chapter FIFTEEN
Plus 3 Days, 0 hours, 12 minutes
Aaron opened his eyes. The machine wobbled in and out of focus. It was his imagination, he hadn’t heard right. Dominic was upstairs. This was his house. The rugby player wouldn’t let Casler touch her.
Even so, the fight would be two on one without Aaron. He willed himself to move. First his pinky, then his whole hand. But with each passing second, his body weakened. He didn’t know how much longer the scar tissue would hold out.
“Clive, go get her,” said Dr. Selavio, “or is that too much for you to handle?”
“You said we wouldn’t,” said Clive.
Casler peeled off his mask and gloves. “I’ll get her myself.”
But Clive intercepted him on his way to the stairs. “Father, she won’t be the same afterwards—”
“She’ll be obedient!”
Clive didn’t budge. “But you promised,” he said.
Meanwhile, Aaron twisted, scrunched every muscle and dragged himself an inch across cold, grimy stones. His heart missed beats. Even his eyeballs slumped in their sockets.
Above him, the machine screamed like a jet engine.
Dominic reappeared at the foot of the stairs. “You guys trying to wake the dead, or something? Turn that shit down.”
“Would you bring Amber down here?” said Casler.
Dominic’s eyes flicked to Aaron, crumpled on the floor, then to the machine ten feet away from him, still unused. “What’s going on?”
“We’re doing Amber instead. Aaron doesn’t have enough scar tissue left.”
“No, you’re not, f*ckface. It’s number eleven or no one.”
“Boys, she’ll be fine,” said Casler.
“Fine?” said Dominic. “She’ll be just like your half—the goddamned walking dead.”
“That’s extremely rude,” said Casler.
Dominic stepped around him and leaned over the laptop. “I’m turning this thing off.”
“Amber wants the operation.” Casler rested his hand on Dominic’s arm. “You know that.”
“Bullshit,” said Dominic, scanning the green lines of code. “That was for number eleven.”
Aaron inched closer to them, stronger now.
“Dominic—” Casler moved his hand up Dominic’s arm and massaged his shoulder. “She’s going to be fine, I promise.”
Dominic shrugged off his hand. “That’s a lot of promises, and I haven’t yet seen you keep one.” He lowered his eyes to the keyboard and started typing. “I’m turning this thing off and calling my parents.”
It happened very quickly after that.
Casler’s hand jumped two inches to the left, and he closed his giant fingers around Dominic’s throat. “Dominic—” he whispered, his smile barely faltering. “Please don’t touch my things.”
Dominic gurgled and scratched at the bulging tendons in the man’s wrist, but Casler only tightened his grip. In a split-second, though, Dominic clicked open his switchblade and sank the knife into the side of Casler’s neck.
Finally, Casler dropped him. He stared at the rugby player, bewildered, then struck him in the temple. Dominic flew backwards and landed in a heap. Casler pulled the knife from his neck and dropped it on the floor, and blood dribbled into his collar. But it must have missed his jugular.
Dominic was crawling away, choking for air. Casler followed him and stepped on his back, flattened him. He held out his hand. “Rope, please.”
Clive brought him the rope coiled on the floor next to the machine. Dr. Selavio knelt and unwound it, tied Dominic’s hands behind his back, then tied his ankles—and Aaron could tell the father’s knots were much stronger than the son’s.
“Clive,” said Casler softly. “Get Amber.”
“But Father, you promised we wouldn’t,” said Clive, close to tears now.
“And you promised she’d obey you,” said Dr. Selavio. “Look what happened on your honeymoon.”
“I said I’d deal with her,” said Clive.
“Yeah? Do you think the rest of us want to see bruises on her face?” said Casler.
“I don’t care what the rest of you think,” he said. “She’s my half!”
Casler yanked him forward by the sleeve. “Then keep the part I take out in a vial. Wear it around your neck if you want.”
“Father, that’s not the same—”
“This is because you and that brat stood up the potentate,” Casler spat. “Now go get her.”
