Recruits (Keeper of the Water Book 2) (15 page)

The mansion’s walls are gray stucco and no amount of decoration can mask the dreary feeling. The occupants have tried to make the Confederate White House more cozy by covering the walls with paintings and heavy drapes but the place looks dingy and dusty. At least those additions to the solid walls help spread the fire.

I arrived in Richmond, Virginia, several days earlier, not long after my mentor was killed in our mountainside battle. The Confederate headquarters wasn’t as difficult to stake out as expected, though I had no fear of being spotted by the mortal men guarding the huge mansion. I stuck to the shadows and kept moving around the property, staying hidden in the darkness from the guards. I even snuck inside the huge house a few different times but never found the chance to speak with Mary in private.

I tried to remain patient during the recruiting process but it was difficult. The other Amazons had decades – or even
centuries
– to learn patience but I was still very new to the tribe, so new that some of the other women objected to me going out on a recruiting mission so soon. Not surprisingly, Cassie was most vehemently against the idea but Jane helped convince the Keeper that I needed to honor my mentor’s dying request.

The entire tribe continued heading south while I broke away and ran here. My new mentor Jane offered to join me but I politely declined. Initially I was concerned that separating from the Amazons and the water would make it impossible for me to find them again. Let’s face it, the women have done a pretty good job hiding from the rest of the world for so long. But after drinking the water following my recruitment, I have a
feel
for where the water’s located, like an invisible hand pulling me in the direction where it’s located. It’s actually been difficult to ignore this feeling while traveling in the opposite direction.

Tonight was my first chance to approach Mary and I’m quickly learning that it’ll be my last. I spotted her earlier behind the huge mansion, meeting with several men in the cover of darkness, handing them a stack of papers that must have been important information about the war. This would have been the ideal time for me to approach her had several Confederate guards not spotted the meeting at the same time. The Union spies ran off with the guards giving chase and Mary
could’ve
used this opportunity to escape. But instead she turned and ran back inside, leaving me to wonder why she would possibly put herself in so much danger.

At least that’s one quality that she’ll need to join the Amazons, if she survives long enough to hear my offer…

But when I rushed into the mansion – knocking out a few guards along the way – I saw the reason she returned. Or should I say
smelled
the reason. At first, I found a few more men unconscious in the wide hallways and immediately felt proud that Mary could protect herself so well. It didn’t take long for me to start thinking about her as my recruit, nor did it take long for me to see the flames beginning to climb every curtain, painting and fresco adorning the walls.

The heat grows stronger the farther into the home I run but I’m fairly confident my newfound water powers will keep me safe. I’m
not
so certain that Mary will be safe so I begin to call out her name, regardless of the attention it attracts to me.

The mansion is filling with smoke and I’m not sure where I’m going. I stayed in a few large forts many years ago but for the most part I’ve lived in dwellings much smaller than this. Luckily – if you can consider
any
part of being in a fire lucky – I hear the sound of yelling guards and follow that noise. Several people are trying to put out the spreading fire and don’t pay attention to me as I run by. Those carrying buckets of water I leave alone; those carrying guns I push against walls or into tables as I run passed.

I reach the end of a long hallway where three guards are pounding at a heavy door.

“Open this door, slave!” one of them yells.

“She’ll destroy all of the president’s plans,” another says.

Smoke billows out from the crack beneath the door and I know Mary is making her last stand – or what she
thinks
is her last stand. I approach the three guards, who don’t realize I’m there until I’ve already knocked two of them unconscious. By the time the third turns toward me with his gun, he has no shot to stop me. I hit him with a right cross to the jaw and he crumples into a heap beside the other two.

The heavy wooden door is dented from repeated blows by their guns but it remains closed. Then I kick it. The door snaps off its hinges and falls just as the soldiers did. A cloud of smoke rushes out of the open doorway. I cough but can still see better than a normal person would in this blaze. The room is large with high ceilings and rows of bookcases covering the walls, most of which are now afire. A large stone fireplace is built into the far wall and that’s where I get my first up-close look of Mary Bowser.

