Chaos (16 page)

It was as if they had forgotten Luc’s existence. He inched warily toward the flame. He didn’t care what happened to either of them. They could kill each other, as far as he was concerned. Tess had saved his life—but he knew it was only because she had a more important enemy in Miranda.

If the flame was powerful enough for Miranda to want it, maybe he could use it to make the tunnels move backward.
If
he could figure out how it worked.

Regardless, he would take it with him.

Miranda launched herself at Tess and the two of them fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

Luc reached down, grabbed the orb, and ran.

The landscape cleared up and soon he found himself running along the pristine surface of delicate glass. Somewhere was the exit to the Crossroad. Everything looked the same now. He stopped and turned in a complete circle, and lost his sense of direction. Which way had he been running?

The orb grew hotter in his hand, and he pulled the sleeve of his jacket down so he could hold it. Still, the heat permeated the fabric and soon became almost unbearable. He had to move, but in which direction?

Far to the right, a wisp of color caught his eye. As he ran toward it, the air filled with color, creating a wall of sorts. He’d seen pictures of the aurora borealis, and imagined that they must look like this up close.

So beautiful.

So much like the Crossroad.

It had to be the exit.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Miranda racing across the distance, with Tess right behind her.

She couldn’t get the flame.

She would not win.

Luc plunged into the colors that came alive around
him. They swirled and coiled around his arms and legs until he was weightless, then became a swirling mass with winds so strong they howled.

Luc fought to hold on to the orb, despite its incredible, searing heat, but he was tossed into a ferocious river of color and was swept through the Crossroad on a writhing, snakelike current. He felt the flame slip from his hands, burning away through the Crossroad, beyond his control.

And then it was gone.

When Jasmine woke again, she hung in a delicious place between dreams and wakefulness for several long minutes. The rich scent of a forest filled her nose and there was something else just under the surface. Something familiar that made her veins feel filled with electricity. With immense hunger.

Blood.

She sat up quickly, clutching the blanket to her chin. For a second, she didn’t know where she was and panic raced through her.

Then the sound of rain brought it all back: the attack. The chase. How Ford had brought her here, to this concealed room, his home. She was safe. She relaxed, letting her dream—or nightmare?—ebb.

The storm still raged outside, and she could hear the
waves smashing into the concrete tower. She could smell the mustiness of wet stone, the remnants of long-gone diesel and machine oil. Weirdly, it was kind of pleasant.

Ford was gone. She had a vague recollection of watching him spin water from his fingertips—surely, she’d been dreaming.

She shook off the blanket and stood, still in her jeans and sweater from the day before. Sleeping on the narrow mattress on the rock-hard floor had made her ache everywhere. She tried to stretch out the worst of the pains.

Then her stomach seized up. An awful idea occurred to her.

What if Ford hadn’t left—what if time had shifted again, slid away from her, while she was asleep?

She felt her way down the dark hallway to the door. When she pushed it open, she saw nothing but gray-flecked waves and stormy skies. A fine mist blew against her face, causing her wavy hair to stick to her skin. It was raining, but was it
still
raining from last night? Or was this the beginning of the storm?

Was she stuck in Monday again?

She pulled the door shut hard. It helped ease her frustration. She needed to find proof—a person, a newspaper,
something
. She went to retrieve her bag from the room. Her temples started to pound, and she braced for the blinding light. Instead, the dull thudding of a regular old headache pulsed in her head.

Her backpack lay in the far corner, where she must have dumped it the night before. She was glad; she’d
almost been afraid she would find it gone. When she reached out to grab it, she saw there was something pinned to the front.

A note, scribbled on a scrap of blank paper.

Jasmine had to read the words three times before she could accept them. She sat down hard. She felt like all the air had been pushed out of her lungs.

He had left her. Ditched her, just like that. After everything. After all she had told him—after she’d trusted him. She crumpled his note and threw it as hard as she could. It bounced off the wall and landed next to the cold camp stove.

Screw him.

Hot tears burned the back of her eyes and she scrubbed them away. Who cared if she was alone now? It wasn’t like she had people taking care of her up to this point. Except for Luc, she’d been pretty much on her own. Ford could go jump off the bridge for all she cared.

She shouldered her messenger bag and rifled around the small space, looking for anything useful—money, credit cards, anything. If he wasn’t coming back, he wouldn’t miss it. But there was only the tea and some batteries, a half-full bottle of whiskey, and a crumpled ten-dollar bill.

She grabbed the money, shoved the door open, and
stepped out into the gray, wet day. At the last second she remembered that the door had no handle and wedged a small piece of wood into the doorframe to stop it from closing completely. In case she needed to come back for whatever reason.

In case she needed to hide from the Executors. Just thinking the word made her shiver.

Jasmine pulled her jacket tighter and ducked her head. She glanced around as she walked, half expecting the Executors to jump out at her. Would they find her again? They had twice—technically, three times—already.

The chain-link gate felt icy cold under her fingers as she pushed a wide-enough gap to squeeze through. The rain muted all the other sounds that had been hammering in her head. Now the patter of drops hitting the ground muffled the cars honking and the people shouting and the huge machines clearing the earthquake wreckage.

A biting, salty aroma blew off the bay, and it was all she could smell.

She could almost pretend she was normal. Just a regular girl, heading home from school.

There was no one around to notice as she passed the fort. There was only one car in the parking lot, probably a sanitation worker, and she made it all the way to the entrance without seeing a soul. There was a bus stop just across the street, and Jasmine had to stand alone for only a couple of minutes before the bus pulled up.

