44. Forty One
Forty One
Cecil
The passing of weeks warms the air and stretches the days, casting everything in hues of gold and pale blue.
While I’ve had to return to my duties at the Sanctuary, it’s less frequent than it had been.
Breaking Eden takes precedence, so Curran has granted me more time off than ever before.
It doesn’t completely wash away the agony of what our reality is, but it lightens the load.
We weren’t able to find an answer on how to “fix” Eden’s affliction in any of the books.
According to what we’ve read, and what little we’ve actually understood, the only answer is to embrace her “Gift”.
Which, to my surprise, Eden has been taking in stride.
Her lips aren’t as bruised, and she’s more willing to express her feelings rather than regress into that catatonic state.
The anxiety is prevalent, but it’s not as debilitating.
I have a suspicion that her mother’s journal has something to do with it.
After our almost-kiss, I expected a lapse of awkwardness.
The thing with Eden is, though, she doesn’t even know to be awkward.
Being alone most of her life, she doesn’t react to things like an ordinary person.
So, she’s carried on as if nothing has happened.
If anything, I’m the one being weird. I can’t even maintain eye contact with her.
It’s humiliating.
Creed has been training nearly every day. He’s stronger, but he prefers to practice with the fire arms, excusing it that physical sparring is boring. I know better, but I don’t push.
If he keeps wasting bullets, Sylvie might strangle him. But he’s enjoying himself, and he’s learning, and I don’t have the heart to tell him to ditch the dreams of being a gun wielding assassin. Speaking of guns, I reload mine and take aim.
“Bastien!” Pulled from my thoughts, my shoulders tense. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Too busy with that little demon of yours?”
My trigger finger itches to paint the grass with AJ’s skull fragments, but I refrain. For now.
With a grounding breath, I face the unwelcome visitor. The sun is high and blinding. I have to squint to make him out.
“Did you need something?” I ask, dropping the pistol down to my side.
AJ scoffs, put out by my lack of niceties. He should know better. Ignoring my question, the man approaches. Reflective sunglasses sit low on his nose, and he gazes at the targets in the distance.
“Damn, you are a good shot. No wonder Curran kisses your ass.” He laughs at his own joke, flashing me a wad of chewed up bubblegum. How can someone make something as simple as chewing gum so vile?
Opting to snub him, I focus on the targets once more and raise my arm. In quick succession, I make a circle around the bullseye. If Creed knew how good I was with a gun, he would shit his pants. A smirk paints my lips before I can smother it.
A low whistle sounds beside me. My nostrils flare.
“That’s good shit, seriously. Between you and Demon Girl, the raid should be easy as pie.”
My eyes slice to him quick as a whip.
“What raid?” I forego attempting nonchalance, but try not to sound too panicked. If anything, I just sound annoyed. As is typical when I’ve got a thorn in my side.
Needing an outlet for the sudden electricity buzzing through me, I pull the trigger again. I miss.
AJ crosses his arms across his chest, tsking at my fumble. “And here I thought Curran told his dog everything.” The amusement is evident in his tone. He might as well hop around, singing, “Nana-nana boo-boo, I know something you don’t know!”
Changing my stance, I line up the shot again.
“Obviously not, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking.” Another bang rings out. Miss. My gut twists, a mix of aggravation and foreboding.
“Guess you aren’t all that special, huh?” He snickers, pushing his sunglasses up. “Next month. The orphanage.”
Unable to stop myself, my head snaps toward him. I search his face for any sign of deceit, but all I find is a smug grin and my own reflection over his eyes.
“The orphanage is off-limits.”
The orphanage is a known Refuge, but the Brothers haven’t dared step foot near it.
It’s smack dab in the middle of the city, and it would cause too much of a scene.
While the Brothers may be known by the masses, they’re like the Boogeyman.
Hiding in the shadows, just out of reach.
That’s the way it’s always been. Always.
“It was, but Curran is ready for us to seize it. It’s been a long time coming, and Lord knows how much Darkness is held in those walls.” AJ shrugs. “It’s bound to be a good time, though, huh?” A bubble pops, and it’s somehow louder than the gunshots.
Luckily, he doesn’t expect an answer and stalks back through the flattened grass toward the Sanctuary. I’m left alone with my thoughts.
And I panic.
If they’re planning a raid, we have to interfere. The orphanage houses dozens of children. Children that I have rescued from their deadly fate. I can’t turn my back now, after all the work I’ve done.
But we’re not ready. Some of the Resistance, maybe, but many can’t even land a punch. We were going to hit them when they least expected it. On our terms. And now… it’s all gone to shit.
Bringing my hands to my face, I dig the handle of the pistol into my forehead.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“It’ll be alright,” Veda assures me, southern drawl thick with cajoling. Her palm comes to my shoulder, but I shrug it off, continuing to pace around her small living room.
“We’re not ready.” They’re not ready, I wanna say. Through the window, Creed and Eden attempt to catch lightning bugs in their palms. The sky has bruised into a deep purple of dusk, and it’s too fitting for the ache in my mind.
“We will be. We don’t have a choice.” She’s resigned, and it somehow makes the pit in my stomach sink further. I’m not sure what I wanted her to say, but that wasn’t it.
There’s no winning. I should have known.
“But—”
“Cecil. Look at me,” Veda commands. Even though we’ve been on the outs recently, I obey. She comes to stand in front of me. Her crows feet deepen as she peers at me.
“We don’t have a choice,” she repeats, nodding her head in agreement with herself.
Swallowing thickly, I look back to the window. Eden’s teeth flash in a rare display of genuine joy, and I catch sight of her imperfect smile. On the tip of her index finger, there’s a pulsing yellow glimmer.
“What do we do?” The desperation in my voice is unfamiliar. I hardly recognize it.
A weathered hand comes to my cheek, and I peer down at the woman before me.
“We fight.”