She’s tall and dark and strong, very Amazon-like already without the special water ever crossing her lips. She throws stacks of paper into the fireplace, making sure to destroy them in case the rest of the blaze doesn’t do the job first.

“Mary!” I call out over the sound of
crackling
flames and burning wood. “You have to get out of here!”

She doesn’t even turn around to look at me.

“I’ll take my chances here instead of being dragged to your gallows,” she yells. “But I’m taking as many of your battle plans with me as I can!”

Mary apparently thinks I’m one of the Confederates. But before I can explain who I am, there’s a loud
creaking
and one of the massive bookcases collapses, heading straight for her.

“Look out!” I yell.

She turns in time to scramble aside but the top of the heavy bookcase still clips her legs and takes her down. The falling case makes a loud
boom
and I have no doubt that Mary’s legs are shattered. But she doesn’t cry out or make any sound that she’s in pain. She continues to crumple up large maps and throw them toward any fire she can reach, including the flames quickly spreading across the bookcase pinning her to the ground.

“What are you doing in here, Miss?” a voice asks behind me.

I spin around, taking an arrow from my quiver and loading my bow in a single fluent motion, ready to shoot down any guard who poses a threat to me
or
my potential recruit. But standing behind me is another black woman – a servant, older and rounder than Mary – holding a large bucket of water. The hallway behind her is filling with other slaves trying to douse the flames with small buckets of water as their white captors aim guns at them to keep them motivated. At this moment, I wish I could save
all
of these people.

But I’m an Amazon and have to remind myself that my goal lies elsewhere. The black woman’s eyes go wide at the sight of my bow so I quickly put it down.

“Leave, go find safety,” I tell her, grabbing the bucket from her hands.

I turn back to Mary and rush across the room, dodging falling books of flying flame. I reach Mary as the fire creeps even closer to her. All the papers she intended to destroy are now engulfed so she lay still on the floor, her eyes glassy with shock. I dump the bucket of water on the bookcase to stop the advancing flames, at least for the moment. Her eyes are slow to focus on me.

“Please, let me die here with dignity. They will torture me, make a spectacle of my death,” Mary pleads.

“You aren’t dying any time soon,” I promise.

Confusion etches across her face but before she can ask another question, I grab the frame of the bookcase. It’s very heavy – it would take several strong me to lift it enough to pull Mary free. But I summon all my strength and lift with my legs while pulling with my arms. The thought of fulfilling Anne’s final request provides me the adrenaline burst I need. The bottom, burning part of the case snaps away and I fling the rest of it against the wall, where it crashes into smaller pieces. The force actually smothers some of the flames along that section of wall. With the weight suddenly lifted from her twisted legs, Mary unleashes a guttural scream though she quickly composes herself.

“Who
are
you?” she asks through gritted teeth. I see her eyes focus on the bow slung over my shoulder. “Are
you
here to kill me?”

I shake my head. “I’m going to save you. Then, I’m going to make an offer so you can help protect more people than you could possibly imagine.”

I remove the small vial of bright blue water from my pocket. My hands sweat from the intense heat and I nearly drop the vial while trying to remove the lid. My nerves aren’t helped by the other bookcases that crash behind me or the sound of shouting guards out in the hallway.

“But they coming to kill me and I can’t move,” Mary says. “You should save yourself. You know what they do to spies? Especially to spies that try helping slaves escape?”

“I’m no spy and you’re no slave,” I say, ripping the cloth away from her broken legs. For all she knows, I could be doing
anything
to her but she watches me with fascination instead of fear. She already has a certain level of trust in me. I sprinkle a few drops of the water on her legs, not totally sure what I’m supposed to do to heal her. I’ve never been properly trained in the water’s use so I try to do exactly what Anne did for me when I had the deadly fever. “Now drink the rest of this.”

“This ain’t no devil’s water, is it?” she asks.

“Do you really believe in such things?” I ask.

