48 Think of Me When You Hear Birdsong
Think of Me When You Hear Birdsong
T here were no barbiturates in the IV, only plain saline. But I’m running a toxicology screen to be certain.”
“And her arm?”
“Dislocated shoulder. Looks to be extensive damage to the surrounding muscles and tendons, some torn ligaments, a fractured humerus. Girl needs loads of surgeries. Okay, maybe not loads, but I’d put good money on at least two.
We could maybe get some illegal nanobots to fix her up, but by the time Alice tracks some down, she’ll have healed all kinds of wrong.
And we’re already impressively over-budget as is.
I hate to say it, but she’s in for a lifetime of chronic pain and limited mobility.
Honestly, and you know I’m no doctor, but amputation may be the best course of action—they make excellent prosthetics these days.
Oh, and I reset her nose and attended to the burned flesh over her barcode brand—are you the one who lasered it off?
Dude, Corb, terrible job. You went way too deep; she’ll have a thick wad of scar tissue.
Eh, you know what, have Alice track down some bots anyway—I’ve got a contact in the city who knows someone. Let Riv deal with the invoice.”
Temmi stared at the backside of the white privacy curtain, listening to the person who said they weren’t a doctor converse with the man who’d brought her there.
She didn’t know his name. Had only been awake a few hours.
Her shoulder’s prognosis felt unimportant, considering she’d come out of the execution chair alive.
Though wouldn’t it be ironic if she ended up losing the same arm as her brother? Ollie would find it morbidly hilarious.
By all rights, she should be dead. She didn’t understand why she wasn’t. Why anyone would risk an attack in the capital of the Expan Empire in broad daylight to save her? Let alone how they’d succeeded?
The man pulled her curtain to the side. There was a slight, awful keen of metal rings on a metal bar. Temmi clamped her teeth together to combat the resulting rush of panic in her body. She felt the sound in her teeth.
“Miss Ialan.” He stepped into her cubicle, gaze sweeping over her face, down her upper body, lingering on the tight sling imprisoning her right arm. A dull but persistent ache, punctuated occasionally by sharp stabs of pain, emanated from the unfortunate appendage.
She hadn’t gotten a good look at the man when he’d carried her out of the half-demolished production studio.
Her ears had been practically bleeding from her proximity to the explosion, and her mind had been foggy from whatever tranquilizer the emperor’s chief of staff had given her.
Thinking back on it now, the whole ordeal was overlaid with the strange, filmy substance of a fever dream.
“How are you feeling? Your arm requires a surgeon, which is something we’re lacking at present—”
“I can’t lose my fucking arm,” Temmi said. She tried sitting up in the bed. Well, calling it a bed was a bit optimistic. More firm cot than anything.
“You’re more than welcome to keep the arm.” His accent resembled Arbora’s, and he had a single, chrome ring pierced through his left eyebrow. Temmi surmised he was from one of the Prop’s moons. He shrugged one shoulder. “You’re the one who has to live with it.”
“Fuck you,” Temmi said.
“I’m good, thanks.”
She leaned her head back against the wall. She was tired. And she hurt. “Can I at least get some painkillers? Maybe a drink? Something strong enough to forget the last two months.”
“Not until we get your tox screen back.” He reached around to close the curtain behind him. There was that keening screech of metal on metal again.
“Who the fuck are you, anyway?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a delightful conversationalist?”
“If it’s gratitude you want, I’m going to reserve that until I find out why you saved my life.”
“You got bite—I like that.” He grabbed a small metal stool from beneath Temmi’s cot and sat, albeit somewhat awkwardly, what with his legs having very little clearance between the stool’s seat and the floor.
He had a few days’ worth of blond stubble on his tanned cheeks and buzzed golden hair to match.
She estimated his height to be marginally shorter than Spie’s.
“I’m Corbin. Special Agent Gehr if you wanna be fancy about it, but I personally find the ranking hierarchy representative of the exact thing we’re trying to abolish.
I’m TFC special ops. Stands for The Freedom Collective .
I saved you because I got orders from far more important people than me telling me to save you.
And now, I’ve been assigned to be your shadow. ”
“Shadow?”
“Bodyguard. Muscle. Babysitter. Take your pick.” He patted a very sleek-looking LZ blaster holstered at his hip.
Temmi studied his stubbled face. He had bushy, expressive eyebrows and pale green-blue eyes. A thick white scar was slashed across his chin. Not a classically handsome face but comforting and open.
