Traveller (22 page)

She wore the standard gypsy gear of a micro mini and a tank shirt. I’d gotten used to seeing a lot of skin at the compound, but wasn’t sure the outside world was ready for it.

“You might want to bring a cardigan. It’s a little chilly today.”

Margaret flashed me a brilliant smile, and ran back to get a sweater. I grabbed my backpack from my grandparents’ caravan. They were still at their meeting. I checked the inside pocket just to be sure Michael spoke the truth. My passport was definitely gone.

As we walked through The Shambles, Margaret took everything in, her eyes aglow with excitement. When she begged to duck into a little shop, Patrick and I waited outside.

He folded his brawny arms across his chest, and squinted up at the sun trying to fight its way through the clouds. He looked so much like Michael, and yet they were very different. Michael hid his pain and controlled his emotions. Patrick wore his hurt, and his heart, on his sleeve. But both of them used tattoos to record what they’d lost. Michael had a tattoo for each friend who’d died, and even for the monsters he’d killed. On Patrick’s right bicep was a Celtic cross with his mother’s name and the words
Ar Dhies De’ go Rabh a Hamen.

“What does that mean?”

Patrick looked down at his bicep. “May she sit at God’s right. I got it when I turned eighteen, and finally gave up on ever seeing her again. I guess a dozen years is the limit to keeping false hope alive.”

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

Patrick gave me the typical Nightingale shrug. “Thank you for being kind to Margaret. She’s been going through a rough patch. She seems to be getting better, and you’re helping.”

“I think you’re helping, too.”

Patrick nodded. “We’ve had…problems. I didn’t handle things well I’m afraid, and I’m sorry for that.”

Patrick stood almost as tall as Michael, but with a bulkier build. If Michael looked like a lean panther, Patrick was a bull. He had the same shaved head as his brother, and his eyes were blue, too, but he had lines of worry on his face Michael didn’t possess yet.

“I need to explain something about my little brother.” I gave him a wary glance. He pulled on his leather jacket and tucked his hands into the pockets, his eyes scanning the street. “He takes his job very seriously. I wish I could help him, shoulder some of the burden for him, but he is the Ceannfort. I am not.”

“I understand he has quite a bit on his plate right now…”

“You don’t understand half of it.” He shook his head. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but do you know what that meeting was about this morning? Mavin wants to stop you from going to university, from leaving the compound at all.”

“Can she do that?” My throat was tight, and I felt a little sick. They didn’t even know about my missing journal.

Patrick rubbed a hand over his head, a gesture so reminiscent of Michael it pulled at my heart. “She has a valid argument. You were attacked. It’s put all of us on high alert.”

“But Leo is just a Dweller.”

“Dweller or not, it falls into Michael’s lap. They’ve finally succeeded in making him stop going to university, and now they’re going after you. Do you have any idea what university meant to him?”

“He deserves to go. They shouldn’t be able to stop him.”

Patrick gave me a hard look. “They didn’t stop him. You did. The minute that Moktar started tracking you, the decision was made for him.”

I felt like I’d just been sucker punched in the gut. “That isn’t fair.”

Patrick turned to me, his expression grim. “Life isn’t fair, but we make the most of it. We don’t have a choice. Don’t be so hard on my brother, lass. I know you care for him. Just try to understand. It’ll make things easier for him.”

“I will.”

Margaret bounded out of the shop with a huge grin on her face. Her excitement was contagious as she ran on ahead of us, peeking in shop windows. Others noticed, too, but not in a good way. Men ogled her, and women glared at her, but she seemed oblivious. Patrick observed the furious expression on my face and chuckled.

“You get used to it, Emerson. There’s something about us that sets Dwellers on edge, something deep inside us they recognize as a threat.”

“But you work to protect them.”

“We work to protect ourselves. The safety of the Dwellers is just a byproduct.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That’s cold.”

“The truth usually is.”

Patrick and Margaret left me at the library, after I assured them I was safe. They needed some time alone, and so did I. I set to work on my paper, but my thoughts kept going back to Patrick’s words. I was the reason Michael had to quit school, and I needed to find a way to help him. I was ruining his life.

