Feuds (31 page)

She slumped weakly against her seat, staring up at Racquelle, whose face softened.

“We're just the fallout of this mess,” Racquelle said then. “I can tell you didn't know about any of it. It's not your fault even if you did. It's not mine, either. That's why we need to stay out of it, stop asking questions. It only leads to trouble. You seem like an okay kid,” she started just as an alert appeared on the television behind them. Davis saw Cole's name flash across the screen in red.

“Turn it up,” she told Racquelle. When the woman didn't respond right away, Davis reached across the table herself and switched on the volume.

“… was found dead near the Slants. His was positively identified as of eight
A.M.
this morning, and his remains have been deposited in the morgue, scheduled for cremation tonight. A citywide search is out for Davis Morrow, who disappeared from her hospital room this morning. REPEAT: BREAKING ALERT. Cole Everett, the Imp accused of fraternizing with—and kidnapping—the daughter of CPM candidate Robert Morrow, has been found…”

“No,” Davis whispered. “It can't be true.”

Recognition registered on Racquelle's face, and a flicker of fear, too. “You need to go,” Racquelle ordered, rising to her feet. “Right now. Before they come looking for you. I put all this behind me years ago, and now you show up … I'm not going to let you ruin my life for the second time.”

Davis stood, staring, until Racquelle moved toward her, giving her a hard shove. “Get out,” Racquelle said, louder now. “Go!”

Somehow, she found a way to move her feet. She ran blindly out the door and around the side of the house, far away from the center of the town. She took off toward a field, barely able to see the ground in front of her, not caring what she looked like, half wanting to die.

It had to be a lie, all of it: Cole, her father, her mother. Cole. Cole, dead, his body in a morgue. She'd truly believed that with him, nothing else mattered. They'd felt invincible, even when everything was falling apart. She hadn't realized exactly the extent of her hopes and feelings for him, the way her entire world rested on his existence, on them being together. Now she had nothing. This was what happened. It was her fault for breaking all the rules. She'd loved someone she shouldn't have. Their love had caused so much pain. If he'd never met her, he'd still be alive.

Her tears obscured her vision, but she kept her feet moving. She had to get away, far away; she didn't know where. Trees and grass blurred together into one sweep of brown in her periphery, but blinking through it, she could just make out several hulking figures leaping out of their vehicles and running toward her. They were close, so close. She tried to move faster, but her lungs were about to explode, and she didn't know where she was running to.

When they caught her—jerking her arms painfully behind her back—it was a kind of relief. Now she could die, too. Without him, she had no reason to run.

They dragged her toward their waiting vehicles. One truck rose out from the rest, bigger and more intimidating. They moved her toward it, but all she could see was Cole in her mind. Cole, kissing her tenderly. Promising he'd see her again. Cradling her to him in the cold of the rooftop. They'd known it might be their last night. But she hadn't
known.
Not really. There'd always been hope, until now.

“Wait!”

She turned at the sound of a girl's voice, but the officers didn't even pause. She blinked tears from her eyes, struggling to make out the girl's familiar features. She was running toward them, still maybe a city block's length away. She had waist-length, coal-black hair and dark skin. Her long hair streamed behind her as she ran. Davis fought to place her. She was the Gen girl, the one from the FEUDS who'd been there to see Cole. She'd seemed upset, Davis recalled now. It was definitely her, shouting Davis's name and waving something in the air—some small scrap, paper, maybe?—as she ran. Davis looked back at her, struggling to dig in her heels to slow the burly men pulling her along, but they shoved her all the more forcefully toward the waiting vehicle. They pushed her up against the side of it. The girl was running hard, she was so close. Davis looked up just in time to see the metallic lettering across the side of the van:
QUARANTINE
. Then they shoved her headfirst into the vehicle, slamming the door after her.

Davis just managed to struggle to her feet to look out the window and see the girl stop, still a good distance away and half bent over, her palms resting on her thighs as she admitted defeat. Then the van started to move, and the girl and the landscape receded until Davis could no longer see anyone at all.

What had the girl wanted to tell her?

Life without Cole, without love, seemed like its own version of death. Davis felt void, dark, hopeless. But there was this girl, and there was the fact that maybe her mother was still alive. Without Cole, none of it mattered.

Still. Something in the girl's movements had seemed frantic.

