Page 86 of The Master and the Marionette

I can feel the outer edges of my eyes stretch beyond their resting point. He gets off his motorcycle and looks at me. His eyes are tired. Tired of having to update me on the knowledge that runs on an endless loop in his mind.

The sadness of having to separate for the first time casts a dark shadow over me. It rolls over my organs like cookie dough. I grab onto his hands. His warm skin soothing my trembling hands.

“Can you tell me everything’s going to be okay?” My pleas are aggressive.

He leans his forehead against mine. And with the warm floating scent of forest and cedar, he whispers, “Of course it will be.”

“And you promise to come back for me?”

I fight to understand the complex agony in his eyes. It’s familiar and crippling for me to look at. It’s the look of a warrior recalling the most brutal moments in battle.

“I will always come back for you. Until hell freezes over.”

“And even then.” He pulls me into his body, harnessing his warmth, and projecting it over me. My face finds the soft spot above his collarbone. I squeeze hard enough that he won’t be able to forget the way my body fits into his.

“DaiSzek is going to stay with you. He’ll watch over you until we get back.”

Hot oil jolts through my nervous system. “No!” I object. “No, he’s going with you! You need all the help you can get!”

He shakes his head. I can see his mind is made up.

“Kane—listen, either you leave me here alone, or I go with you. You’re not going on a suicide mission. You’ll need him to have your back. Besides, I know how to hide in small spaces.”

He looks behind him, in the direction of where he needs to go.

“No.” Firm. Gruff. A growl from the bed of his throat.

“This isn’t negotiable. I let you take the lead, make the decisions, figure this all out alone. Not this time. Give me this decision to make. He’s going with you.”

His forehead is knotted together with permanent fury. “Don’t make me do this,” he says slowly through his teeth. He’s… angry. He’s furious with me. I’ve never seen Kane angry. Not like this. It’s Dessin’s trait. But those eyes are still warm, kind, gentle—despite his fury.

He gets back onto the motorcycle. DaiSzek is farther along, waiting for him.

Kane finds one last second to look at me, and through that barbed wire fence of anger, he looks at me with eyes that say, please be here when I get back.

29. Demechnef Hide-and-Seek

It’s been far too long.

I did just as he asked. I found myself running through the tall Red Oaks, jumping into the lagoon. Hiding under the waterfall. I watch a leaf fall from a branch, landing on the surface of the water, and although it reminds me of a sweeter time, with summer warming my skin, picnics, and chirping birds—I can’t shake the painful kneading in my gut. My fingers turn into flesh-colored raisins, and it’s been far too long.

I fight the what-if thoughts that pollute my train of thought over and over again, because what if they were caught? What if I have just lost everything? What if I’m alone? Completely alone? What would I do?

Maybe there’s something I can do to help them. If I draw them out, Dessin and DaiSzek might get the time they need to make it out.

I duck under the curtain of water hammering down on my back. I could lead them to the Evergreen Dark Wood, and if I scream loud enough, maybe the Nightamous Horde will find me, hide me, take me in. But I’ll need to do something that they can’t ignore. I know I promised him I’d wait and hide, but they won’t kill Dessin. They need him. DaiSzek, on the other hand, is a thorn in their side that they would gladly kill. I’m doing this for him. I’m doing this to make sure they all get out safely.

I jog through the shallow side of the lagoon. My knees practically touch my chest as I raise my legs to get out of the water and to the trees faster. I cling to a baby red oak tree as I fish my hiking boots out of my pack, my hands snatching and throwing them on my feet faster than a spring on a mousetrap. I have to find something that would be suitable for a distraction.

The contents of my pack are dumped and scattered in the grass. A few knives I’m careful not to cut my hands on, a thin roll of rope, a blanket, extra clothes, fire starters, and—

Fire starters.

These little packages, wrapped in yellow plastic with a red flame symbol, are something Dessin packed for me. He said if we ever get separated and you’re in trouble, crack these, then put some distance between you and it.

Well, I’m hoping Dessin isn’t the only person’s attention I will get from setting them off. I cram everything back into my bag and haul it back over my shoulders. There are seven fire starters. Seven. I scan the area, mapping out my line of destruction.

I wince at an image of DaiSzek being hunted down and killed by men with machetes, cutting him open, mounting his head on their walls like a prize. Without another thought, my hands are unwrapping and pulling out the brick of chemically soaked wood. There’s a dotted line I trace a finger over, then break it down the middle, like cracking an egg. Smoke seeps out the middle, carrying a scent of gasoline and ammonia. I set it on the crook of a tree trunk and its branch. Run. Run. Run.

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