Page 71 of Uncontrolled

This only seems to confuse him more. “I didn’t say they were.”

“I spent the morning sparring with a friend of mine.” I don’t owe him an explanation, but I have an irrational need to clear the air. “I got distracted, caught knuckles. It looks worse than it is.”

He frowns. I can see him calculating in his head. “Those bruises aren’t that fresh.”

Shit. I hadn’t expected my blood to work so quickly. Normally it takes at least a few hours for bruises to bloom through a sick, muted rainbow of greens and blues and murky yellows, a full twenty-four before they’re nearly unnoticeable. I’m not sure how much I can shorthand. I need to get gone before there’s noticeable change while I’m standing here in front of him.

You fuck up, Talia’s voice whispers.

“Listen, I really need to talk to Ploy. Do you know where he is?” I ask.

LowLow studies me. I brush a self-conscious hand across my cheek and then slide free the elastic band in my hair before I shake it loose. The pathetic attempt to hide my bruises most likely only draws more attention to them.

“Should I head to the Boxcar Camp then?” I say when he doesn’t answer. My step backward is a cross between a bluff and a dare. I know damn well I don’t belong down there.

LowLow tugs on one of his locs in what appears to be a nervous habit. “No,” he says, and it’s so decisive I think for a second I won and he’ll point me in Christopher’s direction. “You need to stay away from him right now.”

“Me?” A pathetic sort of laugh crackles through me. “Like this was my fault? He’s the one who lied!”

LowLow grunts as if scolding a child. “Must have been some lie.”

“It was. He… What did he tell you?”

“Nothing. Makes it hard to help him.” LowLow sighs and runs a palm over the shaved part of his head. “Never met anyone who plays their cards closer to their chest than Ploy,” he says, and the tension inside me wanes a bit. “I’ve known him almost a year now and I couldn’t tell you where he’s from, what originally got him stuck up in the Boxcar Camp, his real name.” He considers me. “Something tells me you can answer those questions.”

I meet his probing stare but don’t respond.

“Can’t you, Allie?” he pushes.

“Do you have his phone number?” I ask. He gives me a dubious look. I’m too embarrassed to explain why I don’t have it anymore. “He said he was texting with you the other day. If you aren’t comfortable giving it to me, call him yourself. I’ll say what I need and be done in two seconds.”

“I haven’t had a phone in years,” he says, sounding pained.

So who was Christopher texting? “Another damn lie.” I kick the toe of my shoe into a crack on the sidewalk, my attention locked on the motion. “I was just an angel to him, after all, I guess.”

“How dare you,” he chides. “You know he would keep you like a secret if you let him.”

“That’s not happening,” I say. There’s a beat of silence and then LowLow hums a short melody and the childhood rhyme it matches pops into my head. Two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead.

Startled, I raise my face to his.

“Do you want to know how this ends?” he asks. Something close to curiosity flashes in his dark eyes. They’re the strangest shade of brown I’ve ever seen, almost a match to the pupils at their centers.

This is a parlor trick. Psychic bullshit. A scam. But as his fingers coil around first one dread, then the other in a complicated pattern,

it occurs to me resurrection might not be the only strange trait to slip into the human genome. I want to ask him if he’s like me, not a resurrectionist but something other, chased to the outskirts of society. Or maybe I’ve got a guilty conscience and a hell of an imagination.

“For you?” I snap. “It ends badly if I don’t find him. What I’m mixed up in is dangerous enough to swallow my pride and offer him a warning. Now, can you help me find him or not?” It’s more incriminating than I’m comfortable with but I need him to know how serious the threat is so he’ll drop the games.

LowLow considers me for a moment. “I’m not telling you where he is, but I’ll pass along a message if the opportunity arises.” His jaw works and the tiny stick-and-poke tattoo of a sword along his temple shivers. “If there’s no message, we’re done here,” he says when I hesitate. “You’ve got places to be, no?”

I mull over the offer. It’s probably the best I’m going to get. “Do you expect to see him soon?”

“I charge to tell fortunes,” is his only answer. He juts his chin at the girl he was with when I came upon them. I shade my eyes as I watch her stand and begin to meander toward us. “Message,” he prompts me.

“Tell him…” I tuck my hands into my pockets. “He’s got to leave Fissure’s Whipp. Immediately. Tell him it’s Talia. I can’t stop her.” I hope it’s enough. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Tell him, I—” I stop myself before I can say it.

LowLow nods once, as if in encouragement.

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