Earthbound e-1 Page 24

  My throat is constricting now as the obvious question slams into me like a boulder. “I did it? I kept myself alive?” I whisper, and I can see in Elizabeth’s eyes that she knows what’s coming next. I blink, but that only makes the tears spill onto my cheeks—searing spots on my skin. “Then why couldn’t I save them too?”

  “I don’t think your unconscious instincts could do anything beyond self-preservation,” Mark says, empathy—real or not—heavy in his tone. “You can’t feel guilty about that, Tavia.”

  But I do.

  If I—even without consciously understanding my powers—could rescue myself, then I could have rescued them.

  And I didn’t.

  Benson wraps his arm around my waist and I cling to him, forcing myself to fill my lungs several times even though it feels like knives are stabbing my chest.

  The truth should be simple. And this is not simple. This is a fairy tale. And not the Prince-Charming-kissed-the-princess kind of fairy tale; the kind where the wolf eats the grandmother, the mermaid turns into sea foam, and the dancer gets her feet cut off.

  “How did you guys even know who I was?” I choke out.

  “Oh, Tave, so much research,” Sammi says, and she looks tired at the thought. “Generations of research. My family have been Curatoriates for more than ten generations; membership in both brotherhoods is often a family affair.”

  “Like the mob,” Benson says dryly, speaking for the first time.

  Sammi shoots him an annoyed look but continues as though he hadn’t spoken. “Since I was sixteen and trained under my father, I’ve spent my life searching for the Earthbound. We have a lot of methods, none of them simple or foolproof. Honestly, if you didn’t look the same from lifetime to lifetime, I think we’d be hopelessly lost.”

  I remember the vision of Rebecca. Longer hair, but otherwise identical.

  “I—I have a bit of a connection with you, actually,” Sammi says.

  “What kind of connection?” I ask, and I can’t keep the suspicion out of my voice.

  She reaches into the large bag at her hip and I step back and throw my arms out in front of Benson, but Sammi’s hand emerges clutching a file folder with the symbol of the feather and the flame. She walks toward me, raising the folder like a white flag.

  It feels strange, exchanging folders of documents in the forest, with brown leaves crunching under our feet, but what about this whole experience hasn’t been strange? I take the folder warily and try to keep my eyes on Sammi even as I open the cover.

  It’s odd to see my face stare out from a picture I don’t remember being in. It has that sepia tinge that old photos take on, and I see myself in a wide-necked sweater and high-waisted jeans, lying on my stomach, reading a book. “When is this?” I ask, studying all the little facial details I’ve become so intimately acquainted with over the years.

  It’s strange how foreign they look now.

  “Eighteen years ago,” Sammi says, and I remember her cryptic statement a few minutes ago.

  I wrinkle my brow. “I died young.”

  “You did.”

  My finger reaches out to touch another face in the picture—the sharp chin of teenage Samantha. Shorter hair, a little thinner, but definitely her. “That’s you.”

  “Yes, that’s me as a teenager, and that’s you as Sonya. And despite everything,” she adds with a laugh, “you are so much easier to live with this time around.”

  “‘Belligerent,’” I recite from the next page in the file, but there’s no humor in my voice. I’m not ready to think of any of this as amusing.

  “That basically sums it up. You didn’t trust us, even after we were able to give you your memories back. And you wouldn’t tell us anything.”

  I reach the bottom of the file, and everything inside me clenches up in denial. “It says here that I killed myself. If you Curatoria people are so helpful and trustworthy, why did I do that?”

  Sammi is quiet for long time, twisting her wedding ring around and around. When she speaks, her voice is low and serious. “The bond between partners is so strong, it often becomes an Earthbound’s motivation for living. Right before we found you, we found your partner. His name was Darius then. But we weren’t the only ones who found him. Unfortunately, he left too much of a trail and the Reduciata located him … and …” She spreads her hands out in front of her. “You have to understand, Tavia. For an Earthbound, death isn’t the same as for the rest of us. It’s not the end; it’s more like a reset button. It wasn’t that you stopped wanting to live but that you wanted to be on the same timeline as Darius. Quinn. Whatever you want to call him. You didn’t want to be twenty-three years older than him when you found his new incarnation. You wanted to be at the same stage so the two of you might have a chance of a long life together.”

