Feuds (24 page)

Davis's green eyes were full, searching. Cole reached out and touched her hand, his pulse pounding in his ears. He leaned forward and she came to him easily; as though this whole time, they'd been fighting against forces so natural, and all it took was breaking down the barrier to let them return to their rightful state: in each other's arms. She melted into him and he found her lips with his, and then his tongue was on her neck, which tasted sweet, and she was running her hands through his hair. He brought her face back up to his and their kiss was fervent, hungry. The emotions that overpowered him were like nothing he'd ever known. He moved his hands to her lower back and lifted her into his lap, wrapping both arms around her. Cradling her was like holding something precious. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and amazing all at once. He almost couldn't handle it; the thought of ever losing her—of her being hurt—ripped through him painfully and he gasped. She whispered to him, telling him it was all okay. Then she had her hands in his hair and then on the sides of his face, touching him gently but with urgency; then she pressed her lips to his, and if he could have consumed her altogether, taken her whole body into his to make them one person, he would have.

“Hey,” came a voice from beside the carousel. “Who's that?” Cole and Davis broke apart, breathing hard; she slid off his lap onto the seat next to him and looked at him, her eyes wide with fear. Cole motioned for her to be quiet, and he peered out of the elephant. Maybe he could pretend he was with was Michelle or some other random Gen, if he could block this person's view. He maneuvered himself closer to the opening and looked up to find Worsley standing there with his medical bag, his tall frame half-bent in order to see them better.

“It's you.” Cole heaved a sigh of relief, and Worsley straightened back to his full six feet. “Thank God.” It wasn't that he was unafraid of Worsley's reaction; it was just that he knew Worsley would always be on his side. He trusted and admired Worsley, maybe even more than his own brother.

“Cole, who's in there with you?” Worsley's voice held a note of warning, and before Cole could stop him, he pushed him aside and peered inside the carousel car.

“Dammit, Cole,” Worsley told him. “This is bad. Come here.” He motioned for Davis to climb out. “It's fine, there's no one else around. Just let me get a look at you.” She climbed out of the elephant and Worsley turned to Cole, his shoulders tense under his plain white button-down. “You're not involved with her, are you? Cole, please tell me you're not.”

Cole stepped forward, his fists clenched in rage. For once, he noted Worsley's physical impressiveness. He'd been a FEUDS fighter once, and Cole was always forgetting that and boxing him in as an intellectual. But now, feeling his opposition, he automatically noted every tensed muscle in Worsley's neck and his slightly aggressive stance, legs spread wide and arms crossed. “When did you become so prejudiced?” Cole asked. “What's so bad about being a Prior? Since when do you judge, Worsley? I thought you were all about equality.”

Worsley's mouth dropped open and his face flushed. “That's not it at all,” he insisted, reaching up to tug at the strap of the signature canvas messenger bag he always wore over one shoulder. “Cole…” He trailed off, running one hand through his hair. His eyes wore a worried expression, the blue in them brighter than usual. If Cole hadn't known better, he'd have thought Worsley pitied him.

“What?” Cole said, feeling the sudden, urgent need to know what Worsley was thinking. “Just say it.”

“Can't you see it?” Worsley pled. “I don't care if she's a Prior, Cole. Look at her.”

“See what?” Cole felt the blood drain from his face, the beginnings of panic. “See
what
?” he demanded again, moving closer to Davis, who looked shaken. Worsley placed a hand on Cole's shoulder. He hesitated before telling Cole what he already knew, what he'd known since Worsley's first shocked expression. Cole's hands shook as he waited for the words.

“The girl has Narxis,” Worsley finally said.

 

15

DAVIS

The girl has Narxis.
Davis blinked and struggled to sit up, squinting into the dim light of the room. She tried to shake off the dream, but something in her refused to let go of the panicky feeling that was taking hold of her. Where was she? She waited impatiently for the hazy shapes to form into her familiar bedside table, her desk, the set of hooks she used for hanging scarves. But unfamiliar lumps and angles remained unfamiliar, until two people-sized forms moved into her line of vision.