Mary thinks about it for a second before shaking her head. “You right, been around superstitious folks too long.”

Mary drinks the water. She exhales a deep breath, a wisp of cool smoke. Her body shivers from the extreme cold – I’m certain she’s never tasted anything so frigid. She appears awed by the experience and I feel I’ve come full circle by giving her the water of life. But I remember the moment isn’t all pleasant just as her back arches and she groans in pain. The water at least seems to be working.

A gunshot echoes from the hallway and I dive aside, barely avoiding a guard’s bullet. The room’s only window is blocked by another bookcase so I know we’ll have to fight our way out as several uniformed men rush our way. I jump to my feet and ready my bow, aiming an arrow toward the fiery doorway.

“What
was
that?” Mary asks.

I turn long enough to see her standing up, examining two intact legs that were smashed just moments ago.

“I’ll explain later. Follow me and stay close. But be careful, you’ll be able to move faster than you can imagine.”

I have no time to appreciate her wonder. The first group of soldiers rush through the smoke but are cut down by my arrows speeding through the flames…

“I never knew the Confederate White House burned down.”

Jack’s voice interrupts my memory, one of the most amazing ones yet. I would love to tell him everything that happened but if I tried explaining how I rescued Mary Bowser from the fire – and thus that I was alive during the Civil War – he would probably think I was crazy… or worse.

“It didn’t burn down,” I say sadly. “The staff put out the worst of the flames before the whole place was torched. That’s probably why the story isn’t so widely known. But Mary’s efforts still helped ensure a Union victory and ultimately an end to slavery in this country.”

“What ever happened to her?” Jack asks.

Well, she and I escaped the burning mansion together and ran off into the night without being spotted. We caught up with the rest of our tribe crossing through Central America and eventually Mary became not only my first recruit but the first of my strongest allies within the Amazons, which must’ve been Anne’s plan for me all along.
Again, not exactly the answer Jack would possibly expect but the truth nonetheless. I don’t want to blow his mind so I merely shrug. But that’s not enough of an explanation for another of the car’s passengers.

“Nobody knows,” Celeste says from the backseat, startling us both. “She disappeared after the fire. Since she was never heard from again, historians believe Mary Bowser was captured by the Confederates, who killed her and made her disappear to avoid creating another martyr for the North.”

I look in the backseat at Celeste, who glares at me as she finishes the story. I can tell she doesn’t like how much I’ve said though it doesn’t seem like a big deal to me. Jack never even heard of Mary Bowswer before now. But I glance next to Celeste to see Cassie’s eyes also wide open as she listens with great interest.

Cassie still doesn’t remember the past – thankfully – and Celeste plans to keep it that way. I’m sure she doesn’t want me saying
anything
about the tribe or the other Amazons that might jog something loose in her daughter’s mind. And now that I remember how horrible Cassie was in the past, I completely understand why Celeste wants to keep her in the dark.

“You two sure seem to know a lot about this,” Jack says.

“Since when did
you two
become so smart?” Cassie asks.

“When
haven’t
we been?” I snap back at her.

I try not to create tension with Cassie but it’s difficult, especially now that I remember more of our history together. Celeste has obviously taken a non-confrontational approach with her over the years but that hasn’t exactly curbed her queen-esque attitude.

“I must’ve taken too many blows to the head to remember my history lessons,” Jack says. “But this Mary Bowser sounds like one tough lady. I’d definitely want her on my side.”

I nod my head; Jack has no idea how right he is.

“I don’t know if I agree,” Cassie says from the backseat. “She sounds pretty
dumb
to me since she got caught.”

I feel such a swelling of pride for my recruit that I want to snap back at Cassie, to tell her how Mary was stronger and more trustworthy than she had ever been. But I bite my tongue and remind myself – for the hundredth time – that Cassie’s just a know-it-all teenager. It seems so unbelievable that I was in the same category as her just yesterday…

Cassie glares at me for a moment, as if daring me to start an argument with her, before turning back to her window, her eyes staring blankly once again. With the two backseat passengers now awake, the quiet tension returns to the car. It was nice talking to Jack without worrying about anyone overhearing us. Luckily, the awkward atmosphere is interrupted when we pull into another rest stop.

