Splinter (The Machinists Book 2) (8 page)

Jaxon shifted in his seat but remained silent. The rest of the car’s occupants watched him but didn’t pipe in with additional questions. Allyn didn’t like it. Jaxon was the acting grand mage, but his time in that position was limited, and he’d made a point of including Liam and Allyn, along with Leira and Nyla, in his decisions. Wherever they were going, whatever they were doing, it was for Jaxon, not the Family.

They rode in silence for a time, continuing to follow the river until, eventually, Mason turned off the highway onto an old two-lane logging road. The winding road led them deep into the forest, and Allyn quickly lost all sense of direction. Mason turned onto a narrower lane, where a steep cliff was slowly overtaking the asphalt, then from it to another, always going uphill and deeper into the wilderness. The paranoid part of Allyn felt like an abused pet unknowingly being driven into the woods to be abandoned, but the rational part watched his surroundings, a realization brewing. The deeper and deeper Mason drove, the clearer and clearer their destination became.

Allyn caught Liam’s eye. “The manor?” he mouthed silently.

Liam’s eyes grew wide, and he watched their surroundings with renewed interest. He looked unsure for a moment. Then as they continued around a bend, recognition struck. He nodded.

Why?
The manor was under police control, likely monitored around the clock. Allyn stirred uncomfortably—his fear of abandonment had been replaced by fear of betrayal. Jaxon had made it clear they would eventually look to strike and recover the artifacts in the library. But they weren’t prepared. To try before they were ready was too risky. They might as well walk into the nearest police station and turn themselves in.

Mason slowed, turning onto a gravel road, and stopped short of a faded yellow gate.

Are we approaching the manor from behind?

“Wait here.” Jaxon opened the door and stepped outside.

Allyn decided the order was directed at Mason, and not everyone in the car. He stepped out of the car to follow. Jaxon had already ducked under the gate and was ascending the steep hill. Allyn jogged to catch up, hearing more footsteps crunching on the gravel behind him. Fallen limbs, walnuts, and slick leaves covered the decaying road, while thick blackberry bushes lined either side and wrapped around deep-rooted tree trunks, suffocating them.

Mason shut off the car’s headlights, and the world went black. Without the moon or starlight, Allyn was trapped in an expanse of pure darkness; and if it weren’t for Jaxon’s shuffling footsteps, Allyn would have quickly been lost.

Allyn took short, tentative steps and held out his arms as if he were walking through a strange house in the middle of the night. Liam tripped somewhere behind him, falling with a grunt, before climbing back to his feet to the sound of cracking twigs and ruffling leaves. Allyn’s eyes took several minutes to adjust, but when the fuzzy outline of Jaxon’s bulky frame resolved, Allyn hastened his steps to take position at his side. If Jaxon was irritated that Allyn and Liam had followed, he masked it behind a determined expression.

“What are we doing here, Jaxon?”

“Searching for answers.”

His leg muscles burning, Allyn continued to follow Jaxon up the hillside, until finally, the landscape leveled off onto a panoramic vista. The trees had been cleared away from what Allyn believed was the southeast side of the hill, giving them a clear vantage into the world beyond. The manor wasn’t immediately visible, but Allyn had little doubt that it was near. Lights from Portland’s neighboring cities shined in the distance, reflecting off the dark clouds and casting a soft light onto the hillside.

Jaxon crossed his arms and stared into the distance. Not the horizon. He was looking at something closer. Below them, perhaps a few miles away on the next hillside, partially hidden by thick pine trees, was a series of circular lights illuminating a construction site. Allyn took a step forward.

Inside the circular array of lights were tractors, trailers, SUVs, and other earth-moving equipment. Even from a distance, Allyn could make out small shadows moving among them, marching around the site like an army of ants. At the site’s center was a blackened scar resembling little more than a shadow in the night. The tractor was clearing part of it away, scooping and dumping debris into a nearby container.

“No,” Liam said softly.

It wasn’t a construction site. It was the manor.

“Tell me what we’re up against,” Jaxon said.

