"Until The Fall" - 18/48
Title: Until The Fall
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs (updated 03.09.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 03.18.09)
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com (updated 05.04.09)
Author's Note: I know, fast, eh? Here's some Jeb for Queen Isabella, who loves him so.
Chapter Eighteen
Morning dawned clear and cold on Jeb's third morning in Byvasser. He might have awakened on his own to enjoy the mist that settled on the ground around them, hiding what lay in the distance from his sight, if it hadn't been for the boot that dug hard and fast into his leg with one swift, well-aimed kick.
“Up and at 'em, boys,” announced the gravelly voice of the contact, the merchant Graham Hardy. “It's time to go.”
Jeb grumbled to himself as he gathered up what few belongings he had, listening as Travers went about the same. Following in the same direction Hardy had disappeared in, they came to the outskirts of the village. An old cart trail that they'd discovered during their scout of the village was now seeing some of the use they'd noticed in the recent tracks and evidence of activity along the path; a large supply wagon blocked most of the trail, an ill-tempered bay-horse already harnessed and ready to go.
“Hop up in the back,” Hardy commanded. “Its a long drive. And mind them breakables.”
Unlatching the tailgate and putting it down, Jeb climbed into the back of the wagon. If a person stood on the front step of the general store, watching them depart, Jeb couldn't quite make out - but he was almost certain he saw a glimpse of someone. After watching Byvasser disappear, he then sat through a half-day void of any conversation; he listened only to the jostle of the wagon, the snorting of the horse ahead of him, and the hacking and spitting of the merchant at the reins.
Jeb found that his thoughts were hard to focus, that he was skipping around his scattered mind like a headcase, constantly shifting from one thing to the next in a seemingly smooth flow of nonsense. It frustrated him to no end; by the time the suns had risen, offering light but no warmth from the frigid temperatures, he'd taken to watching for wildlife as a distraction, but he saw only a few birds. He was, however, seeing his breath until almost midday, puffs of warmth into the cold air. August, really? Who would've thought?
The cargo of the wagon was covered with a heavy sheet of canvas, and was securely tied down. What peeping had discovered was that the load was no more than basic supplies: rations, blankets, and medical supplies; however, the curious sound of the clinking of heavy metals caught Jeb's ears every time the wagon hit a rut, which was often.
By midday, they reached the swampy borders of the lake country. Jeb recognised the terrain, if not the specific location; they were veering too far east for the beacon of the white elm to call out to him, signalling the cabin that had been his home for a short time, and where Adora Cain lay, buried peacefully.
There wasn't much time for quiet contemplation of his mother, however, or of the broken Cains, scattered to the winds, fatefully reunited and hopelessly intertwined with the lives of two princesses. The new task of keeping the wagon from becoming stuck in the mud became his new preoccupation. The trail that cut through the swamp was in a state of half-frozen muskeg and muddy slush, and the going was slow. Within a half-hour, Jeb and Travers found themselves ankle deep in mud and swamp-grass, pushing hard on the back of the wagon as Hardy shouted orders at them from the head of the wagon.
Jeb pressed his back up against the tailgate of the wagon, giving a solid shove as his feet slipped underneath of him, never finding purchase. The wagon lurched forward and he fell into the cold mud, scraping his hands as he landed. Chuckling roughly to himself as he got up, he took Travers proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet.
“Missing the high-life yet?” Travers asked with a smirk.
Jeb rolled his eyes, but felt his jaw firming in a way reminiscent of his father. “That's enough of talk like that,” he said. “Lets just get this beast outta the swamp, all right?”
Travers snorted a laugh, and heaved into the back of the wagon with his shoulder. Jeb followed suit, and with many a grunt of effort, they got the supply wagon through the marsh. Solid ground was a blessing underneath their feet, and the two men walked behind the wagon now, soaked to the skin and dirty as mobats, using the exercise as a way to keep warm.
Hours passed, long, hard hours of pushing the wagon over one obstacle or removing another from obstructing the way; the trail didn't seem to be used that much this far south, if the debris they found strewn across the path was any indication - broken branches and fallen trees were a constant hassle, once they got closer to the forest, and the countryside dried out a bit. It was late afternoon, and the suns were moving slowly overhead, readying to descend in the East, when they finally came into contact with the Longcoats waiting for the supplies.
Two men, heavily armed, stood slightly behind a third, who waited with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his feet spread shoulder-width apart. “You keep me waiting, Hardy!” the officer in front called out. He was younger than the two who stood behind him, but his tone was commanding, his posture assured.
“Got a bit of extra load to haul this time around, Cole! No hurry, though, no hurry,” Graham Hardy exclaimed heartily, laughing long and loud. He didn't seem to worry about attracting any attention to himself; who in the Gods-forsaken middle of nowhere would hear them anyway? Jeb kept his head down, though he desperately wanted to study the Coats that were standing two dozen yards away, studying the dirty backs of his hands instead.
“Who's that you got there?” the Longcoat called Cole asked, stepping forward and circling the wagon to where the two young men sat on the tailgate. Neither of the two young soldiers said anything, Travers looking out into the trees that surrounded them; Jeb, however, had the nerve to look up challengingly at Cole.
“Heard these two mutterin' some pretty interesting things in the tavern the other night,” Hardy said, jerking his head to the two soldiers on the back of his wagon. “Thought they might come in useful to ya.”
“Since when did you become a recruitment officer, Hardy?” Cole asked, as if he found the thought funny.
“Thought I might give ya a hand, since your business has been so welcome. Worst case scenario, you can kill them once they're done unloadin' the wagon for ya,” Graham Hardy said with a cackle. “At any rate, they're outta Byvasser and outta my hair. Consider 'em a gift, if you will, for your Lady.” With surprising agility, the heavy-set man hefted himself out of the driver's seat and down to the grass. “Payment as usual,” he announced, “and then I'll be on my way.”
“I should kill all three of you right now,” Cole said coldly, his shoulders tensing. He glared at Hardy.
“You don't wanna be doing that,” Jeb spoke up. Cole's hard eyes shot to him, and the Longcoat stalked forward a few paces, until he was directly in front of where Jeb sat on the back of the wagon.
“Why's that?” Cole berated. “You have no idea the trouble you're about to get yourself into. What are you even doing here, kid?”
Jeb smirked. Why not start this off with the good, old, honest truth?