  “So I killed myself?” I ask. The cold logic of the act doesn’t make it any less gruesome.

  “It was hard on me too,” Sammi admitted. “Even though I understood what it meant. Since then I’ve dedicated much of my service as a Curatoriate to finding you and Darius and getting you together again. To right that wrong. It’s been my life’s work. So when I recognized your painting style last year from a few pieces we have by Rebecca, I was finally able to complete the first step in my mission.”

  “Well, you can stop now. I don’t want to be with him.” I take Benson’s hand again, twine my fingers through his, and smile. “I want to be with Benson. We don’t need you and we certainly don’t need this guy—Darius, Quinn, whoever. We only need each other.”

  Benson smiles back, but he looks nervous—edgy. His hand grips mine like he’s afraid I’ll bolt at any moment.

  “Don’t you even want to see him?” Sammi asks.

  “See who?”

  “Your partner, Quinn Avery. Who he is today?” She holds out another file.

  I try not to be affected. I have a boy who loves me; I certainly don’t need another one. But Sammi continues to hold it out, and finally I give up my show of nonchalance and grab it and read the label.

  “‘Logan Sikes,’” I read.

  I hold the file, count to three, open it.

  And there he is.

  An eight-by-ten of a guy—a teenager, just like me. Somewhere in the back of my head a new voice I vaguely recognize as Sonya cheers. It worked! And even as I push her away, I realize she’s right. We’re the same age. We could be together—have an entire lifetime.

  Except.

  I don’t want him.

  Not me.

  They do. They want him so badly I’m not sure my brain can handle the split decision without tearing apart.

  Stalling, I reach my fingertips out to touch Quinn’s familiar face, made modern in this Logan guy. His hair is shorter, tousled and hanging almost to his green eyes instead of tied with a ribbon. Jeans and a T-shirt look so odd on him, and yet he seems very at home, glancing just over his shoulder.

  I can deny my heart, cling to Benson, ignore Elizabeth’s warning, shut out Rebecca and Sonya’s voices.

  But I can’t escape those eyes.

  I know those eyes. I’ve loved those eyes. Looked into them while they loved me. Hundreds of times. Thousands. My breath feels sharp as I stare into his eyes and am hypnotized.

  Desperately, I push my gaze to the date at the bottom of the picture. “This was taken yesterday?” I gasp, and Sammi nods, mistaking my dismay for delight.

  “As he was walking to school. I saw him myself. In the flesh, not this vision of Quinn Avery that you’ve been seeing the last week. He’s real. It’s the reason I had to go to Phoenix so abruptly. That’s where he is.”

  Phoenix. I almost went there. Meeting up with ghost Quinn nearly ripped apart my heart and soul; what would seeing the real Logan have done to me?

  Sammi leans forward. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before that I thought I’d found him—I see now that I should have—but … Tavia, it almost destroyed me when you killed yourself while under my care. I was there when my father
told you Darius was dead. You—you can’t even imagine the devastation I saw in your eyes. Maybe you can,” she said wryly. “Surely you remember that part.”

  I hesitate. “I don’t, actually. I don’t remember a lot of things. Mostly just my life as Rebecca, but even that’s vague. I … I sense,” I decide on, not really sure how to better describe it, “that this isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen. That this whole remembering thing should be easier.” I let the unasked question hang in the air.

  “You don’t remember anything about Sonya? At all?” Sammi asks.

  “Just a … familiarity,” I admit. “A trickle of a voice in my head.”

  “Do you remember—” But she cuts off. “Now’s not the time; we can discuss Sonya later. Liz did a ton of research after the plane crash, and she theorized that the damage your brain suffered would make things more difficult. The same way it was so hard for you to start drawing again.”