Her eyes adjusted more, taking in the cut of Cole's jaw, the worried crease in his brow. And she remembered with a sudden, sick feeling that nearly bowled her over: none of it had been a dream. Cole reached for her hand, but she yanked it away, scooting farther back on the table. “What are you doing?” Her words came out breathy, clipped. “Where are we?”

“We're in my lab.” Tom Worsley stepped forward into the narrow beam of sunlight that issued from the window behind her and illuminated a very small portion of the room. “How do you feel?”

“I'm fine.” Her tone was guarded—her words sounded clipped—but she didn't care. “There's nothing wrong with me.” It was true; she felt fine. A little woozy, but she'd had a shock. It was to be expected. She looked to Cole for reinforcement—surely he'd back her up; Worsley was being nuts—but he only frowned.

“Hit the lights, Cole,” Worsley ordered. “Now that she's awake and adjusted, she should be fine.” Cole tugged at a long metal chain hanging from the wall, and the room was suddenly flooded with light. Davis gasped as Worsley's lab came into view: it was rife with cold metal contraptions and beakers. She felt like less of a person, perched up there on that table. Her skin crawled. She felt like a
specimen.

“I'm fine,” she said again, louder. She moved to stand up. “Perfect. I'm totally perfect, see?” She stood straight, squaring her shoulders and desperately ignoring a powerful wave of nausea, a result of standing too soon. She tried to meet Worsley's eyes, but he just looked away.
Coward,
she thought. It was almost as if he preferred her as a little lab animal he could poke and prod. Still, her stomach turned, and she could feel moisture forming at her temples.

“Cole,” she said. She looked at him. His eyes were large, sad. “I want to go home. I shouldn't have come here.”

He reached for her hands, and this time she didn't pull away. “Davis, please.” His voice was soft, so soft she almost cried. “Just let him run a few more tests. If…” He trailed off, then swallowed hard, seeming to get his bearings. “If you do have Narxis, Tom Worsley is the best person to help you. Your doctors across the river are denying the disease even exists. You can't turn to them if you need to. Please stay here; let us take care of you.”

Davis hesitated. She glanced in Worsley's direction and he moved to the opposite end of the lab, just out of earshot. It took effort to summon her words; what she was about to say felt like a betrayal. Because she couldn't be sick. It couldn't be happening to her. Still … this was bigger than her. “Cole, if you're right … If Narxis really does exist…”

“Then we need to get you help.”

Davis shook her head. “No. Maybe. But first I need to talk to my dad.”

Cole met her eyes, frowning, but he didn't argue.

She took a breath. “My dad can do something about this.” She squeezed his hand, her tone urgent. “You know that. He's the only one who really can. And if this thing is real, it means my friends, my family … they could be next. I need to try to help them.”

“You need to help yourself first,” Cole said, his voice raspy. “You can't do anything for anyone unless you're healthy.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “This is what I need to do. I'll never be able to sit here and think about them over there, not knowing. Besides,” she said, rubbing his palm with her thumb. “You know my dad will pull out all the stops for me. He'll get me the very best.” She smiled a little. “You know you think I'm a little bit spoiled. Go ahead. Now's your chance to say it, because my dad will do everything he can to make sure I'm okay. His entire campaign is based on making Columbus a better place for me and Fia. He'd do anything for us.”

“Okay,” Cole said reluctantly. “But when can I see you? How will I know you're all right?”

“Cole,” Worsley broke in, taking a step toward them. “You can't just let her go.”

“I can't keep her here against her will,” Cole pointed out. He held out a palm, discouraging Worsley from moving any closer. “There's nothing we can do, Tom. If she wants to go, I'm not going to force her to stay.”

Worsley nodded, his face grave.

“I'll come back tonight,” Davis said, keeping her voice low. “After I've had a chance to explain everything.”

“The carousel?” Cole held her gaze with his, and with his palms grasping her own, it was like he was cradling her with a look. She felt safe, strong.

