7. Gideon. How on earth I can manage to find him stunning even when he’s being a total and complete Photo I took of Gideon’s back/bearing/butt
They’re things that popped into my head, things that bolster me, that give me the courage to keep going after Bas.
I write Reasons across the top, since that encompasses pretty much everything, and stash my notebook in the trunk. Then I twist my wet hair into a knot and head for the living room, ready for battle.
*
“Morning, Daryn,” Natalie Cordero says.
I expected a dozen people packed into our cabin again but it’s only her and Ben, the guy with the buzz cut and black glasses who looks like a young astronaut. Clean-cut and stupendously brilliant.
Cordero’s not too far off. She’s businesslike in her dark suit, but there’s also a military assuredness to her actions. I get the feeling that when a situation takes a nosedive she knows where the emergency exits are and how to deploy the water slide.
The cabin still smells of the blueberry muffins Iz baked for me at five in the morning when we had some time alone. I’d tearfully apologized for entering the Rift without telling her, and she tearfully patted my hand and told me she forgave me.
Through the window I see a dozen people milling by the SUVs on the drive. Several of them are eating muffins off of napkins. I hope they appreciate how amazing those are. Like Isabel, blueberry muffins are among my favorite things in life.
“Shadow hasn’t come back yet,” I tell Cordero, skipping past the platitudes. “She won’t come back with all these people around.”
She nods. “I understand your concern. I took the security down to the safest possible level but I do need to have some people here. For your good and Isabel’s, and for the safety of this mission.” Her smile is placid. Appeasing. “I want to show you something this morning, so we’ll be going for a ride. I’ve studied last night’s transcript and made a list of questions. Ben and the rest of the team have supplemented with theirs. We’ll go through them in the car in order to save time. Isabel, you’re welcome to come, too. Shall we go?”
My face warms. I feel like I’ve been handled.
Outside, the crisp air hits me, and the weight of a dozen foreign stares. I was too shaken up to focus on “the team” last night but now I notice them all. To think that I brought these strangers in on my failures unsettles me.
As Isabel and I follow Cordero to a Suburban, I see Jode, Marcus, and Gideon talking by a car. Marcus looks over but Gideon doesn’t. I feel like a pariah, like I’ve been voted out of the group.
Ben the baby astronaut opens the door for me and I climb inside, trying not to lean back on the seat because I can still feel my cuts bleeding. The huge guy with the rust-colored beard is in the driver’s seat. I notice he’s wearing an earpiece and humming a song to himself. “All My Exes Live in Texas,” I think. The dark-haired girl in the passenger seat with a rifle resting across her lap isn’t much older than me.
“I’m Maia,” she says, turning. “This is Travis but we all call him Low.”
He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Pleasure.”
“I’m Daryn.”
“We know,” Maia says. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
It could’ve been a rude comment but her smile is genuine and even a little teasing. She faces front again as soon as Cordero slides in beside me. Low starts the car, and the motorcade—that’s the only real word for this—gets moving.
“Daryn, I checked and your mother is home in Connecticut,” Cordero says, before we’ve even left the property. “I’ve confirmed that she was at home last night while you were in the realm.”
“You called her?” A wave of heat rolls from my head to my fingertips.
“No, I apologize. I should’ve been clearer. Of course we didn’t call her. We have other means of discovering what we need to know. We were simply trying to confirm whether you saw an illusion in the realm or a reality. I think we can safely say it was the former.”
As she speaks, Isabel’s hand slips into mine and squeezes.
It didn’t feel like an illusion. It felt more real than this moment, having this woman knowing more about my family than I do. “Is … is my mother okay?”
“Yes. She’s doing well at the moment. Your father and sister are, too.”
Cordero says this with a trace of warmth but it smacks of professional training.
“What does that mean, they’re ‘well’?” I ask. Does she know about Mom’s depression? Does this mean Mom isn’t having an episode right now?
Natalie Cordero taps her manicured fingers on the leg of her slacks as she gives me an assessing look. I know exactly what she’s thinking.
Can she handle this?
“It means that, by my standards at least, they’re all relatively content. Your sister is in her second year at Yale, but she goes home most weekends to see your parents. Your mother is training for a marathon and she’s planted bulbs for the year. Twice, it seems. Your father is working long hours, which seems typical. Four weeks ago at a fund-raiser, he bid on a puppy and won. Apparently it likes to dig and is quite good at it. They’re installing a dog run, well away from your mother’s flower beds.” Her eyes sharpen on me. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have—”
“I wanted to know. I asked.” I look out the window. My God, I miss them. I’ve missed so much. Josie is a sophomore. Mom is training for a marathon? She always hated running. She never understood how I loved it. And a dog? They never let Josie and me have one. Why now? Do they even want it? I try to picture muddy paw prints on our rugs and can’t do it. “What did they name the puppy?”
“Chief. He’s a rescue. The breed is unknown but the veterinarian believes he’s a blue heeler–boxer mix.”
“Helluva mix,” Low mutters.
“Right?” says Maia.
I’m not sure what they mean but I don’t ask. I feel turned inside out. Everything sacred and secret about me is viewable and open for discussion. And the things that I should know are all mysteries. Only Isabel understands. She clings to my hand, giving me roots, connecting me to something. I would float away without her.
Cordero steers the conversation away from my family, asking me to clarify some of the things I told her yesterday. I don’t want to tell her any more than I already have. She’s prying into every little part of my life. But I make myself do it.
In the sparkling blue-sky morning my answers sound unbelievable. “I felt this extreme emptiness looking into its eyes,” I hear myself answer. “I don’t know—it looked harrowing. That’s why I called it that. And yes, the flowers rose like a wave over her and she disappeared.” It sounds absurd and cringeworthy. I’m so self-conscious about it that I only notice where we’ve arrived as we’re pulling up.