The Aberration of Eden Pruitt, page 5
“Caramel and burnt sugar. Katsura trees in the fall. I know that smell. I love that smell.” He peered into the dark woods. “There aren’t any Katsura trees nearby either, but I can smell them, which means they must be somewhere. Graham and Jameson are going to freak when I tell them. Absolutely lose their minds. And my parents—” A small frown dented his enthusiasm. “I guess they already know.”
He scratched his earlobe, then ran his hand through his hair, which flopped in the wake of his palm. “Apparently, I can’t get hurt. At least not easily. They must know that, so they can’t be too worried. I don’t think—” He stopped mid-sentence, his attention dipping to the bag she had unsuccessfully hidden behind her slight frame. “Are you leaving?”
Heat poured into her cheeks. She looked down at the grass, her hair falling in her face like a curtain.
“Where are you going?” Barrett asked.
Jane’s heart punched a bruise into her sternum.
Barrett must have heard it. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
The mama dog. Her tiny puppies. She needed to get to them. She needed to save them. But they were in an alley in a giant city far away. One much closer to Father. Fear came like a flood. It zipped through her veins and sloshed in her belly, making her knees tremble. She didn’t want to be near Father. She couldn’t be near Father. But then, what about the babies?
“Are you all right?” Barrett asked, taking a step closer.
Jane stepped back and closed her eyes. She squeezed them tight, commanding herself to go. Don’t be a coward. Save the babies. But despite Father’s visions, she couldn’t save anything. She only made things die. And the babies were in July. According to the doctor, it was the middle of September. Which meant it was probably too late.
Her insides howled.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through or where you’re wanting to go. But for whatever it’s worth, I think we’re safe here. For now. I think we can trust these people.”
Safe.
Trust.
They were foreign words that belonged to a foreign language.
Jane looked up at the sky and the stars. There were so many of them. She’d spent a year in the city, where the lights were too bright for the stars and her powers were still locked away. But she could see them now. If she shut out everything else—the sounds and the smells—she could see each one with astounding clarity. She imagined gravity letting go. She imagined falling into space until she was part of those stars. Far away. Out of Father’s reach.
“Besides,” Barrett said, running his hand back through his hair again. “If you leave, I’ll be all alone.”
She blinked at him, startled by his statement.
Afraid of his statement.
Alone was better.
Alone was safer.
But then, Barrett was special, too. He was special, like her, which meant he couldn’t be hurt. Father couldn’t hurt him. In fact—if they wanted—they could hurt Father.
The terrifying thought skittered up her throat and released in a small squeak that she covered with her hand.
Barrett tilted his head, as though trying to interpret the noise. “I hope you stay. I mean, we’re kind of in this together, right?”
Together.
Jane should not like that word.
Did not like that word.
But maybe staying one night, beneath all these stars, in a warm bed with a full kitchen would not be the end of the world.
6
Eden stood on the large deck beneath a clear, moonless sky that stretched above her—an expanse of twinkling stars while all around nature performed its nocturnal symphony.
If she listened carefully, she could differentiate the sounds. Like a well-trained musician at the orchestra, able to discern which notes were being played by the concertmaster and which were being played by the second violinist. There were cicadas and crickets and katydids and bullfrogs and the intermittent call of a loon.
Her parents were asleep.
Dr. Norton was getting Jane and Barrett settled, although Eden couldn’t imagine either were in the mood for slumber.
Cleo had left—gone back to her dorm in the city.
Eden wondered if Cass had left, too.
It wouldn’t surprise her.
He had a knack for leaving.
A gentle breeze danced with a wisp of hair that had fallen loose from its tie.
Outside was peaceful.
Inside, a tumult.
Her emotions continued their violent swinging. Anger. Gratitude. Anger. Gratitude. Eliciting a dizzying turbulence that made her chest tight and snarly.
Behind her, the door slid open.
She glanced over her shoulder, and her stomach swooped.
Cassian stepped out into the night.
He hadn’t left.
Not yet anyway.
She turned back to the lake, her body tensing at the sound of his approaching boot steps. Her grip on the banister tightened as the dueling desires to thank him and slap him waged war. The longer he let the silence stretch between them, the stronger the urge to slap him became. Until her fingers dug into the wood and her knuckles grew white with impatience. How could he be so unaffected while her insides scratched and twitched?
When she could bear it no longer, she spun to face him.
He looked at her in response and what she saw knocked her off balance. He didn’t look unaffected. He looked mad. The same unwarranted animosity he’d displayed all those weeks ago—when he was a stranger in a coffee shop with no reason to hate her. It simmered in his golden irises now like it had then. A fury that heightened her own.
“You stayed,” she said, heatedly. Accusatorially.
He said nothing while a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t stay last time. You left without a word.”
“To go look for him,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“My dad might have died, and you didn’t even call.”
“I called.”
“You called Jack. Not me.”
“What did you want to talk about, Eden? What did you want me to say?” His words were biting.
