seen.

A glow like that could only have come from an Atlantean.

She didn’t see any more sign of the crystalline lights, so Ana slipped from behind her hiding place and darted to another shadowy spot in the direction the light had gone.

And watched and waited, her heart pounding madly, her belly in a twist. She reached blindly to make certain her knife was in place.

Something long and dark moved above Ana, patrolling for prey in slow, easy ripples. But like most wild animals—excluding those massive electric eels—sharks were little danger as long as they didn’t feel threatened, so she set aside her concerns and listened to the sea.

She let her fingers float away from her body, spread delicately so as to sense the slightest ripple of change in the water. Ana concentrated, breathed through her crystals, and focused on the push of the ocean around her . . . and as she waited, breathing, feeling . . . something shifted, and she noticed the faintest alteration in the hum of the sea.

Moments later a human silhouette swam by, just above her head.

Ana tamped her shirt down closer to her torso and made certain the crystaled side of her body was toward the wall as she looked up at the figure sliding through the watery space. The sprinkling light of crystals around his torso was greater than her own, confirming her suspicion.

He was an Atlantean.

Raw fear and nausea gathered in her stomach and she squeezed tighter into the darkness. She slipped her knife from its belt just in case.

He was too far away for her to see any details other than the basic shape of a figure that reflected familiarly in her memory. Of course, she knew several Atlanteans. It could be any of them, she told herself firmly.

They weren’t necessarily looking for her—or would even recognize her. Especially if she kept her crystals hidden.

If she had a better view, the little dots of light might identify him—for the crystal color and pattern on each Atlantean’s torso was as unique as a fingerprint.

What was more important was that he was swimming unusually near the shore, much too close to the mortal world . . .

Ana’s belly twitched nervously when a second figure came into view behind him. Again, high above her. More crystals, patterned like constellations, glowed like stars in the sea-sky. Another man.

Something was wrong about the way they were caravanning along. Curiosity propelled Ana to move silently behind and below the second figure, following his pattern of stopping and starting, ducking and hiding. And then she realized that
he
was following the
other
swimmer.

Two
Atlanteans. One stealthily following the other . . .

Now that was curious.

She swam faster, silently, using an overhanging roof as a cover for her to catch up to the second man.

But then when she stopped and peeked out and up at the place one or both of them should have been, she saw nothing but darkness and shadows. A school of angelfish, then a trio of lizardfish and the coral-covered sagging door of a car.

And not a sign of glowing crystals shafting through the darkness anywhere.

Ana moved around in expanding concentric circles, careful to remain in the shadows, careful to cause hardly a ripple of a wave, watching for creatures that her sudden movements might startle and thus draw attention to herself.

But she saw nothing.

Where had they gone?

And what were they doing here?

After a long while she finally gave up and replaced her knife in its sheath. She began to make her way back toward shore, jetting sleekly through the water. She’d been out here for more than three hours, and even though George was used to her spending half a day or more in the sea, he had been ill and was in a strange place. She felt a little guilty about—

She stopped suddenly, her body jolting into a vertical position as she stared at the soft pink glow emanating from a dark cubbyhole. She cast a quick look around, heart in her throat.

There was no one about. Nothing moved.

She used the slightest flutter of her hands to propel herself closer. She hadn’t been mistaken: there was a small pink crystal—no larger than her pinky fingernail—settled in the center of a pink and orange seaflower. Its flowing, petal-like spindles danced gently with the rhythm of the water.

Ana’s heart did a little odd flip, and her palms suddenly felt dry and tight.

The flower had been placed inside an open mailbox—or some metal object from days gone by that resembled one. It had been arranged there purposely, as a message . . . just as Darian used to do when he wanted her to meet him.

It
was
Darian she’d seen.

Ana darted away, suddenly fearful that he lurked about—or that
someone
did—and was watching her. Her fingers curling around a rusted metal beam, she stopped to think, drawing long, cool drafts of water in through her crystals . . . and acknowledged the reality she’d tried to dismiss earlier. The familiar figure, the first Atlantean she’d seen swimming above her today: it had to be Darian.

Her eyes went back to the flower, bathed in its pink crystal glow. He was looking for her again. Did he know she was in the area? Or was there someone else with whom he might be exchanging mementos? It wasn’t jealousy that touched her at the thought . . . it was confusion and apprehension.

The last time she’d seen him had been five years ago—when she learned exactly why he’d been so attached to her. She’d been beyond hurt and furious, and even now, a bolt of anger surged through her in a sharp reminder that she could never trust him. Or any Atlantean. But Darian . . . he’d spent all those months wooing and loving her just to trick her into going back with him.

