Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2) (24 page)

He began to sip, the liquid burning down his throat.
This will help
. He sputtered, spraying the tea across the table.
No, it will not!
 

Mae pulled Arlow from his seat to the floor, where she wrapped him in a fierce embrace. His head rested on her shoulder and she clasped him firmly, rocking him. “It’ll be alright,” she whispered. “You’re stronger ’an he is.”

Slowly, the disorder that clouded his mind ebbed, like the sun dispersing a thick fog. The shaking slowed and his heartbeat returned to normal, but he did not extricate himself from her grasp. He had experienced a variety of pleasurable sensations in the arms of a woman before, but he’d never felt anything quite like this—comforted, bolstered, without judgment.
 

“Linton shouldn’t of asked you to do this,” she said at length. “I’ll tell him so.”

“Thought you said you’d shoot me,” he said, affecting a laugh.

“Nah,” she answered. “That was a bluff. I like you too much, truth to tell. You make me laugh.”

A warm sense of safety spread through him at her words. He thought of how Quade had made him feel earlier and shuddered, thoroughly disgusted with himself. He felt violated, unclean.

“What’s Quade’s passion project?” Mae asked, releasing him now that his quavering had stopped.
 

“Ah…archeology, I suppose.” He frowned. “Quade must be using the kids from the street at the dig sites.”

“Where?”

Arlow stood and held out a hand to Mae, pulling her to her feet. “I don’t know, but it should be easy enough to find out.”

13

An Elevated in a blue uniform stole around a corner. Peer pulled his collar up, hoping it appeared a countermeasure to the wind and not an effort to conceal his neck. He felt Bray stiffen beside him, her head bowed to cast her face in shadow beneath the cowl of her bonnet.

He peeked down at her, surprised. She’d been on edge since Yarrow had gone his separate way, gone to seek answers in Adourra. A wild goose chase, no doubt. Peer hoped, for Bray’s sake, that the man would return soon.

He kept his pace slow as the young Elevated crossed their path, though he held his breath. With Bray’s face all over Trinitas and Su-Hwan a once-trusted member of the Elevated, they were likely tempting fate by traveling in public. Fate, however, must have been on their side. The young man strode past without a glance in their direction, seemingly occupied.

Bray let out a breath. “I didn’t expect him to have men
here.”

Peer agreed. Leeson was a small port city of little importance. If Quade had men here, he likely had men everywhere.
 

“That was Trenton Smalls,” Su-Hwan said, her flat voice betraying no concern. “He is something of an imbecile.”
 

Bray chuckled then pointed up to the street sign that read ‘Gary.’ They turned into a residential neighborhood—though it was several blocks from the marina, the air still stank of fish, the odor carried on a biting, relentless wind. They marched up the sidewalk, scanning the long row of townhomes. The road sloped up a sharp hill and in no time Peer’s calves ached and his chest felt tight, sweat blossoming along his hairline despite the bitter cold.
 

“Here,” Bray said, coming to a halt. They stood before a home identical to all of the others aside from the brass numerals declaring it 2205. She glanced up and down the road to ensure that they were unobserved, then opened the mailbox and read the name upon a letter within.
 

“Asher,” she said and shut the box.

“You’d think he’d of gotten his own ma a better place.” Peer eyed the tiny residence skeptically. It was hard to imagine that
this
had been Quade’s childhood home. Had he played in this yard? Ridden a bike with neighborhood boys up this very sidewalk? The idea of a child Quade, in and of itself, was chilling.
 

Bray took a gulp of air. “Let’s get this over with.”
 

Peer followed her up the brick steps that led to a forest green door. She tapped the brass knocker three times and they waited, clutching their coats tighter against the cold.
 

At first there was silence within and Peer feared no one was home, but at length the squeak of floorboards sounded and the door cracked open. A petite woman with graying hair squinted out at them. Peer had to contain the panic that threatened to engulf him when he looked into her dark eyes and found them unsettlingly similar to Quade’s.
 

“Yes?” the woman asked with lifted brows.
 