“The Freedom Collective?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“Ridiculous name.”
He made an amused sound in the back of his throat. “Once Lemmer clears you, I’ll take you to the boss for a debrief. She’s eager to meet you. The whole Cell is.”
“Where am I?”
“Prop safehouse.”
“We’re still on Expan?” Temmi clutched at the sheet covering her lower half with her good hand. “Why the fuck are we still on Expan?”
“We sent out a decoy ship when we nabbed you. The Fleet caught it, but they lost us. No one this side of the Ranger System can outfly Alice. Anyway, the best place to hide is always under someone’s nose. We’re laying low right now. Airspace around here is tighter than the emperor’s asshole.”
The curtain was thrown open. That stupid fucking screeching sound again.
“Yo, Corb.” Another man with an equally shaved head intruded on Temmi’s space.
He had warm brown skin, a stocky build, and an acne-scarred face.
“Boss says the package has a visitor. She’s bringing them down right now.
High-profile. Level-twelve confidential.
Bagged for location security. None of the other cells are allowed to know.
” He leaned in, as though conspiratorially, either completely forgetting or not caring that Temmi could overhear.
“You’ll never guess who it is—shocked me halfway back to my momma’s womb. Can’t believe HC gave her clearance.”
“If it’s your ex, I’m not holding her back from cutting off your balls.” Corbin stood up and kicked the stool back under Temmi’s cot. He raised both bushy eyebrows at her. “Stay put.”
Left alone, Temmi stared at the locked cabinets and drawers in the room outside her cubicle. The wall behind them appeared to be roughhewn rock, like it’d been carved out of a cave. Realization struck: they were underground.
A door outside her field of vision croaked open. Someone who sounded uncannily similar to Arbora VinVanxin, said in a low voice, “You have five minutes. Not a second more.”
“How’s my hair? Did the hood mess it up? The fabric is itchy; I am not wearing it on the way back up.”
Temmi’s heart fully shat itself. Because that second voice was too real and lifelike to belong to anyone other than the woman who haunted her waking and sleeping mind. But Spie couldn’t be there. That was impossible.
For an interminable few seconds, the click-clack of heels echoed across the floor.
And then Princess Spie Expani stood before Temmi’s open cubicle, looking like she’d stepped out of a holoadvertisement.
Pale pink pantsuit and dark cream blazer, void-black hair cascading in loose waves down her back, long elegant neck, smiling wisteria eyes, and cocky tilt of her head.
Temmi bolted upright, the pain in her shoulder dissipating in the face of this impossible apparition. “This is a fucking dream, right? I’m fucking dreaming.”
“You dream of me often?” Spie affected that amused and perfectly sensual grin, the one that never failed to send heat to Temmi’s core. “I can’t blame you, really. Who wouldn’t?”
Temmi scooted to the edge of her cot, placed her bare feet on the cold cement floor. The hemline of her starchy medical gown bunched up to her knees. “You were in the studio. Just sitting there like it was all a show. I saw you—you fucking let them take me. Fuck you, Spie. Fucking fuck you.”
“That’s a lot of fuck s, even for you.” Spie tossed her hair over one shoulder and stepped into the cubicle. The grin on her face faltered, melting from her skin like candle wax before an open flame.
Temmi rose. Her vision went momentarily spotty, but she managed to keep from falling face first into Spie’s arms. Barely.
“I fucking hate you.”
“Good.” Spie’s violet gaze caressed Temmi’s face. Her hands twitched at her sides. “You should hate me. I’m a very hateable person.” She brought one hand up as though to touch Temmi’s face or hair or both but let it drop before making contact. “You look terrible, by the way.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry my nose is broken because your fucking imperial guards decided to punch me in the face. Fuck you.”
Spie frowned. Half-turned so she could close the privacy curtain. Temmi fought a brief swell of irritation at the resulting sound.
Spie turned back. “I didn’t say you weren’t still beautiful.
” She stepped closer. The distance between them dissipated dangerously.
When she spoke next, her words were nearly a whisper.
“Artemis, I—I swear to you I didn’t know.
It was Nicky. It was him who...” But she didn’t seem to be able to say the words.
“Oh, I know. Kalvin enlightened me. But you let them take me to that prison, Spie. For two fucking weeks, I rotted in there alone. You could’ve visited me. You could’ve told me what was happening. You could’ve—”
“I was going to ask you to marry me.”
“What?” Temmi’s balance grew unstable. Her vision spotted again.