“Look, I don't know what I'm doing here,” he said, his tension evident in his voice, but it added something, he felt. “Seems like every time I stop to take a minute to look around, life has dropped me somewhere different.” The iron suit they'd shoved him into after killing his mother swam to the forefront of his mind, but he pushed the memory down. “Somehow, without even trying, I end up in places like this. Whatever trouble I'm about to get into, it isn't gonna be any worse than the trouble I've already been in.”
Behind him, Travers subtly cleared his throat. Jeb ignored him.
Cole's sneer had turned into a cunning half-smile.
“Listen,” Jeb continued, cocking an eyebrow, “I fought with the Resistance to take Azkadellia out of power, and that hasn't happened yet, and I heard a rumour that there's a new movement out there to make it happen.” He'd spent the better part of the last three days formulating his cover story, and with the memory of growing up hating the Sorceress and the Longcoats, he made it believable... though the lies left him feeling empty, and missing what he knew to be true.
Cole nodded slowly, his eyes going from Jeb to the soldier who sat apart from him. “Well, the road only gets worse from here, boys,” he said, with a rueful grin. “Unfortunately, we've got to send Mister Hardy back with his horse.” He paused, shook his head and chuckled, smug and superior in his position over these new underlings. “This supply wagon needs to make it back to camp.”
Jeb got slowly off the tailgate, while his partner stayed seated. On the ground, he was at level eye contact with Cole, and it made him feel a bit braver. Firm ground beneath his feet helped some, though the darkness of the forest behind the Longcoats, the direction of the camp, didn't exactly boost his confidence; nor did the nasty gut feeling he got from Cole.
“Get pushing,” Cole said with a smirk, seemingly amused at Jeb's cockiness. “But don't start feeling too lucky just yet. We'll most likely kill you in the morning.”
As Hardy was paid, and he walked off, leading his horse by the reins with a self-satisfied grin on his face, Jeb shoved the tailgate up, latching it. Strangely, luckily, things were going according to plan... though he didn't know how long that luck would hold out. Someone at the camp, eventually, was bound to recognise him; he had, after all, spent almost ten months walking discreetly behind Azkadellia.
Jeb, however, had spent a lifetime learning how to cross his gorges as he came to them.
***
A little curiously, DG found herself admitting that the towers of Central City were a welcome sight. The late afternoon light from the double suns was causing the metal and glass of each and every building and rooftop to shimmer and shine, dancing hazily in the distance like a mirage, as amazingly beautiful as the first time she'd ever laid eyes on it... her fresh, Kansan eyes, anyway, as she had no memory of seeing it as a child, though she had, she knew she had.
She stood, leaning against a wooden support post, watching the pretty picture calling out to her artist's eyes. Instructed gruffly by Cain to stay out of the way and not attract any attention, she had to tilt her head back slightly to see out past the brim of the hat she'd jammed down over her hair. The suns were bright, but they were at her back, doing little to cut through the chilled air of the afternoon. It felt uncomfortably like autumn... the scent of fall was on the air, though the trees still boasted a hundred shades of green.
The men were inside the stable, putting the horses up for their overnight stay. They'd made better time than expected, thanks to the early start, and Cain had slowed their pace down, now that the city was in sight. He and Hass were taking the time to give the horses a good brush and massage, and Tory had traded his fifty-seven cents of Other Side currency for a few apples.
DG, overhearing the exchange take place, giggled quietly to herself, as the stable boy ran over to the stable master. “Hey, Pop! Look at these!” She surreptitiously watched as the father took the coins from his son, holding them up and studying them, so they caught the light, silver and copper shining brightly. With a rough command, the father handed back the change and nudged his son's shoulder. As the boy ran back inside, getting back to work, DG watched as the older man glanced suspiciously back into the stable, where the group of strangers the teenage Other Sider belonged to were watering their horses.
It was less than ten minutes later that the men were joining her, Tory lagging behind last. DG picked her pack up off the ground, waiting as Cain took the lead. She followed behind him, Tory at her side, and Hass coming up last; she kept her head down and her coat collar turned up against the cold to hide behind. A gradual decline in the Brick Route ambled a familiar path to the city. The guards at the gates were going to cause a problem, of that she was sure. She didn't want to use her magic in front of the kid - and she knew Cain would agree with her on that - so there was no way to make her face, or Cain's, unrecognisable.
The men guarding the gates, however, were easily distracted. As Hass and Cain shot the breeze for a few minutes, joking easily about the unseasonably cold weather, the upcoming Harvest celebrations, news out of the palace (where things had been quiet recently) and out of the South (where things were even more quiet), DG grabbed Tory by the hand and hurried him through the gate and onto Primavia Boulevard, the main thoroughfare that ran the full circle of the city's interior perimeter. The busy crowd swallowed the two up, and they hid in the shadows of a deep-alcoved doorway until the gate-guards let the two soldiers go. But when only Cain joined DG and Tory, her eyebrows perked up in question.
“What happened to Hass?” she asked.
Cain frowned, looking around. The shadowy streets of Central City were filled with the day's-end rush hour traffic, the side-walks crowded with pedestrians, the streets lined with cars moving steadily towards their destinations. Just a normal day, any old everyday.
“Gone to scout ahead,” Cain said, his eyes still roving the crowd, though for what, she didn't exactly know.
Hass had gone ahead to warn his wife of the impending arrival. It hit DG then, that they'd made it to Central City. They were within the city gates; there was familiar stale taste to the air, like tarnish on her tongue. Looking around, she watched the citizens go about their lives; these people moved easier, their shoulders higher than the inhabitants of the city a year before, before the Eclipse, when she'd arrived here, smuggled in under a pile of blankets... kind of appropriate that she'd spirited through undetected again.
Someone should really look into city security, she thought absently, watching the beautiful peacock plumage of a passing hat bounce and wave at her. With a sigh, and a frown, she glanced toward Cain, and then at the kid, in his sweatshirt and jeans, realizing that, for the first time, she wasn't going to be the one drawing attention.
“Shall we?” she offered, wanting to get out of the dark space she'd considered safe only moments before. Cain nodded grimly, motioning for her to stay close behind. She had to follow him, she didn't know the way - almost a year of living in Central City, of staring down at the streets below every night from her thirtieth-story bedroom, and she still had a tourist's knowledge of the city: the locations of major civic centers and landmarks, the general outlay of the seven districts, that the Central Palace, Alta Torretta, stood benevolently in the center of the well-planned chaos of the city, a beacon, the tallest tower... the heart of the O.Z.