Stretching feels much better this time. Even though the tightness in my muscles makes me stronger and faster than normal humans, it also makes me feel every bit of my two-hundred years of age right now. Celeste and Cassie appear just as sore and the three of us look like we’re about to bust into a yoga class. But Jack stretches as well so I stay near him and avoid getting too close to Cassie, with whom I’m still quite annoyed, even if it’s for reasons that are 150 years old.

“We’ll go get something to eat,” Celeste says, pulling Cassie along with her. It doesn’t look like she wants to go but Celeste apparently doesn’t want her to be alone with Jack again. “Nia, you might want to try calling your mother again.”

Oh my God! I can’t believe I’ve forgotten her since last night. My mind has been so preoccupied with things that happened in the past that I’m not focusing so well on the present. I’m about to rush off to the payphones when I see Jack reaching into his duffel bag to retrieve a new shirt. The one he wears now is encrusted with dried blood and he struggles to pull it off. I’m desperate to hear from my mom but Jack has done so much for us that I want to do something for him. Besides, if Mom’s on the road behind us, then waiting a few more minutes to call shouldn’t be a big deal.

“Do you want help with that?” I ask, rushing over to him.

I expect him to decline the offer – he seems like too much of a tough guy to accept help from a girl – but he surprises me by stopping his struggle with the shirt. Instead, he slowly raises his arm, grimacing as he stretches out the side of his body where he was stabbed. I stand in front of him and lift the shirt over his head, peeling away the part glued to his body by blood. I try being gentle but have to pull harder than I want.

Jack doesn’t flinch, nor does he make a single pained sound. I
mean
to look down at his wound but now that he’s so close – and so shirtless – I can’t help gazing upon his torso, every muscle perfectly-defined and hard. He’s as pale as I am dark but the bright whiteness of his skin only seems to give his body an enticing sheen. I forget to breathe for a second but quickly blush, forcing down any feelings rising within me.

His ivory skin only makes the smeared blood look that much redder. A blood-soaked rag is fastened to his side by a couple pieces of duct tape in what might be the world’s least-sanitary bandage. I carefully peel away the tape, most of which dangles off anyway. When I remove the rag, I expect the worst. There’s a lot of dried blood plastered to him but no big gash as I feared.

I return to the car and grab the bottle of water lodged in his cup holder. It’s half-empty – and who knows how old it is – but it’s better than nothing. I wash away the blood to uncover the smallest of cuts along his side, no longer than my pinkie finger and not very deep. It doesn’t look like he was stabbed with a knife as much as simply grazed with the tip.

“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad,” Jack says, throwing on a new black T-shirt. He doesn’t bother wiping away the residual blood and water. “It’s healing better than I thought.”

“It looked much more serious yesterday with all the blood,” I say.

“Are you calling me a wimp?” he asks.

He appears upset by this but I’m on to his game now and playfully shrug my shoulders. The side of his mouth curls up into a half-grin and he takes a step closer to me until his chest is just inches in front of my face. I look up into his light blue eyes. My mind tells my legs to step back but that signal gets lost somewhere around my heart.

“I was waiting for the other two to leave,” Jack whispers. “I have the feeling Celeste already doesn’t like me. I’m sure she’d be even more upset if she saw me do this.”

My pulse races as he leans forward. Time slows and I’m afraid he’s going to kiss me, though I don’t back away. What does that mean about me? Jack is really hot but there’s still something about him that reminds me of my dad, which is super gross. And then there’s John. It’s been so soon since I’ve lost him that I’d rather be punched in the mouth than have someone else kiss me.

Jack is happy to oblige.

His head turns slightly but it’s not to line up our lips for a kiss. I see his shoulder quickly rotating and in a split second, I recognize that he’s attacking me.