“Soon, I’ll be potentate,” Clive muttered, lowering his head.
“Yes, you will. But until then—” Casler unclasped his fingers from Clive’s sleeve and touched Clive’s cheek, brushing his fingers along his jawline and lifting his chin so he could look him in the eye, “you’re still my son. Now bring me your half.”
Aaron saw Clive’s neck muscles tense up as he swallowed. “As you wish, Father.” Then he headed for the stairs.
Casler swung Dominic over his shoulder and followed his son up the stairs. Then the dungeon was empty.
Now it was just Aaron. He was the only one left standing between Amber and the machine—and he wasn’t standing. In fact, his three minutes were almost up.
He had barely managed to prop himself up on his elbow when Casler returned and leaned over him.
“How you doing, kiddo?”
Aaron strained to speak. “You piece of shit.”
Casler brushed Aaron’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said. “But you were supposed to die on the delivery table. I’m afraid Amber belongs to the heir of the Brotherhood now, my son. As long as you’re alive, Aaron, you’re a threat to their future. I’m sorry.”
Aaron stared at him, dumbfounded. Casler had completely lost it. “Just . . . just let her be.”
“I have to fix her first,” said Casler.
“She’s perfect.”
“She disobeyed. They were supposed to spend their honeymoon at the potentate’s palace, but then—you heard what happened.”
“I heard . . . Clive . . . cold feet.”
“Aaron, it was her fault,” said Casler.
Aaron’s lungs rose and fell, still hollow. “It was my fault. I made her come back.”
Casler lowered his eyes. “Unfortunately, she makes her own choices.” He laughed quietly. “And she doesn’t realize that Clive will do anything for her.”
“Except stop you,” Aaron wheezed. Then his arm buckled and his shoulder crunched into the floor.
Casler leaned closer, his eyes full of concern. He glanced at his watch. “You’re running out of time.
“Still all here,” said Aaron, fighting the weight of his eyelids.
“You know, Amber’s truly lucky her channel can heal itself, because that’s what makes this operation possible. For anybody else, once we drilled that hole it would be a one way road.”
“What about mine?” said Aaron. “Why isn’t mine healing?”
“Oh, it is,” he said, “but it’s not instantaneous like it was during birth. Like all organs in the body, the channel needs time to heal—a few days or so. Unfortunately, you won’t have anything left by then.”
“What about Amber?”
Casler smiled. “We’ll drill a nice small hole so just the right amount of clairvoyance leaks out by the time her channel heals—I’m aiming for about two-thirds. It’s a slow leak, so naturally, she’ll still be herself at first. I wish you could see what she’s like after the operation, when she’s flawless—ah, here she is now.” He stood up, and his eyes beamed with pride. “Isn’t she stunning?”
***
“Amber, don’t come down here!” Aaron tried to shout, but she didn’t hear.
She bounded down the stairs in front of Clive, streaked across the dungeon, and knelt in front of him. Her golden hair shimmered under the lights.
“Aaron, he didn’t, did he?”
“He’s doing . . . the operation on you,” said Aaron, struggling to push himself off the floor. “Get out of here.”
Amber tugged him into an embrace, squeezing herself against him. “As if I’d leave you,” she whispered, and for a moment, the tension in her body thawed. “I lied. I do want to be your half.”
Clive just watched her from the stairs, the corners of his mouth held firm. Only his eyes betrayed his torment.
“Amber, there’s no deal,” said Aaron, feeling stronger now that they were touching. “He betrayed us.”
“He betrayed everybody,” she said.
Then Casler rose up behind her, blotting out the lights. His eyes gleamed as he snapped another pair of latex gloves into place and slid the mask over his mouth.
Aaron tried to push her off, but it was too late. Casler’s shadow swooped forward. He grabbed Amber around the waist, swung her onto the operating table, and held her down with one hand as he strapped her in. She shrieked and kicked him in the nose, wriggled free. He dragged her back, yanked straps tight across her stomach, her chest, her legs. Then he adjusted her body until her head lay directly at the focal point of the machine’s metal spike.
