Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (34 page)

Oh no. I’ve lost the sense of déjà vu. Did I say the wrong thing?

“Winters, I’m going to give you 30 seconds to explain yourself,” Adm. O’Reilly says, his lip curling upward.

Surprised by his attitude, I’m about to say something rude, but,
no, wait, that was code, you idiot!
He’s giving you 30 seconds to make a move. Figure out what the fuck this thing is.

They believe me!

Oh.

They believe me.

Now I have to do something.

I almost wish the sense of familiarity would come back.

I shift my feet, uncrossing my arms, tucking my hair behind my ears. I close my eyes for a second.
What should I do?
I open my eyes but I can’t see a rift there.
Oh, wait, there’s that ripple . . .

Gone. How many seconds have passed?

No, it’s back.
Before it disappears, before I second-guess myself, I jump forward, reach out, and touch the ripple. It feels like jelly, jiggling where my fingers touch it. I pinch some of the gelatinous substance, fascinated and grossed out, and it pulls away.

What the fuck? It’s like an invisible fabric of some kind, but what the—

As realization dawns, I grab an armful of it and yank it back really hard, kind of stumbling into Adm. O’Reilly. Like opening a curtain, the outside world’s gone. Adm. O’Reilly tries to assists me by yanking the sheet all the way but he can’t see what I see.

“What? What is it?”

There’s another room just like ours. A mirror image. Only there aren’t humans there. Three nondescript figures. Men. Kind of. They look like human males. Average build. Average height. They wear their hair slicked back. Their faces are smooth, too smooth. Their features kind of change form as though invisible fingers were constantly molding the plasticine that is their skin. Their eyes are gray and pupilless and when they turn them on me, it clicks.
Aeons!
Only briefly dismayed to have been found out. They are sitting at a desk, clearly spying on ESE.

“AEONS!” I scream.

“Where?” Adm. O’Reilly shouts.

“How many?” shouts King, somewhere behind me.

“There!” I point. “Three!” I don’t see the one I almost killed. I worry these are as strong as he was. “Unarmed!”

King grabs me and shoves me behind him, ordering PRISMs to take a protective position around me.

While this happening, I exclaim, astonished, “They, they are spying through a rift, right here!” No time to think about how they managed to create a rift where they wanted one, and to conceal it. They clearly have been spying on ESE Command via a parallel universe.

Yet, other than arming themselves, no one makes a move in my universe, because they can’t see a damn thing!

“Tell us what’s happening,” says King, sounding calm, but I pick up on panic in his voice.

“Oh, no.” I watch the Aeons rise, slowly, confidently, without a care in the world.

“What? What are they doing?” asks Adm. O’Reilly, exasperated, keeping his eyes where he thinks they should be.

They know I’m a sift. Of course, because I’m shouting that I can see them.
Idiot!

I can’t explain what the Aeons are doing fast enough. One of them grabs an object and throws it at the rift. I know everyone on my side watches the black ESE com-tab, seemingly coming out of nowhere, slide across the floor. But I’m watching the Aeons. Thanks to my presence, they have just confirmed that the rift’s crossable. They waste no time.

“They are coming—” I back up, but I don’t finish.

The Aeon are already through, shocking the shit out of Adm. O’Reilly.

King steps up and shoots one in the back. The top half of the Aeon’s body blows up. Brown acidic glop sprays everywhere. These ones must be weaker than the one I met on Or’ic’s ship.

Adm. O’Reilly fights with the other, showing why he’s the head of SOSA. The enemy’s dead in a blur, his neck snapped almost effortlessly.

PRISM guards are going for the third one, who’s carrying an unusual object I didn’t see before.

The expressionless monster’s making his way toward me!

No. Wait. He’s not. That was a just dummy tactic to draw in defenders.

In a flash, the Aeon turns so quickly I catch only a blur, then fire. The two PRISM guards burst into vapor and then the Aeon shoots their charge.

Commandant Abernathy incinerates before me.

The alien turns to me, a faint lift in its artificial lips, just before King blows it apart, a second too late.

I understand it was thanking me. Thanking me for giving it access to cross the portal so it could assassinate ESE’s Commandant.

Chapter 32

It’s night again. I’m alone in my hut. Lying here. Numb. I—

Commandant Abernathy.

A mound of ash.

I hate—

Me.

A burst of rage propels me onto my feet. I pace quickly.
You can’t change what happened. You make your choices. It’s not your fault. Just Aeon’s good luck.

You must be on guard against this forever more!

You’re . . . a weapon. A deadly weapon that can be used against people, maybe people you care about next time, in seconds. You must not let others use you, even accidentally.

You find rifts, but you also open them up for Aeons.

Why don’t I open them up for others? Could I bring my own people across? Would I want to?

I’m so tired. I wish . . . I wish . . . I don’t know what I wish. I wish I had more information. I need to know more.

I wish . . . I had hid like Daz told me to in that fucking note.

But wait. How did he get that note to me?

The sift.

Only a sift could send a message like that through the dimensions. So why would a sift, who was hiding out in another dimension, risk leaving it to get a note to me?
Why?

Because he owed it to Daz.