And all along, she’d thought he really loved her. That she’d found someone she could be herself with, who already knew all of her secrets. She thought she’d actually found someone of her people who was honest, selfless, and kind.

But in the end she realized they were all the same: selfish and evil.

Because of that, immediately after her confrontation with Darian she and George moved to a different settlement. They moved far from the northern shore where they’d lived before—a hundred shoreline miles away from her lover and the memories of his betrayal and manipulation.

Ana turned and swam off. She left the flower there with its crystal, untouched, instead of leaving what would have been her own normal response: a gift or token of her own to let him know she got the message.

This was one message she didn’t want to get . . .

Or did she?

Ana stopped again, this time pausing next to a large outcropping of anemone-covered rock. A spindly blue and green sea beetle darted across the back of her hand, but she hardly noticed it. If there was something happening in the sea, Darian might know about it.

Her insides swirled and she thought about the risk of responding to his message, of divulging her whereabouts after working so hard to keep them secret for years. About what it would be like to see him again.

Darian had, after all, been her first real love. The first man she didn’t have to hide her crystals from. Heck, he’d been the
only
man she didn’t have to hide her crystals from.

Fence and his hot, dark eyes flashed into her mind. She remembered the skepticism in his expression and voice when he looked at her muddied and scraped torso as she walked out of the sea. He’d be just as difficult to sidetrack as Darian had been—maybe even worse, because she couldn’t just dart away into the water from him. On land, she was a lot less agile, and he was so graceful and—

Why was she thinking about Fence right now? He was nothing more than a flirt and a tease who relied on his charm to make his way in the world. Although he was one hell of a guide.

And look at the way he’d been with Tanya and the other kids.

And he was a sweltering kisser.

Ana frowned at herself and shoved away the disruptive thoughts as a cold spot in the water sifted over her.
What should I do?

Did she dare respond to Darian and try to find out what he knew?

Why was he being followed?

And what in the deep dark depths was going on with her lovely Sea?

Chapter 7

F
ence sat on the beach.

Beach was a misleading term, he thought ruefully as he adjusted his palms from the rough debris and rubble poking them, for the word “beach” implied a long expanse of warm sand . . . usually dotted with sunbathing beauties in string bikinis.

Or not.

He grinned, remembering a visit to his mother’s homeland of Brazil and the topless beaches in Rio. That had been crazy.

But this shoreline, while there was some sand, was also strewn with rubble and pieces of metal. Trees and bushes clumped on it, and he was actually sitting on an old road that had broken off and now angled into the ocean.

Now, he sat here, relieved that the area was deserted. He’d looked inside—in the infirmary, the pub, all the common areas—for Ana, and then knocked on her door. Fence had finally ended up here, where he suspected he’d find her, though he’d been avoiding it. He’d walked along the shore for thirty minutes, from one end of the protective wall that rose behind him to the other end of this small cove, and saw no sign of anyone swimming. No boats. Nothing.

The area was as ghostly as some of the overgrown towns he’d traveled through.

Although Envy was situated on the sea, its residents had little interest in fishing as an industry. There were a few brave souls who took boats out on the southeast side, where the shoreline was more enclosed in a small, protected bay that was separated from this area by a long, slender piece of land, but here on this northwest corner, it was always devoid of people.

Part of the reason was due to the stories about people leaving, setting out from the north and heading to where Washington and Oregon used to be, and never returning.

It wasn’t surprising, for the sea here seemed dark and angry—at least to Fence, and especially today. Perhaps it was because half of Las Vegas was very near below its surface, and the debris and ruins colored the water. Last week, when the tide was out and a violent storm tossed the waves, Vaughn had pointed out to him the glimpses one could get of the tops of the buildings. Eerie.

To the southwest, just inside the main wall, was the tall building in a deserted part of Envy. Called the Beretta, it resembled the weapon of the same name, and had been a brand-new condo building in 2010. It was in that still intact tower that Simon and Sage found an old computer flash drive that had belonged to the infamous Remington Truth, one of the instrumental members of the Elite.

The tower had been a storehouse, protected by the zombie-like gangas and the wild dogs that were their prey, until Vaughn led a brigade of men and women to clean the area out. It was too dangerous to have such a place so close to their settlement, where children played and others lived comfortably.

But here, a mile away from the Beretta, the waves lapped gently against the cracked edge of highway and a belt of sand and pebbles. Other than that rhythmic sound and the occasional call of a gull, the world was silent.

Fence was completely alone.

And that was why he took off his shoes and rolled up his cargo pants and inched a little closer to the water.

