Ricochet Through Time (Echo Trilogy Book 3) (22 page)

25

Hunger & Drive

I locked my bedroom door and sat on my bed, closed laptop before me on the comforter. My heart beat rapidly as I stared at the small black thumb drive resting atop the computer. Dom had considered the thumb drive a gift. I wasn’t so sure.

“I’m impressed with your progress, little sister.”

“Oh, um . . .” I met his eyes for the briefest moment, then stared down at the spot where the serpent’s tail disappeared into its mouth on the training room floor. Sweat dripped down the back of my neck, and I was still a little out of breath from our latest training session. “Thanks.”

Dom lifted my chin with cool fingertips. “Humility balances pride. Shame does not. Don’t feel ashamed to take pride in all you have accomplished so far.” He smiled, the rare, fond expression softening his severe features. “I am proud of you.”

I looked up at him, shocked by his words. I kid you not, my heart swelled so big I literally thought it might explode. I felt all warm and fuzzy and chock-full of a crap-ton of joy.

Because Dom was proud of me.

What was happening to me?

“You deserve a reward for your hard work and discipline these last four weeks,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his loose-fitting workout pants. He pulled out a slim, black thumb drive and offered it to me on his palm. “This drive contains the video files from my interrogations of your mother.” He rested a hand on my shoulder, apparently unconcerned with the sweat-soaked state of my T-shirt. “I know what it is to have the driving force behind all of one’s actions stem from the loss of one’s mother. And moreover, I know what it is like to have vengeance become one’s central purpose.”

My eyes widened. Though a desire for revenge against the Kin had slowly overshadowed my self-loathing over the long weeks of training, I’d never admitted it to anyone.
“
So . . .
” I wiped my palms on my yoga pants. “What happened to your mom?”

“Apep happened.”
Dom must’ve read the disappointment on my face, because he added, “Perhaps one day I will tell you my story, but today is not that day. Just know that I understand your reasons for training so hard . . . and I approve.” His dark eyes bore into me. “I will continue to help you in any way I can. I only ask one thing of you—plan your vengeance all you like, but do nothing until I deem you ready.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Good.” His stare became more intense, if that was even possible. “The path of vengeance is dark and lonesome, and it often stretches on and on without end. At times, it will seem to you as though you walk this path alone, because none feel the loss of your mother as deeply as you do and none are driven onward by it as resolutely as you are. But you are not alone. I will be with you, if not by your side, then here”—he touched the tips of his first two fingers to my temple—“and here,” he finished, placing the palm of his other hand to the left of my sternum, directly over my heart. A moment later, he withdrew his hands.

Tears welled in my eyes. Not because I was sad or pissed or frustrated, but because he cared. My big brother cared about me, and the revelation made me almost giddy. “Thank—” I cleared my throat. “Thanks, Dom.” It was impossible for him not to notice the effect his words were having on me, and for once, I didn’t care one bit. “Really, I—just, thank you.”

I glanced at the bedroom door, double-checking that it was locked, then returned to staring at the thumb drive. I’d missed out on my mom’s final days because I’d been too stupid or stubborn or resentful—maybe all three. I doubted I would ever forgive myself for that, whatever Marcus said, but I felt like I owed it to my mom to do what little I could to make up for it.

I blew out my breath and, with shaking fingers, picked up the thumb drive and plugged it into the laptop. I raised the computer screen and turned it on. Within seconds, the desktop appeared, the wallpaper a photo of Lex and me standing in front of the pseudo-Gothic Suzzallo Library at the University of Washington. The icon for the thumb drive hovered directly over the bun atop my head in the photo.

I forced my hesitant finger to direct the mouse to the icon and double-click.

I’d expected a half dozen video files, maybe a little more. I scrolled the folder’s view bar downward. “Holy shit . . .” There were a
lot
more than a half dozen.

