The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) Page 19

  “I don’t mind. I was just remembering when I first handled one.” He laughs through his nose. “I nearly shot myself.”

  “What happened?” I ask too quickly. I want to know about his past so badly, but even now I’m not sure if Siah would be okay with that. He must know I’m desperate to know because his smile warms.

  “If you want to know something about me, you can just ask. I think we’re past keeping secrets.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No.” His thumb moves over my arm and only now do I realise he hasn’t dropped his hand from my elbow. His touch is unthinking, familiar. Too familiar for the short time I’ve been letting him closer, which makes me wonder: how long has he been holding back? Is this how he is with friends when they’re not distant like me—tactile and affectionate? “No,” he repeats.

  I frown up at him. “No, what?”

  “I kept secrets from you because it was safer in Forgotten London. I didn’t want my past coming after me, and for you to be harmed because of it. But nobody can come after me now. Even if they do, they can’t hurt me as badly. It’s different now.” He gives me a long look, fondness and something that’s too quick for me to catch it. “I’m not hiding from you anymore, Miya. Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

  “How did you get your limp?”

  Siah’s laugh is sharp and loud. “That’s the first thing you ask?”

  “I want to know. I’ve always wanted to know.”

  He takes his hand from my elbow to touch my jaw, a barely there brush of fingertips. “I was shot by a civilian with a revenge agenda against Officials. He broke into the medic tent and shot me before any soldiers could stop him. Took out two others and my patient too. I was lucky.”

  A dark mood rolls through me. “What happened to not hiding from me?”

  “What?” He steps back, a flash of shock in his eyes, his mouth open. “I don’t know—”

  “Bullshit.” I roll onto my tiptoes to get right in his face. I keep my voice down, conscious of the people around us. “You’re lying to me, Yosiah. I know you, and don’t ever forget it, because I can see through every lie you tell.”

  He draws a ragged breath, covers his eyes with a scarred hand. “Can I think of how to tell you? It’s not something I can say in a room like this. And I don’t know how to explain. But I’ll figure it out.” He lowers his hand, meets my eyes. “I promise. I just … I need time.”

  I can’t refuse the raw plea in his voice, the nervous twitch in his hand. He notices it the moment I do and makes a fist. I cover his hand with my own, giving him time to pull out of my reach. He doesn’t. “Okay,” I say. “But you have to tell me. At some point.”

  He nods—a promise.

  I take my hand away and look at the ceiling, the wooden beams and dirty windows, as I think. My fingers feel warm, itchy. I’m aware of every place they touched Siah’s knuckles, the scratches and gouges and old cuts that clutter the back of his hand. I can let Siah have this secret because I’m harbouring one of my own. I can be fair.

  I can at least try to be.

  I sigh, lowering my gaze. “Then tell me about your sister. I know your mum and dad kicked you out but I don’t know anything about Kari.”

  The instructor calls us to attention then, done with whatever she was wasting time with. Siah doesn’t have chance to answer me, since we have to pay attention to the firearm demonstration. This time I actually watch, since I know fuck all about shooting people or—as it turns out—actually handling a gun.

  Anna waves us over after the tutorial and tells us each to pick up a gun—“Exactly as I showed you!”—and just hold it, promising none of them are loaded or harmful.

  Naturally, I go for the biggest. Yosiah snickers behind me, his breath blowing sweaty strands of hair from the back of my neck. I turn to give him a dark glare—which has no affect. I’ve lost the ability to intimidate Siah, if I even had it in the first place. Something tells me he’s been humouring me for the past two years.

  I want to know when he stopped.

  At some point Yosiah dropped all his walls around me, and I never even noticed. It must have been just after the Fall of Forgotten London. I was too overwhelmed by having my brother and sister back, by losing my home and my mother, to notice anything.

