Venus City 1 (19 page)

None of them bothered stopping to explain it to her, and she was too irritated to ask Asher, so she stepped into the elevator with the rest of them and endured the heavy silence as they climbed to the highest level at an achingly slow pace. She'd find out eventually, she told herself.

When the elevator reached its destination—it had seemed like forever, with the unbearable silence and the weight of eleven people, plus whatever it was the Locers were carrying in their bags—they emerged on a platform. Sleek and silver, its round shape glimmered in the moonlight. The moon, however, looked different. She couldn't explain how or why, but it was dimmer, and the sky seemed an endless void of black. She frowned in confusion as the Locers gathered in a loose circle and began unloading their bags.

“That's the
real
sky,” Asher said, his scent invading her thoughts. “Your city blocks it out with the Petticoat Sky Illuminator. That's what we're standing on. It's essentially the massive shield that protects your city from the war outside.”

“
This
?” She asked in disbelief, her eyes narrowed as she examined the sparkling sheet of silver under her feet. She didn't like looking up at the vast emptiness of the sky, it made her feel impossibly small. The sky she was used to was not nearly as inky a black, and it never made her feel like it could swallow her whole. “But how?”

“Your Venus
Vault
, or more properly known as Venus Sare. Its magic is capable of anything, absolutely anything, including protecting this massive city of seven million people from other magic, bombs, people, or diseases. It's the only way you've managed to stay ignorant to the whole war. This Petti even controls the weather and changes the sky so that you lot can't see what's really happening outside,” Asher replied, somewhat vindictively.

Change the weather? That might’ve explained why they had such a warm and comfortable climate all year long. History books recounted it hadn’t always been that way before the Great War.

She could see more platforms scattered across the sky, floating eerily in the moonlight, like a field of planted vegetables. Braya found she couldn't respond. She was numbed by the revelation, particularly the part about how Venus
Sare
could do anything. If that were true, why couldn't it cure Tristant?

The Locers had finished unpacking their bags. With them they had brought a huge load of Moon Tamer gear. The guys were already strapping the floating suits across their chests and arguing over which sword-baton they wanted. At their feet the rings and orbs that Emma and Brielle had taught her about lay scattered, lifeless.

Asher approached her with two suits in his hand and three long, bowed, sword-batons, two of which were already glowing with red and blue orbs nestled into the slots at the end of the batons. “Here, we each have to wear one,” he indicated the suits. “These platforms are made of the same material as the platforms in the game, so they'll hold us up, don't worry, Brays. Do you want to be the shooter or the driver?”

She had no idea what they planned on doing—how any of this constituted a race—but eyed the sword-baton and its two circular, clawed-shaped, pouch-like indentations where the rings and orbs magnetized, and decided she wanted nothing to do with it. “Driver, I suppose.”

“I thought you might say that,” he smirked, handing her the baton that wasn't equipped with the orbs. “You can be the shooter. You'll catch on fast with those boosters you have. Besides, we'll win for sure if I'm the driver.” He turned to address Ness. “Hey, Bray's my partner tonight.”

“Naturally,” Ness replied. “That means Page will partner with Griffin, and I'll go alone.” He gave a wolfish grin.

A tall, brawny guy with mocha colored skin scowled. “I don't want to go with Page. You know he's the weakest one!”

Page surprised Braya by responding, “
A light can never remove every spot of darkness.” It was the same thing he'd said in the tunnel in front of the stairs, and whatever it meant, Braya suppressed the shudder that crawled over her back. Asher was scooping up handfuls of the rings and securing them onto the front of Braya's floating jacket, not paying any attention to the argument that broke out between Ness and Griffin.

“Now all you have to do is fling these rings at the other teams with your baton, and also deflect the other ones coming at us,” Asher explained in a smooth, calming tone. “We'll be attached to each other on our backs and I'm going to be steering us toward the winning platform. It's a race to see who gets there first.”

“This is barbaric,” she muttered, eyeing the baton in her hand. The handle was slick with her sweat and she couldn't help imaging spiraling through the sky to her sure death.

“Don't worry, Brays, you won't even know I'm there,” he smirked, misinterpreting her comment.

“I didn't mean it like that,” she snapped. “But being attached to you and depending on you to steer us to safety, yes, that's also horrid.”

“Because I'm a guy?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You know, from the way you've been responding to my touch lately, you'd think you do have a thing for guys.” His hand appeared next to her face, his fingers tracing the tender flesh along her cheekbone. Her skin replied by growing hot, and she glowered at him, unable to pull away this time. His skin against hers...it was impossible to label, but it did damaging things to her resolve.

“Okay, stop screwing around,” Ness barked. “Hook yourselves up and line up at the starting point.”

Asher instructed her to spin around. She felt him fumbling for something along her back, and then the next moment her suit was glued to his, curve for curve. He walked toward the edge of the platform, awkwardly dragging her behind him like a deployed parachute. She could feel the whoosh of the wind nipping at her ankles, could sense the crest of the platform just a few inches from their joined bodies, could feel the tug of the descent swirling around her knees. It made it worse that she was facing backward.

“Ready, GO!”

Braya was jerked through the air, her head whipping about her neck and her hair frantic, wild around her head. She couldn't hear anything outside the rushing of wind, and all of the other Locers were scattering like fallen leaves, their orbs and rings already glowing against their bodies, creating the illusion of a group of colorful falling stars.

They soared high above the platforms. Braya's eyes peered out into the sky again—the real one—and it brought Asher's comment rushing back to her.
 
