Chaos (The Realmwalker Chronicles Book 1) (29 page)

“Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison.

I squeeze Jana one last time and get behind the wheel.

“Call me when you get there so I know you made it!” Mom hollers as I wave good-bye. Sam settles back into the passenger side seat.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he winks and smiles at me before closing his eyes.

“Be safe,” I say, but he’s already gone.

Chapter 48

The drive to
my new home is blissful. After two hours Sam wakes up and we spend the rest of the drive talking. We talk about everything—our favorite music, movies we consider classics, books we’ve both enjoyed.

We talk about our plans for California. Sam’s wanted to get a dog for a long time but was worried about having just him and Crank there to take care of it. With Ember and I there now, he thinks we should get one. “Our L.A. base mascot,” he says. We talk about what breeds we like and ultimately decide to get a shelter dog.

We stop to fill the cars with gas, and Crank climbs into the driver’s seat of Ember’s Mustang.

“Whoa, Crank, are you even old enough to drive?” He and Sam both wear sheepish looks.

“Uhhhh,” is all I get from Crank.

Eyebrows arched, I turn to Sam who’s replacing the cap on the gas tank.

“What’s this, Officer Dixon?” I enunciate his title teasingly.

“Ah,” he shrugs. “He might not have a license, but he can drive. I taught him myself.”

“Besides,” Crank defends himself, “I could take this baby apart and put her back together again in an hour flat! Why shouldn’t I be able to drive her?”

“Ha!” I bark. “Good point.”

Back behind the wheel again, I take a risk and venture into a topic with Sam that I’ve been curious about for a long time.

“Hey, can I ask you something personal?”

“Of course you can,” he says mildly, but he stares out the window like he knows what’s coming.

“Where’s your family?” I ask gently. “Did you lose them?” He’s quiet for a little while.

He fishes his wallet from his back pocket, gingerly takes out two photographs, and passes them to me. I hold them in front of me and study them over the steering wheel. One picture is of a young woman, maybe my age. She’s sitting on a black-and-white carousel horse and smiling at the person behind the lens. She’s blonde and has large blue eyes the same shade as Sam’s.

“That’s Rebecca. My older sister.” I glance at him as he says her name. The tenderness in his eyes is heartbreaking.

“She’s beautiful.”

The second picture is of a young couple, and it’s faded and worn from time. The man and woman are sitting on a brownish-orange couch, and their clothes and hairstyles are straight out of the seventies. The photographer caught the woman laughing, her head back and mouth open in a grin. There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She is breathtakingly beautiful. The dark-haired man was caught admiring her, the look of adoration on his face forever frozen in time. On the woman’s lap is a light-haired baby in a pink-and-white jumper.

“Your parents?”

“Yeah.”

I pass the pictures back to him and watch as he carefully, almost reverently, puts them back into his wallet.

“We lived in northern California. When I was fifteen, we were in a bad accident. My parents were in the front seats and died right away. Rebecca was next to me in the back. She ended up in a coma for a week before she passed.”

My eyes burn and prickle. I slowly shake my head back and forth. I hate how unfair this world can be sometimes.

“I’m so sorry.” I know the words are inadequate but nothing I could say would make it any better. We sit in heavy silence for a few miles. I don’t look at him because I’m afraid if I see tears in his eyes, I’ll lose it and have to pull over.

“I’ve wanted to tell you,” he finally speaks. “I want you to know me. It’s just been hard. I mean, it’s not something you come right out and say.”

“I know. It’s okay. Thank you for wanting to tell me. It’s rotten what happened and I hate it. But I’m happy to know you better. I think everything we experience, especially the bad stuff—” the sound of screeching tires rings through my memory, “it shapes us. It makes us who we are, for better or worse. I’m glad to know that part of you. It makes me appreciate your strength even more.”

He reaches for my hand across the seat and weaves his fingers through mine. “Thanks Addy,” he says simply. The genuine gratitude in his voice makes me smile.