Suddenly, it became clear what I had to do. Stepping into a quiet alcove of the library, I called the U.S. Consulate in York, explaining I’d lost my passport, and needed to visit my grandfather in the hospital. It was easier than I expected because I had my drivers’ license with me. They said they could have a temporary passport for me by tomorrow.

I hung up, and called my father. He answered on the first ring.

“Daddy, I need an airplane ticket. I’m coming home.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Don’t go off with your pistol half-cocked.

~Grandma Sugar

After I made my decision, it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I’d leave quickly, and the Moktar would not be able to track me during the day. A risk, but one I had to take. I would not be a prisoner here.

I felt a little pang at the thought of Michael and my grandparents, but I had little choice, and it would be better for Michael in the long run. With me out of the picture, he could go back to school, and I wouldn’t feel so guilty anymore.

Thoughts of my mom made a shiver pass over my heart. She’d operated under the assumption Kentucky was safe when she ran away. I knew the truth, but felt better prepared. I’d fight the Moktar if they found me and would not die like my mama. I refused.

Lucinda and Poppy’s calls went straight to their voice mail accounts. I left the same message for both of them, telling them I had to go home for a few days and asking them not to say anything to Michael because goodbyes were so hard. That much was the truth, and I was satisfied they’d buy it.

I thought about going to the consulate immediately, but Patrick and Margaret waited for me outside. Gathering together the materials needed for my paper, I set off, knowing I’d have to bide my time and leave early in morning while the Travellers slept.

That afternoon a strange calm descended on me. I finished my paper in record time, emailed to my professor, and had a nice dinner with my grandparents. Michael tried to talk to me, but I brushed him off without saying a word. He thought I was still mad at him, which was true, but I also didn’t want him around in case he said or did something to make me change my mind.

That night, when the men went out to hunt, the ladies had their last lesson. I desperately tried to think of everything possible to help them. Judging by what they told me, the only person grabbed by a Moktar who’d lived to tell the tale was yours truly. I wanted to teach them what I knew, and they were grateful. They were also fast learners. The progress they’d made in only a few short days was impressive.

After the lesson finished, I pulled out my copy of
The Art of War
and read key points to them. The most important thing I emphasized was in chapter three, “The Plan of Attack.”

Looking each of them in the eye, I spoke softly, but they hung on every word. “It doesn’t matter if the Moktar are bigger than you, or stronger or faster. Sun Tzu said from unity comes strength, and you have to stick together. Even if I’m not with you, you have the skills you need. If you work together, you’ll survive together.”

I excused myself, knowing full well staying any longer would mean blubbering like a baby, which didn’t often happen when one read
The Art of War
. Sun Tzu would have punished me for my weakness, and he would have been right. My feelings weren’t important here. The survival of my friends was all that mattered.

When I got back to my grandparents’ caravan, a rather snarky little message from Brooke showed up on my phone. She planned on going out with Leo the next day, and was under the impression I wanted him for myself. The thought made me ill. I tried to explain to her via text exactly what had happened, but she wouldn’t respond. She wouldn’t take my calls either. Our animosity had gone on so much longer than our attempts at friendship. She thought she couldn’t trust me.

I set down my phone, deciding this was a Dweller versus Dweller issue, even if Leo seemed unstable and dangerous. I’d done my best to warn her, and there was nothing else to do. I decided to tell myself that over and over again, until I actually believed it. Or at least until the sick and uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach disappeared.

The night seemed never ending. I barely slept. When the guys came home from the hunt, I listened to the sounds of their hushed voices and soft footsteps, and then waited a few more hours. When the sky just began to lighten, it was time to go. Packing everything I needed into my backpack proved challenging, but it would be impractical to haul a suitcase around and might slow me down. I kept the silver dove necklace around my neck and Michael’s ring on my finger, but left my beautiful white dress because I didn’t want to crush the delicate fabric by shoving it into my backpack. The book Michael had given me was safely tucked inside, though. I needed little
Self Reliance
at the moment.