In the darkness of the van, Davis had the choice to succumb to it if she wanted, to let it envelop her. But Cole's last words to her echoed in her ears. They were enough to keep her on this side of giving up. Cole had said,
I'll look for you, forever. I love you.
She believed him. She didn't know how, but it wasn't over. Not until she had more answers. The truck labeled
QUARANTINE
moved forward over bumpy roads and ditches, and all Davis could make out from where she lay was the bright blue sky.

 

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The process of writing this novel was such a joy, and I look back on it as an example of what a collaboration can be at its most exciting. I'd love to thank Angela Velez, Lexa Hillyer, and Laura Schechter of Paper Lantern Lit, all of whom I've known in so many capacities for nearly seven years: as colleagues, friends, and now editors. You are three brilliant women for whom I have much admiration and respect. Without your notes and creative insights—and without the way you relentlessly pushed me to be a better writer—this book would not have come together the way it has.

My sincere thanks to Jen Weis, whose brilliant editorial instincts have helped mold this novel into something I can take pride in.

My writer friends in both New York and Paris, where I wrote the bulk of this novel, have provided me with endless support. Your constant encouragement and the sense of community you provide mean more than I can say.

Thank you to all those who welcomed me in France, in particular Amy Plum, who generously invited me into her Loire Valley home (providing evening cocktails and afternoon baguettes/pâtes/terrines and an endless coffee supply in the morning) for two writing retreats, shepherded me toward several deadlines with my sanity and sense of humor intact, and made me chicken soup when my romantic endeavors crashed and burned. Morgan Matson, who visited for six weeks in Paris, scouted out the best shopping spots and writing-friendly cafés (Les Emporte Pièces!), coined Falafel Sundays, introduced me to the best crepe man in Paris, loaned out her kitchen for mashed-potato-making and her Internet for Web-perusing, guided me toward what will be an everlasting love for Mindy Kaling, and became my number one Paris sidekick and a friend whom I treasure. Finally, Celeste Rhoads: I can't enumerate the many ways you helped me settle in and grow to love Paris! As a writer, you supported me in so many ways (by organizing events and introducing me to fellow creatives). As a friend, you made all the difference: from your initial advice over our first lunch regarding music venues and dance party–friendly bars and thrift stores, to nights hanging out at the library for hours after closing (a strange yet welcome iteration of my nerdy childhood dream), to picnics in the park, to piña colada–fueled dinners—you are a part of so many of my favorite memories. You're a huge part of why I came to love Paris, and why I'll miss it wholeheartedly. To the American Library in Paris, and in particular my teen writing group at the ALP: your support and friendship will always be remembered and appreciated. I look forward to returning for many visits (and to Skype-crashing future writing group sessions!).

Much love and many thanks to my friends and family in New York and elsewhere who invited me into their homes when I was in transition, and of course to those who offered me constant love and friendship in one way or another throughout the period of time in which I was writing this novel: Jessica Palette, Lauren Palette, Marielle Spangler, Jackie Resnick, Kourtney Bitterly, Caroline Donofrio, Katherine Lofts, Jocelyn Davies, Rachel Abrams, Kristen Sylvester, Maggie Hazboun, and Katie Brunetti.

Lastly, thank you always to my parents—excellent and devoted readers (in every way), as well as two of the best editors I've ever had.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Avery Hastings is an author and former book editor from New York City. She grew up in Ohio, graduated from the University of Notre Dame, and earned her MFA at The New School. When she's not reading or writing, Avery can usually be found in the park with her affable dog, and like her protagonists in
Feuds
, she knows how to throw a powerful right hook and once dreamed of becoming a ballerina. In addition to New York, Avery has lived in Mumbai and Paris, but is happy to call Brooklyn home (for now).

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

FEUDS.
Copyright © 2014 by Paper Lantern Lit. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Cover design by Elsie Lyons

Cover photographs: girl © ayakovlevcom/
Shutterstock.com
; city © diversepixel/
Shutterstock.com
; molecular illustration © watchara/
Shutterstock.com

eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-1-250-05771-6 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4668-4532-9 (e-book)

e-ISBN 9781466845329

First Edition: September 2014

sometimes the heart

is the greatest enemy …

 

 

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a Feuds Series e-original novella

 

 

AVAILABLE DECEMBER 2014

 

 

 

 

 

can love survive?

 

 

Davis and Cole battle for truth and each other in

torn

the finale of the Feuds Series

 

 

AVAILABLE JUNE 2015