  Have I let my guard drop, too? I hope not. God knows what he’d be able to read in me if he was paying attention. I flick my eyes up to him, tightening my hold on the black gun reflexively when I see that he’s paying attention now. Did he see everything I just thought? Are all my feelings written in permanent marker across my face? I swallow against a sudden tightness in my throat.

  “What?” Yosiah closes the small distance between us, his head lowered and voice urgent. “What is it, Miya?”

  I wipe every expression off my face. “It’s nothing.”

  “No, it’s something. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”

  “Siah, chill.” I step around him. “I just thought of something that … reminded me of my mum. It’s gone now.”

  The tension leaves him but he’s still alert, his eyes watchful. He starts at the sound of another idiot kid slamming into the wall, flipping around like he’s ready to attack.

  I force light into my tone. “Seriously, it’s nothing. We’re okay here, remember? You said that no one can get us.”

  “That’s one group of people. There are other dangers here.”

  I’m out of calming things to say. I grab the last gun from the table and give it to him. “Aren’t you meant to be showing me how much better you are at everything?”

  He weighs the gun in his hand, a small glossy thing not much bigger than his hand, and seems satisfied. “Come on, then,” he sighs. “I’ll show you how to hold that thing properly.”

  He strides over to a space against the left wall, well out of the way of the squealing kids. My attention drifts over them until I find Olive and Thomas bickering about something or other.

  “What’s wrong with how I’m holding it?” I lean against the wall, gun hefted on my shoulder. Everyone around us is demonstrating their best handle on their guns, Anna wandering around to check they’re doing it right.

  “You need to use both hands. And not put it on your shoulder.” He slips his own gun into the waistband of his jeans, jamming it against his hip bone like he’s done it a hundred times and it’s become second nature. I snap my eyes forcefully away from the line of bare skin. Why does this keep happening? And why more today than normal?

  I gnash my teeth.

  It doesn’t help when he comes to stand behind me, adjusting my hands so I’m holding the gun the right way. There’s heat coming off him, so warm he must be boiling up, but his cheeks aren’t flushed.

  Anna inspects my grip on the gun and nods, approving Siah’s position as well when he takes the thing out of his pants. She hesitates, clearly wanting to say something, but thinks better of it. I know what she saw—he’s obviously used to having a gun in his hand. I’m glad she didn’t ask. Siah might be making an effort to be open with me—mostly—but I’m not sure how forthcoming he’d be with a stranger. There’s no need for him to feel even more wound up.

  “Alright!” Anna claps her hands. “We’re done for today. We’ll meet again on the twenty eighth. Leave your firearms on this table and please take your children with you.”

  Twenty eighth? “Siah, what month is it?”

  “October.” He’s far away, in some daydream or memory. He blinks himself free of it and meets my eyes. “Why?”

  “Do you know what day it is today?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “No, I mean the number. What date is it?”

  He can’t know because he waves Anna over and asks her. “It’s the twenty sixth,” she says. “We meet again on Friday, two days’ time. Is that alright?” She smiles with forced friendliness. It’s obvious she wants rid of us. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to train a load of amateurs if I were a Guardian. When I’m a Gua
rdian. Warmth sinks into my gut. I’m excited for it, to be trained and deadly.

  At Siah’s nudge, I come crashing back from my last train of thought. Today’s the twenty sixth of October, which means tomorrow is the twenty seventh.

  “We should go,” I say. I shout Tom and Livy over and they come bounding.

  “Did you see us, Leah?” Tom asks. “We were skidding and falling and hitting the wall.”

  “I saw.” I muss his hair. “We’re leaving. Have you got all your shit?”

  His forehead creases. “I don’t have anything.”

  “Yes you do, dumbass.” Livy throws a hoodie at his head. “You left this.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He gives her a big lopsided smile, struggling to get his arms into the hoodie as I steer them out the door.

  “What was the date thing about?” Yosiah asks.

  We spill into the bright afternoon through a gate marked ‘fire station’. It’s sunny again, and dry. Tom takes off down the road, teasing Livy as she tears after him. I don’t bother to catch up; they’ll circle back to us eventually.