“Yes.” She leaned forward, allowing herself to relax against his shoulders. He stood in front of her, cupping her cheeks in his hands. He drew her toward him, tilting her chin up so that when he bent low over her, their lips touched. The kiss was brief but sweet, and it sent a surge of energy through her. Davis closed her eyes, then let go of his hand. She gave him one last glance as she left the lab. Worsley stood behind him, his arms at his sides, looking resigned. Cole looked anything but. His shoulders were squared and his face determined.

“Good-bye,” she said softly.

“Tonight,” he said back—not as a reminder, she knew. As a promise.

*   *   *

“Oh, thank God!” Davis's dad rushed toward her, his face a mask of worry and confusion. He wrapped her in his arms so forcefully that Davis felt pressure against her lungs, and her breath came short. “I was so worried! Davis, where have you been? We were frantic. Terri's been calling—well, never mind that. After the articles … I thought something awful had happened to you.”

“So you're not mad?” Davis hadn't been sure what to expect from her father—shock, at best.

“Mad? Sweetheart, no. It's obvious you've been taken advantage of. Worried, though. My God.” He ran a hand through his lightly graying hair. “I've never been so worried in my life.”

She felt her eyes well with tears but willed them away. “I have to talk to you,” Davis said, eager to let him know about Narxis, to get help right away. The urgency she felt was all-consuming, and seeing her dad's concern made her feel empowered. He'd do something to help, she knew it. He was the only one who could, practically.

“Yes, we do need to talk,” he agreed. “Come into my study, where we can be alone.” He glanced down the hall with a wry smile, and Davis saw Fia's form darting around the corner, away from her hiding spot. She couldn't help smiling, even though her entire body was trembling from adrenaline and fatigue. “I'm not angry,” her father began as he settled into the leather wingback chair opposite his desk. “It's clear that you're a victim in this.”

“Dad,”
Davis said, cutting him off. “This isn't about Cole. I mean, I need to talk to you about something else.” His eyes narrowed at the familiarity with which she uttered Cole's name, but she forged ahead anyway. “People are disappearing,” she started, allowing the words to tumble out, hoping they made sense. “Dying. There's a disease, Narxis. Parson Abel is covering it up.” She glanced at her father's face for a reaction; he was staring at her, eyes wide, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “There are Prior bodies lining the Slants, I can show you—”

“You went into the Slants?” Splotches of red appeared on his neck and cheeks.

“Dad, I can take you there! I can show you I'm telling the truth. It's a disease, it's spreading fast, and Parson is making up rumors, blaming the Imps and dumping the bodies. And…” She trailed off, looking at her hands, which were damp and clasped tightly in her lap. She whispered the last part. She could hardly bring herself to say it aloud. “I might have the disease. I think I have Narxis.”

“What?” Her father was on his feet again. He kneaded his jaw with his right hand, clearly struggling to keep calm. “Davis, these are serious allegations—”

“I know. But I've seen it.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “That's another issue. The idea of you wandering over there by yourself—but it must have been that boy. We'll deal with that later. What you're saying now—you feel ill?”

“I think it might be Narxis,” she said again. “I've been dizzy. Weaker. Nauseated. Tom Worsley said it's contagious, and some of the ballerinas have been missing—”

“Tom Worsley? Who…? Never mind. If what you're saying is true—if Parson's really covering up some sort of … epidemic … I've got to expose him. I have to do something.”

“I can take you to the bodies,” Davis said, leaning forward. She was growing more animated, her words tumbling out faster. This was how she'd hoped he'd react. This was exactly what she'd hoped for.

But he whirled on her. “You're not taking me anywhere,” he said firmly. “You're sure as hell not going back into the Slants. I don't know how you got involved with these people, Davis, but it's only brought this family pain.” Davis reeled back as if she'd been slapped, but her dad continued, barely noticing. “No. What you need is to stay safe. You need medical attention if you're not feeling well. We'll go now.” He jabbed his left palm with his right index finger for emphasis. “We'll get you to the best doctors. Then I'll worry about the rest, with Parson.”