When it was done, Casler wheeled over his chair and sat beside her. He stroked her cheek and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “It’ll all be over soon,” he said. “I promise.”
Amber glared at him. “Take whatever you want,” she said, “but leave Aaron alone.”
“It’s too late for him,” said Casler.
“No it isn’t!” Amber strained against the straps, but nothing gave. Her body tensed, and then she collapsed, out of breath. “It isn’t too late for him,” she moaned.
Casler gave a sad smile, kissed her cheek, then pulled out another syringe. He rolled his chair behind the machine, where panels were missing, and extracted a loop of tubing coated with a sticky lubricant—mucous.
“Be gentle with this one,” he said soothingly to the machine, “She’s the potentate’s favorite.” Then he injected the syringe into the tubing. The tube pulsed vein-like between his gloved fingers before slithering back inside the machine.
Casler wheeled himself to the laptop, which flashed with an endless stream of green numbers. “Is everyone ready?” he said.
The machine wobbled, staticky, more like a projection than a solid object. Amber watched the quivering mass above her, too scared to look away.
And from out of the shadows, Clive was watching her. Aaron gathered one thing from the flicker in his pale eyes. He knew how much of his half would be missing when it was done. Clive averted his gaze, though, quickly wiped his eyes, and resumed his position beside the machine. “Go ahead, Father.”
Casler typed a command, then hit enter. “There—”
The entire cavern lurched. The machine groaned, as if suddenly encountering resistance. And Aaron knew why.
It was drilling into Amber’s clairvoyant channel.
He tried to climb onto the operating table, to Amber. But his fingers slipped. Again, the icy floor slapped his cheek.
Casler leaned back in his chair. “Keep it stable, Clive. Ninety seconds until we reach clairvoyance.”
***
Aaron’s three minutes were up. The resistance at the back of his head waned to a sliver, then nothing. Just the cold of empty space. By now, he should have been somewhere else. The golden fields of paradise, Elysium—the Abyss.
Somewhere else.
Not here in this dungeon with his cheek glued to frostbitten bedrock. Yet, by sheer willpower, his clairvoyance held. Miraculously, though it felt like a vacuum cleaner had been plugged into the back of his brain and turned on high, it held.
And if he could just hold it for another ninety seconds, he could fight. Aaron closed his eyes. First one arm, then the other. Then his leg. He dragged himself to his feet. His muscles wobbled, but they too held. He could hold anything for ninety seconds.
He could hold his breath for ninety seconds.
Fury constricted his pupils, and blood tingled in his fingertips. He wheezed, clenched his fists, and staggered forward, willing the strength back into his muscles.
“Counter-clockwise—three and a half degrees,” said Casler. “Eighty seconds.”
Aaron hooked his fingers over the backrest of a chair, grabbed the seat, and hoisted it over his head.
“Back it off, Clive. You’re drifting—two degrees clockwise.” The machine groaned behind him. “Keep it stable.”
“Father, watch out!”
The steel leg struck Casler above the eye. The impact knocked him off his chair. He dropped like a felled sequoia, and Aaron was on him before he hit the ground.
Seventy-five seconds.
Aaron landed with all his weight, sank his knee into the man’s back. He grabbed the first thing in reach. An old monitor. Fifty pounds of CRT, glass, and plastic. Cables snapped like roots as he dragged it off the desk and thrust it down on Casler’s head.
The concussion gave a meaty thud, and Casler’s face plowed into jagged stone. The monitor rolled off him, and a deep gouge oozed in its wake, right behind his ear.
Seventy seconds.
“Aaron—behind you!” Amber yelled from the operating table.
The fight was two to one—he’d forgotten.
Aaron glanced up as Clive swung. He jerked his head back, and the serrated end of a rusty pipe grazed his cheek. Clive’s pale eyes gleamed. He swung again. Aaron backed his head into the desk. Nowhere else to go.
