Spark - ARC (27 page)

“Break,” she said.

He understood right away, and gave the helmet a couple heavy stomps. They took turns yanking at the visor, until the plas-glass was loose on one side. Hands shaking, she tried to slip the edge behind the metal grill of the vent.

“Let me,” Aran said. “Lie down.”

She didn’t argue, just concentrated on not coughing while he worked on loosening the grill edge.

A sharp whistle made her sit up. She glanced wildly around.

“What?” Was she having an auditory hallucination.

“Scoot back,” Aran said, taking her arm and pulling her away from the vent.

The grill flew off. A moment later, Niteesh stuck his head out

“Nit!”

“Sparky! And random guy. Into the vent, quick.” Niteesh held out his hand.

Spark took it and forced herself into the small space, grateful for Aran’s boost. She crawled up behind Niteesh, and he moved forward.

The metal was cool under her hands, and the air was several degrees fresher. Still, they couldn’t just stay there. The smoke would fill the vents soon enough.

“Aran?” she called, though it came out more like a croak.

“Here.” He tapped her ankle.

She started crawling, following the waving beam of Niteesh’s flashlight and trying not to imagine the metal walls closing in on her.

“Okay, slow down,” Niteesh said. “Tricky turn here. But we’re almost out.”

The vent got darker as he slid around the corner. Spark crawled forward on her elbows. She could feel perspiration, damp on her forehead. The vent made a left turn and she tried to fold herself into its sharp angle. She wiggled a few more painful inches, then twisted.
Dammit, she was not getting stuck in here
!

Her hips cleared the turn and she slithered through with a gasp. She had no idea how Aran was going to manage. Although he was lean, his shoulders were broad. She didn’t voice any doubt, though, just went forward to give him room to get through.

“Hey!” She squinted and turned her face away as Niteesh shone the flashlight directly in her face.

“Sorry.”

He tilted it up, then gave her a grin. He’d managed to pretzel his wiry little body around to face her.

“Nice rescue, huh?” he asked.

“Ask me again once we’re out. Aran, you all right back there?”

He grunted. The vent creaked with the sound of buckling metal, and he swore.

“Aran?” She hated not being able to see what he was doing.

“Yeah. Just… a sec.”

She laid her head down, the vent cold against her cheek. Sweet air filled her lungs.

“Nit—how’d you know to come find us?”

“The Terabins were acting sorely suspicious this morning, so I followed them. They were collecting stuff—a big trashcan from out back of the hotel. Armfuls of towels. When I saw the can of gas, I knew it was bad.”

“Why didn’t you tell Vonda?”

“I did—but not soon enough. The twins had already set the fire and locked you in. Firefighters hadn’t come yet, so I figured it was up to me to get you out.”

“Doesn’t the hotel have a door override?”

He scowled. “The Terribles jammed it. C’mon, Spark, you know how simple most of the tech is in these places. Easy to hack.”

Something about his words pinged her memory. She frowned, trying to chase it down, but the thought was gone.

“Thanks for coming to get us.”

“Oh, sure. Anyway, Vonda’s waiting at the end of this vent. If we can get there.” Niteesh pointed his flashlight back at Aran. “Coming?”

“Okay.” Aran sounded exhausted.

The metal screeched again, and he groaned in counterpoint. Then she heard him scramble up behind her, his breaths loud in the enclosed space.

“Go,” he said, something ragged in his tone.

Niteesh turned, nimble as a ferret, and led the way. Ahead of them, she could see a square of light, coming closer. Closer.

Niteesh slid out, and then Spark wriggled free, falling into the waiting hands of the med techs.

“One more,” Niteesh said. “Move back.”

A moment later Aran tumbled onto the beige carpet of the hall. Spark sucked in her breath when she saw the fresh blood coating his naked back, then she bent over, coughing. Her lungs felt like they’d been scraped with sandpaper.

The closest med tech whipped off Spark’s makeshift mask and stuck an oxygen supplier to her face.

“Easy there,” the med said. “Slow, even breaths. There you go.”

She wasn’t the type to faint, but the blurriness at the edges of her vision spread, until the whole scene looked like one of those old-fashioned paintings made of nothing but smears of color. Someplace warm and full of light, with plenty of air, and no blood. Sighing, she tipped forward into that dream.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

S
park rang the doorbell of the basic, middle-class house. Rain spattered the pavement and pattered softly on the porch roof. She glanced over her shoulder at the security guy behind her.

“Burt, I asked you to wait at the car.”

“Just doing my job,” he said, calm in the face of her irritation.

She turned her attention back to the door, willing someone to answer. A moment later it opened, and a sweet-faced woman blinked at her.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked. Clearly she didn’t recognize who Spark was.

“Mrs. Chowney?” When the woman nodded confirmation, Spark continued. “Is your son, Bix, at home?”

Mrs. Chowney’s eyes widened slightly. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“Not at all, ma’am,” Burt said. “He’s the lucky winner of an at-home visit from Spark Jaxley. Part of last month’s gaming convention package.”

“Oh!” She looked more closely at Spark. “You’re the girl who plays those sim games. Please, come in, sit down.”

Mrs. Chowney settled them in a beige living room with a surprisingly colorful carpet, then hurried off to fetch her son.

A minute later he hurried into the room, as gangly as Spark recalled from her glimpse of him at the VirtuMax party.

“No way!” He halted, staring at Spark. “I thought somebody was playing a joke on me. Are you really Spark Jaxley? Your hair’s a lot shorter.”

“It’s a new look.” She stood. “Sorry to bother you like this, but I’m trying to find someone. Your friend, Aran.”

Burt had his home address, but when he’d called, Aran’s family said he’d officially moved out two weeks earlier.