With the heavy traffic, and the bizarre city layout, it took almost an hour to reach the other end of the city on foot. The complex in which Hass lived was located on the northern wall, overlooking the lake. Stairs cut straight into the wall led to an empty stone courtyard on the second-level of the city. Nothing grew in the beds and planters, and the sight of the barren flower-boxes made her a little melancholy. The cold was killing everything that had kept a tenuous hold during the summer.
Cain opened a door at the other end of the courtyard, and they left the bustle of the city - still heard over the stone privacy wall - behind as the door shut at their backs, closing them off inside. The hallways were narrow and dim, the entire building compacted like every other to accommodate the masses of citizens that lived within the city gates. It was warm, however, and DG felt safe. That was enough for her, though she hoped it would be enough for Wyatt.
The apartment door was slightly ajar when they finally reached it. DG felt her pulse quicken slightly, watching as Cain's hand shot down to his holster, his thick fingers firmly wrapping around the grip of his revolver. This visual warning, one she didn't realize she'd come to rely on, caused her fingertips start to tingle as her restless magic reacted to perceived danger. But when Cain pushed on the door, it gave a loud creak, and there was a call from inside.
“It's all clear, Captain.” Hass's voice.
Cain sighed heavily, his shoulders lowering a bit as his tense position relaxed. Though he motioned for her to stay put as he went in to check the place over, as soon as he'd disappeared, DG ushered Tory inside and shut the door; it took her a moment longer to figure out the series of locks - there were four, and the last two seemed interconnected - and by the time she'd gotten it, Cain had finished his lap, and glared, unimpressed, upon first sight of her.
“What?” she asked him with a grin, trying to diffuse him before he made a comment about her ability to listen.
“Hass is in the kitchen with the missus,” he said with a jerk of his head. Tory was off first, fine with Cain's word that the place was safe, and probably looking for a place to sit down. Alone with Cain, DG hung back.
“Mad at me?” she asked, with a small nod towards the door.
“I'll get over it,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched in an almost-smile. He put a hand on the small of her back to give her a nudge in the direction of the others, not wanting to linger... or to leave up to assumption what they might be doing in a darkened doorway.
The kitchen was small; the apartment was situated on the south side of the building that looked out onto the city, so at this time of day, it would have been dim and dusky. However, all the lights were blazing and the room was bright. Hugging her pack tighter on her shoulder, DG looked around. It was clean, though slightly cluttered, the life of the couple overflowing in the small apartment. A table too big for the room took up most of the space at the far end, as many chairs gathered around it as possible, minus an empty for one. At the table sat Tory, who was watching with an amused grin, as Cordelia Hass bent over her husband, holding a handkerchief to his eyebrow as he sat in the missing chair near the icebox.
“Damn well serves you right,” she muttered. Hass's back was to the doorway in which Cain and DG stood, but when Cor pulled the handkerchief away momentarily to turn it over and press the clean side down against his face, DG saw a small streak of blood.
“What happened?” DG asked.
All heads in the room turned towards the door. Cain cleared his throat uncomfortably at suddenly becoming the center of attention; he tugged his hat slightly lower, and stood back half a step.
Cor gave her guests a flash of a brilliant smile before turning her concerned, and somewhat frustrated, face back to her husband. She was frowning, and her brow was furrowed. “I'm gonna have to stitch it, Jere,” she told him.
Hass batted her hand away, taking the handkerchief from her to hold it to his own injury. “It doesn't need to be stitched, and if it does, it means you hit me too hard,” he grumbled.
“It'll teach you to knock on the door like a normal person instead of trying to sneak in like a thief,” she shot back. Cor straightened, and turned to DG. She hesitated for a moment, before taking a deep breath and going about what needed to be said.
“Well, you've had a couple of days on the road,” Cor said, looking around to include both Cain and the kid. “Please take what time you've got to rest. It's been too quiet 'round here... although, a little warning next time might be nice,” she said pointedly, turning to glare at her husband. Hass grinned sheepishly.
Sighing, Cor shook her head and turned back to DG. “I can show you a room if you'd like. You can put your bag down, take your shoes off. The bed is made up, as well, if you'd like to lie down.” She said all this as DG followed her out of the kitchen, down a short hallway that led to the rest of the flat. A door opened into a small bedroom, a single bed, and a table and lamp, a dresser and a mirror.
DG smiled, wholly appreciative. “Thank you,” she said. She followed Cordelia into the bedroom, setting her pack down on the floor near the foot of the bed. As Cordelia crossed the room to open the tiny window, to let in some fresh air, DG cleared her throat, not wanting the woman to go out of her way just because she had a princess in her spare bedroom, but not knowing how to turn down the hospitality without seeming rude or ungrateful.
“Thank you for hiding us,” DG said honestly, though unsure if it was the right thing to say. “Its nice to know there are still safe places to go.”
Cor turned away from the window, and though there was a smile on her face, there was a strange, far-off look in her eyes that reminded DG of something she'd seen in Jeb's eyes. The look of resistance, and what it did to a person. It made her sad, despite the happy smile on Cordelia's lips.
“Our home will always be safe for you and yours,” Cor said with a shrug. “Although, who knows, may not need safe houses much anymore.”
DG nodded, and tried to offer an encouraging smile. Evidence that her sister was once again being accepted by the subjects of the Zone... they believed that peace was coming, a long earned reward after the nine-annual rule of the Sorceress and the annual of rebuilding that continued on... if destroying the Emerald would help put an end, once and for all, to the threat of the Longcoat army, the hidden threat that most of the O.Z. knew nothing about.
“You'll want the captain to stay with you, I assume,” Cordelia continued on, completely unaware of the darkness within the princess's mind. “The washroom is across the hall. I'll get some supper on as soon as I corner Jeremy and get that cut cleaned out.”
“Thanks,” DG said again, her smile widening, the ease and comfort on Cordelia's face almost contagious, though it wasn't enough to fully banish her uneasy thoughts. “I'd love to help with supper. I'm going to need to keep my hands busy tonight.” She stopped talking there, unsure of what to say, what to keep to herself. With one more rushed smile, Cordelia disappeared and closed the door behind her.