The blow deafened him, right on his ear. Slammed his head sideways. The pain made the cavern flicker. He scurried away, but the pipe clipped his shoulder. His left arm buckled, and he crunched into the floor, banged his lip. Salty blood gushed into his mouth.
Sixty-five seconds.
Behind him, Clive coiled his arm back.
“Clive, don’t!” Amber yelled.
He swung again. Aaron heard the whistle and rolled just in time. Where his head had been, the stone floor exploded into shards.
The pipe buzzed from the impact. Clive winced and clutched his wrist to keep from dropping it. He raised the pipe again. Swung.
Sixty seconds.
Aaron curled into a ball, cradled his head. He felt a crack, the sound of a broken rib—just below his heart.
Then another. The pipe stabbed into his lower back, bruised his kidney. And another. Deep into his shoulder.
“Stop it!” Amber shrieked.
“Clive—that’s enough!” yelled Casler from somewhere behind him.
One more. Payback for the night before.
“Clive—” The blows stopped.
Fifty-five seconds.
A shadow loomed above him. The halogen lamps winked out. Casler, his eyes glossy and bloodshot.
Aaron tried to crawl, but the man’s dense fingers sank into his shoulder and yanked him backward, stood him on his feet.
“Aaron, get up.” Casler’s eyes darted across his face, concerned—loving almost, as a reddish-black stain spread on his mask.
“You’re bleeding,” said Aaron.
Casler spun him around, and his thick arm clamped down on Aaron’s throat, choking him. “What you did to me was pointless,” he said.
“Yeah? Cry me a river,” said Aaron.
Fifty seconds.
Aaron jerked his head back, but Casler’s jaw was too high. His skull hit the man’s chest with zero effect.
“Shhh—” Casler squeezed Aaron tighter and stroked his forehead, smoothing back his sweaty hair. “It’s okay,” he said. Then he carried him to Amber’s side.
“She’s going to be fine,” he whispered. “Look—here she is.”
And there she was, in a lake of blonde hair—all strapped in. Her eyes glittered under the halogen lamps, the most dazzling green Aaron had ever seen.
They stared at each other. Too afraid to look away. Amber mouthed, “I love you.” He mouthed it back.
Forty-five seconds.
“The potentate gets to keep the part we take out,” said Casler. “We’ll have Amber present the vial herself, as a gift. The potentate will be so proud of her.”
Aaron tore at Casler’s knuckles, but it was like scratching steel poles.
“Hold her hand,” said Casler, and he yanked Aaron’s wrist down and forced their hands together. Through her palm, Aaron could feel her shivering.
The machine’s whine was quieter now, hypersonic.
“Clive, how much time?” said Casler.
“Forty seconds.”
“Aaron—” Casler breathed into his ear. “Stay with me for forty seconds. Look into her eyes. Imagine how beautiful she’ll be without flaws.”
Amber squeezed his hand, and they never broke eye contact. They couldn’t.
Thirty-five seconds.
He felt Casler’s head turn. “Four degrees, Clive—counter-clockwise.”
“How can you tell? Let me check the laptop.”
“Just do it,” said Casler. “We want a nice clean hole so too much doesn’t leak out. She should be fashionably obedient, not brain dead.”
Thirty seconds.
Then her eyes would wink out. And that would be the last thing Aaron saw before he died.
***
But a lot can happen in thirty seconds.
Clive never made the adjustment he was supposed to—the four degrees bit. Amber glanced in his direction, and her eyes widened. Aaron heard the thump.
He and Casler turned at the same time, as Clive collapsed, unconscious. A purple line of cuts bled above his ear, as if his scalp had been stamped.
Then a figure appeared behind Casler, and suddenly Aaron was free. He landed on solid ground and spun.
But it wasn’t Dominic, and it wasn’t his parents. It wasn’t even Tina.
It was Buff Normandy.