Once we get about thirty miles out, we pull over so Sam can drive the rest of the way to the base. I start to get nervous as we cruise into an upscale neighborhood. The homes we pass are huge, surrounded by sprawling green lawns and guarded with heavy security gates.

“Um, is this our neighborhood?”

Sam looks at me sideways and smiles slyly.

We stop outside a large, gilded, two-door gate with a roaring lion’s head protruding from the middle of each side. Sam clicks a button on his key ring and the gates swing inward. My suspicions are confirmed when we roll up to the front of the largest red brick mansion I’ve ever seen.

“Holy crap, Sam! Is this a joke?” I hear the panic in my voice.

Confused, he looks back and forth between the house and me. “You’re upset? Don’t you like it?”

“How am I supposed to explain this to my mom?” I gesture at the house frantically. “She’s supposed to come visit me next month!”

“Oh.” He’s very unsuccessfully fighting a smile.

“Oh?” I ask, incredulous.

He’s laughing–no—he’s GIGGLING.

“Saaaam,” I say plaintively.

“Don’t worry, Addy. We’ll find an explanation. You’re supposed to be moving in with Ember, right? Who’s to say she’s not secretly a millionaire?”

“Oh man,” I grumble.

Once inside, Crank dashes from room to room as he gives me and Ember the tour, his exuberance making his English hard to understand.

With the high-class neighborhood and the sheer size of the house, I’d been expecting everything on the inside to be opulent and lavish. I’m surprised to find instead the house is completely practical.

The furniture is comfortable and sturdy, the spaces used well. There are rooms for exercise, some for entertainment, some for study. There’s even an office that’s nearly identical to the logistics room at Major Calm. The kitchen is large with lots of seating areas, an oversized fridge, and a giant walk-in pantry. The place is filled to the brim with food, which is probably a good thing considering how much and how often we eat.

Overall, the house is cozy and welcoming. The only extravagant thing about it is its size. There are eight bedrooms, each with their own personal bathroom. Ember and I pick rooms across the hall from each other.

I call Mom to let her know I made it safely and then take a few minutes to settle in. It’s strange that a brand-new place can already feel so much like home.

Sam and Crank welcome Ember and me to the base by cooking dinner for us. After consuming enough food to feed a small army, we all clean up together.

“I know it’s still pretty early,” I say once we are finished, “but I think I’m gonna head to Chaos.”

Sam eyes me suspiciously. “What do you have planned?” He tries to sound casual.

“Something very unpleasant,” I say dramatically.

I smile at their confused expressions. “Well, I can’t go on missions so I have to do something useful.” My mood sours as I anticipate what I’m about to do. “I’m going to bite the bullet and help Simone.”

“Do you think she’ll let you?” Ember asks scornfully.

I nod my head. “She will, even if I have to pledge a lifetime of servitude—which is very likely—I’ll get her to let me.”

I say good night to my friends, Sam last of all.

He seems pleased with my renewed determination to help Simone.

Hugging me good night, he says, “I’m glad you’re going to try again with Simone. She may be difficult, but we could sure use the extra help that another ability would give us on the battlefield. Good luck, Addy.”

“Thanks Sam. I’ll need it.”

Chapter 49

I stare hard
at the black door in front of me, hand hovering in the air by my face, knuckles poised inches from the shiny surface. I swallow once, then again, trying to force down the lump of dread that has lodged in my throat. Dread—or is it pride? Isn’t that what they say?
Swallow your pride
? I understand that phrase better now.

Here goes.

I rap politely on the door, four short knocks. There’s movement inside and after a few seconds the knob turns. I’m beginning to grow used to Simone’s ever-changing appearance, so I’m not too startled when a stranger opens the door.