  “It’s my birthday tomorrow,” I answer. I pull on my jacket and set off down the road at a stroll. “I didn’t realise what date it was.”

  “I lost track too,” he says. The ground is dusty underfoot, dirt mixed with small stones on the tarmac. The sound of our shoes scuffing them is the only sound for a peaceful minute but Siah must be thinking, his mind ticking away, because he asks, “Do you want a present?”

  “Where are you gonna get it? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the town’s a wreck.”

  “And yet you have some shiny new trainers. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  I roll my eyes. “You notice everything.”

  Siah shrugs, his face turned up to the sun and a curve on his lips. He’s unconsciously happy, his smile as infectious as a Strain.

  I scan the main road we emerge onto. There are shops blatantly for clothes, some I can’t determine, but most have been looted beyond repair. One says ‘photo’ on the sign and another boasts coffee. There’s nothing remotely close to a present.

  “Alright, Siah,” I say, “get me something I can wear.” That seems the only option this gutted town offers.

  “I can do that.”

  Tom and Livy come screeching around a corner. My reply scatters at the sight of my brother covered head to toe in mud, dripping on the pavement. “How?”

  He swaggers up to me without a care and in that moment he’s more like me than Olive is. But then she opens her mouth and says, “This ass fell in the river. You deal with him now, Leah. I’m going back to bed.” She walks off without another word.

  “Can we go get dinner now?” Thomas asks, laughing.

  “Dinner?” I cross my arms over my chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The only place you’re going is the washroom.”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  “Ugh!” With a groan he turns in the direction of the complex that houses the washroom, food halls, and the place I scrubbed my hands raw doing laundry. I stalk after my brother, my best friend at my side.

  “I haven’t forgotten, by the way,” Yosiah says. “You asked about my sister.”

  I meet his eyes. “I did.”

  “I hadn’t seen her in years,” he says. “Long before I met you. We lost each other and … something happened that made me think she was gone. Dead.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “But she wasn’t.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Yeah. But she’s different. I don’t know.” He looks over at me. “I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s changed. I’ve changed. It’s obvious she’d be different but—”

  “You miss her.” I supply the words when he loses them. “You miss the sister you knew.”

  “Yeah.”

  I grasp for something to lighten the mood. “At least she’s not going to dive into a river and turn up dripping mud.”

  “No.” He shakes his head at the road, chuckling. “At least she’ll never do that.”

  ***

  Yosiah

  07:33. 27.10.2040. The Free Lands, Northlands, Manchester.

  I’ve been sitting up in bed staring at the scrawl of metal in my palm for at least half an hour. Miya is asleep beside me, sprawled across the mattress with half her face buried in a grey pillow. Thomas and Olive are asleep too, on the other side of the cramped room. Every so often my eyes sweep the tent, taking stock, making sure nobody has snuck in or out while I’ve been preoccupied.

  The light that filters through the thin material of the ceiling is hazy and weak, dyed a pale purple by the colour of the fabric. Miya’s skin is tinged a rosy grey. I keep catching myself watching her, and even though I tear my eyes away, they always find their way back. It’s like the earth turning around the sun—night can come and steal the light but my eyes always find their way back to her glow.

  I sigh, frustrated at myself. If I carry on this way Miya will notice how much I love her, and then everything will become awkward and our friendship will suffer. I don’t want to lose her, not over something I can easily pretend not to feel.

  I curl my fingers around the necklace, wondering why I took it from the shop. I don’t even know if she’ll want it. I don’t remember Miya ever wearing jewellery. What makes me think she’ll wear it now?

  The necklace is gold, a knot of twisted metal on a thin chain. Why did I think this would be a good present? Why did I offer to get her something in the first place? I’ve never been good at gifts. I was just wandering in and out of gutted shops and happened to find an old jewellery store where this one pendant caught my attention. I don’t even know what it is, just a knot. Does it have some kind of meaning I don’t know? Is it symbolic?