Allyn attempted to swallow the tension in his throat. He’d expected police escalation, especially after Jaxon had told him of his plan to retake the library, but he hadn’t expected it so soon. If they were cleaning up the site, the investigation had reached a point where the police no longer needed the manor rubble. They had gathered enough evidence to move forward.

“Who were those men?”

Allyn could see them as clearly as he could see Jaxon or Liam. The one behind the wheel was huge, larger than even Jaxon, with a clean-shaven head and a goatee. The other had a square face and styled hair. They wore dark suits over starched white shirts, black ties, and grim expressions. And they had watched him as if they knew him.

“They were FBI,” Allyn said.

“What does that mean?” Jaxon asked.

“It means things have escalated.”

Chapter 9

S
omething was off. Kendyl stepped back, observing the canvas, the tip of the paintbrush in her mouth. It wasn’t the color—the forest greens, magentas, and golden yellows matched the landscape and sunrise beyond.
As much as possible anyway
. There were more colors in the sunrise than she could capture with paint. Kendyl squinted, and the landscape became a blurry mess of vague shapes: the hills, circles and ovals; the trees, jagged vertical lines; and the horizon, a curving horizontal line interrupted by the semicircle of the rising sun.

She frowned. The framing was correct, too.
Maybe it’s your imagination
. But she knew it wasn’t. Though unable to pinpoint the issue, she knew there was one. Something about the painting made her physically uncomfortable. Squeamish. Shaky even. She imagined the feeling to be similar to having a fear of heights and being forced to look over the edge of a skyscraper. It made her ill. The world had a natural artistic balance—the way shapes and sizes complemented each other and fit into the world. Everything had its place. Its purpose.

Kendyl held up a hand, thumb extended to the side, and closed one eye. She used her thumb as a guide to measure the landscape’s features, comparing it to the corresponding features in her painting. The dimensions of the hills on either side of the valley were correct. Even the hill at the far end of the valley, the one that the sun was cresting over, was fine.
Then what in the name of—

The valley was too wide. Kendyl cursed herself. In her haste to capture the rising sun, she must have made a mistake while sketching out the valley. It was the kind of thing that ruined the entire painting. If she widened the hills to compensate, the sun would become too small. But if she increased the sun’s diameter, the colorful sky would need to be expanded, too. Like adding too much flour to cake batter—adding more hillside would throw off the entire painting. It would be easier to start over.

Sighing, Kendyl sat down on a nearby log. Just because the painting was a failure didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy nature’s artwork.

“That’s beautiful.”

Kendyl whipped around to see Allyn standing on the trail behind her. “You scared me,” she said, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

“Sorry,” Allyn said. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.”

Allyn stepped up to the easel, observing the painting. Kendyl wanted to tell him to stop, that she didn’t want him to look at it, but she remained silent, watching uncomfortably from the log.

“Did you do this just now?”

“Yeah.”

“Amazing.” He turned to Kendyl. “How do you do it?”

She shrugged. “The world’s just a series of shapes and lines if you look at it properly. It’s not all that difficult.”

Allyn turned back to the painting. “For you, maybe. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“It’s just like anything, I suppose,” Kendyl said. “Pick a spot and go.”

“Most things have a beginning.”

“Maybe that’s what I like about art then. I can start wherever I want.”

“Always the free spirit,” Allyn said with a laugh. He strode toward Kendyl, and after brushing the snow off the log beside her, he sat down. “Why didn’t you finish it?”

“I messed up,” Kendyl said, grimacing.

“Really? It looks great to me.”

She shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about the painting. “You look tired.”

Allyn laughed, then as if on cue, yawned. His brown eyes were swollen and red, with dark circles beneath them, and his skin was paler than usual, making his dark features more prominent. “I’ve been up all night.”

“I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” Allyn said, throwing his arm around her and pulling her close.

Kendyl nearly gagged. He smelled of sweat and musty clothing.