His heart was thudding like a blues bass line as he settled, knees up against his chest and arms wrapped around his legs. The waves licked his toes and he closed his eyes, trying to still the panic that threatened to overtake his mind when he thought about what lay beyond.

It severely pissed him off, how part of him wanted to slide into the cool, buoyant depths—to feel that freedom again of floating, flying through the water . . . and how the other part—the biggest, strongest, pussiest part of him—wanted only to turn tail and run. To
get away.

His breathing had changed, becoming quicker and more shallow, and he felt the familiar nausea crawling up from the deepest part of his belly, tightening his lungs, burning the back of his throat. His forehead felt clammy and his skin hot.

Why can’t I get over this? What the fuck is wrong with me?

He swallowed hard and sharply, and without opening his eyes, scooted closer to the water. Something stung his eyes, and he wouldn’t even allow himself to consider whether it was tears gathering behind his lids or merely the burn from saltwater drops. It had to be the latter.

He smelled the salt, the tang of algae and the fishy scent of other creatures of the depths, tasted the damp. The water surged around him, soaking the seat of his pants, covering his feet and toes. Those appendages curled down into the gritty surface beneath and Fence forced himself to open his eyes.

The ocean was
right there
. Around him.

All he could see was rolling, tossing waves, waiting to pull him down into their dark abyss. The pressure, the weight, the ebbing and flowing. He couldn’t banish the memories . . . nor could he ignore an incessant tug deep in his belly, as if the sea was teasing him, luring him in like a damn femme fatale.

No.

He closed his eyes again, the wave of panic rushing through him like a whistling train, leaving him shuddering and rattled in its wake. His chin dug down into the tops of his knees as he kept his face toward the waft of sea breeze, eyes squeezed shut.

You have to fight this, asshole. You have to get over this.

What happened the next time someone was in danger? This world was filled with threats and danger. People counted on him, relied on him to guide them, protect them . . . but here he was, with a deathly liability.

Sure, I’ll keep you safe . . . unless you fall in the water. Then you’re on your own.

Fuck.

Something damp rolled down his cheek, and it was not,
was no fucking way
, a tear. But his breath caught suddenly, shockingly, in his lungs and he fought the deep, dragging lurch of a sob, tightening his fingers into the arms he clutched around his thighs.
No. Stop. It. Stop—

“Are you all right?”

The sudden voice and presence shocked Fence like a dousing of ice water. His eyes flew open and he looked up at her—Ana; he’d recognized her voice before he saw her—then bolted to his feet. Shame and anger swamped him and he said, “What the hell do you want?” before he could stop himself.

His fingers were shaking and his insides rolled, but through the momentary tunnel vision of mortification, anger, and weakness, he saw her jerk back as if slapped.

“Nothing,” she said, stepping away quickly and awkwardly.

Her foot landed on a loose stone, and he had just enough time to note that her hair and clothing were wet as she lost her balance and started to fall.

Fence reached for her automatically, but Ana managed to catch herself before she landed on the rough ground. His fingers brushed against her damp arm just as she moved back.

“Forget it,” she said, now that she’d recovered. Annoyance and embarrassment gave her a cold, closed expression. “Sorry I startled you.” She turned completely around this time before she started away.

Fence swallowed hard, struggling to contain his confusion, shame, and fury—all of which was pointed inward—and tried to think of something to say. But she was already stalking as well as she could stalk on a bad leg over uneven ground, away from him.

Goddammit
.

Frustration blazed silently through him, but he made no attempt to go after her. He was too out of sorts right now . . . and she was clearly displeased with everything, from his reaction to her own clumsiness.

And then he remembered that
he’d
been looking for
her
.

Dammit.

A
na fumed all the way back inside the big old building where, it seemed, almost everyone in Envy lived and ate. She wasn’t certain which emotion gave her the speed and unusual agility to get away from him: anger at the big jerkwad or mortification that she’d once again nearly fallen on her ass in front of said big jerkwad.

I can go for months without stumbling or tripping, but the two times I do, I
have
to be in front of that man
.

Grrr.

How the heck was she supposed to know he didn’t want to be bothered? She’d surfaced from her swim and seen him sitting there on the other end of the beach. He looked like he was enjoying the gentle breeze, watching the slow, easy rise and fall of the waves.

And, despite an internal warning bell, she had approached, drawn to the solitary, solid figure swamped by the salty water as it lunged and eased around him. She admired the rich warm color of his skin baking in the sun—imagining how it would feel to touch it—the breadth of his shoulders and, as she drew closer, even the wide, angular feet, digging into the sand.

