Earthbound (30 page)

“There’s not,” he says, determined.

“You’ve already made your decision.”

“I decided yesterday—with or without you, I’m going to run. I’m hip deep in all this stuff already. If we both went to ground in different directions, we’d probably be safer.” He sighs and bunches his fists on his hips. “But to tell the truth, I’m willing to risk just about anything to be with you.”

“I have no family anymore, Benson. But I can’t pretend it’s the same for you. You might never be able to see your mom and brother again.”

He looks down, his emotions burning in his eyes. “I can’t—I can’t live my life for them anymore. Some bonds are stronger than blood;
you’re
my family now.”

The same words that filled my own thoughts just yesterday. It’s the final confirmation I need.

Me and Benson.

Benson and me.

We’ll take on the world and win.

Benson squeezes my hand. “We should go. Now.”

I nod, feeling sudden confidence in our plan. “How should we leave?” I ask. “I mean, since we have to ditch the car?” The
stolen
car. Maybe the cops will find it and give it back to whoever it belongs to.

“Greyhound?” Benson suggests. “It’s not luxurious or anything, but it’ll get us far enough away to consider our options. We can park a few blocks from the nearest station and leave the Honda behind. You pick the city,” he says, stepping forward, his face close to mine. “Anywhere you want to go.”

“As long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter.”

He kisses my forehead, then pulls his phone out of his pocket, looking even more like the Superman I’ve always thought of him as. “I’ll look up a bus station and then ditch this in a Dumpster.”

“You got that from a movie.”

He laughs. “Maybe, but the good guys always win in the movies, right?”

I start to turn to get into the car, but Benson holds onto my hands. “When we get on the bus,” he says hesitantly, “we need to talk. Really … talk.”

“Absolutely,” I say, but my heart speeds a little at the look on his face.

“I think we should talk now.”

We both spin at the intruding voice only to see what still appears to be an empty clearing. Then, in a circle around us, we hear the unmistakable click of guns being cocked. I cling to Benson, my eyes scanning the trees. Just as I’m sure no one is going to appear before they shoot us, Jay steps out from behind a tree.

“L
et’s all stay calm,” Jay says in a soft, even tone that makes me want to reach out and smack him. My mind spins with defensive plans.

More cast iron, insta-shotguns, bulletproof glass … assuming I could make something that high tech, which I’m suddenly not convinced is within my capabilities.

But Benson is here.

I won’t risk him.

Can’t
risk him.

This is the problem with love.

“Peace offering,” Jay says, drawing my attention back. He’s holding up what I vaguely recognize as several of the organic, all-natural protein bars that Reese keeps around the house.

A weird nostalgia hits me. That will never be my life again.

“No one’s here to kill you, Tave,” Jay says, as though reading my mind. “All of this—” His hand takes in the unseen guns surrounding us, hidden from sight by the broad-leafed trees. “Just a precaution. After what you did to Elizabeth and me, I think it’s understandable.”

He edges forward like he’s approaching a skittish colt. Despite what he just said, he doesn’t seem afraid of
me
; he looks like he’s worried I’m afraid of
him
.

Which I am. Terrified. But I don’t want him to know.

The sun is shining down into the middle of the clearing with a vengeance that defies the bitter cold of the last few days, but despite that, my veins are ice water.

“I know you need to eat,” Jay says, still holding out the bars. “I’m not sure what you’ve been doing, but I’ve seen enough Earthbounds on the run to recognize that look; you’re about five minutes away from fainting.”

Even though every nerve in my body is poised to bolt, I force myself to meet his eyes and then take two slow steps forward and snatch the protein bars, immediately retreating back to Benson as soon as the food is in my hand. I rip open the wrapper and take a bite, keeping my eyes on Jay the whole time.

To tell the truth, he looks awful. Those circles under his eyes—they speak of more than sleep deprivation. And his skin has a weird quality to it—like it grew a size too big and is now hanging off him. Melting, almost. “Are you all right, Jay?” I ask through a half-chewed protein bar.

