Catalyst (15 page)

Mitis tugged me closer to him, planted his hand on my lower back and steered me down and around. Down and around. Down and around until I thought I might pass out from the dizziness. The cold sweating was back, but I also felt hot—the kind of hot that can’t be extinguished by a cool, drenching rain of a late summer thunderstorm. It was the kind of hot that melted bone and inhibition, that meant I was in trouble. I didn’t care. I was here to dance, to sway with Mitis until the sun came up, or they kicked us out of the underground. I was here to live.

Yelling to be heard over the music, he leaned in, “What first?”

“Liquid courage,” I said with a smile.

Everything was dark, illuminated by some sort of blue-purple lights that made bright colors pop, especially white. On the dance floor, people squirted bright paints onto one another. It was in their hair, on their clothes, on the walls. It was everywhere, and it was awesome.

He smiled and tugged me toward a makeshift bar that had been set up on a couple of old, wooden tables that bowed in their middles and trembled each time someone bumped them, threatening to spill their sloshing treasure.

It was like Mitis had super powers. A sea of people parted, and he glided straight to the table and ordered two beverages. Despite a few curious looks to his collar, everyone was kind. The gentleman serving smiled and handed over his drinks. “On the house,” the man yelled.

Mitis looked taken aback. “Thanks, man.”

The guy looked from him to me and smiled. “Friendly advice—keep her in your sights tonight. It’s getting wild out there and she’s hot. Guys are going to flock to her.”

The muscle in Mitis’s jaw worked back and forth as he nodded and walked back to me. He didn’t look at me, but beyond me, so I turned to find two guys approaching. They were older and had way more swagger than I would prefer in a man.

I walked past Mitis. He craned his neck and gave me a confused look that made him look innocent somehow. I walked to the bar, slipped behind those tables and gave the bartender who’d poured our drinks and offered advice a huge hug. Mentally, numbers sixteen and seventeen were marked off my list. I’d held Mitis’s hand and hugged a stranger!

Weaving through the sea of people, I met back up with my companion and accepted my drink from him with a satisfied smile.

“You’re not going to have anything left on your list tomorrow if you keep this up,” he teased.

I hoped not—though sleeping under the stars was probably going to be out. He didn’t know it, but deep down, I knew I’d never mark everything off.

My stomach knotted, and I fingered the hem of my sweater nervously as we stood beside the packed dance floor watching the writhing mass of flesh and sweat. My shoes crunched over some dried leaves as we were shuffled out of the way by two men who were throwing punches in earnest. Mitis grabbed my waist and moved me away from the melee.

His eyes locked on mine. I’d always wanted to stand on the shore and look out at the sea. Somehow, just knowing him had given me this gift as if I was doing just that. Blue-green perfection. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” I yelled.

We finished our drinks quickly. The alcohol left a burn from throat to stomach, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Before I knew it, the booze had done its job. I felt warm, too warm. Grabbing the bottom hem of my sweater, I eased it up over my head. Mitis’s eyes widened when I pulled it off. I wasn’t sure if he was surprised that
I
was hot or if the tiny cami and skirt I was wearing was making
him
hot.

He squeezed my waist and reeled me in.
Must be the latter.

Mitis leaned in close; his warm breath fanned over my ear. “Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a request, and I loved it. I let him lead me to the dance floor where he showed me exactly how scrubs got down. And holy hell, was it ever hot.

Glis
·
ten

/ɡ
lis
(ə
)n/

verb

1. (of something wet or greasy) shine; glitter.
   Synonyms: shine, sparkle, twinkle, glint, glitter, glimmer, shimmer, wink, flash
   

noun

1. a sparkling light reflected from something wet.
   

HEAT WAS COMING
off of everyone in waves. I looked for distortions. It had to be rising like the waves that rose from baked pavement in the summer. Seven had even removed her sweater. Her skin glistened with moisture, and her cheeks were flushed. We danced.

When Seven gave in and moved to the music, it was a thing of beauty. She was lithe, and every movement was sensual, even though she didn’t mean for it to be. It was just her. And the bartender had been right, Seven drew the attention of plenty of wandering male eyes. She was the flame, and they were the moths, unable to break free of her hypnotic light.

I was a moth, too. Her moth.

Her keeper, companion, and pet.

When I thought she’d tire, she smiled and raised her arms overhead. Her hair had gotten soaked outside in the rain. It hadn’t dried, but hung in thick tendrils like she’d been swimming in the ocean all day, saltwater separating the strands.