Tonight Simone is a willowy strawberry blonde with light freckles peppering her nose and cheekbones. Her delicate mouth is framed by coral lips, and her large eyes are pale green adorned with long, soft, golden lashes. Again, I’m in awe of her beauty. This one’s a kind of natural, dainty loveliness you would expect to see on an elf or a water nymph, if such beings existed. This is the most striking version of Simone I’ve seen yet.

I’m shocked when her trademark sneer doesn’t instantly mar her perfect face. Simone stares back at me with an almost empty expression. The only trace of emotion is deep within her eyes. If I weren’t so aware of her mood, I might not catch the misery hiding there.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

Her eyebrows rise. We stare at each other for a moment. She keeps her face very still, but I can feel the conflicts within her. So many emotions—fear, anger, longing, frustration.

“Please Simone,” I say desperately, “let me in.”

Whether she takes me to mean,
Let me into your room
,
Let me into your mind
, or maybe even
Let me into your heart
, she steps aside and opens the door wide.

After closing the door behind me, I follow her to her bed where she sits cross-legged, propped up against a dozen throw pillows. Without waiting for permission, I climb up and sit across from her. She still hasn’t said anything, but I feel the ache coming from her. It hurts me nearly as badly as it does her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says softly, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t pity me.”

“It’s not pity.”

She huffs and looks down at her hands in her lap.

“You’re my sister, Simone. It doesn’t make me happy to see you suffer.”

Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks rapidly. Her mood feels heavy and tired. It must be exhausting for her, keeping her defenses up constantly, always hiding behind a steel exterior, striking out with hateful looks and venomous words.

“I’m not Angel. I’ll never be as sweet or as kind as she is. Heck, I’m can be as stubborn as you sometimes.” I smile ruefully at her. She sniffs noisily and crosses her arms defensively.

“But the bottom line is,” I tell her, “you’re family to me just as much as any of the other Walkers. That feeling we all have for each other, the one that connects us, I feel it for you too. And I’ll continue to feel it no matter how you treat me. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m not going to give up on you.”

She finally looks up from her lap, a hint of a challenge in her eyes.

“I won’t ever force you,” I assure her. “Ever. But I will bug the hell out of you. I’ll beg, I’ll plead, I’ll grovel at your feet if that’s what it takes.”

A hint of a smile dances around her mouth. “Grovel, huh?”

“I’d prefer not to. But …” I shrug.

“So, what? We’re supposed to be besties now?”

“No. Not besties. Just,” I mull a few words over in my mind, “comrades. We’re comrades in arms.” She searches my eyes for any sign of mockery. Finding nothing but sincerity, she nods shortly.

“Fine.”

A grin spreads wide across my face, but she humbles me quickly.

“But I reserve the right to change my mind at any time,” she states. “Just because I let you do your mind mumbo-jumbo on me once doesn’t give you unlimited access whenever you want.”

“Of course,” I say, placating her.

“And this does NOT mean we are friends.”

“If that’s how you want it, okay.”

“Okay,” she throws back at me. She must realize how juvenile she sounds because she makes a visible effort to soften her expression. After a few deep breaths she asks, “What do you need me to do?”

Simone’s mind is much like the other Walkers’, clear and quick and strong. I delve deep within her consciousness searching for areas of overdevelopment. I purposely ignore the area of her brain that gives her the ability to morph into whatever she chooses. I’m already aware of that ability. Instead, I search the corners, plunge the depths, and skim the shallows looking for any hint of some other ability.

I find a couple obvious strengths. Her willpower, for one, though others might call it stubbornness, is immense. Her perception of people, or scrutiny as some may say, is unnaturally strong. While these attributes explain some of the more disagreeable aspects of Simone’s personality, none of them point to a legitimate ability. At least none that I’m familiar with.

There is, however, a feeling. It’s difficult to describe. It’s as if I’m right on the verge of discovering something. It’s like a secret, like some massive potential is just out of my reach. It’s frustrating and disappointing, and I dread telling Simone that I don’t have an answer for her. She wants this so badly—to be able to feel like she’s one of us.