Jay doesn’t answer, just makes a small motion, and Reese and Elizabeth step out from the brush and join him with that same tentative slowness. I’ve already torn open the next protein bar and taken a big bite, but at the sight of those two my mouth turns dry.

Even though I know they were telling the truth.

Even though it was probably a mistake to leave them in the first place.

But they’re still the ones controlling the guns pointed at me—at the guy I love. It’s hard not to think of them as the enemy when they’re pointing weapons at us.

“We just want to talk,” Reese says, before I can speak.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask when the second bar is gone—which takes a remarkably short time, and I’m already opening the third. “I thought you were Curatoria. Aren’t you supposed to help Earthbound?”

Are they?

Supposed to. Or so they say.

Rebecca considered them
more
trustworthy than the Reduciata, but what kind of standard is that?

“We are,” Reese says. “And we’re trying our damnedest to keep you alive, but you’re not making it very easy.”

The shock of the whole situation is wearing off and I’m not afraid anymore.

I’m pissed.

“If you had trusted me with
any
amount of information, maybe I wouldn’t have been so high strung. Do you have any idea what the last week has been like for me?” I snap.

“If you had trusted
us
with any information about what you were experiencing, maybe we could have helped,” she replies without emotion.

I close my mouth. I’m not going to play this blame-trading game. “You’re not my aunt and uncle, are you?” I ask, not bothering to hide the accusation in my voice.

The question hangs in the air, one they obviously don’t want to answer. “No,” Reese finally says. “My name is Samantha. Sammi.”

I almost laugh at the nickname. It matches her pert blond hair and doll-like stature but is completely at odds with her formal, businesslike personality. “And you?” I say, whipping my head around to Jay, who I realize is leaning against the tree now—like standing takes too much effort.

“Mark. Just Mark,” he adds awkwardly.

“Why pretend?” I ask, shooting my words at him.

“To get you into protective custody without shocking you with everything all at once. It was hard enough for you to deal with your parents dying—not to mention the physical trauma—without pushing a bunch of supernatural stuff on you as well. We were trying to be gentle, while still keeping you safe and hidden.”

“Did you kill my real aunt and uncle before you stole their identities?”

“That is
not
how we work, Tavia,” Sammi snaps, plainly offended. “They’re alive and well and think you died in the crash. And trust me, falsifying TSA documents is no picnic.”

“Tavia,” Elizabeth says, speaking up for the first time, “if there’s anything I have
ever
said that you believed, please believe this: Sammi and Mark and I have dedicated every waking moment for more than the last
year
to keeping you safe.”

“Not to mention eighteen years ago,” Reese—Sammi—adds in a mutter.

Elizabeth shoots her a look and continues. “We almost lost you in the plane crash, and that failure has plagued us every single day. There are no three people in the world who you’re safer with than us. I promise you that.”

Safer than with Benson?
I think wryly.
Not a chance.
But I say nothing, just reach back for Benson’s hands. He’s staying quiet, letting me speak, rant, accuse. But he hasn’t moved an inch, his warm chest a solid support against my back. As steadfast as any of these ancient trees. He makes me feel strong. Bold. Better.

“Please,” Elizabeth says, “let us take you somewhere safe—we’ll talk about anything you want then, but we’re tempting fate by staying out here in the open.”

“We’re pretty off-road,” I reply sarcastically, gesturing at the thick foliage around us.

“Anything but bulletproof walls is
out in the open
as far as I’m concerned,” Sammi snaps. “Please, let us take you to a safe house.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I retort. “I don’t want anything to do with the Curatoria or the Reduciata.”

“To be honest, I don’t think you’ll last long on your own. I’ve never seen the Reduciata hunt someone this seriously. Taking down an entire plane?” Mark says, confirming my suspicions. “That’s brutal even for them. We managed to get to the car crash in Bath about an hour after it happened, and to tell the truth, we thought they’d gotten you at that hotel in Freeport.”

I clench my jaw. They were
never
far behind. But still farther behind than the Reduciata, who have been getting progressively closer and closer. I want to take Benson and run—I want it so badly—but would it be a death sentence for us both?