The beat turned into a sensual rhythm. I rocked her body back and forth, my leg positioned between hers, where it never wanted to leave. My hands snaked around her waist, dipped beneath the hem of her barely-there white tank top. She inhaled sharply, but smiled and kept moving with me. A fringe of delicate lace outlined the top swells of her breasts. I remembered exactly how her undergarments fit, wet and dry.

Tiny splashes of glowing paint speckled our hair, skin and clothes. Our teeth glowed bright white in the dark. But we couldn’t stop smiling. It was hard to tell where I ended and she began. The skin of her lower back was hot, a hotter temperature than I’d ever felt her. Even her hands were warm and slick.

We were rocking with one another when an ear-splitting blast filled our ears. Seven covered hers and crouched low reflexively. “What was that?” she screamed. The scent of smoke quickly filled the space just before a low, gray cloud billowed into the air.

I shook my head and raised a shoulder. The commotion had already begun. People screamed and began pushing toward the rickety staircase that we’d descended. Its iron groaned under the pressure of too much weight and movement at one time.

“This way!” I yelled.

She nodded, slipped her hand into mine and let me pull her in the opposite direction, away from the chaos. There had to be another way out. Everyone else was pushing toward the explosion, toward the fire.

Another loud boom shook the foundation, causing pieces of ceiling to collapse from overhead. We used our forearms as a shield and kept pushing through the people toward the opposite side of the building.

“Lightning! The building was struck! There’s a fire,” someone yelled from above. “Get out now!”

Shrieks.

Coughs.

People were screaming their friends’ names.

Sirens.

And then we saw shouts and beams from flashlights on smoke.

Seven and I made it out of the crowd and began searching for another way up and out of this place. A beefy guy shoved past us and waved for us to follow him. “There’s a staircase this way. It’s old, but it should work.”

Seven nodded, and we took off after him. The smoke was thickening in the building, burning our eyes and making them tear. Through a set of double doors that hung crookedly from their hinges, was another small room with a very old staircase. It was made of intricate swirls of wrought iron. “Watch your step, the man shouted down at us.”

My eyes scanned for the danger he warned about, there were steps rusted away, leaving gaps in the structure. “You go first, Seven. I’m right behind you. Just go slow and steady. Watch where you’re stepping.” She would get to safety first. I’d make sure of it.

“What if it won’t hold me?” she asked.

“It held him. He’s bigger than both of us.”

With trembling hands, she grabbed hold of the railing and took the first of many steps in a very dangerous ascent. It took longer than I’d hoped. The smoke at the top of the staircase poured into our lungs, flooding them with every breath we tried to take. Seven coughed violently. “Stay as low as you can. I’m going to look for a door out of this place.

I didn’t see the fire, but the heat was intense. Billowing black smoke roiled through the air relentlessly cutting off the ability to see any farther than the hand in front of your face. I coughed and hacked, crawling through bits of concrete and shards of glass, dried leaves and curled paint peelings. But I found a door.

“Seven?”

She answered with a cough and then, “Yeah?”

“I found it, come toward my voice.” The door was locked, so I kicked it until it finally gave way and almost spilled me out of it.

Blinking to clear the moisture from my eyes, I finally saw her hand on the floor. “You’re here,” I yelled, grabbing hold of her.

Seven didn’t weigh much. With her body folded up in my arms, hers arms linked loosely around my neck, I carried her from the building into the alley and the fresh air beyond it. Sirens screamed into the night. The storm that had raged before we took cover in the warehouse was over, but the remnants were visible. Puddles were pooled in the dips of the concrete, and the air was cool and moist. Clouds overhead had thinned. They raced across the sky revealing the moon and then covering it up just as quickly.

I readjusted my arms, and Seven coughed out the words, “Put me down.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, placing her feet on the ground and then steadying her when she swayed and grabbed her head. “What’s wrong, Seven?”

She didn’t answer with words. She collapsed, her body folding up like the bellows of an accordion.

Moving just fast enough, I kept her head from hitting the concrete. I eased her body down and watched as her body shook violently. The word seizure was the first thing I thought, but then I felt her forehead. She wasn’t sweating anymore. She was on fire.

Her eyes flickered, revealing only the whites. She needed help. Now.

I gathered her limp body, easing it up from the wet pavement. And then I ran.

A group of four soldiers were gathered in front of the warehouse itself, discussing the fire and how everyone had made it out just in time. I hoped Seven had.

“I need help!” I yelled. They turned around, startled. Their eyes glanced from Seven to me and then to my collar. “She collapsed. I’m her companion.”

They started to turn around and brush me off. “She is Elect Anderson’s daughter and she needs help!”

