Astral Tide (The Otherborn Series) Read online

Chapter 2

  * * *

  Banished

  LONDON BOLTED UP from the crack at the rear of the Elder’s cabin. She grabbed a fistful of Zen’s black shirt and tugged him outside of the camp as Kim and Tora followed. When she was certain they were far enough away not to be overheard, she told them what Clark said to the Camp Elder.

  Kim punched a nearby cypress sapling. “I don’t get it. How do they keep finding us?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, but that’s not what matters right now. What matters is how we deal with the visiting tracker-turned-scout-turned-assassin who’s in our camp!” London pointed out. It wasn’t enough that the Tycoons wanted to put them to sleep for good, now the Outroaders were hunting them as well.

  “We leave,” Tora suggested simply. Her angled bob swung as she folded her arms.

  London smacked a hand to her forehead. “And go where? This is it for us. No one else would have us even if they could protect us. Not even if we can offer them the benefit of a truck at their disposal.”

  That truck had bought them clearance into every Outroader camp they’d come to. At first the Outroaders were suspicious. Then, when they realized the truck wasn’t a sign of a gang or a Tycoon, they relaxed and marveled at the four kids who had their own magically moving vehicle. They never bothered to tell anyone it ran on water. At first, they’d planned on riding into every camp and city they could find and shouting the Tycoons’ secret fuel source from the rooftops, but it didn’t take them long to figure out that it was better to let others think only they could control it. Otherwise, they might have found themselves at the mercy of a thieving mob, and they needed that vehicle more than any Outroader. Their lives depended on it. If they exposed the Tycoons, they exposed themselves in the process.

  So far, every camp seemed willing to open its doors in exchange for a little motor power. Except Bayou Camp Four. Keziah and her gang would have benefited a lot more from a motorboat. Still, she gave them refuge. Bayou City didn’t offer much in the way of scraps and the Otherborn had gathered a sizeable cache of Houselands fodder in the back of their vehicle. Keziah would have done most anything to get her hands on the hubcaps, plastic dishes, bits of broken mirror, and folded tarps they could offer.

  But Tora shook her head as though trying to clear a bad thought from it. “No, you don’t understand. We have to leave. The convoy Clark is talking about isn’t far behind. I can feel them approaching. Keziah won’t have time to kill us. The Tycoons will do that for her.”

  “Let’s head for the truck. Now,” Zen ordered. “Just leave everything behind. It’s a damn good thing we had to park it on that far bank this side of the camp.” He started moving farther out, motioning for them to follow.

  But London didn’t budge.

  “London, come on!” he insisted.

  “The keys! I left them back in the dreamers’ tent.” London cringed. It was her turn and she’d broken their agreement.

  Everyone froze and stared at her.

  “Head on and I’ll meet you at the truck. I’ll just run back and get them.” She took off before anyone could protest. She wasn’t going to let them risk themselves over her stupid mistake. After the last raid, they’d decided to keep the keys on one of them at all times. Without their hijacked Tigerian truck, they’d have been dead months ago. They took turns, just to keep everyone else guessing. This week was London’s. But the fight with Kim and the scout announcement threw her off and London had completely forgotten their agreement.

  Following the edge of camp, London ran towards the dreamers’ tent. Thinking she heard a shout behind her, she looked back over one shoulder without slowing down. She hit Clark full on before she ever even realized he’d stepped out into her path.

  “Where do you think you’re going, freak?” he snarled as his grubby hands clamped around her upper arms.

  “We should have killed you when we had the chance,” London replied. Tora had begged for the tracker’s life in the woods outside Capital City. London was beginning to resent the Seer’s bleeding heart.

  Clark leered. “Your mistake. As it turns out, I’ll be doing the honors of killing you. You’re the reason for all this trouble, whatever you are. You cost us dozens of lives outside of Capital City, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you cost one more.”

  London just needed a moment’s distraction to get loose. She mustered all the energy and saliva she could and spat in the scout’s face. He let go of one of her arms to wipe his mug as she’d expected, but before she could free the other, the flat of his palm landed against her cheek with a deafening crack.