***
All six-four, two hundred and forty pounds of him. The white Pueblo Rugby logo glowed on his sweatshirt as he pried Casler’s arms off Aaron’s throat, his eyes fierce.
“No more bullshit,” he said, then he slammed his fist into Casler’s jaw—brass knuckles and all.
Casler’s head whipped sideways, and his surgical mask snapped free. Blood sprayed everywhere. And only then did Aaron see the damage he had caused him earlier with the monitor.
His lips were shredded, split open. Foaming.
But Casler moved fast, terrifyingly fast. He dropped his shoulder and plowed Buff into the desk, snapped it clear in half. But Buff wasn’t the best rugby player in the league for no reason; his feet were quick. Casler went down first. Buff and Aaron descended on him together.
Buff landed his second blow—and winced. He must have punched wrong, because he rolled off to the side and massaged his fingers. Casler rose from the haze of splinters, his thick limbs swaying like battering rams. But Aaron was there. He thrust down his elbow, nearly broke it on Casler’s skull. The man grunted.
Twenty five seconds.
“Buddy, hold his arms!” said Buff, sliding the knuckles onto his other hand.
“Not happening—”
Casler’s fist struck Aaron’s chest, and he felt his feet leave the ground. He landed on his back and gasped for air.
Casler leaned over him, his face twisted and bloody, and actually held out his hand.
“How about we talk this out?” he said. “Call off your friend.”
“Stop the machine,” Aaron spat.
“Aaron, you’re dying,” said Casler.
“You first,” said Aaron.
Twenty seconds.
Casler tried to smile, but his shredded, foaming lip twisted his face. Blood collected in his laugh lines. “You and Amber would have been perfect together,” he said proudly. “So obstinate—”
The machine roared. They looked up at the same time. Something was off.
Because Clive hadn’t made the adjustment—the four degrees counter clockwise. The field drifted. It was a feedback loop. Once unstable, it slipped. Four degrees became five, then six. Then ten.
A grinding screech of metal split the air. The cavern lurched, then sank a whole foot. The ground tilted, and racks of beakers slid away, capsized. Bottles exploded in fumes.
Yet the machine stayed statue-still, its edges solid, anchored. It was everything else that shook.
Casler stumbled towards the machine. Aaron grabbed his ankle and yanked him back, got a mouthful of boot heel. More blood.
Once again, he found himself on the floor, his cheek cemented to frozen stone. Clive’s body—Aaron blinked. Clive’s body was gone.
But there was something else right in front of him. An inch from his nose, still bloody. Dominic’s switchblade.
The hilt felt good in his palm.
Casler stepped up to the machine and closed his fingers around the wheel. But Buff tackled him, crunched his face into the floor, and delivered two left-handed punches, his fists a blur. The brass knuckles ripped into Casler’s scalp, muddied his skin into red pulp. One more would kill him.
Aaron rose to his feet. He could smell the high voltage, the raw odor of ozone. Arcs of electricity splayed tendril-like from the machine’s core, sizzled, and vaporized. His hairs lifted and pointed toward the operating table, where Amber lay perfectly still, watching it all in horror.
Maybe the machine would break. Maybe she would be safe.
Maybe it would screw her up worse.
Fifteen seconds.
He had to free her. Or shut it down.
To his left, Buff raised his arm, torqued his body, and took aim for the brittle part of Casler’s skull. This one would kill him.
Except Buff never landed his punch.
The halogen lights died, blackness swallowed them. Clive, in the shadows. Buff missed his target, and Aaron heard the scrape, then his friend’s yelp as his fist struck bedrock.
But there was still light from the dimmer bulbs. Aaron’s eyes adjusted, and he saw Casler rise again. His wounds steamed and tinted the air deep crimson. Casler gripped the wheel. He was going to right the machine.
Aaron jumped on him. He landed on his back, looped his arm around his neck, and pulled the switchblade as hard as he could. The knife sank an inch into Casler’s throat, then stopped, as if he’d reached steel cable. Warm blood spilled down his wrist, but it wasn’t enough. Aaron dropped the switchblade, and it clinked on the stone—he couldn’t do it.