She gaped in the wake of them. He had no right to his anger. He was the one who brought this trouble on her doorstep. And he was the one who left like none of it mattered. With her father on his deathbed and her sanity unraveling like a spool of thread. She gawked at him—disbelieving. Incensed. “I needed you.”
“To push three buttons!” His voice erupted, so loud that for a moment, the nocturnal chorus stopped.
Eden and Cassian glared at one another in the silence.
He broke it first, his voice low, anger rolling off him in waves. “You have no idea what it was like. Watching from Beverly’s home. Not knowing if you were under his control. Not knowing if I’d have to …” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You kissed me like you cared—”
“I did care!”
“It was your insurance policy. To make sure I’d do your bidding.”
Eden huffed—a heated exhale from her nose. “I was leaving. I had no idea if I’d ever see you again, and you were just going to walk inside Beverly’s house without a word. Without a goodbye. Like I didn’t—” She bit her lip to keep the vehement statement inside.
His eyes bore into hers with breathtaking intensity. Searching. Waiting. His attention dipping to her lips, then shifting back up again. “Like you didn’t what?”
“Like I didn’t matter. Like I meant nothing—”
She didn’t get the chance to finish.
Cassian took her face between his hands and covered her mouth with his—their anger colliding in an explosion of need.
Her fingers curled into his hair. His hands moved to her waist and spread up her ribcage, turning her insides into liquid warmth. He tasted like mint and desire—one so deep and fathomless it completely undid her. He kissed her as expertly now as he did then, when she wasn’t sure if they would ever see each other again. He kissed her so thoroughly, her anger melted into an intoxicating heat that zipped through her veins. And when it was done—when she was undone—he tipped her chin, his eyes filled with ferocity. “Don’t ever ask me to do that again.”
He wasn’t talking about the kiss.
He was talking about the command.
The reason she’d invited him back into her life.
Or maybe it was an excuse.
“I won’t,” she said.
He pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her. His heartbeat strong in her ear. His chin resting on the crown of her head. She nuzzled against the curve of his neck and for the first time in a long time, the panic stopped clawing. For the first time in a long time, she felt … still.
“I’m sorry for not calling,” he said, his voice a rumble against her ear.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him. Sandalwood and pine and the leather of his jacket. With a long exhale, she let herself completely relax. “Do you really think Cleo can get tickets?”
“She has a better chance than most.”
“My parents won’t want me to go.”
Eden had spent her life playing it safe. Avoiding risk. Toeing the line. Following the rules. Ignoring her attraction to danger. She did it all for them—her parents. But they were the ones taking a risk. From the beginning, they’d known what she was, but they’d taken her in anyway, fully aware that things could go terribly wrong. Otherwise, they never would have set up an emergency plan with Dr. Norton that involved an alarm system.
“What do you want?” Cassian asked.
She wanted her parents to be happy. She wanted to be good despite everything that had transpired to make her otherwise. She wanted this boy in front of her. She wanted him to kiss her again and again and again. She wanted to live without the cloying fear of being controlled. Of having no control. She wanted to belong to herself. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not until Mordecai was gone.
“I want this to end,” she said.
“Then we’ll make sure it does.”
On the fourth of October. The twenty-first anniversary of America’s darkest day. The world’s darkest day.
Maybe after this year, it would hold a different meaning.
Maybe after this year, Eden would finally be free.
7
Another front rolled in overnight. This one lingered with a steady rain that ran down the windows in lazy rivulets. Cass watched them meander as he leaned against the counter, sipping the last of the coffee from his mug.
The girl who had yet to talk rummaged for food in the pantry. The boy who hardly shut up sat at the table amidst a pile of books—an eclectic mix of biographies and medical journals, true crime, and military fiction. At the moment, he was finishing a particularly thick volume, flipping pages like an enthusiastic reader in the throes of a manic episode.
Out in the living room, Forrester examined the discs that had been removed from the chatterbox and the mute while Concordia News played without sound on the television.
Eden had yet to join them. She was still down the hall, in a room with her parents.
Her parents.
Cass dragged his hand down his face. What was he doing?
Barrett snapped the tome shut and came to his feet. “Somebody quiz me.”
The girl grabbed a jar of peanut butter and a can of Pringles and set them on the counter. Then she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of spicy mustard and a half-empty jar of pickles.
Barrett looked from her to Cass and held out the book. “Ask me anything about his life. I bet you I know the answer.”
The life in question was Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
The book, a biography by Eric Metaxas.
Cass arranged his features in a way that clearly communicated how disinclined he was to quiz him.
Barrett caught the message. He took a small step back, then watched curiously as the girl began concocting the strangest sandwich Cass had ever seen. Peanut butter and spicy mustard and chips and pickle juice, which she poured over the bread like one might pour malt vinegar on fish and chips.
When she caught them staring, she smashed the sandwich beneath her palm—making the chips crunch—then lifted it into the air and took a big bite, her hair curtaining her face so only the center portion was visible.
