Revelations (The Elysium Chronicles) (18 page)

But, finally I see I have their attention when they turn back to me. “We apologize, Ms. Winters, we don’t mean any insult to you or the St. Jameses, but we still can’t let you into the—” the dark-haired one says.

This time I break into what they’re saying, and wave them off. “I am here to see if an Outlander has attempted to enter. His name is Gavin Hunter.”

Confusion crosses their faces, but the one with red hair shakes his head. “No one has entered this way since we’ve been here, ma’am.”

Dejection blows throw me and my legs tremble, but I force myself to remain standing. I turn toward the Outlands, squinting into the growing darkness. He’s out there. He has to be. I take one step, then another before one of the guards calls out, “Ma’am! Are you okay?”

I mentally shake myself, my shoulders drooping. “Fine.” I swallow and clear my throat. “I’m fine.” Forcing my shoulders back again, I turn back around and slowly, achingly make my way back to Asher’s.

*   *   *

Hours later, I open Asher’s door, intending to go straight up to my room and back to sleep. But I stop dead in my tracks when I hear raised voices coming from one of the doors to my left.

“How could you just let her sneak out?” Asher yells.

I follow the voices and stand in the open doorway to see Asher glaring at his grandmother, who sits in a large wingback chair. He has his arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t know she was going to sneak out, Asher.”

“But you had to have seen her leave her room.”

“Of course I did. She said she needed to use the bathroom.” He makes a sound in his throat and walks to behind his grandmother. “I’m not going to keep the girl prisoner in her room, Asher.” She turns to continue to watch him, then stops when she sees me. She smiles and folds her hands in her lap. “There. See? Everything is fine.”

Asher spins around. His whole face lights up when he sees me. He rushes across the room, tugs me to him, and hugs me so hard, I’m certain my head is going to pop off.

“Where have you been?”

I swallow. “I went to see if anyone at the gate has seen Gavin.” I push away from him and hug myself. “They haven’t.”

The room is silent and heavy with it until Asher sighs. “Come on. Let’s get dinner.” He slings his arm around my shoulders and leads me to the dining room where food has already been set out. I don’t want to eat. I don’t even want to think about eating. Just the thought reminds me that Gavin hasn’t had food.

Several minutes into dinner, I push from the table, interrupting whatever Asher and his grandmother are talking about. I have to get away from here. From them. I need to be anywhere but here.

I make it as far as the door before Asher catches me. He grabs my wrist and tugs gently, stopping me from leaving. “It’s not your fault,” he says quietly. “It’s no one’s fault. He was protecting you.” He frowns at me. “You know that, don’t you?”

I rub my hand under my running nose. “But he wouldn’t have
had
to protect me if I hadn’t been so weak. If I hadn’t forced him to come here.”

“Weak?” He laughs. “You think you were weak? You totally kicked ass! The way you took care of those vulture-hawks was like something out of a comic book.”

I lift my brows at him. “You make that sound like it’s a good thing, when all it does is make me a … freak.” That was one of Gavin’s little brother’s words. It was a word he liked to use. A lot. I’d made him tell me what it meant and, ever since, I’d known it applied to me.

Anger flashes across Asher’s eyes and he takes my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “You are not a freak. You hear me?
Different
doesn’t make you a freak.
Different
makes you special. And special is good. Special is what makes you
you
. That’s who Gavin loved. He thought you were amazing and wonderful and … perfect just the way you are.”

He’s saying it to make me feel better, but all it does is make me sigh and try to look away. “My brand of perfect is what killed Gavin.” I sigh and wave away what he opens his mouth to say, “Besides, I wish people would stop saying that. Everyone is always telling me how perfect I am. How beautiful. How
lucky
I am. To be this amazing, perfect person. How Mother hand-chose me,
because
I’m perfect. But I’m not. I’m not amazing. Or wonderful. I’m not perfect. I’m damaged,” I whisper.

I’m not sure what I’m saying, where any of this is coming from. I don’t know who told me so. Certainly no one here, but it’s true. And it only proves my point … I’m
not
perfect.

His face blanches. “What did you say?”