I withdraw myself from her mind and return to my own. Slightly dazed, she opens her eyes. It takes only a second before she’s gripping my arms tightly, a look of desperation on her face.

“Did you find it?” She looks terrified of my answer.

“Yes and no,” I tell her, hoping my instincts are right.

She shakes her head in confusion. “What does THAT mean?”

“It’s there … something’s there,” I try to explain. “I just, I can’t tell what it is yet.” Her head drops into her hands.

“Simone,” I try to comfort her, “this is good news. We need to be patient. I need a little more time with you, to see how your mind works.”

“But,” she hesitates, “it’s there? You’re sure?”

“Something’s there. I can feel it. I’m sure.”

For the first time, I feel a flicker of hope spark within Simone.

“Will you let me work with you? I’ll need to be with you often, observing how you think and react to everything. It may be intrusive.” I’m afraid she’ll say no, throw me out for not being able to help her, and never talk to me again.

“Okay,” she says meekly.

“Really?” I ask surprised.

She nods vigorously. “Yes. I … I need …,” the words seem almost painful for her to say, “your help.”

“Then you’ve got it,” I say matter-of-factly.

At that moment, I feel a strange sensation at the back of my mind, like a nagging, plucking feeling. It’s as though my attention is being tugged in a certain direction, and it takes me a moment to realize what it is. Angel had described this to me when she was assigning her duties to me one by one. She told me this is how I’d recognize a weak spot in the fabric of Chaos.

Simone senses my alarm. “What is it?”

“A weak spot. I’ve got to go.” I jump down and rush out of her room and down the hall. As I run, I send out a mental call to all the Walkers within the realm.

There’s a weak spot in Chaos.

I immediately feel apprehension from multiple frequencies. I search for Sam and find his familiar presence in Logistics. I run in that direction, finding Ember and Crank along the way.

“Boss is in Logistics,” I say as I run past. They follow me with tense, worried faces.

When we arrive, we find Sam pacing in front of his desk. “Where’s Angel?” he demands. His intensity startles me.

“What?”

“Angel. Where is she? She’s not answering the summons. We need her to show us where the weak spot is since you can’t go out there.”

“I haven’t seen her. Give me a second.”

Angel?
I call to her mind. I can feel her now, though she’s distant. She must be top-side.

Angel, we need you.

“This is strange,” Crank says. “Angel’s the one who usually tells us if there’s a weak spot, and now she’s not even here?” There’s a hint of accusation in his tone.

“I’ve been taking over for her,” I say defensively. “She’s just a kid, Crank. She shouldn’t have to do everything all the time.”

Crank immediately looks ashamed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

But I barely hear him. I’m concentrating on getting through to Angel. It’s never been so difficult before. It feels like I’m trying to talk underwater.

“I may have to go out there, Sam.”

As he starts to protest I hold up a hand. “Got her!”

I feel her more clearly now. She’s in Chaos though she seems peculiar—muddled, almost groggy.

I’m on my way.
I can tell the others received her message too from their obvious relief.

“Go assist her, guys,” he tells Ember and Crank. “Lang and Mel are on a mission now. Give them a heads up once you’re out there. You may need their help.”

“Yes sir.” They leave in a hurry.

“Be careful!” I yell after them, feeling useless.

Sam leans back against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, face weary.

“Will you monitor them? So we know if this will be an all-out war?”

“Already am,” I tell him. “I think it will be okay though. The weak place hasn’t gotten any thinner, so I don’t think the other side knows about it yet.”

“I’ll relax when it’s fixed.”

I lean back next to him, our shoulders touching. We sit this way, in quiet anxiety, for at least ten minutes. Finally, the tugging sensation at the back of my mind lessens then disappears altogether.

“It’s fixed. Everyone’s safe.”

“Thank goodness.” His posture relaxes. “Great work, Addy. It’s nice of you to give Angel a break, and it’s a relief to know I can trust you to do a good job.”