  “It’s why we were worrying about damaging you further,” Elizabeth tacks on.

  “Will it always hurt?” I ask in a weak voice, my whole body on edge at even the thought of the pain the necklace had invoked.

  Sammi’s chin shoots up. “It—”

  “The brains of Earthbounds don’t function quite the same as ours—not even the same as those of us who have Earthbound as kin,” Elizabeth interrupts. “It’s the reason you see things the rest of us can’t.” She pauses. “Like the glowing triangles.”

  My eyes widen and I try to ask about that, but Elizabeth cuts me off.

  “As far as we can tell, the synaptic pathways both connect and fire differently. What we aren’t certain of is how the damage to your brain will affect that. But no, it shouldn’t hurt.” She hesitates, understanding how bad it must have been even though I didn’t say so. “I don’t know if it will continue to be a painful process or not, but now that you’ve had your initial memory pull from one of your creations, the worst should be over. From here on out it will hopefully just be a matter of sifting through the memories from the change you’ve already invoked.”

  “I had hoped to find a way to bring Logan back with me and pull his memories while you were together.” Sammi’s voice is soft and even, but I’ve lived with her long enough to hear the current of frustration. “But your running away kind of put a wrench in that.”

  “If you’re waiting for me to apologize, it’s going to be a long night,” I say, leaning closer to Benson with my arms folded over the files, holding them against me.

  I’m not giving them back.

  “I’m not waiting for anything. We know where Logan is; we’ll take you to him tonight.” She looks up and meets my eyes. “By force, if necessary.”

  “What do you mean by force?” I snap. “I think you’re being a little melodramatic.”

  Sammi looks at Mark and they have a silent conversation with their eyes. I rest one hand on my hip to wait for them to finish deciding if they are going to continue lying to me. But Mark gives a tiny nod and Sammi turns back to me with genuinely haunted eyes.

  “Mark has the virus.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “The virus? The one from the news?” I ask, and reach for Benson’s hand. I grip his fingers so tightly I know I must be hurting him, but he doesn’t complain.

  “I estimate he’s got twelve to eighteen hours,” Sammi chokes out.

  I look over at Mark, understanding his limp skin, deep under-eye circles—even the signs of fatigue I was seeing before I ran away; he’s dying.

  And then, as I’m about to look away, he flickers. I draw in a loud breath.

  I get it now. I see it when others don’t because I’m an Earthbound. The reporter on TV—probably dead or dying. The woman who gave me the Band-Aid, almost certainly gone. What about the man by the candy shop? If flickering is the virus, what is disappearing entirely? I shake the thought away; there’s no time. “What does that have to do with me?” I ask shakily.

  “Something changed when you survived that plane wreck, Tave. At that point, they wanted to kill you—wanted it desperately. Now? They want to take you.”

  “Could have fooled me,” I grumble, thinking of Sunglasses Guy shooting at me, the car that almost hit me, the charred BMW at the hotel.

  “Trust me,” Sammi says, “if the Reduciata really wanted you dead, that car in Bath wouldn’t have missed. They’re not amateurs: it wasn’t a failed assassination attempt, it was a message—a warning. I only wish I know who it was for. They want you to remember, and then they’ll try to take you. And our sources say it’s because you know something about the virus.”

  “But I don’t!” I protest.

  “Tavia, Mark’s only chance of survival is getting you back with Quinn—Logan—connecting you two, and getting you to resurge. Hopefully in that process you’ll remember what the Reduciata need you for.”

  “But I can’t … I don’t—”

  “Tavia, I’m offering you a chance to be with Logan. At eighteen,” she adds, and I hear a frantic edge in her voice. “To have a whole lifetime together. It’s what you’ve always wanted; why are you fighting me?” she asks, her patience starting to loosen at the seams—completely unaware that not fifteen minutes ago I pledged my life to Benson instead.

  I’m keeping that promise.

  Somehow.