“You stink,” she said, wriggling out of the embrace. The forced closeness made her uncomfortable. Allyn wanted to act as if things between them weren’t strained, but even if things were on the mend, she and her brother simply weren’t as close as they used to be. It would take time—and even then, part of her wondered if they would ever get back what they’d had. “What took you guys so long?”

“We ran into trouble.”

“I heard. Liam and Mason left hours ago. What happened?”

“They were waiting for us. The moment we left, the police arrived.”

“It was a trap then?”

“I don’t know.”

“If it wasn’t a trap,” Kendyl asked, “then what were they doing there?”

“Maybe they were investigating the video, too.” Allyn shrugged. “There was only the one car. If it was a trap, why weren’t there more officers? Why not grab us the second we walked inside?”

Kendyl cocked her head to the side, thinking. “That’s a good question.”

“You have paint in your hair.”

“Huh?”

Allyn pointed at the hair draped over her shoulder. The bottoms of the dark strands were caked in various shades of magenta and fuchsia. Kendyl pinched them between her thumb and index finger and held them in front of her face while she flaked the dry paint off with her thumbnail. She always kept her hair tied back when she painted, but inevitably, a few strands always came loose to swirl in the paint on her palette.

“I need a haircut,” she said. “You do, too.”

Allyn laughed, running his hands through his hair. He normally kept it closely cropped—it required less work that way—but it had grown out, making him look like a mushroom. Even his face was gruff. Dark facial hair wrapped from ear to ear around his chin and mouth. He looked like a different man.

He’s not tired,
Kendyl thought.
He’s worn down.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back home?” Allyn asked.

Kendyl tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Where is this coming from?”

“They’re coming after us, Kendyl. It wasn’t the police at my condo. It was the FBI. They’re closing in on us, and it’s only a matter of time before they come searching here.”

“They’ve already been here,” Kendyl said.

Allyn looked as though he wanted to challenge her, but he let the comment slide. After they’d fled the fallen manor, the McCollum Family had arrived at the cabin to find footprints and tire tracks. They had even found an open window and dusty footprints inside where someone had searched the cabin. They couldn’t be sure it was the police, but who else wearing large military-style boots would break into a cabin and not steal anything?

“That doesn’t mean they won’t come back.”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking. Do
you
want to go?”

“I don’t know.”

Kendyl sat back, looking at him with a renewed intensity. He wasn’t only physically beaten down; there was something else, something deeper. He was haunted by something.

“I’m afraid, Kendyl,” he said. “I see him everywhere. Every time I wield. Every time I…” He sighed deeply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but if you’re running from something, you’ll never get away from it. Whatever it is, you have to face it.”

Allyn’s face went as white as the snow around them, and he looked as though he were about to vomit. “I can’t do it,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Then I’ll help you.”

Allyn looked up at her. His eyes were glassy, his jaw tight.
He really is going to be sick
.

He gave her a single, sharp nod. “Then there’s more you need to know. Jaxon’s returning home.”

“What?”

“He’s grooming Liam to lead.”

“He’s too young.”

“I think he expects me to stay—to help and advise him. At fifteen, Liam would be half the age of the youngest grand mage, and he would be leading a Family no other is willing to listen to. It’s setting him up for failure.”

“You can say no,” Kendyl said.

Allyn stood and began pacing in front of her. “Can I? These people fought and died for us, Kendyl. We owe them more than we can ever give. Besides, Jaxon isn’t concerned. He wants to turn this Family into something different. Something new. The first machinist Family. And he wants a machinist to lead it.”

Kendyl frowned. A fifteen-year-old kid should be learning to drive, going on first dates, and getting his first job, not being burdened with the responsibility of running a Family. She knew firsthand what that kind of weight could do to a child.

Sometimes she wondered what kind of woman she would have become if her mother hadn’t died or if their father hadn’t walked out. She and Allyn had been robbed of their teenage years, forced to grow up too soon. It didn’t make her angry, as it did Allyn, but she wasn’t happy to see it happen to someone else.

“Do you mean it?” Allyn asked. “That you’ll help me?”

