Page 8 of Uncontrolled

“Does it matter?” I ask. I’m not sure how much information I want to give her. I’m intent on her hips, the subtle weight shift that’ll reveal her next move.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling deeper for the street urchin,” Talia says.

The urge to defend him swallows me. “Name calling? What are you, five?”

My fists ache. Mostly, it’s my wrists where I tried to chew through the joints and free myself from the handcuffs Jamison used. Resurrectionist healing powers have their perks, but it had hurt too much, and the plan had been faulty. Since then, the scarring has faded to a starburst of white lines, but they ache sometimes. I swing anyway.

Talia bounds out of reach, ready when I counter with a lunge forward. “So he is staying with you,” she says.

And why not? I think. I’m an adult. I choose who I do and don’t let into my life. Currently, Talia’s on a lot thinner ice than Christopher.

“Yes. He’s staying with me.” I don’t ask if it bothers her or if I’m crazy. It’s none of her business.

“And you’re peachy keen?” she says. She’s watching me intensely but whether it’s because she’s gauging my reaction or planning a move, I don’t know. “Whole life is all fairy tales and happily ever afters?”

I can’t place the emotion curled cocoon-tight between her words. Despite our tiff, she mentioned a color in her question. I’m supposed to answer with a flower. It’s a stupid code she and her cousin used when they were younger to make sure the other was okay. Talia taught me, and I taught Christopher. It’s how he let her know he was still on our side at the farmhouse. Is she telling me she’s on my side now?

“Everything’s coming up daisies so far.” The bite to my answer is obvious.

“Are you both planning on staying in your apartment?”

Her question catches me off guard. “Why wouldn’t we be staying there?” I ask.

“Money,” she says simply. In anticipation of a physical response I don’t give her, Talia raises her fists to protect herself.

“He and I are fine.” I’m not certain why I bother with the lie. Talia’s plenty aware of how far up shit creek I am without Aunt Sarah’s help. “We’re job hunting,” I add.

“Him, sure,” Talia says, her response light and leading. “Did you forget you have a job?”

Resurrecting.

“I’m not—” I miss the subtle pivot of Talia’s heel. Her foot rises in a vicious arc. The kick whips my jaw sideways. My vision blurs.

“Look, I get it,” she says while I struggle to focus. “After Sarah, after everything, you needed to feel safe and for some reason, he gave you that. But time’s up, Allie.”

A droplet tickles my nostril when I shake my head, the taste of iron at the back of my throat. My hold on consciousness is onion skin thin.

“I’m done handling you with kid gloves. It’s been two weeks. Step up. Run this cluster,” Talia says.

She bounces on the balls of her feet and I ready for her next bombardment but she takes pity on me enough to hesitate. I hate her for it.

And then she speaks. “Sarah would have had this handled day one. Do something about the hunters in our city instead of cowering with that traitor.”

“Sarah never even—” I start.

“Sarah’s dead.” At my wince, Talia softens. “Allie. Handle it. The resurrectionists here depend on you now.” I don’t know if it’s exhaustion or anger, but her words shake. “I covered when you didn’t return their calls. I’m taking their reports, approving their resurrections, collecting their payments.”

The last part is a challenge. Talia knows I’m against charging for our skills.

“This is your job, not mine,” she says.

“But you’re so fantastic at it,” I say, the sarcasm a saccharine whine. “Why don’t you claim the cluster and leave me and Christopher the hell alone?”

“Because!” she yells. “You’re better than this! You’re better than him!”

I’ve known Talia long enough to understand this isn’t strategy. Right now, she’s cocky. Feeling superior. The gym mat squishes under my bare feet, the air moist with our exhalations as I fake a backward stumble, an exhausted gasp. Talia lunges.

My hips swivel, curled spine rocking me to a soft landing on my back as I tuck. Knowing dawns in her eyes, but it’s too late to stop her forward momentum. My feet piston upward into her breastbone. Underneath my heel, I feel a crack.

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