DG went about digging through her bag for her hairbrush, and didn't turn when she heard the door open and close. Only Cain would come in without knocking, and surely enough, his familiar, big hands placed themselves on her hips. Abandoning the quest for the brush, she straightened and turned, to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him as he held her, in complete silence; a moment to breathe, relax, just a moment. They both smelled of dust and smoke, of sweat and horse, after two days on the road since leaving the Realm.
“Are you going to see Glitch right away?” she asked him, breaking the quiet with words muffled into his collar.
“Not right away,” he said. “Once the public floors are closed, and the crowds die down at bit, I'll head to the palace.”
She sighed softly, secretly hoping that Glitch wouldn't allow Cain to leave the palace without following him to where she now hid. She missed her friend; a half-crazed idea to kidnap him and drag him along on this stupid adventure crossed her mind, but she shoved it away. Wishful thinking, that's all it was... although, sometimes they could really use his brain...
“I'm gonna get cleaned up,” Cain whispered, “and then rest for a while.”
DG tightened her grip about his shoulders, not about to let him get away that easily. “You haven't told me what your plan is yet.”
“I don't exactly have a plan, Darlin',” he said; he released her slightly, so that she pulled back, but he didn't let her go, and made sure she was looking up at him, her wide blue eyes locked onto his. “I've got some words I'd like to have with the old gardener, that's all.”
She frowned, running what he'd said over in her head. The old gardener? she wondered, confused... but then it clicked, like a puzzle piece fitting into place. Jowan, the caretaker who'd helped the Queen's soldier's escape from the Commander's underground complex.
“Why do you need to talk to Jowan?” she asked. “Do you think he knows how we're supposed to find the outlanders?”
“I think he's our best bet.” Cain's face was stone serious, and his resolution both impressed and worried her.
She searched his eyes, shaking her head slightly. Clarity was coming to her, but it made her mind and her understanding of the situation a complete mess. “Even if he does, how do you know he's going to help us?”
“I've just got a feelin',” Cain said, quite assuredly.
“That's not a real answer!” DG insisted. To say that she was beginning to get impatient was an understatement; she was growing angry at his instincts, which she'd learned to trust long ago, but which still constantly battled against her own.
Cain glared down at her hard. “The old man and I had a discussion on such a subject, more than once,” he said vaguely. “He's our way into the West to find the outlanders, I'm sure of it. Don't argue me on it, just wait and see.”
“Are you saying you think he's someone that can be trusted?” she asked delicately. His eyes pierced into her. She glared up at him just as fiercely, so damn mad at him and his 'just wait and see' that she was sure that sparks would start shooting from her eyes if her temper flared any more.
“Are you sayin' you don't trust me?” Cain retaliated, a hint of a growl in his undertone.
DG opened her mouth to say something, but realized there was no answer to his question; no right answer, at any rate, and he had a point. Yes, she trusted him, relied on his judgement and common sense more than she cared to admit. Still angry at him, she jerked herself away, logic weighing out over her mind but her body still controlled by emotion.
Ignoring Cain, and the bite of blue eyes she could feel, she searched through her mind for what she knew. The old man had helped them, hadn't he? Put his life at risk, to help the Queen of the land of his birth. It just... well, she just didn't like it, a feeling she couldn't even explain to herself. But how many times in the last four days had Cain told her he didn't like what was happening, both in and out of their control? He'd complained, made his opinions known, but he hadn't interfered... shouldn't she give him that same courtesy now?
Damn it all to hell, Cain was right. If anyone was their route into the West, it would be the old man. Frowning up at the Tin Man now, she conceded, a great blow to her pride. “Yes, I trust you,” she said quietly, and Wyatt sighed, as if he'd been worried about her answer. She had a thousand smart-ass comments lined up, but she kept them to herself. “I'm going to get washed up, then go help with supper,” she told him, her voice quiet, restrained. She wasn't sure what more there was to say... they'd almost-fought and she was wrong, what more was there to say?
“Deeg,” he said slowly, but she held up a hand to cut him off.
“It's okay,” she said shortly. She was cooling off, but it was going to take some time. Desperately, she sought the distraction of menial tasks, to wash her face and brush her hair. She should feel relieved, that the next step was lining up to be an easy one, to find the outlanders, to speak to the Commander. That task, looming heavy and dark, unnerved her. She hated not knowing what to expect - and this journey was turning out to be nothing but blind corners.
She grabbed her pack and left the room without another word. In the tiny closet of a bathroom, she changed into the last of her clean clothes, and brushed the tangles out of her hair. She filled the sink with warm water, and began to wash the grime from her face and hands, the water tingeing slightly black by the time she'd finished. Pulling the plug, she emptied the sink, and wiped around the edges with her cloth, making sure to leave the room as clean as when she'd come in. Really, she wasn't made to be a princess...
“Almost there.”
DG's eyes widened at the voice, and she straightened to see the pretty, dark-haired girl in the mirror smiling softly at her, where her own reflection should be. DG fought the urge to scream, and stared hard, wanting to call for Cain; instead, letting the curious part of her take charge, she leaned in a little more, studying the face that watched her.
The girl in the mirror looked so, so similar to herself, it was almost unreal. The girl resembled her more, could have better passed for her sister than Azkadellia did.
“Who are you?” DG asked the girl in the mirror, her whisper turning to a hiss as she tried to keep her voice down. She reached forward to touch the glass, hesitating with her fingers mere inches away. The girl in the mirror raised her own hand, pressed it flat against her side of the mirror, her fingers splayed out.
“You're almost there. Just keep going,” the girl in the mirror encouraged, her words that echoed out in the room - or maybe just in DG's head - out of sync with the movement of her lips. The voice was tinny, coming through a bad connection, and DG frowned, missing the sight of herself and wishing away this girl who was almost herself.
“Who are you?” DG repeated suspiciously.
The girl cast her dark brown eyes to the hand she held up against the mirror, and then her eyes flicked slightly down to look at DG's own fingers, hovering a mere inch now above the glass. With a smile that curled her lips upward prettily, the girl in the mirror shifted, slipped away, and DG was left staring at herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, holding a hand foolishly over the mirror.
Author's Note II: Comments are love!