Bray curtsied. “Hello, Mrs. Asher. I apologize for the unannounced visit. My name is Mag Hadley, and these are my associates Brasson Keller and Min Chae-Song. We are with the
Accord Herald
and we are working on a piece about your son, Mr. Quade Asher. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
 

Mrs. Asher held the door open wide and beckoned for them to enter. “Oh, how marvelous,” she said, with a friendly smile. “What sort of piece?”

Peer had the immediate impression that Mrs. Asher wasn’t quite all there upstairs—something about the glazed look in her eyes, the blank cheeriness. She waved them into a small parlor.
 

Peer choked slightly on the overwhelming scent of potpourri. All of the surfaces were topped with doilies, the walls adorned with framed dried flowers and decorative plates. The dense, contrasting floral patterns of the wallpaper, sofas, and rug put Peer in mind of the most quintessential old-lady residence, right down to the long-haired gray cat glaring balefully at him from the rose-patterned ottoman.
 

He had to choke down a laugh at the thought of Quade in this house; it was such a ridiculous image.
 

Bray, blinking at her surroundings with an expression of mild horror, answered, “A background story. People are dying to know everything about him.”

Mrs. Asher beamed. “Naturally. He is a very special young man. Please, take a seat,” she said. “I’m afraid my housekeeper’s not in today. I’ll make up a tray for us, shall I?”

“That would be lovely.”

When Mrs. Asher disappeared they each began circling the room. Peer paused at a shelf that held a family portrait. He examined the smiling faces preserved in sepia—they were a handsome family. Quade’s father was undeniably attractive, and his mother had a genial, bonny face. Quade himself was a babe, held in his sister’s arms, a small girl who grinned at the camera, revealing a missing tooth.

The babe Quade had a tuft of black hair that stuck straight up from his small head. His features were set in an expression that looked far too grave upon the face of such a small lad.
 

“Take a look at this,” Bray said.

She stared at another photograph. It was of Quade and his sister, Quade perhaps eight years old. At a glance it seemed a sweet photograph of loving siblings, but a longer look cooled Peer’s blood.
 

Quade seemed to be clutching his sister’s wrist with bruising, white knuckled force. The smile on his pale face did not touch his black eyes, which glinted with a cool dominance that made Peer’s breath catch. His sister looked nothing like she had in the older photograph, no longer round-cheeked and vibrant. Her eyes were dead, her mouth was stretched more in grimace than smile.

Mrs. Asher returned. “Isn’t that a nice one?” she asked, pointing to the photograph. “You never saw a boy more devoted to his sister than Quade. She was the light of his life.”
 

They all took seats and Mrs. Asher handed around tea cups and plates of biscuits. Peer jammed the treat in his mouth, though his appetite had deserted him.
 

“You know, I’ve never heard of a female journalist,” Mrs. Asher said, her tone kind and curious.

Bray set down her tea cup with a small clink. “My father is a newsman, you see, and he had no sons. I was raised to it.”
 

“And what about you, dear?” Mrs. Asher asked Su-Hwan.

Her pixie face betrayed a moment’s uncertainty and Peer stiffened. Su-Hwan was not especially good with regular social interactions, so he could not imagine she lied well.

“I am Ms. Hadly’s assistant,” she answered, then busied herself with her teacup. Peer was impressed she had remembered Bray’s alias. He’d already forgotten whatever name she’d given him. Adearre had always insisted they use the same ones to avoid confusion, but Bray thought it was funny to do just the opposite.
 

Peer swallowed and blinked, forcing himself to focus on the conversation. Bray had produced a pad and was poised to take notes.

“He was a serious boy,” Mrs. Asher said fondly, clearly responding to a question Peer hadn’t caught. “Terribly smart. By the time he was nine years old he was reading volumes that I myself couldn’t fully understand.” Mrs. Asher laughed to herself. “Why, at that age he organized all of the boys in the neighborhood into a club. He, of course, was the leader. You should have seen the way those little ones admired him. Some people complained that they got up to trouble, but I never believed it. They were just being boys.”

Bray’s pen scratched on the paper and she chewed her bottom lip as she wrote. “And you said he was close with his sister? What is her name?”