  London swooned to the right, her eyes blurred with the tears that came unbidden from the force of the blow and a red wave washed over everything in sight. For a moment, she could barely see. It was only the small click of the pistol as Eric cocked it that alerted London to his presence. Thank god for puppy crushes.

  “Let her go,” he said in his deepest, most commanding voice, which was tough for a thirteen-year-old, but Clark relented.

  London darted behind Eric just in time to catch him as Clark knocked the weapon out of his hands and punched him, sending both of them sprawling to the ground.

  Clark scrabbled for the gun as Eric turned over quickly to try and do the same, kicking up a whorl of dirt. But London reached into the space between her calf and her boot instead, an eerie calm collecting inside her. By the time Clark was on her again, she was prepared. She let him grab her by an arm and pull her close as he put the black barrel of Eric’s pistol to her head.

  She knew, unlike the scout, that Bayou Camp Four hadn’t had an ammo delivery in more than a year. Eric had been carrying that empty pistol since they came to his camp.

  “It’s time to send you back to wherever you came from,” Clark growled into her face.

  London made her move. With a swift flourish she dug eight inches of sharp, scrapped stainless steel into the Scout’s neck. Blood showered from the wound across her light gray sleeve as Clark screamed and clutched at the knife. Even if he found the strength to pull it out, he was far too late to save himself. The damage was done.

  There was no time for her to consider the impact of her actions—that she’d taken a life. There wasn’t even time for her to register how swiftly and perfectly she’d made the kill, too well for a girl who’d never hunted a day in her life. There was only time to move.

  Eric backed away as London dashed from Clark’s side, moving swiftly toward their shared tent, which was really more a rig of poles and tarps. The boy followed her, his green eyes round as headlights.

  London stopped at the khaki flaps and turned to him. “That bastard hit me,” she said. “Given the chance, he would have done a lot worse. Thanks.”

  Eric nodded, but kept his eyes trained on her in shock.

  Ducking into the tent, she made for her own cot in the center and sorted through her belongings. A few tattered clothes, some blankets—not much. The keys were nowhere to be found.

  “L—l—looking for these?” a stutter came from behind her.

  London turned her dark brown eyes on Eric. “Give me those,” she said, making her blood spattered face and sleeve as imposing as possible.

  Eric swallowed and shook his head. “Not unless you take me with you,” he added.

  “Are you crazy?” She glared at him. “It’s too dangerous. We don’t even have anywhere to go, Eric. You’ll be safer here.”

  “I kn—know somewhere you can go,” he told her. “But you have to take me, too.”

  “I’m not falling for that, Eric,” London argued. “You’re thirteen. You’ve never even been out of Bayou Camp Four. How would you know where we should go?”

  “No, it’s true,” he said fisting the keys. “There’s someone else who’s like you…like the blond. He’s called The Beekeeper. Keziah used to talk about him all the time. He lived out here years ago, when she was young. He taught her about knotting the bracelets and a bunch of other stuff.”

  “Real
ly? And where is he now? I don’t have time for this, Eric!” London boomed.

  “He’s at the Mesa Camp. But—”

  “I know, I know. I have to take you with me.” London rolled her eyes, conceding.

  “Thanks, kid,” a familiar voice cut in from behind Eric. The thirteen-year-old dreamer turned just in time to see Zen’s plate-sized fist as it impacted his face. This time, Eric fell and didn’t get up.

  “God, Zen! Are you trying to kill him?” London went to her knees at Eric’s side. She was relieved to see he was still breathing.

  “Just needed to put him under for a while. Come on, London. We have to go. Now.”

  “Help me,” she insisted, tugging at Eric’s arm. “I promised we’d take him.”

  “No way,” Zen refused. “He’s dead weight. Leave him, London.”

  “But he knows somewhere we can go—the Mesa Camp. Only, you cold-cocked him before I could find out where that is exactly. So now we have to drag him along if we’re going to find this Beekeeper nut he was going on about.”