That’s a possibility. And if that were true, it would mean . . . what?
That maybe Daz had a hand in the sift getting away? Why
? Something’s very important about that sift, and not just because he’s a weapon.

What should I do?
I’ll never get to the rift now.

Adm. O’Reilly’s temporarily in command. I suspect ESE’s planning to leave Taxata any minute.

They don’t need that sift, not now that they have me.

In the aftermath of the assassination, I was questioned hastily about my escape, but mostly about my sifting abilities. Hathaway and a contingent of brainiacs and medical were on hand scanning me, running tests. Hath took a moment to quietly apologize for activating Or’ic’s portal device. There was no cavalier left in him. He looked exhausted, his lanky tall frame stooped, his vitality diminished. I told him it wasn’t his fault, but my heart just wasn’t into reassuring him. He was preoccupied anyway, trying to sort out the science behind my perceptive ability.

One thing’s clear to everyone; how little even I understand it. I could barely articulate the sensation of sifting, never mind recount how many times it has happened over the past five years, let alone over my lifetime.

Everyone looks at me differently, too.

“I’m still human, right?”

The doctor I was half-joking with paused, startled, quickly recovering with a fake smile. “As far as we know.”

I think she meant to say it facetiously, to make me smile. But it came out all wrong, and we both knew it in the moment.

I’ve never felt more alone.

At first, I did my best to withhold information unless they agreed to rescue Daz, but it was King who convinced me this was about so much more than me, or Daz, but the safety of all humans. Of the universe.

And,
oh yeah
, King isn’t a Lieutenant. He’s a Lt. Colonel. When I gave him my CFA look, he shrugged and told me, “Nothing is what it seems at ESE.” Apparently everyone has covers, cover upon cover, in order to confuse Thell’eon spies, and, now, Aeon spies.

Smart.

The words Cora Smith, the outside consultant who taught me about espionage, used to describe ESE (“shrewd”) ring in my mind.

Who knows what the truth is?

I need to know the truth.

Something deep down inside tells me that the other sift has some answers. In the beginning, I begged Command to let me go into the rift after the sift. For Daz’s sake. But Lt. Colonel Yuville, the most vocal ESE Command member, fought voraciously against it. He insisted that the risk was too great to justify the end. That it was too early in ESE military strategizing to make such a move. In other words, they don’t want to risk losing me.

I begged King, embarrassing him by appealing to him on his personal level, but stopped short. I could see in his tormented eyes that it was all too personal for him. He didn’t want to risk losing me for a host of other reasons, and not even to free his friend, my brother, Daz. I don’t know how I feel about that.

Regardless, that second sift . . . is key. If I were braver, I would find a way to get to that rift, if only to talk to the sift. To understand what’s going on. To understand
me
.

And now I have the worst thought of all.

Was I wrong to have left Or’ic?

If I’d stayed with him, that Thell’eon Lor had killed
and
Abernathy would still be alive.

Yeah, but ESE would still be at risk of Aeon spies. You eliminated that threat. But, but you’re still no closer to rescuing Daz!

I need to get in that rift!
But how?
There are more than a dozen PRISM guards surrounding my PH now. The rift itself is flanked by ESE on the East and Thell’eons on the West.

I bet Or’ic and Kell’an are over there, thinking up some way to get me back, to punish me. My stomach drops. I think of Or’ic’s offer with dismay. Did that really almost happen? Did I almost end up as his . . . what? That time on their ship feels like another, well, reality.

Why are you thinking of them? Anyway, everything’ll have changed between us now. They’ll think you
helped to
murder one of their Horde, unless Seth tells them otherwise.

Who cares? They got what they deserved! You did what you had to.

I sit back on the edge of cot and lie down slowly, thinking I need to clear my head because my thoughts are all over the place. I start with trying to feel safe, knowing there are PRISM guards protecting me.

Yeah, but are they any match for Thell’eons?

Stop it!

I experience an urge to laugh at the irony. On Or’ic’s warship, he insisted guards were necessary to keep me safe. But it was also to imprison me.

Would ESE let me leave if I wanted to?

I don’t want to think about the answer.
No, you need to calm down and not think about awful things.

King.

He has been a source of strength for me all afternoon, sending me glances of encouragement during all the questions.

I trust him. Him alone. He’ll make everything better.

I squeeze my eyes tight and feel tears trickle down, into my hairline. I rub them away, and a warm hand touches mine.

I inhale sharply, opening my eyes, maybe not so surprised to take in King’s concerned face. He’s leaning over the side of the cot. I knew, or rather hoped, he would come.

He kneels down.

Tries to smile.

That’s it.

I pop up, wrapping my arms around his neck and burst into quiet sobs. My chest aches with emotion. He hugs me to him, still kneeling on the floor, stroking my hair, letting me get it all out. His ear, cold from the walk over, is pressed against my hot cheek.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly.

“No.” I shake my head against his shoulder. “No, it’s not,” I exclaim, accepting this truth only just now.

Nothing will ever be okay again.

“I hate this. I hate what I am!”

I grieve for the people who have died because of me. Zeke. Thell’eons. And now Abernathy.