That got their attention. One used his page to call and let the hospital know they were on the way with an unconscious female and the others rushed over toward me. They took her from my arms and laid her in the back seat of a soldier’s vehicle.

They were going to leave me. “Anderson paid a mint for me. If she shows up without me, he’ll have your ass, buddy!”

The soldier who was half inside and half out of the driver’s seat stilled. Gripping the door frame, he scowled at me and my threat. “Climb in, Scrub.”

If he thought I was going to sit beside him, he was wrong. I climbed in and held Seven’s head against my chest. The heat from her skin seeped into me, scalded me. The only thing I could think of was the folded piece of paper in my pocket.
She can’t go. She hasn’t marked everything off yet. She can’t leave me.

BRIGHT FLUORESCENT LIGHTS
flickering from above.

The scent of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant.

Squeaking soles on the polished, white floor tiles.

The shouts of doctors and nurses.

Lights being shone in her eyes.

Her eyes fixed on something unseen above her.

Trembling. She wouldn’t stop trembling.

Shouts of instructions. Growls of frustration.

Beeping…erratic beeping.

“We’re losing her!”

“Stay with us, Seven Anderson!”

Cold rags to her head.

“Where’s the ice?”

“What is
he
doing here?”

“He’s her companion.”

“He’s in the way.”

Soldiers. Grabbing my arms, dragging me from the room.

My shouts.

The only thing worse than the chaos in that hospital was the quiet of the room they locked me in.

The only thing worse than the quiet of the room they locked me in was the shouting of the memories.

First Griffin, the moans that started before I ran to get help that wasn’t there, before I wasn’t fast enough. Now Seven and her quaking, tiny body filled my thoughts. She was so hot. So hot. Griffin had been hot, too.

I felt it. The pointed edges of the paper that was getting more and more worn as we opened, unfolded, folded and closed it tight again. Her list. It dug into my thigh, reminding me of her. Griffin had died. I knew Seven was dying. I wasn’t ready for him to go. I wasn’t ready to let her go.

Pacing the floor, pounding the painted, white block walls until they were streaked red. That was all I could do. So that’s what I did.

For hours, that’s what I did.

THE SOUND OF
a key in the lock startled me. I was slumped in the corner of two walls. Two soldiers stepped into the room flanking the door. Elect Anderson marched into the room, effectively filling the space. It wasn’t his body that was larger-than-life. It was his presence, and his ego.

“What was Seven doing at the rave, pet?” he spat.

I stood up but kept my mouth pressed tight.

“She has suffered from smoke inhalation. There was only one fire in the city tonight. She has neon paint splattered all over her. I know the two of you were there.”

Then he didn’t need any answers to those questions. He knew it all, already.

“They said you got her out of there, that you sought help from soldiers outside the warehouse.”

I just stared. It was making him angry, but I didn’t care. If only I had a weapon, my hunting knife, anything.

I’d get revenge for Griffin.

Elect Anderson crossed his arms, his suit constricting around his arms. His eyes inspected the white walls, marred with red-brown smudges and spatters.

He smiled. “Seven is fine. They have reduced her fever. But she has a few days to live at the most. We are going home now. I’ll deal with you after she’s gone. Upsetting her would only hasten things, I’m afraid.”

Something in his eyes…he was observing me closely. The words he spoke would have clogged any loving parent’s throat. He’d said them so mechanically. His eyes didn’t even blink. They stayed locked on my face, my expression.

It was like Anderson was hoping that I would react.

When I didn’t so much as flinch, he nodded to the soldiers, who motioned for me to step forward. One cuffed my hands, while another snapped a black leather leash onto the clasp in the front of my neck and tugged it, testing its weight. We all knew it wouldn’t break. The smugness in the soldier’s eyes at one point would have bothered me. Now, it fueled my fire. I tucked it away. I’d get revenge soon enough. But not while Seven still held on.

Swallowing thickly, I followed them out of the room and down a brightly lit hall, to another door that led outside. A car was waiting. It wasn’t the one we had borrowed.

SEVEN WAS MOSTLY
unconscious for the next two days. The doctors had given her a sedative, and it had worked so well I had to periodically check her pulse to make sure she was breathing. She lay in her bed, wrapped in pale green linens. A few times per day, Zara would herd me out of the room and guide a nurse to her side. The two women would help Seven go to the bathroom and wash up.

On the morning of the third day after she was released, Zara knocked twice briskly before opening the door. It was her signature, I’d learned. She smoothed her gray hair back. “There are visitors at the door. The Andersons have stepped out. So I will show them in. They wish to see Seven.”

I wondered who it could be. Probably Aric—though Sonnet’s presence had been scarce for the last couple of days, I realized.