Surrender (24 page)

Jag squeezed my hand, and I stifled a whimper of pain. Thankfully, my vision began to clear as I acclimated to the tech, but damn, that tag ached under Jag’s viselike grip.

“We need to see her,” Jag said, the fear gone. “Take us to her.” His voice could command armies. Mark’s mind turned to mush.

“Sure, she’ll be done by lunch. Let’s go.” He’d have done anything Jag said. Hell, I would’ve taken Jag to Gavin.

The brothers moved toward the scrub forest. Jag bent down to retrieve his bag, and we exchanged a glance. I didn’t like what I saw on his face: worry.

We caught up to the rangers and Jag made small talk with them. I moved in silence, a ball of anxiety growing in my stomach.

As we walked, the sun peeked over the horizon, and the first rays nipped at my healing-but-still-burnt face. The scrub forest gave way to towering trees. They were huge, and I mean like they-stretch-so-far-I-can’t-see-the-tops-of-them huge.

Legends about tall trees had been passed around the Goodgrounds, especially in the City of Water, where the only forests grew. Old land and ancient trees supposedly harbored power beyond our tech. I felt a sense of peace and awe walking through the old trees, almost like they understood me.

“. . . yeah, that’s a good one!” Jag’s laughter floated through my thoughts, causing some of the worry to unknot.

When we cleared the last of the forest, the rangers headed toward a small dock where a barge waited.

The tallest guy, Mark, pulled something out of his bag and checked it. I analyzed the brothers for the first time. They had bright blue eyes and luxurious waves of copper hair hanging to their shoulders. Jag looked like a complete freak with his black dye job and mess of spikes.

“So, we haven’t seen much of Gavin lately,” Jake said. “Even before the Thinkers showed up.”

“Oh yeah?” Jag asked. “Why’s that?” His voice sounded forced.

“Well, she likes to hang with her own crowd, if you know what I mean.”

Jag cast a quick glance at me. “I’m not sure I do.”

And if he didn’t, I was completely clueless. Jake was trying to say something, something important.

“You know rangers,” Mark said. “They like to stick to their own kind.”

“Yeah, you mind rangers are especially clique-ish,” Jake said, smirking at Jag and then me.

I stalled on the words “mind rangers.” Jag was a ranger? And if he was, did that mean I was too?

“We are not clique-ish,” Jag said, admitting his mind-ranger status. A few seconds passed as reality sank in, took root.

I am a mind ranger.

No wonder my dad wanted me so badly.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, looking at me. I realized a choking noise was coming from my throat.

I nodded, even though I still couldn’t get a proper breath. If I couldn’t enter Seaside and find asylum, well, I couldn’t even think about what might happen to me.

Jag said something that didn’t penetrate my ears. I wanted to spew everything out so I wouldn’t get tangled up in the panic, but I couldn’t order the words properly.

When I looked up, Jag and I stood alone on the dock. Jake and Mark busied themselves on the barge. Not knowing if Jag could hear my words in his mind or just feelings through, well, however he feels stuff. Maybe through his heart? Anyway, I tried to tell him the reason for my fear.

“Don’t worry, babe,” he whispered. “I know Gavin. We’ll get you in.”

“What if you can’t?” I felt like I was six years old and needed reassurance that no matter what, everything would work out, that I’d be safe.

Jag gently pulled me toward the boat, his doubt voiced in his silence.

“Let me talk to them alone,” Jag said, pointing to the steps that led below deck before moving to stand next to Mark. “You should hide out down there anyway, just as a precaution.”

Precaution. Whatever. But as Jake untied the boat from the dock and joined Jag and Mark on the bow of the barge, I slipped down the stairs into the cargo hold. It was damp and smelly. Tech took up every nook and cranny. These rangers weren’t kidding around. At least the tech hadn’t been activated yet. I would’ve been writhing on the floor, blind.

The rolling motion of the ship calmed me. A few minutes later Jag stumbled down the steps, his face tinged with green.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sick,” he choked out. “The water . . . moves.”

I tried not to laugh (yeah, that didn’t work) as Jag bent over and threw up in a bucket. “Haven’t you ever been on a boat?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s just like hoverboarding, right? You move on the air like this.”

“Totally different,” he said, “and you’re not helping.”