“That I’m damaged?”

“No. About being hand-chosen by Mother. Why did you say that?”

I’m about to answer that I don’t know when I’m suddenly not in the foyer. I’m somewhere else. Somewhere very familiar.

Glass walls and marble floors surround me. Behind the glass is another wall, one of water. I have my hand pressed against it, staring into the endless blue. I’m sad about something, but I can’t remember what. Only that my heart is heavy with it.

There’s a gentle tugging on my hair. It’s soothing. “Evelyn,” a woman says from behind me. “You mustn’t worry what that child said to you. Children have a way of hurting one another by pulling out the one thing that makes you unique. Makes you special. And you
are
special, Evelyn.”

I turn slightly and she tugs my head back around with my hair and continues brushing it. Instead of trying to see her directly, I focus my gaze to her reflection in the glass instead. “Am I, Mother?” My voice is younger, not quite as strong. It wobbles slightly with the tears I see running down my cheeks.

“Of course, my child. I chose you, didn’t I? That alone makes you special. But I chose you because you were different. Because you were perfect. And a perfect person shouldn’t worry what inferior people say about them.” Her face hardens for a moment and her hand tightens on my hair, making me gasp. Almost immediately she releases me and her eyes meet mine in the glass. “After all,” she smiles, “I never do.”

There’s a knock on the door behind us and a girl not much older than me steps in, dressed entirely in black. Mother and I both turn toward her, but the girl doesn’t focus her dead eyes on either of us. “The situation has been taken care of,” she states in her wispy voice.

For a second, I’m sure she glances at me, but before I can venture a guess why, Mother says, “Excellent.” Then she dismisses the girl and turns back to me, forcing my head back around again while the door closes behind us. “See? Things have a way of working themselves out.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

Warning! Unauthorized exit from Rushlake City is prohibited. Violators will incur administrative penalty and criminal charges including, but not limited to, immediate and permanent expulsion from the city and forfeiture of all rights and property.

—
S
IGN POSTED AT ALL POINTS OF ENTRY OF
R
USHLAKE
C
ITY

Evie

The next day, I sit while a doctor does everything Dr. Gillian has already done at least a dozen times before. From the way he’s not saying anything, and the pinch of skin around his eyes, I know he isn’t coming up with any more answers than Dr. Gillian had, either.

He shines a light in my eyes. “You’re completely healthy, Ms. Winters. Apart from a minor infection and some exhaustion. In fact, you’re so healthy, I’m a little jealous. I don’t know what could be causing these blackouts.” He steps back and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. “I’d like to bring you in for more testing. MRIs and PET scans specifically.”

“What are those?” I ask.

“Sort of like X-rays, but more precise. I’ll be able to see exactly what your brain is doing. That should tell us what’s going on. If it’s agreeable to you, I’d like you to come in as soon as possible. Say, tomorrow?” He glances between Asher and me. We both nod—what am I going to say? No?—and he continues, packing up his equipment. “Fantastic. We’ll see you then.” He pats my knee. “Don’t worry, young lady. We’ll figure all this out.”

He leaves while I just stare at my hands. Asher nudges me. “Are you as tired of being cooped up in here as I am?”

I’m confused, but answer truthfully. “Yes.”

“Great. Go get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty.”

“Dressed for what?”

“We’re going to see a bit of the city,” he says. “Dress warmly. It’s chilly.”

As we walk through the city, Asher keeps pointing out different things, like he did in the car when we first arrived. I try to listen, but I can’t help but keep an eye out for Gavin the entire time we walk. It just doesn’t feel right to be out here with someone other than him. I sigh, then wince, looking over at Asher. It’s amazing, the contrast between him and Gavin. Asher has this … perfect prettiness to him that makes him look just like everyone else here. His eyes are always smiling, showing his happy-go-lucky, nothing-ever-gets-me-down-for-long personality. Even dressed casually, like he is today, he looks effortlessly put together and fashionable, like the other people I’m seeing on the street.