Barrett brought the biography to Forrester, who was no more inclined to quiz him than Cass. He was too focused on the discs, which he called EMPs. He said they generated electromagnetic disturbances that disabled whatever they were attached to. He’d modeled the phenomenon on his phone earlier this morning when Cass hadn’t yet poured his first cup of coffee. The screen had gone black the moment the disc clamped to the phone’s back. Now Forrester was using a pan-balance to take the discs’ measurements, trying to figure out their composition.
“Reminds me of physics class,” Barrett said with a shudder. “Although I bet now I could ace it without even trying. I should look up a picture of the periodic table.”
Forrester rubbed his chin. “It’s too dense to be iron.”
“Is that liquid inside?” Barrett asked.
“Looks like it. But I have no idea what. And I’m not willing to break it open and see.”
Cassian thought this wise. If the discs were another one of Volkova’s inventions, the substance inside was probably deadly. Maybe nuclear.
Barrett grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Concordia was running another snippet on him. He watched in amazement as his face filled the screen.
In the kitchen, the girl squeaked.
Cass looked at her.
She sat cross-legged on top of the counter, her sandwich held aloft as she eyed the hallway with fear so palpable, his own muscles coiled in response.
The light in the hallway turned on.
“If I’m going to use this thing,” a man grumbled, “at least let me wheel myself.”
“You have broken ribs, Alexander.” Mrs. Pruitt came into view, pushing her irritable husband into the room. He wore a cannula and a massive leg brace, all while sitting in a wheelchair. Even so, he looked markedly better than the last time Cass had seen him.
Eden appeared behind them, her attention quickly moving from Forrester and Barrett to Cassian in the kitchen. She smiled, her anger from yesterday long gone.
Cass felt himself smile, too.
Mr. Pruitt cleared his throat.
He wasn’t smiling.
During the two weeks Cass had tailed them, he’d never seen the man looking anything less than amiable. But then, that was before he and his wife were kidnapped. That was before he was shot and almost killed. Eden’s father glanced at Forrester, gave Barrett and the girl a perfunctory nod, then pinned his attention on Cassian.
He pulled off his cannula. “You must be Cass.”
Cassian stepped forward to shake the man’s hand.
Despite his weakened state, his grip was firm. “My daughter tells me you found Mordecai’s name.”
Cass nodded.
“And he’s going to the Prosperity Ball.”
“He’s on the guest list,” Cass said. “We don’t know if he’ll actually be there.”
“He will if he knows I’ll be there,” Eden said.
Her father frowned.
“You know,” Barrett mused. “If you really want to make sure he shows up, you could get all three of our names on the list. Of course, we’d have to know her name for that to work.” He looked pointedly at Subject 003, who had resumed eating her sandwich.
Throughout the morning, Barrett had been trying to get her to write her name on a sticky note. But she was as reticent to write as she was to talk.
Barrett shrugged. “I’m game.”
“You’re a missing person,” Forrester said.
“Exactly. If my name shows up on a guest list, the media will be all over it. It’s bound to grab this dude’s attention.”
“We’re trying to stay off the radar,” Forrester said. “Not jump into the center of it. And besides, I wouldn’t have enough time to create another doppelgänger network. Not when the first one is still so glitchy.”
“Eden’s not going,” Mr. Pruitt said.
“Yes, I am,” Eden replied, her jaw set with a stubbornness Cass recognized. “He used you and Mom as bait to get to me. This time, I’m going to be the bait so we can get to him.”
“Eden …”
“We can’t keep hiding. It doesn’t work.”
Cass agreed. It didn’t. Those who hid were eventually found. His mother was proof. But he kept the sentiment to himself. He didn’t think it would do him any favors with the dad.
The front door opened and Norton stepped inside, holding the screen door as he shook rain from his flat cap. “Look who I found.”
Cleo stepped in behind him.
She looked as surly as Mr. Pruitt.
Eden’s face fell. “Your mom couldn’t get tickets.”
“Oh, she got them.”
“That’s great!”
“Two. She got two. And she’s forbidding me from using either of them.”
Beverly Randall-Ransom was a mother who had always allowed her daughter a certain amount of freedom. Like publishing an illegal newspaper, of which Beverly was fully aware. But when it came to Cleo’s physical safety, she could be more protective than Alexander and Ruth Pruitt.
Cleo shrugged off her slightly damp zip-up hoodie. She wore a graphic tee underneath with the words Rebel Yell. She plopped onto the sofa beside Forrester and nodded glumly at Eden’s father, whom—as far as Cass knew—she had yet to officially meet. “Rough week?”
“You could stay that,” he said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
Cleo leaned her head against the couch’s back. “I guess this means it’ll be Eden and her plus one. Whoever that is.”
“If my daughter insists on going, then I will join her.”
Everyone stared at the man in the wheelchair.
“Don’t be absurd,” Norton finally said, hanging his jacket on the coat rack. “You are supposed to be non-weight bearing for five more weeks. The Prosperity Ball is in three.”