A quick skim through the file names revealed two types: some with just a date and time, and some with a parenthetical amendment that included my name and a time marker. I clicked on one of the latter at random. The video player opened, and my mom appeared on the screen, sitting at a small, square metal table in what appeared to be some sort of a jail cell. A moment later, Dom came into view and sat opposite her.

She was there, on the screen. Alive.

I held my breath, my finger hovering over the mouse pad.

My mom glanced at the camera, and it was like she was looking at me. Like she could see me. All of the guilt and shame I’d been working so hard on bottling up broke free, crashing over me.

I snapped the laptop shut. A horrific sob tore its way up my throat, and I buried my face in my hands.

Not thirty seconds later, someone knocked on my bedroom door. “Kat, dear?” It was Aset. “Are you alright?”

I groaned into my hands. If there was one thing I’d learned from living in a house with a bunch of Nejerets, it was that privacy was essentially nonexistent. At least the house’s other, human occupants—Lex’s parents and sister, Jenny—hadn’t heard my stupid, ugly sob.

I cleared my throat. “I’m fine!” I scanned the bedroom furniture like it would magically give me somewhere to hide. Hopefully for the rest of my life. “Just stubbed my toe on the dresser,” I lied.

“Alright, well . . .” In those two words, Aset made it abundantly clear that my ruse had failed. “Tarsi and I are heading down to do some bloodwork. A hand would be most welcome, if you’re not too busy. You know how much she loves drawing with you . . .”

I stared longingly at my laptop but knew I wouldn’t be attempting
that
again within the long earshot of Nejerets. Which meant I wouldn’t be watching the videos in this house, or even on the compound. But that led to the question—where to go? I didn’t want to watch the videos somewhere public. The possibility that tons of people might witness my weakness and misery firsthand was out of the question. Too many people had seen me break down already.

A park, maybe? Or I could just borrow one of Heru’s gazillion cars and pull into a parking lot—
any
parking lot.

I frowned and hunched my back. Neither sounded appealing.

The apartment my mom and I’d lived in over the shop for pretty much ever popped into my head, but a second later, I dismissed the idea of going there. Though the vivid image in my mind showed it exactly the same as we’d left it last spring, I knew our things had been moved out months ago—some moved here, into this bedroom, others put into storage elsewhere on the compound. The idea of being there when everything was
wrong
wasn’t remotely appealing.

I perked up, feeling a tiny, triumphant smile curve my lips. The apartment might’ve been eerily empty, but the shop wasn’t. It had been closed for months, but it was still there, just as my mom had left it. It was the perfect place to watch the videos in privacy.

“Kat?” Aset’s voice reminded me I’d been quiet for too long.

“Oh, um, sorry.” I scooted off the bed and slipped my bare feet into cozy, wool-lined boots. “Yeah, I’ll be right—” I caught a glimpse of my splotchy, tear-streaked face in the standing mirror by the wardrobe. “I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I said, amending my response.

“Lovely. I’ll let Tarsi know. I’m sure she’ll be excited.” Aset’s retreating footsteps moved down the hallway, then descended the stairs.

I shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the sink. A few splashes of cold water and a couple minutes usually did the trick. I should know—I was a pro at this, after all.

***

In the grand scheme of things, I don’t really matter. Not compared to everything going on with Lex and Marcus and ma’at and the fate of the universe. That fact was made abundantly clear when I drove one of Marcus’s many cars off the compound with nothing more than a nod from the Nejerette on duty at the gatehouse. I didn’t even have permission to borrow the Lexus. Not that I was breaking any rules, exactly. Probably. I just hadn’t asked.

Nobody cared, anyway. Whatever. I didn’t mind.

But also, I kind of did.

My pride probably would’ve been wounded, had I much left, but Dom had been doing a pretty admirable job of beating any excess pride out of me, figuratively speaking. For the most part.

I skipped several dozen songs on my iPod before giving up and driving the fifteen minutes to the ferry terminal in quiet, just the hum of the engine and the road sounds filling the silence until I parked. I used to love music. My mom had always hated my taste in music. Now I could barely stand my old favorites, either.