  Sammi takes a deep breath and runs her fingers through her short hair, getting a better grip on her control. “I have a private jet waiting for us; you can sleep on the way and we’ll get some better food into you.”

  “No.” My voice seems to boom around the clearing, and I swear I hear people shuffle around in the trees behind me.

  Sammi freezes. “What do you mean, no? You have to do this. And we’re running out of time! Not just for Mark, but for everyone. Sixty-four people died of the virus today, and that number is only going to go up.” She flings her hand out, pointing at nothing, at the world, at everyone else. “I don’t know exactly what the Reduciata want with you, but it must have something to do with the virus; otherwise they would just kill you. You don’t understand—they have plans, something is brewing, and in the last few years their methods have changed. They’re getting ready to—”

  “I don’t care!” I scream, finally stopping the words falling from her mouth. “Whatever they’re planning is just a moment amid thousands of years of history of blood and schemes and I want out!” I turn to Mark. “I am truly sorry, Mark, but I. Can’t. Help. You. I know nothing about this virus.” I turn back to Sammi and Elizabeth. “I don’t want anything to do with the Curatoria or the Reduciata and if you’re as interested in aiding me as you say, then you’ll respect that.” My legs are quaking, but I force myself to stay calm—to appear in control.

  “Think about it, Tavia,” Sammi says, carefully avoiding looking at Benson as she changes her tactic. “This is your chance to be a true goddess and save the human race. After your curse, don’t you think this is the ultimate redemption? And on top of that, it’s your opportunity to have a whole lifetime with your partner. You’re going to give it up to spend a couple of years with a guy you just met?”

  “No offense,” Mark says in a wry mutter.

  “Mincing words isn’t going to help anyone,” Sammi retorts without looking away from me. “Do you think you can fight the thousands of years of longing and love that you’re going to remember more of every day? And why would you want to when you can be with him and do something to stop the Reduciata?”

  “You can’t make me fall in love with someone just because it’s ‘supposed to’ happen,” I argue, and my stomach feels hollow as I try to push away the guilt. But I can’t be the heroine they think I am! I don’t know anything about this virus!

  “No,” Sammi says softly. “I can’t.” Then she points at my head. “But they can. The hundreds of women inside you, the hundreds of women who love him. And they’ll grow stronger and louder until you resent the day you didn’t run into Logan’s arms when you had the chance. That’s simply the reality of i
t. Do you think you’re the first Earthbound who had a life before their memories awakened? The people I’ve seen, the journals I’ve read—you can’t fight this, Tave. And by the time you realize that, you’ll be dead, the majority of the human race will be gone, and it will be too late. Think very carefully about that.”

  I stare at her, defiant, and she stares right back, her eyes razors of anger and fear.

  She’s not lying—at least, she’s saying what she believes to be the truth.

  But truth, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

  “Tavia.” Benson’s voice is small and weak, but it vibrates to the center of my chest. “Maybe she’s right.”

  “No, Benson, she’s not!” I turn to him and he catches my face in his hands, cradling my cheeks, his face inches from mine.

  “I will stay as long as you want me to,” he says in a whisper meant only for me. “But this virus, it’s going to devastate the world. And if you’re the key to stopping it—you need to take that chance. If she’s right, someday you’ll regret making this choice. I know what that feels like and … I don’t know if I could handle it.”

  “I don’t think she is right,” I argue. “I know nothing! And I don’t think Rebecca knows anything either.”

  “Is it worth the risk?”

  “Yes,” I insist, and I don’t bother whispering—don’t care if they hear. “Benson, every person I have ever loved in my life has been ripped away from me either by death or deception,” I say, flinging my hand out at the people I had come to love as Reese and Jay. “The chance to choose my own heart’s desire and be with the person I want is worth it.” This is my truth; he is my truth.

  Sammi blinks, for once unruffled. “Tavia, I didn’t want to bring this out too, but you have to reunite with your partner,” she says flatly. “Or you’re both going to die. Forever.”