  “London, I said leave him. I can get us to the Mesa Camp. We’ll figure out the rest along the way.”

  London shot Zen a suspicious look. “How?”

  To her surprise, his large gray eyes broke away and a blush crept over his chiseled face. “Uh, remember that girl I spent the night with last week?”

  “Maggs. How could I forget?” London was getting tired of running off the girls Zen used to chase away memories of Avery. It complicated their ability to get on with the Outroaders. And if there was one thing the Otherborn didn’t need, it was more complications in their lives.

  “Yeah. Well, her family’s from there. Said she got tired of the same old scene and hitched a ride with her cousin on a supply truck stopped outside of Mesa City. The driver had to piss and they climbed on board. Hid under a weatherproof blanket. Got as far as the Ag District and jumped off. Walked the rest of the way.”

  “And she told you all this?”

  “Told me the whole story after…well, let’s just say she didn’t leave out any details. It’s not a difficult route, just long,” Zen added.

  “How you do it, I’ll never know.” London sighed.

  “I’m a poet, London. It’s not that hard.” Zen waggled his brows at her. “Come on, admit it. You find me irresistible.”

  “I find you deranged,” London countered, grabbing the keys from Eric’s hand and rising to leave with Zen. “Good luck, kid,” she said looking down on the boy. He really would be safer here than with them, she tried to comfort her conscience. If Keziah and the other bayou Outroaders cooperated, the Tycoons might go easy on them. Maybe.

  Zen held his hand out for the keys. “Your turn is over,” he chastised her. London passed them to him. That’s when he noticed the blood on her sleeve. He grabbed her arm. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. But Clark is.”

  Zen’s eyes traveled over London’s swelling cheekbone. It was probably purpling already. He gave her a curious look. “London…what did you do?”

  “You didn’t see him out there?” she asked, getting nervous.

  “No. I saw some blood in the dirt. I didn’t have time to sort it out. I needed to find you and the keys.”

  “Crap. He must have crawled off for help.” London pulled on the stained sleeve. She was still trying to hide the scars from her old cutting habit.

  “Did you kill him?” Zen asked bluntly.

  London nodded. “I think.”

  “Good. Because if you didn’t, I will.” Zen wrapped an arm around her. “Come on, it won’t be long before someone finds him. We’ll cut through the swamp to get to the truck. I know a way.”

  London let Zen lead her away, tucking her guilty sleeve against her. She wasn’t sure what scared her more. The gators in the swamp. The Outroaders who would come for her head when they saw what she did to their scout. The approaching Tycoon convoy of black plated trucks and guards with guns that worked. Or herself.

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  Ghost

  THE WATER WAS disconcertingly warm. It made London uneasy, like they were wading through body fluids. The stench of it wafted, sour and fishy, up to her nostrils. She gripped Zen’s arm tighter, her fingers digging anxiously into his impressive biceps.

  “That’s kinda starting to hurt,” he said in response to her raptor-grip.

  “Sorry.” London eased up. “I just can’t see squat in this piss-water. It makes me nervous.”

  “Are you shuffling your feet like I told you?” he asked her.

  “Yes, but I don’t see how that’s supposed to help. I don’t think the gator’s gonna care one way or another if I step on it or bump into it.”

  Zen chuckled. “The water’s not even up to your waist. Would you relax?”

  “I’m plenty re—” London screamed, frantically clawing her way up Zen’s back until her arms circled his head and her legs were wrapped around his chest. “What was that? What was that?”

  “Dammit, London! I can’t see.” Zen shoved at her arms until he’d uncovered his eyes.

  “Something touched my leg! SOMETHING. TOUCHED. MY. LEG.”

  Zen started laughing. “It was probably just a turtle. I’m sure whatever it was, you scared the bejesus out of it by now.”

  London did not find this amusing. “Just get me out of this water,” she begged.