I wrote a long note to my grandparents, and cried the entire time. I put it on my pillow, wanting them to find it, but not too soon. Hopefully, they’d think I’d slept in, and wouldn’t see it until late afternoon.

I’d written a long note to Michael, too, trying not to sound angry or bitter. He needed to understand I loved him, but he’d left me no choice. I wouldn’t live as a prisoner, or as someone’s possession. It was hard to write, and would be even harder to read. I decided to leave it in his caravan. If not, someone else might discover it first, and I didn’t want that to happen.

Walking through the compound, it was completely silent and still. I smelled the smoke from the dying campfires and the dew on the grass made my tennis shoes wet. Michael’s caravan was dark, his door unlocked, when I slipped inside. He had to be fast asleep by now.

At first, I couldn’t see in the dim light of the caravan, but soon my eyes adjusted. Michael had been studying. His chemistry books lay on the table, and an open notebook on his desk was filled with chemical equations jotted down in his neat and precise handwriting. Seeing that just about broke my heart in two, and strengthened my resolve. He still studied, even after he’d dropped out of school, simply because he loved it so much. I was doing him a favor by getting out of his life.

Pulling out my copy of
The Art of War
from my backpack, with its wrinkled cover and notes in the margins of just about every single page, a wave of sadness came over me. This book had gotten me through some tough times, but Michael needed it more than me. He was the leader of a real army with an actual war to wage. Soon I’d be nothing more than an ordinary college student, with a former beauty title and a completely broken heart.

As I placed it next to my note on his kitchen table, I noticed a box I hadn’t seen before. It looked like the sort of box a person might put important documents and other things in, like warranty information and stolen passports. Definitely worth a look, even if it meant riffling through Michael’s personal belongings. Since no noise came from his bedroom, I gathered my courage and decided to be a little nosey.

My heart skipped a beat as I slowly opened it, surprised to find the box filled with photos. I sank to the couch, using my phone as a light. Photo after photo showed Michael as a young boy. There were shots of Michael with his brothers, and old and faded ones of his mother and father. But sitting on the very top, carefully tied up with a cream colored satin ribbon, was a pile that looked newer than the rest.

It took me a second to recognize the ribbon as the one used to tie back my hair the first time I’d worked up the courage to speak to Michael. It had blown away in the alley, and, evidently, Michael had found it and kept it. A little mud stained, it had been carefully cleaned and pressed, and now held together a stack of photos. They were all of me, and looking at them shook me to my core.

Michael must have been taking pictures of me long before we’d ever spoken. Some photos depicted me eating lunch with Poppy and Lucinda and laughing. Others showed me engrossed in a book, sitting in the teashop, and walking through The Shambles. And there was one of us dancing at my birthday party. We were staring into each other’s eyes and smiling. I thought about taking that one home to Kentucky with me, even if it would be stealing.

I was about to shove it into my backpack when a light turned on. I blinked, startled. Michael stood in the doorway to his bedroom wearing nothing but a towel, his skin damp from the shower. My breath hitched at the sight of his body, all sinewy strength, sculpted abs, and rippling muscles. Glorious. The tattoos dancing on his skin only enhanced his beauty, as did the silver piercings. He was a god, a furious god at that. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorjamb.

“Going somewhere?” His eyes took in my coat and the backpack by my feet. He acted way too calm. He saw the letter and book I’d left on his kitchen table and sauntered over. “May I?”

He flipped through the book, noticing all the highlighting and notes scribbled in the margins. He raised a dark eyebrow. “An interesting choice. A little light reading, perhaps?”

He didn’t wait for my answer. He reached for the envelope and ripped it open. His eyes scanned the page, and he grew angrier with every word. The color rushed into his cheeks and a muscle began working in his jaw. When he finished, his eyes blazed blue, full of fury.

“You’re doing this for
me
?”

He walked toward me like a panther moving in for the kill. A predator, and I was an easy lunch, but I couldn’t even move. I just watched and waited.