You know, from the way you've been responding to my touch lately, you'd think you do have a thing for guys.

Why
was
his touch invading her the way it was? It was strange, and she couldn't understand it. Did she have a
thing
for him? The question was ridiculous. Asher was a man. She didn't like men. Mother had made sure she knew that interacting with men in the same fashion Finches did was unacceptable for a Crown. Yet, the question was there, and she couldn't answer it. Her body was betraying her, as her mother had warned her it would. Braya desperately sought the advice her mother had always presented to her when she felt trapped by a problem; it was there, somewhere in the back of her mind.
If it goes against what you believe, if it defies everything you've been taught, then you have the right, as a Crown, to put a seal over it and ignore it.
She was out of her league, Braya realized, knowing nothing about the feelings she was experiencing. She decided she would listen to her mother. The feelings were fleeting. They would subside. If she listened to Mother, everything would be all right. She would seal away all of her questions, all of her betraying feelings, and ignore them.

“Braya! BRAYA!”

Braya snapped out of her thoughts just in time to see a silver flash soaring straight at them. Braya swung her baton without thinking, and it exploded in a blinding shower of sparks. Asher was thrusting them forward with his two batons, using them like paddles rowing a boat to keep them sailing through the air. Orbs of different colors, silver rings, they were suddenly upon them, assailing them from every direction.

Her enhanced reflexes allowed her to deflect each and every one of them.

“The RINGS!” Asher was shouting. “THROW THEM!”

Braya tore the small glass rings from her jacket, their surface instantly warming and alighting with silver liquid. She loaded two of them into the baton and swung. She did this over and over as Asher sent them dipping and spinning through the air. She had no idea if she was hitting anyone, but found that she liked deflecting the objects being launched at them better than shooting the rings, as she could use her sharp vision and quick reflexes to block them.

Braya had no idea if they were winning, but once she got the hang of dodging, deflecting, and shooting, she rapidly grew to like it. Who cares if they won?

Braya had a feeling they
were
winning, though. The attacks had changed all of a sudden; they'd been random, scattered, but now there was nothing random about them. Every team was blazing after them, a barrage of light chasing them like rain pounding into the ground. It was too much for her to deflect, and a silver ring exploded on her foot, another on her arm, a couple more against her shoulder. She screamed in pain, felt the air lurch up to pull their collective weight downward, barely heard Asher's howl of pain. Every inch of her body was burning, itching; knives, daggers, they sunk into her flesh, the flesh that felt like it was being peeled off.

The platforms shot above their heads, and then the air became fierce, stronger, pulling them down at a neck-breaking speed.

She was distinctly aware of Asher trying to propel them back above the platforms so that their floating suits could find purchase, but she felt like dead weight, her head lolling about her shoulders as she fought the darkness that threatened to consume her.

The platforms shone like moons above them. They were getting closer—Asher didn't seem to have the strength to get them above the platforms—but not by much. She let out a groan, tried to fend off the numbing that was spreading through her mind like black paint soaking a canvas. A gleam of silver was hurtling in their direction, and Braya didn't know where she found the energy to, but her arm swung around on its own accord and slammed the ring away. It collided with the other rings she'd had loaded on her baton, and the force of them screeching together in blinding light shot them upward. The two of them soared so far up, in an almost perfect arch that their suits lurched to life.

Braya stared blearily down. The city rested below them—so far below it was only a smear of lights—and the platforms were also swimming below their feet. They'd made it. They were back above the platforms!

Their landing was rough. Asher collapsed face-first, leaving her to dangle from his back, too injured, too depleted to move.

Moments later the Locers touched down around them. She could feel hands unlatching her from Asher's back, laying her across the platform. Voices, distant and fading, were arguing over whether Asher and Braya had won fairly or not. The last things she saw before blacking out were two eyes of polished blue, seeking hers, and then there was nothing.

The water of the Sandy River glittered in the afternoon sun. Grassy hills sloped beyond the banks, houses dotted the hills in the almost-indiscernible distance, the Heartland property was slowly fading into the horizon, and the looming cityscape was rising up on either side of the river.

Braya was leaning against the rail of the luxury yacht—supposedly owned by Heartland—the Brides were to have their third date on. The slight wind whipped her long, sea-foam green dress—which now reminded her horridly of Ness's blind eyes—around her ankles, but she didn't pay it much attention. She had her elbows rested against the rail and her head tilted back so she could observe the sky. It was a soft light blue, with puffy white clouds passing by slowly. The sky was usually like that in the daytime, but Braya couldn't help wondering what the real sky—that canvas of endless black—looked like during the day. Was it the same?

Someone calling her name brought her out of her thoughts. She looked over to see Maydessa across the deck, waving at her. She had her arms coiled around Latham's and she was leaning into him suggestively. Latham seemed unfazed by the girl's attention, and was staring at Braya with an expression that made her look away. Latham was Maydessa's date today, and Braya had considered trying to interfere, just to rile that Finch up, but she didn't have much energy to spare after the Petti race last night. What little she had made up with sleep she'd spent getting rid of her date for the day, Troy. He'd been just like Julian, and Braya wasn't in the mood to act pleasant for him.

Braya found that when she looked at Latham, she didn't feel too upset that Maydessa was clinging to him. Not upset at all, in fact. More sympathetic than anything, which was weird since she was supposed to favor girls over guys, Finch or not. There was just something peculiar—in all sense of the word, good and bad—about Latham that had caught her by surprise in the gardens last time. Now, however, as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, she couldn't decide if she’d simply imagined something in him that hadn’t been there.