  Fortunately, they were nearing a palm covered embankment. Zen hoisted her up the slope and dropped her unceremoniously on her butt.

  “You’re hopeless,” he told her.

  “Screw you. Besides who says something like ‘bejesus’ anyway? What does that even mean?” London wrinkled her nose and fisted her hands.

  Zen shrugged. “I don’t know. Maggs says it all the time.”

  “Can we please leave your conquests back in Bayou Camp Four where they belong? I really don’t want any reminders of the trail of broken hearts we’re leaving in our wake, thanks to you.” London hopped up and punched him in the arm.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Zen said. He looked at her sideways, like he was studying a lab experiment.

  “What?” she said.

  “How do you do it?” he asked her, his jolly expression gone. “How do you just forget?”

  London sighed and wrung out her sleeves. The swamp water had washed out a lot of Clark’s blood, but a faded, dirty red ring remained. “I haven’t forgotten. I couldn’t forget Rye even if I wanted to.”

  “Sometimes you seem like you have. You haven’t looked twice at anybody else since New Eden.”

  “Because of Rye!” London said. “He was my best friend. And my first love. You don’t find replacements for those easily.”

  London felt agitated. When the dogs attacked Rye outside of New Eden, she never imagined that it would take more than seven months before she would find a way back to check for him. The attack looked bad, like he’d never survive. But London held out hope. Zen had promised her that night that they would return and if Rye was still alive, they would rescue him. But, as it turned out, they needed things to do that. Important things. Like a plan. Like weapons. Like knowledge. Things they hoped they could gather quickly among the Outroaders. Things that managed still, seven long months later, to elude them. London was beginning to believe that the others had given up hope. She wondered sometimes if Zen had meant his promise to her that night, or if they were just desperate words to console a girl who was trying to throw herself from the truck.

  They were moving forward slowly through the tangle of hanging vines and clumps of fan palms waving in the breeze like giant green hands. When Zen spoke again, the tension in his voice had eased a little.

  “Is that what you think Maggs is? Any of them? Those girls aren’t replacements for Avery. They just…they help me forget. Even if it is only for a couple hours.”

  “I know,” London admitted. It’s why she didn’t give him too much hell over it. If she could have found solace from the pain, even for an evening, she woul
d have taken it, no matter what shape it came in.

  Zen had been obsessed with Avery while they were all friends in Capital City. No one was really sure what went on between them, or how much. But Rye had been her touch-stone for years, since she was a kid. She found it hard to believe Zen could come close to what she was feeling. That’s what he didn’t understand. A warm body next to her in bed wouldn’t fill that deep space Rye left for even a second. When she fell for him, she fell hard and fast. She’d kept those feelings to herself for a long time because she didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship. In the end, it was their Others that brought them together. It seemed the only one who’d loved Rye longer than London was Si’dah. Or rather, she’d loved Roanyk, Rye’s Other, since before they came to this world, reincarnating in the forms of a couple of human teenagers with a penchant for pre-Crisis punk music and city-issue smokes.

  Besides, Zen thought Avery was dead. It was only natural he should try to move on. But Rye—something in London wouldn’t let her believe that about him. Maybe it was Si’dah. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t seen him in the Astral since the dogs took him down outside of New Eden. When Degan was murdered here, his soul returned to the Astral, where it was trapped. But Rye hadn’t appeared as Roanyk or himself in any of their dreams. Didn’t that mean he was still alive? Somehow, she’d find her way back to New Eden to check. Even if she had to leave the others to do it. But she’d be no use to Rye dead or captured and for now, she needed her friends and their truck for protection.

  Zen placed a hand out to stop London. “Sssshhh,” he whispered low.

  Together, they ducked behind a massive fan palm and listened. The rumble of trucks could be heard in the distance. The camp was only a thicket of trees and a short swim to their left.

  “It’s the Tycoons,” Zen whispered.

  “Duh,” London said. “Let’s go. We need to get out of here.”

  But Zen acted like he didn’t hear her. “Do you hear that?”