“Yes.”

Allyn let out a sharp breath. “Good.”

Kendyl smiled, mostly at how little Allyn knew about himself. He was a natural leader. Always building a cabinet of trusted advisors, he was unwilling to walk away from anyone he thought needed his help. He might not have known he was coming to her to ask for her support, but he
had
done it. “I need you to do something for me, though.”

“Of course,” Allyn said. “Anything.”

“I want you to train me.”

Allyn raised an eyebrow. “You still think you can wield?”

“We’re twins, Allyn. Whatever you can do, I should be able to do, too.”

“I’m not sure it works like that,” Allyn said. “What if it’s like your painting? I can’t do that.”

“That’s different. Painting is a skill that I learned and practiced over time.”

“I’m just not—”

“Humor me,” Kendyl said. “Please?”

Allyn met her eye, perhaps noticing her conviction for the first time.

“Okay,” he said. “But not today. Today, I need some sleep.”

Liam worked. It kept his mind occupied, free from thinking about things he’d rather not think about. He’d spent thousands of hours in the library, organizing and digitizing its contents, preserving the fragile magi history. He was lost without it, and he hated to think about how his treasures were being treated—grimy police fingers flipping through disintegrating texts, destroying ink and parchment. Uncontrolled, unfiltered air aging his books by the minute. It made Liam want to cry in frustration.

Jaxon assumed Liam wanted to recover the library’s contents as a way to verify some of the findings he’d unearthed in the strange book from Hyland Estate, but it was more than that, more important than that. Without proper care, the contents of the library would be destroyed, and everything they had from the days before the Fracture would disappear along with it. He couldn’t let that happen.

The sun was cresting the hillside, bathing the room in a fiery orange. Jaxon had given Liam his room, and the privacy it offered, while he worked to recover the contents of the computer.

Liam rose from the edge of the bed and closed the blinds. He’d spent too much time outdoors of late, usually cold, wet, and miserable. After working in the library for so long, he’d developed odd quirks, and an aversion to natural light was one of them. He was most comfortable working under the yellow light of fluorescent bulbs while listening to the steady rhythm of filtered air blowing through vents.

Liam regarded the broken computer. Transferring files wasn’t difficult. In fact, it was one of the simplest things Liam could do, but files could be lost, damaged, or even corrupted in the process. He also had no way of knowing if he’d recovered everything. And that assumed the hard drive hadn’t been damaged in the wreck or by Allyn’s reckless attempt to power the computer by wielding. If it had…

No,
Liam thought.
Not now. Not this time. We’re due for some kind of luck.

He flipped the computer upside down and used a thin Phillips screwdriver to loosen the screws and pop open the compartment to expose the chrome hard drive inside. After cautiously pulling the hard drive free, he held it near the light and removed the four screws along the edges to take off the chrome casing. Then, careful to hold the exposed hard drive by the outer rim so he didn’t damage the circuits or platter, Liam removed the black casing that covered the gold pins at the top. He grabbed the IDE-to-USB cable off his desk and plugged the hard drive’s gold pins into the IDE port. Ready for the transfer, Liam held his breath and plugged the USB cable into his computer.

He exhaled when he heard the hard drive start spinning then smiled when the icon appeared on his desktop.
It worked.

Liam double-clicked on the new icon and opened the contents of the foreign hard drive. Resisting the temptation to dig into them, he selected everything and dragged them into the folder he’d set up on his hard drive. The transfer began.

Liam sat down on the bed, leaned back, and rested his head on the wall. Depending on how much information was on the hard drive, the transfer might take hours. He grabbed the book from the Hyland Estate, then stopped and stared at the thin volume with a sour expression. It was the only book he had left. It could be a rare account of an ancient event, or it could be a work of fiction, but without the other contents of the library, he couldn’t be sure. One thing was certain—as the last magi tome in Liam’s possession, it needed to be preserved. It needed to be cherished. Every time he opened it, the pages deteriorated a little more and the spine fell apart further. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose it, too.