Splinter (The Machinists Book 2) (11 page)

“Contact them?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“We can leave a comment on the video.”

“We took the video down,” Allyn said. “Remember?”

“Oh,” Liam said. “That’s right.”

How much stress is he under? He’s doesn’t remember something he did yesterday.

“We can do a response video then,” Liam said.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We could accidentally give them a clue and lead them here.”

“Then we go to them,” Liam said. “Safely.”

Allyn shook his head. He didn’t like that, either. “Is there a way to contact them through their YouTube page?”

“Probably.” Liam returned to his seat and pulled the computer back toward him, bringing up the Internet browser. With the transfer in progress, the computer was sluggish. The hard drive spun loudly and vibrated against the windowsill. Liam tapped the side of the computer as he waited. The low-hanging sun broke through the overcast sky, and sunlight streaked into the room, reflecting off the dust floating in the air. Liam squinted, shielding his eyes, then stood and closed the curtains, returning the room to darkness.

By the time he sat back down, the page had finally loaded. Liam searched for the user and eventually found J.P. Niall on the fourth page between a video about a skiing squirrel and another about a disoriented kitten. It seemed the user hadn’t attempted to re-upload the video, likely believing that Allyn had removed it after seeing it.

“What happens if we click on the box in the discussion tab?” Allyn asked.

Liam clicked on it, and the site redirected them to a Google accounts page. “Do you have a login?”

“Yeah,” Allyn said.

Liam slid the computer over so Allyn could type in his information.

Allyn hesitated, his fingers over the keyboard. They could be kicking the hornet’s nest or stepping into another trap. What happened if the person behind the video wanted to meet face to face?

“We really should talk to Jaxon before we do this,” Allyn said.

Liam waved a dismissive hand. “We’re not agreeing to anything. We don’t even know if this is going to work. If they respond, then we can talk to Jaxon about it, but for now, we don’t have anything to talk about.”

Allyn sighed. It felt reckless. Jaxon was still the leader of their Family.
But for how long?
That distinction would soon be Liam’s—a responsibility that Allyn was sure he would have to help Liam shoulder.
Why shouldn’t I listen to him now?

He tapped the keys nervously then punched in his information. He stood abruptly and began to pace behind Liam, rubbing his prickly jaw.

“What do you think we should say?” Liam asked.

“Something short and to the point.”

Liam thought for a second, then typed,
You have my attention
. “What do you think?”

Allyn looked over Liam’s shoulder and gave him a nod of approval. Before Allyn could blink, Liam clicked Post
,
and the comment appeared. He exhaled. It was done.

No turning back now.

Chapter 12

C
anary’s eyes were open, but they held little life. She stared at the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, blinking on occasion, seemingly unaware of the other two occupants in the room. Her pale skin glistened with sweat, and her hair was tangled in a knot so intricate that Jaxon thought they would sooner cut it off than attempt to brush through it.

Jaxon watched her with his arms crossed, his expression firm. At his side, Joyce teetered on edge, as if she were about to rush to Canary’s side.
But how do you help someone when you don’t know what they’re suffering from?

“He’s never going to win reelection turning the ball over,” Canary said.

Jaxon pursed his lips. She’d been babbling incoherently since he’d arrived. Her tone was flat and emotionless, as if she were simply repeating things she heard. And she never stopped.

“Twenty-seven degrees at Government Camp before the cowboy got a little drunk.”

“She hasn’t slept for more than fifteen minutes in a single stretch,” Joyce said. “And even then… she never stops. Her body might be getting rest, but her mind is not.”

Jaxon wasn’t even sure if her body was resting. Canary’s eyes were bloodshot, and her face had the gaunt look of someone fighting a losing battle with cancer.

“It’s wearing on her,” Joyce said. Her voice was soft, not as if she were afraid of waking Canary, but soft with the sound of exhaustion. “It’s wearing on
us
.”

Jaxon looked at the older woman as if for the first time. In her late thirties, she wasn’t much older than Jaxon, but she might as well have been decades older. Beyond her frazzled hair and dark eyes, there was a deep weariness in her demeanor. Her shoulders were hunched, her head drooped, and her every move was done with sluggish execution.

“Does she have any moments of clarity?” Jaxon asked.

“Early on, she did. Not anymore. You’re the only person who’s come to see her, and I think that weighs on her, too. Canary was always a very social girl. Now the rest avoid her as if she has the pox.”

Jaxon kept his expression steady. He wouldn’t admit it to Joyce, but he’d played a part in Canary’s isolation. He might not have ordered the others away, but he’d made his intentions clear—she was to be left alone.

“If she could get out of her room and get some fresh air, see some of her old friends, she might start on her road to recovery.”