She used the last of her coins and made the connection
that would take her to Richmond. Before too long, she found herself in a familiar neighborhood. The street looked clearer than when she had left, and she easily ran to the steps of her building. Up two flights of stairs to the apartment door.

“Luc?” Her voice echoed in the empty apartment.

She knew immediately he wasn’t there. The apartment felt vacant and cold. Pancakes sat in sticky dried puddles of syrup on the plates. She couldn’t bring herself to clean them up. Anxiety felt like lead in her stomach. How many days had it been since Luc fobbed her off on Aunt Hillary? It was hard to tell. Was time skipping for Luc, too? Luc wasn’t one to disappear like this, without a word to Jasmine. Something must have happened. She knew he would never have left her if he’d known how much danger she was really in. He’d thought the Executors were after
him
.

It struck Jasmine that Luc had known more than he let on—he said he might know
who
they were, but had he known
what
they were?
Executors?
Hadn’t he basically said so?

The door to Luc’s room was open. He was probably the only teenage guy who actually kept his room neat and clean. His books were stacked on his desk next to a secondhand laptop he’d found on Craigslist. His bed was neatly made, and there were no clothes on the floor. The only thing hanging on his wall was a Giants poster.

It all looked like he was coming right back. So where was he?

Jas went back out to the kitchen and picked up the phone. There was a dial tone this time, and she had to push Luc’s number three times to get it right in her excitement.

“The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable. Please try again later.”

Jas hung up and dialed again. The same message came across the line. What the hell did that mean?

Maybe a tower was down because of the earthquake. Still, the feeling of unease didn’t go away.

So what now?

Before she could make a decision, she froze. Someone was coming to the door. A girl—the sweet smell of flowery shampoo gave her away.

Was the Executor back already?

Jasmine grabbed a large kitchen knife off the counter. She was damned well not giving up without a fight. She tiptoed to the door and looked through the peephole.

Immediately, she felt like an idiot. It was only Karen, Luc’s girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend. Karen was chewing on her bottom lip, which was frosted with pink. She raised a hand, hesitated, then knocked. “Luc?” she called out.

Jasmine tossed the knife onto a side table and yanked the door open—maybe a little too forcefully. Karen’s eyes went wide and she stepped back. “God, you scared me. Is Luc home?” Karen looked past Jasmine into the apartment.

Jas knew it was stupid, but she couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. They hardly ever had people over. Luc
had never had Karen over as far as she knew. Drunk father aside, he hated the idea that she might pity him—or worse, laugh at him.

Jasmine grabbed her backpack and slipped into the hallway, closing the door behind her and sealing off Karen’s view of the apartment. “Luc’s super sick. Really bad stomach bug.”

Karen stared at the closed door for a few seconds, as if she was considering trying to burst through it. “He isn’t answering any of my calls. I mean … I guess I don’t blame him. But with the earthquake and everything …” Karen hugged herself. She was wearing a stupid pink sweatshirt with the word
JUICY
written across it, and she’d cheated on Luc. Still, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and Jas couldn’t help but feel bad for her. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Jas said nothing. Karen chewed on her bottom lip again. She looked out of place with a backdrop of peeling paint and bad lighting in the hallway.

“You must think I’m a total bitch, right?” Karen asked.

Jasmine did, kind of—she’d always thought Karen was a bitch. But she forced herself to say “No.”

Karen looked relieved. “I never meant to hurt him, seriously. He’s a great guy. I—I loved him, I think.” She looked away.

“Why are you telling me this?” Jasmine asked. Karen had always mostly ignored her, even though she was dating Jas’s older brother.

Karen half laughed. “I don’t know,” she said. “It feels good to tell
someone
.”

Jasmine knew the feeling. She thought of how much she had revealed to Ford and suddenly felt sick.

“Hey, are you okay?” Karen touched Jasmine’s arm quickly and then withdrew, like she was afraid Jas might bite her.

Jasmine thought about what would happen if she told the truth.
No, thanks for asking, I’m not okay. People are trying to kill me, Luc’s gone, and there’s an entire weekend missing from my memory. I think it all has to do with someone named Miranda, but the only person who could help me left me when I was sleeping and now I’m all alone
.

Karen would probably call the psych ward.

“I’m okay,” she said instead.

Karen didn’t look convinced. “You want a ride to school or something?” She cracked a small smile. “It’s better than busing it.”

Jasmine felt a jolt go through her.
Crap
. She hadn’t even thought about school, about real life. It was Tuesday. So school had reopened.

While she hesitated, trying to think of an excuse, Karen nudged her. “Come on,” she said. “The passenger seat has a butt warmer. You’ll love it.”

“Okay,” Jas heard herself say. She would be safe at school, at least. The Executors couldn’t exactly come and knife her in the halls.

“Do you want to change or anything?” Karen asked carefully.

Jasmine instinctively smoothed down the T-shirt she’d had on for what felt like days. There was dust from the rotunda down her front, dirt streaked her arms, and though her jeans were
meant
to look worn, she doubted the designer had had this much real wear in mind. Next to Karen in her crisp white capris, expensive zip-up, and strappy sandals, she felt like a bum.

But being here, at the apartment, was giving her a bad feeling. A sliver of dread slipped up her spine. It was the same watched feeling she had in the rotunda, when the Executors were nearby.

“I’m cool. We should go so we’re not late.” Jasmine’s excuse for hurrying Karen sounded lame even to her, but Karen said nothing.