Table Of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20
21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30
31 - 32 - 33 - 34 - 35 - 36 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 40
41 - 42 - 43 - 44 - 45 - 46 - 47 - 48
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs (updated 03.09.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 03.18.09)
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com (updated 05.04.09)
Author's Note: I know, fast, eh? Here's some Jeb for Queen Isabella, who loves him so.
Chapter Eighteen
Morning dawned clear and cold on Jeb's third morning in Byvasser. He might have awakened on his own to enjoy the mist that settled on the ground around them, hiding what lay in the distance from his sight, if it hadn't been for the boot that dug hard and fast into his leg with one swift, well-aimed kick.
“Up and at 'em, boys,” announced the gravelly voice of the contact, the merchant Graham Hardy. “It's time to go.”
Jeb grumbled to himself as he gathered up what few belongings he had, listening as Travers went about the same. Following in the same direction Hardy had disappeared in, they came to the outskirts of the village. An old cart trail that they'd discovered during their scout of the village was now seeing some of the use they'd noticed in the recent tracks and evidence of activity along the path; a large supply wagon blocked most of the trail, an ill-tempered bay-horse already harnessed and ready to go.
“Hop up in the back,” Hardy commanded. “Its a long drive. And mind them breakables.”
Unlatching the tailgate and putting it down, Jeb climbed into the back of the wagon. If a person stood on the front step of the general store, watching them depart, Jeb couldn't quite make out - but he was almost certain he saw a glimpse of someone. After watching Byvasser disappear, he then sat through a half-day void of any conversation; he listened only to the jostle of the wagon, the snorting of the horse ahead of him, and the hacking and spitting of the merchant at the reins.
Jeb found that his thoughts were hard to focus, that he was skipping around his scattered mind like a headcase, constantly shifting from one thing to the next in a seemingly smooth flow of nonsense. It frustrated him to no end; by the time the suns had risen, offering light but no warmth from the frigid temperatures, he'd taken to watching for wildlife as a distraction, but he saw only a few birds. He was, however, seeing his breath until almost midday, puffs of warmth into the cold air. August, really? Who would've thought?
The cargo of the wagon was covered with a heavy sheet of canvas, and was securely tied down. What peeping had discovered was that the load was no more than basic supplies: rations, blankets, and medical supplies; however, the curious sound of the clinking of heavy metals caught Jeb's ears every time the wagon hit a rut, which was often.
By midday, they reached the swampy borders of the lake country. Jeb recognised the terrain, if not the specific location; they were veering too far east for the beacon of the white elm to call out to him, signalling the cabin that had been his home for a short time, and where Adora Cain lay, buried peacefully.
There wasn't much time for quiet contemplation of his mother, however, or of the broken Cains, scattered to the winds, fatefully reunited and hopelessly intertwined with the lives of two princesses. The new task of keeping the wagon from becoming stuck in the mud became his new preoccupation. The trail that cut through the swamp was in a state of half-frozen muskeg and muddy slush, and the going was slow. Within a half-hour, Jeb and Travers found themselves ankle deep in mud and swamp-grass, pushing hard on the back of the wagon as Hardy shouted orders at them from the head of the wagon.
Jeb pressed his back up against the tailgate of the wagon, giving a solid shove as his feet slipped underneath of him, never finding purchase. The wagon lurched forward and he fell into the cold mud, scraping his hands as he landed. Chuckling roughly to himself as he got up, he took Travers proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet.
“Missing the high-life yet?” Travers asked with a smirk.
Jeb rolled his eyes, but felt his jaw firming in a way reminiscent of his father. “That's enough of talk like that,” he said. “Lets just get this beast outta the swamp, all right?”
Travers snorted a laugh, and heaved into the back of the wagon with his shoulder. Jeb followed suit, and with many a grunt of effort, they got the supply wagon through the marsh. Solid ground was a blessing underneath their feet, and the two men walked behind the wagon now, soaked to the skin and dirty as mobats, using the exercise as a way to keep warm.
Hours passed, long, hard hours of pushing the wagon over one obstacle or removing another from obstructing the way; the trail didn't seem to be used that much this far south, if the debris they found strewn across the path was any indication - broken branches and fallen trees were a constant hassle, once they got closer to the forest, and the countryside dried out a bit. It was late afternoon, and the suns were moving slowly overhead, readying to descend in the East, when they finally came into contact with the Longcoats waiting for the supplies.
Two men, heavily armed, stood slightly behind a third, who waited with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his feet spread shoulder-width apart. “You keep me waiting, Hardy!” the officer in front called out. He was younger than the two who stood behind him, but his tone was commanding, his posture assured.
“Got a bit of extra load to haul this time around, Cole! No hurry, though, no hurry,” Graham Hardy exclaimed heartily, laughing long and loud. He didn't seem to worry about attracting any attention to himself; who in the Gods-forsaken middle of nowhere would hear them anyway? Jeb kept his head down, though he desperately wanted to study the Coats that were standing two dozen yards away, studying the dirty backs of his hands instead.
“Who's that you got there?” the Longcoat called Cole asked, stepping forward and circling the wagon to where the two young men sat on the tailgate. Neither of the two young soldiers said anything, Travers looking out into the trees that surrounded them; Jeb, however, had the nerve to look up challengingly at Cole.
“Heard these two mutterin' some pretty interesting things in the tavern the other night,” Hardy said, jerking his head to the two soldiers on the back of his wagon. “Thought they might come in useful to ya.”
“Since when did you become a recruitment officer, Hardy?” Cole asked, as if he found the thought funny.
“Thought I might give ya a hand, since your business has been so welcome. Worst case scenario, you can kill them once they're done unloadin' the wagon for ya,” Graham Hardy said with a cackle. “At any rate, they're outta Byvasser and outta my hair. Consider 'em a gift, if you will, for your Lady.” With surprising agility, the heavy-set man hefted himself out of the driver's seat and down to the grass. “Payment as usual,” he announced, “and then I'll be on my way.”
“I should kill all three of you right now,” Cole said coldly, his shoulders tensing. He glared at Hardy.
“You don't wanna be doing that,” Jeb spoke up. Cole's hard eyes shot to him, and the Longcoat stalked forward a few paces, until he was directly in front of where Jeb sat on the back of the wagon.
“Why's that?” Cole berated. “You have no idea the trouble you're about to get yourself into. What are you even doing here, kid?”