Casler fell to his knees, and saliva dribbled down his lip. “Tell my son to be patient and loving,” he gurgled. “She’ll be completely helpless at first—”
Aaron grabbed the switchblade and finished the job, and Casler collapsed dead at his feet.
Ten seconds.
Above the machine, the cave ceiling liquefied and rippled. Over the operating table, a blue arc of electricity hissed from the tip of the metal spike, coiled through the air and slithered, snakelike, towards Amber’s head. She watched it grow, trembling, her eyes wet and terrified. It brushed her cheek, and she squirmed against the straps, pressing herself flat.
But there was nowhere to go. The blue tendril slithered through her hair towards the back of her head, singing the blonde strands in its path.
Aaron flung himself to her side.
Her eyes lit up. “Aaron—” she moaned.
“Buff,” he yelled, “turn it off!”
Five seconds.
The movement of Aaron’s hands was flawless, precise. The blade cut true. One strap, then another. He was the best setter in the league, after all.
Buff grabbed the giant switch on the machine, and he screamed. He yanked his hand back as putrid smoke poured from its socket.
Fourseconds.
“It’s all melted—” yelled Buff.
“Help me get her out!”
Three seconds.
Aaron stole a glance at her. She was staring into his eyes, calming herself by it. Biting her lip.
Then her head was free and she skirted away from the blue snake. It followed her.
Two seconds.
Buff appeared at his side, wheezing, and grabbed the straps around her waist. His knuckles whitened.
But he couldn’t possibly tear them with his bare hands, not a chance—yet the fabric splayed. His arms flexed, blood dripped from his palms onto her stomach, and then the strap tore completely. He’d done it.
One second.
That left one more strap to cut, and then she could slip free. Aaron had the tip of the knife at its edge. She was going to make it out—
Then Aaron felt Clive’s hot breath on the back of his neck, his cold finger on the back of his scalp. And Aaron’s limbs turned to mush.
Just one more strap. But he didn’t have it in him.
Clive reached around him, calmly took the knife from Aaron’s hand, and plunged it into his stomach. Slippery blood gushed over his hands.
Clive’s voice rasped in his ear. “She’s mine, Harper!”
Zero.
Amber was still strapped in.
The machine ground to a sickening halt, and they were plunged into silence. Then there was only the ringing in Aaron’s ears, like the gentle beat of an insect’s wings.
The electric arc coiled, flickered neon blue, then sank into the back of Amber’s head.
***
Aaron tried to block it, but there was nothing to block. The electricity slipped through his fingers and stung her.
He watched her eyes widen with panic, then confusion. She writhed, twisted against the strap as the arc of electricity groped inside her for the opening.
Then pierced it.
The tendril pulled out of her head slowly like a long, thin fang. A single drop of blood sizzled at the tip and then evaporated.
Her channel had a hole now.
Like Aaron’s. She grabbed his hand, and their gazes locked. Her insides were being drawn toward the back of her head. But unlike Aaron, she wouldn’t be allowed to die completely. They would reseal her . . . half empty.
She struggled to hold his gaze.
Buff grabbed his shoulder; he hadn’t seen Clive. “You’re bleeding!”
Aaron ignored him. Amber’s grip slackened, and her eyeballs rolled to the side, unfocused.
“Amber—” he croaked.
“Buddy, you can’t save her,” said Buff. “I’m taking you out of here!”
Then Aaron collapsed, and his cheek struck frozen stone. And Amber’s limp fingers slipped from his hand.
Before he lost consciousness, he saw Clive out of the corner of his eye, his arm inside the machine.
Clive pulled out a quartz vial, four inches long and rounded on both ends. The red fluid dimmed before their eyes—the clairvoyance from Amber, from his own half.
Clive’s hands trembled, and the vial tumbled from his fingers. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.
The machine had cut out too much.