After their multiple ordeals, Spark had woken up in the hospital. Not alone—her mom and dad had been flown in, special delivery, but Aran had disappeared. No messager number, no note of farewell. Just out of her life like nothing had ever happened.

Except that too much had, and she refused to let him run away from any it. At least, not without saying goodbye to her in person.

She had more than one reason to track him down, too. Not the least of which was the fact she owed him her life. And vice versa.

Bix’s expression went wary and he slowly took a seat on one of the overstuffed chairs.

“What about Aran?”

Burt cleared his throat. “It’s nice of you to protect your friend, but we’re not here to cause trouble.”

“Burt, be quiet.” Spark frowned at him. His tough security-guy manner was far from reassuring. “Bix, I met Aran at SimCon, and I’d like to get back in touch.”

“Oh, damn.” Bix slapped himself on the forehead. “It really was you at that party. I’m such an idiot.”

“No worries. But… is he all right? Do you know where I can find him?”

Bix glanced at the doorway, then leaned forward. “He crashes in our old garage—but right now he’s working.”

“Working?” Burt’s voice was laced with disbelief.

“Yeah, he’s on night shift at the local Fry King. I think he’s done at five in the morning, or something tweaked like that. Before the sun comes up, anyway.”

Sunrise. Spark smiled.

“I know exactly where to find him,” she said. “Thank you, Bix.”

“No problem. Wait—before you go, could I get a picture with you?”

“Sure.”

She let Bix droop one of his long arms around her, and smiled on cue when he pulled out his messager and snapped a selfie of them. He looked at it and pumped his fist.

“Sweet! And, uh, come by again, anytime.”

“Thanks.”

At the doorstep, Burt shook his hand, and when they got to the curb she waved, trying not to laugh at the moony expression on Bix’s face. Another one down. Why was it the one guy she wanted to spend time with kept running away from her?

***

Aran scrambled down the path, letting the fresh sea wind blow the smell of fry grease off his clothes. At least his night-shift hours allowed him to come watch the sunrise most mornings, on his way back to the Chowneys’ garage. Spring was finally coming, the air losing its bite, the green edges of new leaves showing.

The sky was already getting lighter over the water, a line of white on the horizon preceding the sunrise. He never wanted to take the sun rising for granted ever again.

Beach stones shifting under his feet, he was halfway to his usual log when he halted. Someone else perched there, huddled in a thick coat and looking out at the ocean.

For a moment he thought about turning around, leaving the beach to whoever had claimed it first. The figure shifted, and he caught his breath at the familiar curve of her cheek. His pulse gave a huge thump, then settled into a faster rhythm.

For almost a month he’d tried to convince himself it was for the best that he never see Spark Jaxley again. Clearly his heart didn’t agree. He kept walking.

“Hi,” he said when he got to the bleached log.

He didn’t ask how she’d found his secret cove. The head of her security team was a pro.

Spark tilted her head and looked at him. “For a second there, I thought you were going to run away again.”

“Hey.” The truth of her words stung. “I had some things to do.”

After the med techs had treated his scraped back and his smoke inhalation, he’d talked them out of admitting him to the hospital. He’d waited around long enough to make sure Spark was okay, and then ridden Bix’s bike back to the city. The distance had seemed twice as far, every mile spooling out, cold and empty.

“You could have left a note,” she said. “Or your number.”

“Look.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, then leaned against the side of the log. “I don’t belong in your world.”

He still had no idea what world he actually fit in.

Knowing where he didn’t was a start, though. And accepting that his family would never knit back together, that his old life was gone forever. Things would never revert to normal in that house. Setch would always be the firstborn, the golden boy, perfect in his parent’s eyes no matter how many dirty deals he did. Aran hanging on, hoping things would change, only prolonged the pain. For everyone.

He’d given up hacking, too. It felt right, but the grind of regular work was gruesome—especially the kind of job he could get with no references and a minimal background check. It was either midnight fast-food peon, or, even worse, waste disposal worker.

Spark looked at him a long moment. The breeze riffled the ends of her hair, which had been trimmed into an even line below her ears. It looked cute.

“Did you really think you could just walk away?” she asked. “After what we went through together?”

“I thought…” The words dried in his throat, and he swallowed. “It was the best thing, for everybody.”

A weak part of him had wanted to stay, to whine and beg around Spark like a stray dog hoping for scraps. But he had too much pride for that, so he’d left. Better to try and make something out of the cloth of his own life, no matter how ragged.

“You thought wrong,” she said. “You entered the realm, and battled the Dark Queen. That changes you. Don’t deny it.”

He dropped his gaze to the tide-slick stones at the water’s edge. She was right. Strange things moved through his dreams, fears and visions he couldn’t share with anyone. Unless they’d experienced the same thing.

“The queen said something, during that battle,” Spark said. “It took me a few days to figure it out. You’re BlackWing, the hacker.”

“Not anymore.” He hunched his shoulders, waiting for her scorn.

Instead she scooted over and put a hand on his arm.

“Nobody else could have done that—cracked the wall between the realms, then shut it again.”

“I was stupid. Do you hate me for it?”

“Well, I don’t admire some of your choices. But you fixed everything in the end—and you know your way around sim code.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you, from Vonda.”

“Your manager?” He took it and turned it back and forth in his hands.

“Open it.”

He glanced over at her. Her eyes were lit with suppressed emotion.

“Do you know what it says?” he asked.

“I have an idea—but believe me, I had nothing to do with this. Other than telling Vonda you were BlackWing.”

Aran pulled in a breath, tangy with salt, and opened the envelope. Inside was a letter typed on official VirtuMax letterhead. Sometimes going old school with real paper was far more impressive than a digital message. More weighty and real.

He scanned the words, then backed up and read the whole thing slowly. Heart pumping with crazy hope, he looked at her.