At this, Mrs. Asher’s bright expression dimmed. “Ellora.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid Ellora was a troubled girl. When she was very young she was so vivacious, always laughing. But as she grew older she became withdrawn, she never wanted to eat, and she would have terrible nightmares. The doctor said she suffered from nervousness. Quade doted on her, of course, but not even he could help her. After he left, she would wake screaming night after night. When he visited, after he was eighteen, she would be a whole new girl while he was here, smiling and affectionate, but then when he left again she would become uncommunicative and disturbed.” Mrs. Asher swallowed and shook her head sadly. “Then, shortly before one of his visits, she just vanished without a trace. Quade was devastated, as you can well imagine. He hunted for her for years, but we never found her.”
 

“How sad. I am so sorry,” Bray said. “The constables could do nothing for you?”

“They searched, of course, but she was just…gone.”

Peer glanced at the dead-eyed girl in the portrait on the wall. He hoped she’d gotten away.

“It is, I believe, uncommon for Chisanta to visit their families after being marked,” Bray said.

“Oh, yes. They encourage those poor children not to go home. Quade couldn’t stay away though, he came often. That is, until his sister’s disappearance. He hasn’t been home since then. I think it’s too painful for him.” Mrs. Asher blinked furiously, attempting to keep tears from rolling free. “I have their rooms, both of them, just as they left them. Just in case they should…find their ways home.”
 

“That is lovely of you,” Bray said. “Would it be asking too much if we took a look? I find that the details of a childhood bedroom often add a nice texture to such background articles.”

Mrs. Asher looked mildly taken aback but, thankfully, not suspicious. She stood, “If it would help your story, certainly, dear. Right this way.” Peer followed Quade’s mother up a narrow stair. When they reached the landing she appeared a bit embarrassed. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving out the smallness of the room in your story? My late husband, may his Spirit find joy, always provided all we needed, but his income was modest.”
 

Bray smiled warmly. “Don’t you worry about that. This is a palace compared to my own home.”

“Really? I would think a newspaperman in Accord could afford a much larger property.”
 

Bray colored and darted a look of apology at Peer. “You would be surprised,” she replied.

Mrs. Asher opened the door to a bedroom not much larger than a closet. Peer lingered in the hallway, as he was not sure all four of them could comfortably fit in the small space. Within, there was a single bed, a bookshelf half-full of various texts. A young Quade had put a massive map of Trinitas on the wall above his bed and stuck tacks in various locations across the three kingdoms.
 

“Any notion what the pins meant?” Bray asked.

Mrs. Asher shook her head. “He was always researching this and that.”

To Peer’s surprise, Su-Hwan answered, “They each mark an archeological dig site. He has such a map in his office now as well.”

There was not much else to see in the room. There were old knickknacks: a tangled yo-yo, a rusted pocketknife, and a can of old bits of nails and coins.
 

Bray picked up the tin, the collection of junk tinkering within. She quirked a brow at Mrs. Asher.
 

“Oh, as a boy he was always digging up odd bits of rubbish and saving them. He called it his treasure when he was young, and then his
artifacts
when he was older.”
 

Bray’s lips stretched in a smile Peer recognized as false. “What an enterprising little chap he must have been.”
 

With nothing more to see, Mrs. Asher returned to the hall and opened the neighboring door. “And this was Ellora’s.”

Ellora’s room proved more interesting. Her walls were covered from ceiling to floor in pinned drawings. The corners of the paper had curled and the parchment had yellowed with age, but the charcoal sketches remained. Ellora’s artwork had a definite aesthetic; all of the images she drew were elongated and distorted, they were dark, evoking a sense of brooding. Peer examined the drawing of a sunflower. It was tall, it’s shadow imposing. The petals were splayed like grasping fingers—the head of the flower was bowed, submissive. Peer, never much of an aesthete, had never seen anything quite like it, had never been so arrested by a mere drawing. He struggled to articulate in his own mind why the picture stirred something within him.
 

Perhaps it was the contrast between the subject and the emotion it inspired—a beautiful thing drawn without beauty. There was misery in every line. He thought of the forest of cheery flowers downstairs and how they must have looked through the eyes of a girl who would draw a flower in this way.
A self-portrait
.