“No,” Jaxon said.

“She’s not contagious, Jaxon.”

“I know. But we can’t afford to have her bring the Family’s morale down any further.”

“Jaxon—”

“No.”

“So you’re going to isolate her from everyone she cares about?”

“It’s best for the Family.”

Joyce’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t tell if it was from anger or disbelief. It didn’t matter—it had to be done. But he could, perhaps, give her a little more.

“The Family is in a fragile place, Joyce. And we need symbols of strength to lead us through these dark times.”

“And Canary isn’t that symbol.”

“No.”

“True Families grow stronger during the toughest times, Jaxon. They don’t cast their own aside.”

Jaxon didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he understood. Adversity builds strength in character. People never knew what they were truly capable of until they were faced with a seemingly insurmountable problem. On the other, he wasn’t sure if there
was
a McCollum Family any longer. When word spread that the Forum had fundamentally disbanded their Family, would they hold together, or would that be the ax that split them apart?

Before that ax came down, they needed something to rally around. Something to remind them who they were. Why they were stronger together. They couldn’t do that while they were distracted.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” The edge was gone from Joyce’s tone, replaced again by exhaustion. She couldn’t even muster up the energy to fight anymore.

“You don’t have to,” Jaxon said. “I’ll send Vincent in. He’ll keep her under.”

“For how long?”

“Until it’s safe to bring her back.”

Jaxon wanted to hide. He wanted to slip out of the cabin and run deep into the forest, away from the knowing eyes, the whispers, and his own guilt. Instead, he watched as Mason led a small group of magi through their first training session. Mason had them formed up in ranks on the deck that extended out of the living room. Shirtless and exposed to the elements, they shivered but were still barely able to contain their excitement and focus on Mason’s direction. That inability to concentrate was the reason Jaxon preferred to hold those sessions individually.

Had preferred,
Jaxon corrected himself. As grand mage, the responsibility of training new magi fell to someone else. He missed it, though.

The emotion surprised him. Training was arduous and frustrating—for both the trainer and the trainee. Wielding was an intimate experience that required years of training and a deep understanding of oneself, which made it problematic to teach. But if they succeeded, the young magi discovered parts of themselves that they never knew existed, and
that
was a powerful experience.

Jaxon turned back inside. His presence unnerved some of the young magi.

True Families grow stronger during the toughest times.

Joyce’s backhanded swipe at his leadership hurt. Jaxon had often questioned Graeme’s authority, jumping upon his mistakes as if they were an opportunity. He’d never done it publicly of course, but he’d voiced his discontent to Graeme himself. Or Leira. Sometimes Mason. Other times, Trevin. He’d done it more times than he remembered. And now Joyce was doing it to him.

This is my punishment
. He was like the rebellious child who had grown up to become the exasperated parent, a victim of his own circumstance. Somewhere, Graeme was laughing.

They don’t cast their own aside.

How did Graeme do it?
He had made large-scale mistakes and suffered the consequences—often publically—in stride, while handling rumblings of discontent in the Family.

He didn’t run from it
. He’d faced it and either waited for the decision to work itself out or adjusted. When Lukas splintered the McCollum Family, Graeme remained firm, refusing to bend to Lukas’s will if that meant violating his own beliefs. But when confronted with Liam’s new-age abilities, Graeme had accepted them, even though it had meant turning his back on the anti-technology philosophy he’d enforced for years. Graeme had been firm yet flexible, always gathering information and, when necessary, making adjustments.

Jaxon’s father led with a different kind philosophy
.
Wesley Green was an unflinching leader. The words
bending
and
adjusting
weren’t in his vocabulary. He made a decision, and he stuck to it. And he didn’t tolerate derision. If the members of the Green Family believed he was making a mistake, they knew better than to voice it. Jaxon never would have gotten away with openly criticizing his father in the same way he’d been able to with Graeme.

Still, his father had sent him to study under Graeme. Was that because he had learned as he had grown older that being staunch and unwavering was sometimes counterproductive? Or was it so Jaxon could see other forms of leadership and make his own decisions?

Canary could be harmful to their movement. Jaxon would hold firm to that belief, but he also recognized that his actions could be equally harmful. When followers lost trust in their leader, it threatened the stability of the entire movement. How long would it be before Canary’s friends began asking questions in earnest? Could he expect Joyce and Vincent to keep the secret? If the truth ever came out, he was finished.

The question was: did he embrace the firm yet flexible style of leadership and adapt as Graeme would have, or did he lead with a strong fist and clamp down on divisive whispers as his father would?

Vincent already forced her under. It’s done.