Jeb smirked. Why not start this off with the good, old, honest truth?
“Look, I don't know what I'm doing here,” he said, his tension evident in his voice, but it added something, he felt. “Seems like every time I stop to take a minute to look around, life has dropped me somewhere different.” The iron suit they'd shoved him into after killing his mother swam to the forefront of his mind, but he pushed the memory down. “Somehow, without even trying, I end up in places like this. Whatever trouble I'm about to get into, it isn't gonna be any worse than the trouble I've already been in.”
Behind him, Travers subtly cleared his throat. Jeb ignored him.
Cole's sneer had turned into a cunning half-smile.
“Listen,” Jeb continued, cocking an eyebrow, “I fought with the Resistance to take Azkadellia out of power, and that hasn't happened yet, and I heard a rumour that there's a new movement out there to make it happen.” He'd spent the better part of the last three days formulating his cover story, and with the memory of growing up hating the Sorceress and the Longcoats, he made it believable... though the lies left him feeling empty, and missing what he knew to be true.
Cole nodded slowly, his eyes going from Jeb to the soldier who sat apart from him. “Well, the road only gets worse from here, boys,” he said, with a rueful grin. “Unfortunately, we've got to send Mister Hardy back with his horse.” He paused, shook his head and chuckled, smug and superior in his position over these new underlings. “This supply wagon needs to make it back to camp.”
Jeb got slowly off the tailgate, while his partner stayed seated. On the ground, he was at level eye contact with Cole, and it made him feel a bit braver. Firm ground beneath his feet helped some, though the darkness of the forest behind the Longcoats, the direction of the camp, didn't exactly boost his confidence; nor did the nasty gut feeling he got from Cole.
“Get pushing,” Cole said with a smirk, seemingly amused at Jeb's cockiness. “But don't start feeling too lucky just yet. We'll most likely kill you in the morning.”
As Hardy was paid, and he walked off, leading his horse by the reins with a self-satisfied grin on his face, Jeb shoved the tailgate up, latching it. Strangely, luckily, things were going according to plan... though he didn't know how long that luck would hold out. Someone at the camp, eventually, was bound to recognise him; he had, after all, spent almost ten months walking discreetly behind Azkadellia.
Jeb, however, had spent a lifetime learning how to cross his gorges as he came to them.
***
A little curiously, DG found herself admitting that the towers of Central City were a welcome sight. The late afternoon light from the double suns was causing the metal and glass of each and every building and rooftop to shimmer and shine, dancing hazily in the distance like a mirage, as amazingly beautiful as the first time she'd ever laid eyes on it... her fresh, Kansan eyes, anyway, as she had no memory of seeing it as a child, though she had, she knew she had.
She stood, leaning against a wooden support post, watching the pretty picture calling out to her artist's eyes. Instructed gruffly by Cain to stay out of the way and not attract any attention, she had to tilt her head back slightly to see out past the brim of the hat she'd jammed down over her hair. The suns were bright, but they were at her back, doing little to cut through the chilled air of the afternoon. It felt uncomfortably like autumn... the scent of fall was on the air, though the trees still boasted a hundred shades of green.
The men were inside the stable, putting the horses up for their overnight stay. They'd made better time than expected, thanks to the early start, and Cain had slowed their pace down, now that the city was in sight. He and Hass were taking the time to give the horses a good brush and massage, and Tory had traded his fifty-seven cents of Other Side currency for a few apples.
DG, overhearing the exchange take place, giggled quietly to herself, as the stable boy ran over to the stable master. “Hey, Pop! Look at these!” She surreptitiously watched as the father took the coins from his son, holding them up and studying them, so they caught the light, silver and copper shining brightly. With a rough command, the father handed back the change and nudged his son's shoulder. As the boy ran back inside, getting back to work, DG watched as the older man glanced suspiciously back into the stable, where the group of strangers the teenage Other Sider belonged to were watering their horses.
It was less than ten minutes later that the men were joining her, Tory lagging behind last. DG picked her pack up off the ground, waiting as Cain took the lead. She followed behind him, Tory at her side, and Hass coming up last; she kept her head down and her coat collar turned up against the cold to hide behind. A gradual decline in the Brick Route ambled a familiar path to the city. The guards at the gates were going to cause a problem, of that she was sure. She didn't want to use her magic in front of the kid - and she knew Cain would agree with her on that - so there was no way to make her face, or Cain's, unrecognisable.
The men guarding the gates, however, were easily distracted. As Hass and Cain shot the breeze for a few minutes, joking easily about the unseasonably cold weather, the upcoming Harvest celebrations, news out of the palace (where things had been quiet recently) and out of the South (where things were even more quiet), DG grabbed Tory by the hand and hurried him through the gate and onto Primavia Boulevard, the main thoroughfare that ran the full circle of the city's interior perimeter. The busy crowd swallowed the two up, and they hid in the shadows of a deep-alcoved doorway until the gate-guards let the two soldiers go. But when only Cain joined DG and Tory, her eyebrows perked up in question.
“What happened to Hass?” she asked.
Cain frowned, looking around. The shadowy streets of Central City were filled with the day's-end rush hour traffic, the side-walks crowded with pedestrians, the streets lined with cars moving steadily towards their destinations. Just a normal day, any old everyday.
“Gone to scout ahead,” Cain said, his eyes still roving the crowd, though for what, she didn't exactly know.
Hass had gone ahead to warn his wife of the impending arrival. It hit DG then, that they'd made it to Central City. They were within the city gates; there was familiar stale taste to the air, like tarnish on her tongue. Looking around, she watched the citizens go about their lives; these people moved easier, their shoulders higher than the inhabitants of the city a year before, before the Eclipse, when she'd arrived here, smuggled in under a pile of blankets... kind of appropriate that she'd spirited through undetected again.
Someone should really look into city security, she thought absently, watching the beautiful peacock plumage of a passing hat bounce and wave at her. With a sigh, and a frown, she glanced toward Cain, and then at the kid, in his sweatshirt and jeans, realizing that, for the first time, she wasn't going to be the one drawing attention.