“No,” he says, firmly moving my head back with both his hands. “Nothing has changed. Nothing is different. This”—he points at my heart—“is what you are.” He speaks quietly but I’m already tucked back into his neck, letting him bear the burden of my pain. I don’t know what he means. All I can focus on is how what I am,
who
I am, causes death and sorrow.

How King’s the only person, other than Daz, who makes me feel safe.

When my heartbreak stores are good and empty, I pull away reluctantly, sitting up with the help of my pillow. I hiccup softly. He gets up off his knees, forcing me to make room so he can sit on the edge of the single cot.

The magnitude of his words just now sink in.

I think he was saying that I can’t get lost; I can’t lose sight of me. I’m still here, somewhere in this sifter body. He was saying that he believes in me.

I look up.

He rubs my hair out of my face, leans forward and licks the tears from my lips.

Shocked, my heart drops, then picks up pace, excited, but slow to react from numbness.

He kisses me fully, softly, on the lips.

He still wants me.

When he pulls back, there’s a depth of emotion in those eyes. He unsettles me more by placing his right hand directly over my heart. He looks deeply into me, with something close to . . . pity.

“What?” It’s a look I get all too often and it’s really starting to piss me off. “My chicken heart?” I ask snidely. The word ‘pathetic’ echoes through my mind and I stamp it out.

“No,” he says, his vehemence surprising me. “It is not a chicken heart.”

“Yes, it is,” I say softly.

“No. It is . . .”

There is a long pause. I watch him, tense about what he might say.

“ . . . an angel heart.”

Oh. Really?
I exhale a sharp of burst of air through my nostrils.

Angel heart? What does he mean by that? I struggle to think about what the ancient religious creatures stood for. I can feel my invisible wall going up.

“You always look for the best in others,” he explains, disarming me. Then he adds ruefully, “Even when it is not there.”

Oh.

I never thought about myself in that way before. Besides, this propensity he sees in me doesn’t seem to do me any goo—

He kisses me again, passionately, turning me scatter-brain.

But one impulse I have never felt before overpowers me.

I need to harness all the unspoken emotions between us, emotions that might never have been expressed, and give them to him. Feel them back. I need to validate them.

I kiss him, all my panic and fear showing itself in a lusty desperation.

He pulls away roughly. Darkness shadows us. He glances away for a moment, sourness marring the sensual shape of his mouth.

“Did you tell us everything that happened to you, everything this Horde, this Prime Or’ic, did to you?”

Oh, that’s what he’s upset about.

“Yes, honestly, I swear to the singularity,” I exclaim to him, feeling a rush of heat zip across my cheeks.

This causes him to raise his eyebrows. Is he jealous?

“I’m blushing because I’m embarrassed, is all,” I add. I really did tell ESE every last detail this time. I need someone on my side. ESE is it.

Adm. O’Reilly had gawked disbelieving at me for a second over the blow darts. I even told them about how I tried to tempt Kell’an with sex. ESE needs to know that Thell’eons won’t be easily seduced by female human spies, or, well, inexperienced human female spies.

“It’s like I said,” I say, reassuring King, “they wouldn’t just go and . . . take what they wanted.”

For good measure, I add, repeating Kell’an’s words, “It’s always the woman’s choice on Thell’eon.”

King seems somewhat appeased.

He stares at me for a long time, not moving. I can’t tell what he is—

“Do you choose me?”

Oh.

The weight of question presses down on me. Is he asking me . . .?

He stands up and slowly, never taking his eyes of me, lifts his shirt up and over his head, revealing an incredibly sculpted body. Less thick than those I have seen too much, too often, of late. More attenuated. He lets his shirt drop to the ground.

My eyes, wide open, roam over his round shoulders, and perfectly chiseled pecs. His nipples are hard, and goose bumps appear all over him, all the way down his rippling abs. A faint patch of reddish-brown hair starts just before where his pants, sitting low, begin.

I sit straight up, genuinely fearful.

But fearful good. Scared excited.

“Do you choose me?” he asks again, staring down at me.

He clenches his teeth through his cheeks.

“Yes.” I answer so quietly I can barely hear myself.

Still deadly serious, he holds out his hand and I take it, breathless.

He pulls me to standing.

My legs barely hold me up.

I’m just inches from him.

His hands rest on my waist. His fingers run slowly under my top and lift it up and off.

Lying here naked, nestled tightly against King before dawn, my toes curl with contentment. I can’t sleep, though I can tell by his breathing on the top of my head that he’s deep in the trenches.

I relish the sensation of his skin against mine. His heat.

I want to stay here, on the finite cusp of our dawning, forever, but probably only because I know it’s fleeting. Our lives will move forward, always move forward.

Stop it!

Not now, not in this shard of time and space. Here, you can forget that he could be stolen from you, killed in seconds, by some death-bent species we must fight, forget that there are more important things than this, like universes to save, a sift to be protected.

Am I . . . happy? As happy as happy is . . .

Drowsily, my mind traverses the same moments again and again.

The desire in his eyes after he undressed me and we stood before each other naked. When I felt like me, just me, again. Standing so close, he leaned in and the physical contact felt so powerful I had to step back, but he wouldn’t let me, gently coaxing me into his nation.