***
There was a moment Aaron would remember afterwards when he was taken over by a feeling that had no self-consciousness. Five days ago, in her bedroom, dust floated between orange shafts of sunlight, blazing like flecks of magnesium. Amber slid closer to him. Their faces were inches apart. Up close, her eyes were layered, freckled like jade crystals.
She was right.
In five days, something would be missing. In five days, his connection to his half would be uncertain, unlikely even. In five days, his channel to his half might not even exist.
But Amber was real now.
***
A white room.
Aaron yanked aside a bed sheet and sat up into a beam of sunlight, and he felt the knife wound twist in his stomach.
He was in a hospital bed closed in by white curtains. Buff was wedged in a tiny chair by the window, watching him carefully.
He raised his eyebrows. “Buddy?”
“What the hell is that look?” said Aaron.
He sighed relief. “I thought you were toast.”
Aaron touched the back of his head. Not even a scab. How was he still alive? Later. “Where’s Amber?”
“Buddy, uh—” Buff lowered his eyes, “listen—”
“She’s okay, right?”
“We ran out of time,” Buff said quietly.
“But—” Aaron paused, and his throat kinked up as those terrifying last few seconds replayed in his mind. “I . . . I couldn’t cut the last strap.”
“No one could have,” said Buff.
“Where is she?”
He shook his head.
Aaron closed his eyes and counted to five, but nothing changed. No—he leapt off the bed, swatted the curtain aside, and hurled through the sterile corridors. He spun around a corner and collided with a nurse.
He grabbed her arm. “Where is she?”
“Pardon?”
“Amber Lilian—where? Quickly!”
“D-d-down the hall,” she said.
He sprinted, and his heart thudded in the pit of his stomach. He pushed through another curtain, and there she was. Unconscious, pale, wrapped in sheets.
The steady beep of her heart monitor was the only sign of life. He moved into Amber’s room and knelt by the bed. She appeared normal, untouched. Perfect. The ordeal could have been a dream.
A stiff hand landed on his shoulder. He whipped around, ready to fight.
***
It was Dominic, badly bruised. “He’s dead,” he said, coming in to stand next to Aaron. “They’re collecting his body.”
“Dr. Selavio. I know. I killed him,” said Aaron.
“No, Clive.”
Aaron stared at him. “Clive’s dead?”
“The machine was off balance. Apparently, it severed his half completely.”
“Why didn’t he stop it? He knew what it was doing to her.”
“I think he wanted more of her clairvoyance. We found him with the vial. He must have thought he could drink it or something—”
“I don’t care what he thought.” Aaron fell to his knees again beside Amber. “Just tell me she’s okay.”
“I’m not going to lie to you.”
Even though the words sank in, there was nowhere for them to go, no place in his brain where they made any sense. They were in love with each other. Everything was perfect. It was all a bad dream.
He kissed her forehead, and the salty taste of her skin seared his lips. “We’re going to make it out of this okay, I promise,” he said. “Just open your eyes—” That was when he noticed the odor of singed hair rising off her pillow. A spasm shot through his lungs. “Amber—”
The beep of her heart monitor continued, unfluctuating, mechanical, without a jitter to indicate she knew he was there. He realized he was crying when a tear fell on her sheets.
“Amber, please—” A heaving in his chest sealed his lungs and choked off his words, silencing him. His hands trembled.
Dominic grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t do this to yourself, number eleven. You know as well as I do what happened. Even if she wakes up, there’s not going to be much left. She’s severed.”
Aaron swatted his hand away. “Can’t you just leave us alone for two f*cking seconds!” Tears burned in his eyes. He turned his back on the rugby player and wiped them away. “Wait outside,” he said, failing to keep his voice even. “I just want to be alone with her right now.”
Dominic retreated a few feet behind him.