“Shall we?” she offered, wanting to get out of the dark space she'd considered safe only moments before. Cain nodded grimly, motioning for her to stay close behind. She had to follow him, she didn't know the way - almost a year of living in Central City, of staring down at the streets below every night from her thirtieth-story bedroom, and she still had a tourist's knowledge of the city: the locations of major civic centers and landmarks, the general outlay of the seven districts, that the Central Palace, Alta Torretta, stood benevolently in the center of the well-planned chaos of the city, a beacon, the tallest tower... the heart of the O.Z.
With the heavy traffic, and the bizarre city layout, it took almost an hour to reach the other end of the city on foot. The complex in which Hass lived was located on the northern wall, overlooking the lake. Stairs cut straight into the wall led to an empty stone courtyard on the second-level of the city. Nothing grew in the beds and planters, and the sight of the barren flower-boxes made her a little melancholy. The cold was killing everything that had kept a tenuous hold during the summer.
Cain opened a door at the other end of the courtyard, and they left the bustle of the city - still heard over the stone privacy wall - behind as the door shut at their backs, closing them off inside. The hallways were narrow and dim, the entire building compacted like every other to accommodate the masses of citizens that lived within the city gates. It was warm, however, and DG felt safe. That was enough for her, though she hoped it would be enough for Wyatt.
The apartment door was slightly ajar when they finally reached it. DG felt her pulse quicken slightly, watching as Cain's hand shot down to his holster, his thick fingers firmly wrapping around the grip of his revolver. This visual warning, one she didn't realize she'd come to rely on, caused her fingertips start to tingle as her restless magic reacted to perceived danger. But when Cain pushed on the door, it gave a loud creak, and there was a call from inside.
“It's all clear, Captain.” Hass's voice.
Cain sighed heavily, his shoulders lowering a bit as his tense position relaxed. Though he motioned for her to stay put as he went in to check the place over, as soon as he'd disappeared, DG ushered Tory inside and shut the door; it took her a moment longer to figure out the series of locks - there were four, and the last two seemed interconnected - and by the time she'd gotten it, Cain had finished his lap, and glared, unimpressed, upon first sight of her.
“What?” she asked him with a grin, trying to diffuse him before he made a comment about her ability to listen.
“Hass is in the kitchen with the missus,” he said with a jerk of his head. Tory was off first, fine with Cain's word that the place was safe, and probably looking for a place to sit down. Alone with Cain, DG hung back.
“Mad at me?” she asked, with a small nod towards the door.
“I'll get over it,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched in an almost-smile. He put a hand on the small of her back to give her a nudge in the direction of the others, not wanting to linger... or to leave up to assumption what they might be doing in a darkened doorway.
The kitchen was small; the apartment was situated on the south side of the building that looked out onto the city, so at this time of day, it would have been dim and dusky. However, all the lights were blazing and the room was bright. Hugging her pack tighter on her shoulder, DG looked around. It was clean, though slightly cluttered, the life of the couple overflowing in the small apartment. A table too big for the room took up most of the space at the far end, as many chairs gathered around it as possible, minus an empty for one. At the table sat Tory, who was watching with an amused grin, as Cordelia Hass bent over her husband, holding a handkerchief to his eyebrow as he sat in the missing chair near the icebox.
“Damn well serves you right,” she muttered. Hass's back was to the doorway in which Cain and DG stood, but when Cor pulled the handkerchief away momentarily to turn it over and press the clean side down against his face, DG saw a small streak of blood.
“What happened?” DG asked.
All heads in the room turned towards the door. Cain cleared his throat uncomfortably at suddenly becoming the center of attention; he tugged his hat slightly lower, and stood back half a step.
Cor gave her guests a flash of a brilliant smile before turning her concerned, and somewhat frustrated, face back to her husband. She was frowning, and her brow was furrowed. “I'm gonna have to stitch it, Jere,” she told him.
Hass batted her hand away, taking the handkerchief from her to hold it to his own injury. “It doesn't need to be stitched, and if it does, it means you hit me too hard,” he grumbled.
“It'll teach you to knock on the door like a normal person instead of trying to sneak in like a thief,” she shot back. Cor straightened, and turned to DG. She hesitated for a moment, before taking a deep breath and going about what needed to be said.
“Well, you've had a couple of days on the road,” Cor said, looking around to include both Cain and the kid. “Please take what time you've got to rest. It's been too quiet 'round here... although, a little warning next time might be nice,” she said pointedly, turning to glare at her husband. Hass grinned sheepishly.
Sighing, Cor shook her head and turned back to DG. “I can show you a room if you'd like. You can put your bag down, take your shoes off. The bed is made up, as well, if you'd like to lie down.” She said all this as DG followed her out of the kitchen, down a short hallway that led to the rest of the flat. A door opened into a small bedroom, a single bed, and a table and lamp, a dresser and a mirror.
DG smiled, wholly appreciative. “Thank you,” she said. She followed Cordelia into the bedroom, setting her pack down on the floor near the foot of the bed. As Cordelia crossed the room to open the tiny window, to let in some fresh air, DG cleared her throat, not wanting the woman to go out of her way just because she had a princess in her spare bedroom, but not knowing how to turn down the hospitality without seeming rude or ungrateful.
“Thank you for hiding us,” DG said honestly, though unsure if it was the right thing to say. “Its nice to know there are still safe places to go.”
Cor turned away from the window, and though there was a smile on her face, there was a strange, far-off look in her eyes that reminded DG of something she'd seen in Jeb's eyes. The look of resistance, and what it did to a person. It made her sad, despite the happy smile on Cordelia's lips.
“Our home will always be safe for you and yours,” Cor said with a shrug. “Although, who knows, may not need safe houses much anymore.”
DG nodded, and tried to offer an encouraging smile. Evidence that her sister was once again being accepted by the subjects of the Zone... they believed that peace was coming, a long earned reward after the nine-annual rule of the Sorceress and the annual of rebuilding that continued on... if destroying the Emerald would help put an end, once and for all, to the threat of the Longcoat army, the hidden threat that most of the O.Z. knew nothing about.
“You'll want the captain to stay with you, I assume,” Cordelia continued on, completely unaware of the darkness within the princess's mind. “The washroom is across the hall. I'll get some supper on as soon as I corner Jeremy and get that cut cleaned out.”
“Thanks,” DG said again, her smile widening, the ease and comfort on Cordelia's face almost contagious, though it wasn't enough to fully banish her uneasy thoughts. “I'd love to help with supper. I'm going to need to keep my hands busy tonight.” She stopped talking there, unsure of what to say, what to keep to herself. With one more rushed smile, Cordelia disappeared and closed the door behind her.