  Why do I care?

  I said I’d get Miya something she could wear, and I did. I don’t know why I’m so wound up over whether Miya will like it—but that’s a lie. I’m wound up because it means something, the effort of going out and choosing something specifically for her. It won’t mean anything to Miya but it does to me, and that has my stomach in a knot to match the necklace.

  I take a slow, deep breath, conscious of being quiet, and look at the gift again. With a last huff of irritation, I put it in my pocket and swear not to take it out again. If she likes it, great, if she hates it, I’m in no worse a place than I was yesterday.

  “You’re gonna burst a vein.”

  I start, turning around like a spooked animal.

  Miya is smirking, her black hair sticking up on one side. “If you keep thinking that hard, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “Shut up.” I shove her shoulder, far from rough. Even if I wanted to hurt her—something I could never imagine—there’s something far down in me, right at the core of my soul, that would never allow me to cause her a single moment’s pain. She’s barely jostled, her olive eyes still bleary. The little breath of laughter that comes from her makes my heart flip in my chest, and I decide right there and then that I’m delirious. I must be coming down with a Strain. It’s the only logical reason for the heat rushing through me.

  Her fingers dance through the air to tap my right cheek. “You’re blushing,” she says.

  I draw back, out of her reach, ruffled. “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” She props herself on her elbows, looks at me steadily now. I dig the necklace from my pocket for something to distract her with. As I suspected, her attention snags on the shiny pendant as I dangle it in front of her face. She reaches for it, swift as any Official, but I anticipated that. “You want me to fight you for it?” She pulls herself up with all the languid poise of a cat.

  The way she’s stalking me, the dark, predatory look in her eye, the way I can see her calculating how to take me down—it has an unwanted effect on me, arousal pooling in my gut. Not here, I think desperately, not with her so close. If I’m not careful I won’t just imagine my fantasies, I’ll act on them. I pull a breath through my nose, hoping it’ll bring cal
m. It doesn’t.

  I lose any hope of finding control when I see that Miya’s noticed the effect she’s having on me. It must be painfully clear because she pushes me onto my back and crawls up my body, smirking again. Now there’s a very physical ache in my body and something in the back of my mind is saying “She knows what she’s doing to you, and she’s encouraging it. She’s not shying away from the idea. She’s not repulsed.”

  I swallow, breathing harder. Miya hovers over me and easily plucks the chain from my fingers, that tiny point of contact searing into my skin. I’m done for.

  “Thank you,” she says. She sits back to fasten the necklace around her throat, her knees on either side of my waist. “I like it. Don’t know what it is, but I like it.”

  “I’m glad,” I manage to say.

  “You’re hard.”

  “I know.”

  She laughs, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Thank you for the present. I mean it—I like it.” She strokes the pad of her thumb over my cheekbone and climbs off me, slipping off the bed to pull jeans over the shorts she sleeps in.

  I feel like I just went through every emotion known to man. I watch her yank a jacket over a faded black T-shirt, confused. Does she know how I feel? That I love her? Or does she think I’m just like every other guy, turned on at a breath of air? I’ve never been like that, never been able to find attraction in casual places. I’ve only ever wanted to be sexual with Miya, and that’s because I have feelings for her. I wish I could tell her that, that I don’t just want her because she’s the only girl here but because she’s the only girl I love. But that would mean admitting my feelings and every part of me flinches away from that confession.

  Miya looks over me, pulling the pendant from under her shirt so it’s visible, and smiles. It’s one of her rare warm ones, without amusement or malice or derision. Just a simple, honest smile. There’s a wistful sigh trapped somewhere inside me, just waiting to explode as soon as she’s left the tent.

  “I’m gonna get some food,” she says. “I know they’ll try to stop me bringing it back here but I’m invoking my birthday rights.”