“Sorry.” I patted him on the back as he lost his lunch again.

“You okay?” Mark shouted down. “We have seasick patches up here.”

“Coming.” Jag groaned and swayed as he turned, still clutching the bucket. “Mark thinks we can get you in to see Gavin.” He wiped his mouth. “Let me worry about it, okay?” Then he disappeared up the stairs.

Right, let him worry about it. How was I supposed to stop stewing over the possibility of remaining a fugitive? Especially with my dad lurking in the city, waiting to swoop in and arrest me the first chance he got. At least I couldn’t feel him anywhere close by.

After we docked, I tried to be invisible as I followed the brothers down a busy main street lined with brick, metal, and stone buildings. They were old, built without tech. I gaped at the ancient structures, drawn to how each one possessed a unique beauty.

Jag kept a firm grip on my hand as we moved through a rotating glass door in the tallest building on the island. We crossed the lobby to a row of ascenders. Jake and Mark
stepped into a circle and disappeared in an upward flash of light.

Great. I hate ascenders almost as much as heights. They give you a none-too-gentle push upward. Usually there’s enough time for your molecules to evaporate before you splat on the ceiling. Usually.

The lobby bubbled with a fountain and idle chatter. I placed my hand inside the circle they’d been in. The ascender vibrated with power, sending energy into my bones and making my tag feel white-hot under my skin.

Jag pulled me into the circle and said, “Lounge, sixteenth floor.”

We arrived in a waiting room with soft chairs. A long couch separated a desk and a set of doors. Ancient pictures done with paint, not computer-generated images, hung on the walls. Jag set his backpack on the couch. “Let me talk to her first.” He turned to Mark and Jake. “Lead the way, boys.”

He left me sitting there next to his backpack. Waiting—which is so not my thing. I’d never felt so lost and alone in my life.

After about an hour that felt like forever, I made myself something to eat with the silver cube. Drained from the effort of simply breathing one more time, surviving one more minute, I lay down on the couch.

I woke up to two very deep, male voices. And someone touching my stickered and gloved hand. The brothers had returned.

“Sweet hair.” Mark raked his eyes over my body, and I didn’t like his appraising expression.

“Where’s Jag?” I asked, sounding braver than I felt.

“He’s still waiting for Gavin,” Jake answered.

“Can I wait with him?”

Both brothers shrugged before leading me down the hall to another room with a blue couch and soft chairs. Jag was pacing when I entered, his gaze on the floor. He muttered under his breath and didn’t notice that we’d come in.

“Hey, man,” Mark said, “she wants to wait with you.”

Jag’s eyes flew to me, but his expression didn’t change. “Yeah, okay. She can wait here.” He sounded like he couldn’t care less.

I waited until the brothers left before touching his arm. “Jag? What’s going on?”

The corners of his mouth barely lifted before settling back into their original position. “Nothing. Nothing,” he said, more to himself than to me.

“Sure, okay, because you only pace when you’re nervous.”

“I don’t get nervous. This is anxious.”

I worked hard to keep from rolling my eyes. “Okay, then.
I’ve never seen you so anxious.” And it made me both anxious and nervous.

“Whatever, I’m fine,” he snapped.

“Jag? Gavin is ready to see you.”

My thoughts of punching Jag disappeared with those intoxicating words.

The man who spoke them swept one hand toward the hall behind him, pausing when his gaze fell on me. “Oh, hello. I’m sorry, we have no open appointments today.”

I wondered what my name would sound like on his tongue. His voice was developed, carefully controlled, smooth and rolling like the sand dunes I’d spent the last two weeks hating. All the color was washed out of his hair and he’d spiked it the same as mine.

“She’s with me,” Jag said. “Hurry up, Vi.”

I remained rooted in place, still staring at the Thinker. His eyes opened wider when Jag said my name. Surprise—maybe disbelief?—colored his cheeks.

“Come on.” Jag grabbed my arm and pulled me past the type of person who could turn me in.

“Who was that guy?” I stumbled behind Jag, trying to shake his grip on my arm.

“Why? You see something you like?”

I blinked. “He’s a
Thinker
.”

“Of course he’s a Thinker. That was Assistant Counselor Haws.”

“I thought we didn’t cooperate with Thinkers.”