Shivering now, Aaron studied the curvature of Amber’s cheeks, glistening and sweaty, statue-still; her eyelids, still closed. And he would have given anything to see them open, to see the spark in her green eyes one more time. “I couldn’t cut the last strap,” he whispered. “I couldn’t get it in time.” Another spasm shot through him. “Amber, all you have to do is open your eyes.”
His closed his fists on the sheets to stop his hands from shaking. Another teardrop tumbled into the fabric. He folded the damp spot under, and he felt the material rip under his thumbs. Aaron cupped his hands over his face, loathing each breath that slipped through his fingers, giving him life that didn’t belong to him. Life he should have given to Amber.
It was impossible to think that he would have to go on without her, that she could just be gone. She looked fine, untouched. Aaron turned to Dominic, his sinuses ringing. The ceiling reeled above him. Gone.
“Why didn’t Clive stop it?” he said. “He was supposed to be her half, why didn’t he try to save her?” Aaron sniffled. “And why isn’t he here right now?”
“He’s dead, f*ckface, they took his body.”
“Who took it?”
“It was that guy we met. The Brotherhood’s not going to be happy about losing Dr. Selavio and their heir, trust me.”
“What guy we met?” said Aaron. “Quit sidestepping and spit it out.”
“Chill. It was that priest,” said Dominic. “Dravin, I think.”
The curtain rustled, and Buff squeezed into the room, followed by Tina.
“Friends and family only,” Dominic muttered.
Buff walked past him and elbowed him in the head. “Whoops.”
Dominic spun, grabbed Buff’s collar, and had his fist cocked behind him when Amber stirred.
Her eyelashes fluttered. Everyone held their breath. A nurse entered to check her vitals. He paused and watched her too.
Amber’s eyes opened. She sat up, blinked, and stared around at her visitors.
Aaron bit his lip so hard he drew blood. His heart thundered against his eardrums, making him wince with every beat.
“Amber,” he said, “are you—are you—”
Then she wrapped her hands around his neck, leaned forward, and gave him a long, passionate kiss on the mouth. Right in front of everybody. His lips caught fire.
The nurse did a double take, checked his clipboard, then stood awkwardly in the corner—because he was witnessing a girl kiss a boy who was not her half.
Amber pulled her head back, and Aaron had to catch his jaw. Her green eyes sparkled as if illuminated from behind. Aaron’s body felt weak and jittery, his lungs like they were filled with helium. Relief.
“Did I answer your question?” she said.
“No, I think you need to kiss me again,” he said.
“In your dreams.” Amber glanced up at the four other people crammed into her room watching them, and she blushed furiously.
Almost as if she couldn’t feel the hole. Aaron caught Buff’s eye, and his friend understood.
“Well, I better get off to the fields,” Buff said loudly. “Cal trains year-round.”
“Go back to Junior League Rugby,” said Dominic, following Tina and the nurse into the hall.
Once they were alone, Amber locked eyes with Aaron. “So . . . neither one of us has a half,” she said. “Does that mean . . . ”
“No idea,” he said, his heart still in free-fall at the mere sight her—right now, a mess of tousled hair and big bright eyes.
She bit her lip, clearly deep in thought. “Hang on,” she said. “Kiss me again.”
Aaron kissed her, and he realized she no longer felt forbidden. Her skin felt divine, charged. Just touching her stole his breath, scalded his nerves, almost like—
Of course! He pulled back, just as Amber’s eyes brightened with the same realization.
“How?” was all she said, her jaw suspended.
“Casler unblocked my channel!” he said. “It was supposed to kill me, but the machine severed your channel too. We were two loose ends; we must have snapped together.”
Amber stared at him. “So we’re—”
“Yes,” he said. “We are.”
“You mean, you and I, we’re actually . . . ” she trailed off, unable to form the words. “I want you to say it.”
“Amber, we’re halves . . . just like we’re supposed to be.”
It was obvious now. He could feel her weighing down his heart, how close she was. He wanted to leap into her body, memorize her. He saw it in her eyes too—her desperation to close the gap between them. To make up for eighteen years apart.
They were two halves of the same soul.