But when she padded silently in front of him and saw his expression—the eyes squeezed closed, the anguish furrowing his brow and crumpling his face . . . and even a damp streak down one cheek—she knew something was wrong.

She should have just left. Instinct told her to do so, for she remembered the last time she’d found him in distress. But she couldn’t just leave him there.

And now she wished she would have.

Just as she’d left Darian’s seaflower with its crystal still sitting in its cubbyhole in the ocean.

She could always go back tomorrow, she’d reasoned, and leave a response. But before she did, Ana wanted to think about the risk and whether she dared make contact with Darian again. And how she would protect herself if he tried something.

Should she tell George too? He’d been married to her mother, he’d lived with the Atlanteans longer than Ana had. Even if his memory of those times had been clouded after their escape, he could still offer advice.

Never one to rush into a decision, she went back to the room Fence had arranged for her to stay in while she and her father were here in Envy. She supposed she had to give the guy credit for getting them here safely and quickly, and for providing a place for her to sleep. But beyond that hospitality, and a quick, melting smile, and—oh, all right, that kiss on the beach had been amazing—there wasn’t any other reason to hang around Fence anymore.

In fact, if he was in his funny, flirtatious, sensual mood, it would be darn dangerous to hang around him.

She frowned. It was as if he were two different people. Just like she was.

She didn’t like
that
thought, so she pushed it away and dressed in dry clothes. She toweled her hair to damp and let it hang over her shoulders, then went to visit George . . . all the while considering what, if anything, she should tell him.

Her dad looked pink and healthy when she came into the infirmary. He was sitting up in bed talking to Elliott and an older woman with strawberry blond hair that had a wide white streak in front; a nurse, she assumed.

“And so I’ve been working on separating that strain of penicillin to see if I can make a stronger medicine,” George was saying. From the flush in his face and the light in his eyes, Ana could tell he’d been talking for quite some time. Lecturing, most likely. “If I could just find some old resources from one of the medicine factories they had, I might be able to reproduce some of the other treatments.”

The woman, who seemed as comfortable as a plump pillow, looked remarkably fascinated by George’s explanations—more so than Ana could comprehend. Either she was a scientist herself or was simply a good listener.

“I might be able to help you with that,” Elliott was saying. He flashed a guarded look at the woman, then looked back at George. “We have some old books and information that have been saved from libraries and old bookstores over the years. I would find it immensely helpful to have not only an alternative to penicillin, but also some efficacious painkillers.”

“I’ll be happy to help look through some books for you,” said the nurse eagerly. “If you’ll show me what to look for.”

“Well, it looks like you’re feeling much better, Dad,” Ana said, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “You’ve got some color in your face now.”

“I told you, I was feeling just fine,” George said. “Really was no need for me to come here. Elliott says I’ve just got to watch what I eat.”

“Someone’s got to make sure he eats enough red meat and spinach,” put in the nurse with a measured glance at Ana—as if to blame her for her father’s dietary deficiencies. The plump pillow had turned into a stern guardian.

“Now, Flo—” Elliott started, but before he could continue, they heard a loud, urgent voice.

“Now who’s raising a ruckus?” Flo glared at the wall. “Heaven help me—it’s not time for Zoë’s next appointment is it?” She shook her head, pursing her lips. “She was just here last week, raising a fuss when you started laying down the law—”

But Elliott had risen and Ana turned toward the door. She’d heard it too: someone calling urgently for the doctor.

“I’d better go see what that is,” Elliott said.

Ana didn’t know why, but she started to follow him out into the hallway. Maybe she thought they might need help, maybe she was just curious. Or maybe she somehow
knew
.

And when she heard the voices, urgent and excited, and fragments of sentences—“washed up” . . . “from the ocean” . . . “think he’s dead”—her heart began to race.

“I’ll be right back, Dad,” she said, poking her head back into the small room, causing his and Flo’s to turn toward her from some intense conversation.

But she didn’t have time to think about the implications now. She hurried down the hall toward the voices. When she reached the small room, the door was still, thankfully, open, and she was able to look inside.

Several people clustered around a bed. There was Elliott, of course, along with a man and woman Ana didn’t recognize, and Fence. Ana was aware of a little jolt of relief that the body found on the shore hadn’t been Fence, but she didn’t examine that odd reaction . . . especially now that her other fear seemed more possible. Instead, she tried to peer through the small crowd without drawing attention to herself.

Those in the room happened to be standing so it blocked her view of everything except two pale, bare feet that were large enough to be a man’s. She needed a better look, for anything that came from the sea—whether someone had been killed or injured by some aquatic creature, or any unusual substance like the gray sparkling glop—was important to her and could give clues toward what was happening.