DG went about digging through her bag for her hairbrush, and didn't turn when she heard the door open and close. Only Cain would come in without knocking, and surely enough, his familiar, big hands placed themselves on her hips. Abandoning the quest for the brush, she straightened and turned, to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him as he held her, in complete silence; a moment to breathe, relax, just a moment. They both smelled of dust and smoke, of sweat and horse, after two days on the road since leaving the Realm.
“Are you going to see Glitch right away?” she asked him, breaking the quiet with words muffled into his collar.
“Not right away,” he said. “Once the public floors are closed, and the crowds die down at bit, I'll head to the palace.”
She sighed softly, secretly hoping that Glitch wouldn't allow Cain to leave the palace without following him to where she now hid. She missed her friend; a half-crazed idea to kidnap him and drag him along on this stupid adventure crossed her mind, but she shoved it away. Wishful thinking, that's all it was... although, sometimes they could really use his brain...
“I'm gonna get cleaned up,” Cain whispered, “and then rest for a while.”
DG tightened her grip about his shoulders, not about to let him get away that easily. “You haven't told me what your plan is yet.”
“I don't exactly have a plan, Darlin',” he said; he released her slightly, so that she pulled back, but he didn't let her go, and made sure she was looking up at him, her wide blue eyes locked onto his. “I've got some words I'd like to have with the old gardener, that's all.”
She frowned, running what he'd said over in her head. The old gardener? she wondered, confused... but then it clicked, like a puzzle piece fitting into place. Jowan, the caretaker who'd helped the Queen's soldier's escape from the Commander's underground complex.
“Why do you need to talk to Jowan?” she asked. “Do you think he knows how we're supposed to find the outlanders?”
“I think he's our best bet.” Cain's face was stone serious, and his resolution both impressed and worried her.
She searched his eyes, shaking her head slightly. Clarity was coming to her, but it made her mind and her understanding of the situation a complete mess. “Even if he does, how do you know he's going to help us?”
“I've just got a feelin',” Cain said, quite assuredly.
“That's not a real answer!” DG insisted. To say that she was beginning to get impatient was an understatement; she was growing angry at his instincts, which she'd learned to trust long ago, but which still constantly battled against her own.
Cain glared down at her hard. “The old man and I had a discussion on such a subject, more than once,” he said vaguely. “He's our way into the West to find the outlanders, I'm sure of it. Don't argue me on it, just wait and see.”
“Are you saying you think he's someone that can be trusted?” she asked delicately. His eyes pierced into her. She glared up at him just as fiercely, so damn mad at him and his 'just wait and see' that she was sure that sparks would start shooting from her eyes if her temper flared any more.
“Are you sayin' you don't trust me?” Cain retaliated, a hint of a growl in his undertone.
DG opened her mouth to say something, but realized there was no answer to his question; no right answer, at any rate, and he had a point. Yes, she trusted him, relied on his judgement and common sense more than she cared to admit. Still angry at him, she jerked herself away, logic weighing out over her mind but her body still controlled by emotion.
Ignoring Cain, and the bite of blue eyes she could feel, she searched through her mind for what she knew. The old man had helped them, hadn't he? Put his life at risk, to help the Queen of the land of his birth. It just... well, she just didn't like it, a feeling she couldn't even explain to herself. But how many times in the last four days had Cain told her he didn't like what was happening, both in and out of their control? He'd complained, made his opinions known, but he hadn't interfered... shouldn't she give him that same courtesy now?
Damn it all to hell, Cain was right. If anyone was their route into the West, it would be the old man. Frowning up at the Tin Man now, she conceded, a great blow to her pride. “Yes, I trust you,” she said quietly, and Wyatt sighed, as if he'd been worried about her answer. She had a thousand smart-ass comments lined up, but she kept them to herself. “I'm going to get washed up, then go help with supper,” she told him, her voice quiet, restrained. She wasn't sure what more there was to say... they'd almost-fought and she was wrong, what more was there to say?
“Deeg,” he said slowly, but she held up a hand to cut him off.
“It's okay,” she said shortly. She was cooling off, but it was going to take some time. Desperately, she sought the distraction of menial tasks, to wash her face and brush her hair. She should feel relieved, that the next step was lining up to be an easy one, to find the outlanders, to speak to the Commander. That task, looming heavy and dark, unnerved her. She hated not knowing what to expect - and this journey was turning out to be nothing but blind corners.
She grabbed her pack and left the room without another word. In the tiny closet of a bathroom, she changed into the last of her clean clothes, and brushed the tangles out of her hair. She filled the sink with warm water, and began to wash the grime from her face and hands, the water tingeing slightly black by the time she'd finished. Pulling the plug, she emptied the sink, and wiped around the edges with her cloth, making sure to leave the room as clean as when she'd come in. Really, she wasn't made to be a princess...
“Almost there.”
DG's eyes widened at the voice, and she straightened to see the pretty, dark-haired girl in the mirror smiling softly at her, where her own reflection should be. DG fought the urge to scream, and stared hard, wanting to call for Cain; instead, letting the curious part of her take charge, she leaned in a little more, studying the face that watched her.
The girl in the mirror looked so, so similar to herself, it was almost unreal. The girl resembled her more, could have better passed for her sister than Azkadellia did.
“Who are you?” DG asked the girl in the mirror, her whisper turning to a hiss as she tried to keep her voice down. She reached forward to touch the glass, hesitating with her fingers mere inches away. The girl in the mirror raised her own hand, pressed it flat against her side of the mirror, her fingers splayed out.
“You're almost there. Just keep going,” the girl in the mirror encouraged, her words that echoed out in the room - or maybe just in DG's head - out of sync with the movement of her lips. The voice was tinny, coming through a bad connection, and DG frowned, missing the sight of herself and wishing away this girl who was almost herself.
“Who are you?” DG repeated suspiciously.
The girl cast her dark brown eyes to the hand she held up against the mirror, and then her eyes flicked slightly down to look at DG's own fingers, hovering a mere inch now above the glass. With a smile that curled her lips upward prettily, the girl in the mirror shifted, slipped away, and DG was left staring at herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, holding a hand foolishly over the mirror.
Author's Note II: Comments are love!
Table Of Contents:
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