“They want
you
,” Mark continues. “Specifically, and very badly. After the plane wreck we had to take you and hide you because when you were the sole survivor, the Reduciata immediately knew they’d failed to assassinate you. Only an Earthbound could have survived that crash.”

My fingers clutch Benson’s icy skin. “What is it about this crash that started everything? I don’t understand. I didn’t know anything then.”

“An Earthbound’s self-preservation instinct is incredibly strong,” Sammi says simply, as though we were discussing the migratory patterns of butterflies. “Awareness that borders on precognition, impulse self-defense in disciplines the Earthbound has never learned in conscious memory, that sort of thing. Sudden re-awakenings of powers in life-threatening scenarios is the least of what I’ve seen in my time. The simple need to stay alive brought your ability forth. We’re not sure exactly
what
you did, but somehow your instincts kicked in and you created something to save yourself.”

My throat is constricting now as the obvious question slams into me like a boulder. “I did it? I kept myself alive?” I whisper, and I can see in Elizabeth’s eyes that she knows what’s coming next. I blink, but that only makes the tears spill onto my cheeks—searing spots on my skin. “Then why couldn’t I save them too?”

“I don’t think your unconscious instincts could do anything beyond self-preservation,” Mark says, empathy—real or not—heavy in his tone. “You can’t feel guilty about that, Tavia.”

But I do.

If I—even without consciously understanding my powers—could rescue myself, then I could have rescued them.

And I
didn’t
.

Benson wraps his arm around my waist and I cling to him, forcing myself to fill my lungs several times even though it feels like knives are stabbing my chest.

The truth should be simple. And this is not simple. This is a fairy tale. And not the Prince-Charming-kissed-the-princess kind of fairy tale; the kind where the wolf eats the grandmother, the mermaid turns into sea foam, and the dancer gets her feet cut off.

“How did you guys even know who I was?” I choke out.

“Oh, Tave, so much research,” Sammi says, and she looks tired at the thought. “
Generations
of research. My family have been Curatoriates for more than ten generations; membership in both brotherhoods is often a family affair.”

“Like the mob,” Benson says dryly, speaking for the first time.

Sammi shoots him an annoyed look but continues as though he hadn’t spoken. “Since I was sixteen and trained under my father, I’ve spent my life searching for the Earthbound. We have a lot of methods, none of them simple or foolproof. Honestly, if you didn’t look the same from lifetime to lifetime, I think we’d be hopelessly lost.”

I remember the vision of Rebecca. Longer hair, but otherwise identical.

“I—I have a bit of a connection with you, actually,” Sammi says.

“What kind of connection?” I ask, and I can’t keep the suspicion out of my voice.

She reaches into the large bag at her hip and I step back and throw my arms out in front of Benson, but Sammi’s hand emerges clutching a file folder with the symbol of the feather and the flame. She walks toward me, raising the folder like a white flag.

It feels strange, exchanging folders of documents in the forest, with brown leaves crunching under our feet, but what about this whole experience hasn’t been strange? I take the folder warily and try to keep my eyes on Sammi even as I open the cover.

It’s odd to see my face stare out from a picture I don’t remember being in. It has that sepia tinge that old photos take on, and I see myself in a wide-necked sweater and high-waisted jeans, lying on my stomach, reading a book. “When is this?” I ask, studying all the little facial details I’ve become so intimately acquainted with over the years.

It’s strange how foreign they look now.

“Eighteen years ago,” Sammi says, and I remember her cryptic statement a few minutes ago.

I wrinkle my brow. “I died young.”

“You did.”

My finger reaches out to touch another face in the picture—the sharp chin of teenage Samantha. Shorter hair, a little thinner, but definitely her. “That’s you.”

“Yes, that’s me as a teenager, and that’s you as Sonya. And despite everything,” she adds with a laugh, “you are
so
much easier to live with this time around.”

“‘Belligerent,’”
I recite from the next page in the file, but there’s no humor in my voice. I’m not ready to think of
any
of this as amusing.

“That basically sums it up. You didn’t trust us, even after we were able to give you your memories back. And you wouldn’t tell us
anything
.”