Page 8 of Odder Still
“No, but we produce it by deconstructing the ignits into their ignetic strains—by ‘we,’ I mean Findlay Inc., of course,” Tavish explains. “Unlike the short bursts of energy released by ignits, ignation has no regeneration period.”
“It got into the sea life?” I guess, returning for the next corpse.
“A recent leakage. My damned family is ordering them hacked apart for the ignation without proper study first.”
My gut twists. That could very easily be me, hacked apart for the parasite. “Didn’t you claim to be the center of aurora research or some other pretentious thing?”
“Aye, but this is different.” Tavish snorts. “Findlay Inc. won’t even publicly acknowledge the mutants’ existence, only the risk of what they’re labeling ‘toxic chemical exposure’ in these regions. They had this entire town relocated when the beasts started swimming into its waters, and two of our nearest underwater sister cities are on controlled lockdowns.”
That doesn’t particularly quell my nerves. “Can’t you do something about that?You’rea Findlay.”
“I was attempting to do just that with my meeting today. But I’m the youngest of my family and mostly ignored for my efforts.” His statement matches his tone perfectly, poised yet sulky. A blush creeps over his skin, and a curl of loose hair springs around his nose, looking all the more orange for the scarlet in his cheeks. “They would rather I keep to my minor charities and leave the real company business to Alasdair.”
I set the final body onto the sand and press her eyes closed. “That sounds tough.”
It’s an awkward reply, a little too late, too rough. I leave it hanging there like a noose and turn from Tavish to sign a short death proclamation over the poachers’ bodies, for the benefit of my own guilt as much as for them, making each hand motion count: “We mourn for a life unknown and equally for the loss it will bring others. May you find peace as full as the quiet of the womb, and may the tears of those who weep for you become one with…”The mistsis the proper saying, but this far from the foggy swamps of the Murk, the word seems wrong. I decide on “become one with the salt of the sea.”
I was never going to have anyone to put my spirit to rest, not even back home. But here, thousands of miles north, the knowledge hits anew. I have been lonely before, but for the first time in decades, I feel fully, thoroughly alone, like I’ve turned invisible, moved a step out of phase with the rest of the world.
As I finish, I strip the scarf off the first poacher. The fabric flops against my neck, chilling my already freezing skin, but it covers the parasite from any prying eyes. I take a pistol while I’m at it, forced to tip the corpse a bit to remove it from his belt.
Tavish waits for me, his expression lost in thought.
Continuing down this path will mean trusting him—a strong, powerful resident of Maraheem, the kind of person who has kicked me, violently, from every place I have ever sought help—to gain the only thing I want. The one thing I need. I breathe in. “You wanted to know how I accidentally killed the poachers?”
As I say it, though, the wind shifts, pummeling rain into our faces as the drizzle turns into a downpour. I turn away from the worst of the onslaught and catch motion from down the beach, so far away that I nearly miss her: a naked, redheaded woman emerging from the water.
Lilias has returned.
CHAPTER FOUR
Perimeter Breach
If I look behind, will I find the past me gone,
an imprint in the sand,
the echoed end of a song?
IT’S TOO SOON. I should have found shelter—I should have—
Better to act now, berate myself later.
“Let’s get under a proper roof first,” I say softly, as though all I have to fear is the now pounding rain.
“If you ken this is worth running from, then you truly are not from around here,” he says with a laugh, but he lets me guide him up the stairs without question, holding down his hat with one hand.
A set of shops lines the boardwalk, but their wide windows won’t offer much protection against Lilias’s bullets. I move us through an alley to a courtyard with clusters of delicate brush and little, twisty trees, small and slight compared to the massive, wild jungles back home, as though these are made from the very sea breeze that rattles through them. Behind them rears a great stone building, stained-glass windows on its second story offering a glimpse of swooping columns.
“This way.” I press Tavish into a jog, the rain pelting us like an unhappy deity. His feet skid on the slick stone, and I wrap an arm around his back to hold him up.
The large front door opens smoothly for me. We duck inside, and I close it after us. Through the windows, I catch glimpses of the road beyond the courtyard plants, half shielded by a veil of rain. Gods, I miss the Murk’s impenetrable fog.
“We have to get down.” I tug Tavish against the door, leaning my weight into it.
He makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. “Rubem, what are you—”
“Quiet!”