Jag marched down the hall at top speed. “Well, we do with certain types, obviously.”

I ran to catch him. “Will you slow down? And stop biting my head off.”

He stopped suddenly, and I collided with his outstretched
arm. “Let me do the talking.” Then he turned and pushed open a door I couldn’t see.

I rubbed my ribs while Jag settled into one of the oversized armchairs. He crossed his legs and leaned back like he was expecting company that was beneath him. I’d only seen him look like this once—just before his little chat with Zenn. He gestured to the chair next to him, raising his eyebrows. His look said,
Sit the hell down before she gets here. Don’t embarrass me, don’t talk, basically don’t be you, Violet.

I sat, determined to keep my mouth shut. I’d show him.

“Jag!” A woman came through a concealed door beside the desk, and all I saw were the two long pieces of hair in the front that she’d dyed purple. I had instant hair-jealousy.

She bounded forward, a mix of nervous energy and happiness on her face. “Where’s Pace? When is he coming?”

“Hullo, Gavin. Soon. Hopefully today.” Jag smiled and stood to embrace her. He had a few inches on her, but she was probably a couple years older than him.

Her fingers moved over Jag’s chest as if the fibers of his shirt needed adjusting and she had to touch him everywhere to do it. She leaned in and smelled him, her face inches from his neck.

“Ah, my gel,” she said. “Smells nice on you.”

He grinned and stepped closer to her, their knees almost
touching. Now a different kind of jealousy burned through me, hot and fast.

“Gavin, I brought a friend to meet you.” Jag took a step back and gestured to me.

I stood up hesitantly.

Gavin radiated the same playful seriousness as Jag, with something intriguing hiding just under the surface. “Jag. Things are still unsettled. I can’t—” She stopped when she looked at me, as if seeing my face meant she couldn’t speak.

“You have to find a way, Gavin,” Jag said. “This is Vi.”

Minding my manners, I held my hand out. “Hello.”

Gavin’s face paled, her eyes hardened, her smile vanished. “Vi?” she asked, her eyes darting between Jag and me. “
The
Vi?”

Having “the” put in front of your name automatically increases your status. Like
The
President or
The
Director or
The
End. Think about it. It wouldn’t be the same if it were just End. I felt like it was
The
End
for me because it clearly wasn’t a good
The
.

“Gavin,” Jag warned. “We don’t need to freak her out.”

Annoyed that Jag knew something that would freak me out, I said, “Too late. Freaked-out-Vi, right here.” My hand hung in midair and I pulled it back.

Gavin seized it.

My mind froze.

Gavin’s eyes closed and her shoulders hunched. Several seconds passed. My lungs cried for air.

“Oh!” She released my hand and her control over my mind. She seemed faint and Jag helped her to his chair.

Gasping for breath, I had no idea what was going on. My stomach lurched.

“Let’s go. Gavin needs a minute.” Jag put his hand on my arm to guide me toward the door.

I stopped, sensing something in Gavin. “No. I’m not going.” I moved across the room, and the memory became stronger. She was thinking about the pink birthday cake with the purple frosting.

“That’s my memory,” I said. “Did you steal it from me?” That was my favorite birthday memory, so strong that I’d re-created the cake just a few days ago. She couldn’t have it. “Did you?”

“No, Vi,” she said. “You still have it. You’ll always have it.”

“Then why do you have it?”

“Same memory,” she whispered. “Different person.”

“Huh?” I asked. My frustration and confusion boiled together, and I turned to Jag for an explanation.

“No way.” He shook his head. “No
way
!” He knelt in front of Gavin and examined her face. “Damn,” he whispered. But it was a good “damn.”

He stood up and moved away from Gavin. “You better tell her. She’s gonna start hitting in a minute, and I hate being her punching bag.”

Gavin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Violet Schoenfeld. I always knew I’d see you again. You look great, little sister. Love the hair. It’s different, but suits you.”

I stared at the girl with the wicked-awesome hair and bright eyes.

“Remember when we bawled like babies the day I left?” she asked, my favorite smile arching her mouth.

Words battled to come out, but my voice died in my chest. My lungs stopped functioning. The room started to spin. Jag used his voice to convince me to breathe.

Tyson?

Impossible. But her eyes . . .

Tyson is dead.

I’d always believed that. Always.