Page 28 of Uncontrolled

“Sure, sure, sure!” he blurts as if to reassure me. “Listen, something happened close to when that house burned. Day after was the last time we heard from Corbin.”

I’m not sure how far I want to let this go today. My name needs to be in their mouths. Their curiosity is my guarantee of another meetup. “How many of you are there?”

Now it’s his turn to act cagey. “You and Jamison are tight, right?”

“Yeah.”

He obviously expects more, but I’m not about to go through a laundry list of childhood memories to prove myself.

“So why would he not mention us?” he asks, and I muster up a heartfelt sigh.

I hedge my bets and throw down my cards. “I’m guessing Jamison didn’t tell you much about me either.” I toss a pointed look and he’s forced to nod. “He keeps the people around him compartmentalized. Always has. He’s different things to different friends.” I shrug. “Part of me wonders if anyone knows the real Jamison.”

I clip the last word before I drop what I hope is a guilty gaze.

“You won’t tell him I said that?” I ask, working hard to balance the desperation with an edge of threat.

Just like I hoped, Quinn grins. “No worries,” he says.

We’re buddies now. Pals. As far as he knows, I’m trusting him with secrets about my best friend. Based on what I said, Jamison’s alive enough to warrant me being afraid of his consequences. I want my certainty to give Quinn hope for his own missing friend.

“Do you…” I bite the inside of my cheek and then wonder if it’s over the top, but Quinn seems to eat it up. “I mean, you don’t really think Jamison’s in trouble, do you? He’s probably busy. He gets busy sometimes.”

Quinn’s smile melts into a frown. “If we’re being realistic? I’d bet the resurrectionists are holding him and Corbin captive. I expect our guys saw something and got caught.”

My feigned attempt at concern is all wrong on my face.

“Hey,” he says. “We’ll find them. It’s going to take us all working together.”

“Us?” I ask.

His smile returns. “Give me a couple days to work out the details,” he says. “I think you should meet the others.”

Allie

It’s been two days since our bus ride to Talia’s. Two days since Christopher’s semi-intervention after and his insistence that I let him help with bills. That first day he came home with well over one hundred dollars he almost explained in a way that made sense—good luck, the right crowd, a friend who played the bongo and high school kids on a history tour who filled the bucket Christopher passed. Yesterday, he’d been bummed to only manage twenty bucks, though I did my best to cheer him up.

He did his part. Tonight, I’m doing mine.

Around us, the old-fashioned streetlamps flicker with faux fire, casting shadows on the cobblestones. The humidity is still disgusting in Fissure’s Whipp, but once the sun sets and the temperature falls, it’s bearable. Tourists are a background din of laughter and conversations as we walk. The first twenty minutes outside the apartment felt like I was waiting for the jump scare in a horror movie but I’m gradually relaxing. I just don’t understand why Christopher is so quiet.

“You all right?” I ask after another prolonged silence. We’ve switched places. He’s the twitchy one, while I’m doing okay for once.

His smile is phoned in. “Yeah,” he says.

I tip my head to let him know I’m not even close to buying it, and he lets the fake grin fade.

“Thinking,” he admits.

Asking him what about is a minefield of conversations we’re not ready to have. Too many wounds are still open and festering between us. Then again, maybe it’s time to rip off these Band-Aids. I’ve already got the fingers of one hand laced with his, so I swing my other to grip his wrist. “Tell me.”

There’s a pause where he parts his lips and it makes me brace. His chestnut eyes hit mine, reflecting the firelight of the lamps in their darkness. “Allie, what if I—”

My phone vibrates against my hip. Talia’s ringtone drones from my pocket. I consider ignoring it, and then I wonder if I want to hear whatever terrible subject he’s about to broach. “Hold that thought,” I tell him as I answer.

“I’m picking you up,” Talia says without preamble. “Five minutes.”

“Not home,” I shoot back. “Everything coming up daisies on your end?”

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