He’s wearing a hat. His dark hair sticks out on either side of it, the blue patch just barely visible under the lip of the hat. He’s also wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt with the sleeves pushed up over his elbows and a gray vest. Of course, since this is Asher, his shirt is not tucked into his jeans. But it doesn’t stop him from looking great, anyway.

Gavin, on the other hand, has a rugged—almost dirty, even when he’s freshly washed—look that is simply the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. No matter how nice and shiny Asher looks, it’s Gavin that will always take my breath away.

I feel strange thinking of him like that, especially considering I may never see him again.

But, as Asher continues to show me around, my thoughts move to the city itself. I’m amazed how different the people look from the villagers. They’re cleaner, but they’ve got the same shiny look to them that the city has. Like Asher, only the kindness in his eyes isn’t reflected in anyone else’s. It’s as if they’re really fake. Like dolls.

I don’t belong here either. I don’t belong anywhere.

Asher, however, seems at home. More so than he did in the village. It makes me think of what Gavin said about not trusting him. “We need to check the gates,” I say.

He doesn’t even argue. Just changes direction and leads the way back to the guards. They’re the same as the day before. And they have the same news. “No one has seen him.”

I wrap my arms around myself and shiver. Maybe he really is dead. Maybe he isn’t coming.

Asher glances over, his features as sad as I feel. “Want to go and get something warm to eat?”

I let him drag me to the closest restaurant, where he orders something that sounds like absolute heaven. Hot chocolate.

We spend the next few hours talking. He tells me about his childhood, and Gavin’s, remaining careful not to tell me anything of what really happened between them, keeping to lighter things like the time Gavin and him were fishing when they were fourteen and Gavin hooked Asher instead of the fish. And how he, Asher, had gone running off, screaming, before Gavin could take it out. When Gavin finally found him, it was dug deep into his skin, and Asher squealed like a little girl when they tried to remove it. To take his mind off it, Gavin had the bright idea to break into the Mr. Pok’s back room and alleviate him of the shine he kept hidden in a closet. They’d both gotten so drunk that they’d stripped down to their underpants and ran through the town square yelling something about fish. I try to ask Asher why and he just shakes his head and grins, shrugging. They’d ended up grounded for a month.

Even when the conversation moves to the other things, like me, and what I remember, and laughing or gushing over things Asher and I have in common, Gavin is never far from my mind.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

One of the most cunning animals of those in the Outlands is the coyote. The coyote’s ability to adapt is the leading reason for its continued survival. Over time, coyotes have learned to hunt in small packs and stun their kill before dragging them to their burrow for consumption.

—
E
XCERPT FROM
F
IELD
G
UIDE TO
D
ANGEROUS
W
ILDLIFE

Gavin

A shout wakes me, and there’s a flurry of movement around me. For a second, something sharp tightens around my arm; there’s another shout, and the sound of a gun going off. Finally, something yelps next to me, and the sharpness in my arm lets off.

Coyotes!
my mind screams at me.
Get up. Get up. Get up
.

I try to open my eyes, but I can’t force myself to do it. Sleep just grabs ahold of me and pulls me in.

After what feels like no time at all, I’m being shaken awake again. I open my eyes, immediately regretting my decision. The light stabs my eyes like rusty knives. I groan and slam them shut again.

“Nuh-uh, Sleeping Beauty. You’ve got some explainin’ to do,” a gruff male voice says. I open my eyes again as a rough hand yanks me up to a sitting position.

In front of me is a man. From the lines in his face, the gray in his scraggly beard, and what’s left of the hair on his head, he’s either fast approaching middle age or time has not been his friend. He’s wearing all black. It looks like some kind of military uniform.

Immediately I tense. I reach for my gun, but it’s gone.

The man barks out a laugh. “Did ya think I was goin’ t’ let you keep yer gun?” He scratches his chin and flakes of something dribble out of his beard like snow. “Not a very bright thing, are ya?”

“Who are you? What do you want?” I force myself to my feet. I’m grateful he didn’t feel the need to tie me up.

“Ah, now, see, I said you had some explainin’ to do, not the other way round, boy.” He straightens up and I fight back a wince when I see that not only is he taller than me, but his arms are as thick as small trees.