“Thanks Sam.”

“How did things go with Simone?”

“Okay. Actually, it went better than I expected.”

“Yeah?” He guides me around in front of him so we’re face-to-face and rests his hands on my lower back, pulling me close. “Tell me about it.”

“She let me in.”

He frowns thoughtfully. “Wow.”

“Yeah. I didn’t learn anything earth-shattering. Not yet anyway. But I know there’s something there. I’ll find it.”

He lifts one side of his mouth into a crooked grin. “I know you will.”

I warm at his confidence in me. “Sam?”

“Hmm.”

“Can I talk to you about Mikhail?”

His eyes harden. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I’m not going to try to change your mind,” I insist. “I know he’s in there for three months. I won’t fight you on that.”

He looks wary. “Then what?”

“You said you were going to have Angel dig around in his head, find out his secrets. What if it doesn’t have to come to that? What if we don’t have to give him an ultimatum? There are much nicer ways to get information without leaving a damaged relationship behind.”

“You think he’ll tell us?” he says derisively.

“Maybe,” I venture, “if the right person asks.”

“No.” I feel his arms and chest grow rigid. “Absolutely not. What kind of a man would I be if I let you in there with him? After what he tried to do to you?”

“I don’t have to be alone. You could come with me.” He’s shaking his head adamantly back and forth. “But he trusts me!” I object.

“I’m sorry. It’s out of the question.”

I stare hard at Sam’s chest and fight back tears. I can feel him watching me but I won’t meet his gaze. After a moment he relaxes and his arms around me soften.

“Addy,” his face is close to mine. “I don’t want you be unhappy. But I NEED you to be safe. Can you understand that?”

I nod shortly.

“Addy,” he says my name again, quietly in my ear. His grip around me tightens, bringing me closer to him until we’re pressed together.

The heat begins again, like it did the first time he held me. It starts underneath his hands where they rest on my back and follows the trail they make as one slides up over my shoulder blades, the other around my waist. My own hands move on their own accord, following some deep instinct, as if they already know the steps to the dance. They press into him, up over his chest to his neck, one reaching higher into his hair as I pull him down toward me.

His mouth burns and melts into mine. All my anguish over Mikhail evaporates in the heat of the embrace. He’s gentle with me, not rough or urgent, the way the imposter Sam had been. We kiss slowly and the places behind my knees tingle and weaken. After a while he pulls away and rests his cheek on mine, running his fingers through my hair.

I don’t want it to be over. I want more of him. When I look in his eyes, they burn with the same feeling, the same heat and intensity that pulls at my gut. But then I feel another Walker approaching Logistics and we both hear footsteps in the hall. I try to clear away the lightheaded feeling I always get when I’m close to Sam as Angel walks in.

“Everything go well?” Sam asks.

“Like clockwork,” Angel chirps, smiling.

“Excellent. Where are Ember and Crank?”

“They decided to relieve the others. It was nearly their shift anyway. Addy,” Angel turns to me, “thank you for covering for me. I’ve been enjoying the time off.”

“I’m happy to help you. You deserve it.”

“Actually,” her expression serious, “I’ve been spending a lot of time with my mother.”

Harmony’s mention of her mother is unexpected. As far as I know, she’s never mentioned anything relating to her life outside of Chaos.

“That’s good, Angel.” Sam smiles warmly.

Angel looks uncomfortable all of a sudden. She’s having a hard time looking us in the eyes.

“Is everything all right?” I ask. She studies the hem of her shirt intently. The last time I saw her fidget this way was right before she asked me to help with Simone. She must need help with something but is afraid to ask for it.

“What can we do, Angel?” I question, trying to make it easier for her.

“Well, you see, it’s my mom.”

“Is she okay?” Sam asks abruptly.

“Oh yes! She’s fine. It’s just …” She looks back and forth between the two of us. “She’s kind of strapped for money.”