Perhaps he’d already adopted his father’s authoritarian leadership. Canary was a danger to the McCollum Family—Jaxon
knew
that, and he refused to bend on that point. But was there a way to adapt, to negate the potential danger he’d created by doing it in secret? A way that didn’t threaten to splinter the Family further?

The truth was, Jaxon cared for those he led. He wasn’t just a leader; he was a friend, confidant, mentor, and member, just as the other members of the Family were. He
wanted
their approval, and he would listen to their concerns. However, that didn’t mean he was going to take a vote and decide what to do based on the Family’s will—he was still responsible for setting the Family on the right path. It was a narrow path to traverse, and he would fail at times, but it was the necessary one.

Vincent had forced Canary under, but she wouldn’t stay unconscious forever. He contemplated allowing her to wake up so he could explain her condition to Liam and Leira. Joyce might be unwilling to care for her anymore, but surely someone else would—and they might have a better idea of how to treat her. He didn’t have to act unilaterally; he could slowly expand his circle of confidants and gauge the Family’s opinion. He had options.

Jaxon was crossing through the living room, making for the front of the cabin, when he spotted something through the kitchen window.

Is that—?

The sentries positioned at the front of the cabin shouted with alarm.

Jaxon crossed the cabin in a blink, dashing past puzzled onlookers. Without his order, magi formed up behind him, and by the time he flung open the door, Ren, Rory, and Mason were on his heels.

A group of at least a dozen men, women, and children straggled up the driveway, huddled together in a defensive formation. Their soaked clothing was frozen, and they each wore the same grim expression. The frightened children wailed, clinging to their parents, urging them backward.

Jaxon heard the distinct sound of a match igniting, and he felt the warmth of a fireball on his back. He heard the sound several more times, and Jaxon turned to see that each magi behind him was wielding, ready to strike at his order.

The disheveled group stopped abruptly, seemingly unsurprised to see men and women holding fire. They watched silently, only the children’s wails interrupting the standoff.

“What are you doing here?” Jaxon asked.

The leader, a man of average height and build with thinning dark hair and deep-set eyes, cocked his head to the side, looking confused. He pushed the boy at his leg behind him. “We’re accepting your invitation.”

Our invitation?

Jaxon had sent out a blanket appeal to the local Families, stating the parameters that he had discussed with Allyn. The McCollum Family had appealed to the dregs of the other Families—the young, the weak, and those unable to wield, offering a fresh start, free from prior reputations and prejudices. Like all sales propositions, its pitch was vague and idealistic, and he hadn’t thought any Families would take him up on the offer, especially so soon. It had only been little more than a day since he’d sent out the message.

The cabin door crashed open, slamming into the side of the cabin. Allyn rushed out, jumped down the steps, and raced toward Jaxon. “Wait!” he yelled. “Stop!” Allyn positioned himself between the group and Jaxon’s squad, almost as if he were protecting the disheveled crowd.

“They’re from the Hyland Family,” Mason said, light from his fireball dancing in his eyes.

“I know.”

“They tried to kill us!”

“No,” Allyn said, glancing at the group. “Not them. They’re refugees.”

Jaxon studied the group with renewed interest. Many wore bulky, overstuffed packs, and their half-closed zippers exposed the belongings inside. Others carried jugs of water or umbrellas. Dust, dirt, and mud stained shirts and pants and covered shoes. They certainly looked like refugees. The Hyland Estate was seven or eight hours by car.
How long is that by foot?
Could they have made it in the time since he’d sent out the message?

“Stand down,” Jaxon said.

The refugees relaxed.

“They’re from the Hyland Family,” Mason repeated. “The
Hyland Family
.”

“They weren’t involved in the ambush,” Allyn said. “Or the attack at the manor.”

“How do you know?” Mason asked, incredulous.

“Because half of them are children!”

Mason sneered at Allyn, hostility burning as hot as the fireball that raged in his hands.

“I said to stand down, Mason,” Jaxon said firmly.

Mason met his gaze and waited for a split-second longer than Jaxon would have liked before letting the fireball dissipate. Mason hadn’t been involved in the ambush at the Hyland Estate when Darian Hyland had tried to abduct Allyn, but he had been an essential member of the strike force that had fought to reclaim the manor. In fact, his squad had suffered the most casualties. So Jaxon understood his apprehension, but those were different men in a different time, and it was no excuse to disobey orders.

“Get them some food and dry clothes, Allyn,” Jaxon said, nodding to the leader of the refugees.

Nobody moved.

“It’s okay,” Allyn said, his voice compassionate. “Nobody will harm you. Come on.” He walked past Jaxon’s squad, beckoning the refugees to follow him into the cabin.

They lingered for a moment then followed, giving Mason and his open hostility a wide berth.