While I waited for the ferry to disembark, I stood bundled in my long, puffy down coat at the bow of the upper deck and stared down at the water, thinking it was exactly what Lex would be doing were she in my place. She adored ferry rides, using pretty much any and every excuse to take one. The faux fur lining the rim of my hood tickled my cheeks with each icy-cold gust of wind. I shivered.

Lex was probably lazing about the Tuscan countryside with Medieval Marcus right now, so I doubted she’d really be feeling like she was missing out on this particularly frigid ferry ride. She was supposedly in fourteenth-century Florence now, having just arrived, according to Aset. I smiled to myself, imagining pregnant Lex materializing right in front of Marcus, who in my mind was wearing some ridiculous getup that consisted of tights and one of those puffy-sleeved doublets. Remotely, I hoped she’d found a way to make her phone’s battery stretch. I desperately wanted to see pictures when she got back.

Splat.

I glanced down at the deck. About a foot to my right, a fresh, clumpy white blob of bird poop glistened in the crisp December sunlight. I looked up at the seagull swerving back and forth overhead, just beyond the bow. “Not cool, dude.”

And I swear that little feathered bastard’s beady eye locked on me right before he released a second slimy missile.

I took a step back just in time, the seagull crap landing where my right boot had been a second earlier. “Asshole.”

The bird cried out.

With one last glare, I turned and headed into the ferry’s warm interior, following the signs to food and drink. I needed something warm. Maybe not coffee. I was already antsy enough; I didn’t need to be jittery, too. Hot chocolate, then.

Which, as I found out a few moments later, turned out to be from a packet. But for the hot water and sugar, it was totally worth it. I sat in one of the empty booths near the stern, warm and cozy within the ferry’s cabin and hands curled around my Styrofoam cocoa cup. I stared out the window at the expanse of glittering gray-blue water.

It was easy to zone out during the thirty-five-minute ferry ride. The clear winter sky overhead was a crisp, icy blue; the late morning sun was shining, reflected by the ruffled surface of the Sound. In no time, I was in Seattle.

A half hour after leaving the ferry, I was hopping off the bus in Capitol Hill. I crossed the street to the east side of Broadway, where my mom’s long-closed shop,
The Goddess’s Blessing
, still occupied prime real estate between a novelty shop and a hipster cafe. Marcus owned the building, so it wasn’t like my mom and I ever had to worry about losing the shop or our apartment above. It was the biggest way my mom had let him help us out, and she’d made him accept a rent check every month.

I never understood why before, but I got it now. Pride and shame. I was starting to wonder if every human action and interaction could be boiled down to pride and shame.

My key slid into the lock easily. Part of me had expected the keyhole to be clogged or rusty from months of disuse, which seemed stupid in retrospect. I pulled the door open, holding my breath when the little copper bell overhead chimed, alerting nobody of my arrival. The sound sparked a string of bittersweet memories.

I stepped out of the sunlight and into the dark shop, breathing in the stale, dusty air. It was scented overwhelmingly by the rich, spicy, floral, and earthy aromas of the incense and essential oils that had pooled within the stagnant space. Eyes watering, I coughed into my sleeve and turned around to twist the lock on the glass door, then rested my forehead against the metal frame and closed my eyes. “Welcome home,” I murmured.

Air from months ago coated the inside of my lungs, a time capsule more real and evocative of the past than anything I’d ever viewed in the At. Of course, maybe it was less about the smell of the place and more that I’d pretty much grown up here.

I made my way past dusty display tables of the stones, figurines, and New Age–chic trinkets my mom had adored to the back of the shop, stomach twisted and achy. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I passed through the heavy beaded curtain of quartz, amethyst, and moonstone beads blocking off the doorway to the back room. This was—had been—my mom’s favorite place. She’d spent more time in here than in her own bedroom. Literally. There were nights she would send me upstairs but would remain down here, doing readings, researching, crafting.