I realizethat I must have fallen asleep when I wake suddenly to see that the dark of the night has fully encroached on my bedroom.I’m not certain what’s woken me, except that I’m ravenously hungry.Grocery shopping, or at least getting food delivered, would have been a great idea.
Then something buzzes against my leg, and it takes my blurry brain a moment to recognize that I’ve uncharacteristically crawled into bed with my phone, which is now sandwiched between the bed and my thigh.Also, I’m certain that I had it on silent, not whatever the current buzz alert is.Though I wouldn’t put it past Coda to change it in an attempt to screw with me.Or even just to get my attention.
I haul the offending device up to my face, ignoring all the text notifications scattered across the screen except for the most recent.They’re all from Presh.And I instantly know that it isn’t Coda who made my phone buzz — it’s the universe giving my shoulder a little tap.A tap that will likely turn into a shove if I continue to wallow in bed and hide from my present.And my past?
>Can you pick me up?
>Yes, I snuck out.
>Again.
>And yes, it’s late.
>Will you come?
I slide out of bed, crossing through the dark to the shallow walk-in closet that I haven’t so much as looked in since my arrival.I score some skinny-legged jodhpur-style pants that haven’t been in style since I likely wore them last, so about thirteen years ago.I’m lucky the pants are stretchy — and black — because even with my current death-warmed-over physique, I’m definitely not seventeen anymore.I find surprisingly lacy panties and a camisole in the top drawer of the bureau.Also black, and rather sexy for teenage me.Rather sexy for adult me, honestly.
As I exit the closet, I spot an adorable vegan-leather minibackpack that looks brand new.And I certainly don’t remember it, so maybe I never used it.
I text Presh back as I head downstairs.
Address?
In the laundry room, I retrieve my oversized charcoal cashmere sweater — thankfully now dry — and my second-favorite pair of ankle boots.Apparently, I’m ignoring the hole that’s been burned through the sweater just a little while longer.Thankfully, the edges are seared, so it’s not unraveling.
Presh gets back to me, and I instantly click open the map app on the phone because I don’t recognize where she is.Even with the route mapped out, I have no idea where I’m heading, except it’s about fifteen minutes away.
On my way.
In the barn, I slide into the pickup, with its pristinely restored dual-tone interior and its red steering wheel just as glossy as its black finish.I remember that the key is tucked into the sun shield — before remembering that I have to get out again to manually open the garage doors.Then I need to remind myself how to drive a truck.It might all be set up the same, but it certainly doesn’t operate like a luxury car, even if both are equally classic.
I drive right past the Authority agents in their mammoth SUV.And that’s all the evidence I need that I’m on an errand for the universe, despite not feeling the tug of a full-blown knowing.The gate is already open, presumably left that way by Rought when he and Presh left the property.The agents have presumably bothaccidentallyfallen asleep while on duty, and I just go with it.As I usually do.
The map leads me south along the edge of the Gage estate for about seven minutes, then cuts abruptly east toward the outskirts of the nearest township.Newport, I think.The streets are wet, but it isn’t currently raining.It’s dark enough that I don’t need my sunglasses, though my face feels bare, exposed without them.
The map app takes me on a weirdly winding route that I figure out the reason for only when I’m a block away from the destination.We’re deep into a warehouse district I honestly didn’t know existed.I can hear music pouring out from a derelict-looking three-storey building before I even shut off the truck.
It’s some kind of underground club or rave.With the truck window open, the sweet, metallic-tasting air that surrounds the building hints at the rampant use of essence-imbued drugs — the definitely illegal kind.The concrete or pavement or whatever it is underfoot is cracked and crumbled at the edges.
I feel more like myself the moment I step out of the truck, which lets me know exactly how overwhelming being on the property is right now.It’s swamped my senses so much that I’m not even aware of being suffocated by it.
The front doors of the building are shut behind thick metal bars.The windows are boarded over, even on the top floor.I slip around the building, easily following the thick trail of accumulated essence that leads down the side and around the back.Dozens of essence-wielders have come and gone from this location tonight.I normally don’t feel such things without actually looking for them— notwithstanding that there’s never really been anything normal about me.And there certainly won’t be now that I’m the Conduit.
I sense Presh’s quiet essence ahead, almost completely subsumed by what feels like shifter energy.But her pastel rainbow-colored hair is unmistakable even in the moonlit alley.She’s clinging to the edge of a metal barrel of some sort and heaving out her guts.
I’m only a few steps from her side when her two companions jolt upon seeing me.They’re both shifters, so I know that the universe is definitely doing that thing where it randomly chooses to mask my presence.In this particular case, I figure it’s some sort of lesson in humility.Not for me.
A lanky male in his late teens starts to shove himself between me and Presh, face shrouded by artfully mussed, chin-length hair that I’m pretty certain is an odd dark gray.His eyes are gold-flecked green, his skin a medium brown.But he loses his ready sneer when he truly takes me in.Noting my eyes, I presume, because the rest of me isn’t remarkable enough to stop a young male shifter with something to prove in his tracks.
“It’s fine,” Presh gasps between heaves over the barrel.Nothing is coming up, but her system isn’t convinced that it’s purged her stomach yet.“Zaya.That’s Zaya.”
I recognize the second shifter from the Tasty Tart diner— the server, Kris.She’s doing a terrible job of holding Presh’s hair back, and not because of my sudden appearance.She can’t keep her gaze off the dark-gray-haired male.Kris’s dirty-blond hair is randomly braided in a few places, and dusted with the same glitter that highlights her cheekbones.
Both girls are dressed to party in short skirts, heeled boots, and lace tank tops.Presh’s skirt is swishy, and Kris’s had better be stretchy, or I’m not sure how she can move in it.
They both have to be freezing even though it’s not raining.Except I presume they’re also both juiced up enough to not feel the cold.
I keep walking, and the protective shifter is forced to cede way to me.A completely disgruntled look takes over for his seemingly permanent sneer as he realizes what he’s done.