Page 48 of Awry

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I huff, seriously peeved.

But since I already know that Presh is worth the hassle of the hazy memory I have of her intense, overbearing brothers, I just triple-tap each warning message, dismissing it and alerting Coda at the same time.

Taking the phone with me, I shuffle into the bathroom.My suitcase is by the door, and as I pull out my neatly packed toiletries bag — quite certain that it was the opposite of neat when I repacked it — I don’t doubt that every inch of every one of my belongings has been inspected as well.

I’ve already showered and am brushing my teeth when the phone screen flickers, displaying an intricate moving pattern of gray lines on the black background with the occasional slash of purple.It’s not a phone call, at least not in the traditional sense, because it doesn’t require me to answer it.

A beat later, the phone speaker is triggered remotely.A voice sounding like it hasn’t spoken out loud in days mumbles, “What exactly have you gotten yourself into now?”

Coda.

“Initiating a voice-to-voice conversation?”I drawl.“Should I feel blessed?”

Coda doesn’t answer, but I can hear background noise filtering in from the other end of the call.Rapid finger taps on multiple keyboards.I can visualize the banks of screens arrayed before the pale-skinned, hollow-eyed hacker, along with the energy drinks and caramel-shortbread-chocolate-bar wrappers littering all available surfaces.Coda will be wearing blue-tinted glasses, for light-sensitive purple eyes that are a few shades darker than my own.Well, my own before.I don’t bother to glance in the mirror to confirm the verging-on-violet hue of my dry, red-rimmed orbs.

Hacker isn’t the proper term for someone like Coda, who, despite their purple eyes, defies classification even among the awry.Coda does what I do — or at least what I used to do — except they interpret the threads of essence that surround us all on a microscopic, digital level.The life force, or fate as some call it.

I break the silence first.I always do.Coda might actually have forgotten they initiated a call with me at all.“Do I need to give you a detailed report, or are you in the process of backtracking my phone and pulling up every vid feed you can find?”

The pause after that question is long enough that I slather cream over every inch of my body, emptying the last of my travel stash in the process.I’m going to have to order more and get it shipped.

“Someone has tidied up after you,” Coda mutters.“But either they missed this or couldn’t thread it …”

The sound of keys clicking over the speakers increases in frequency, as it often does when Coda is doggedly following a digital thread.It’s punctuated by quiet grunts and mutters.

I tug on the last of my clean clothing.Stretchy charcoal jeans that are now annoyingly loose, a form-fitting black T-shirt, and the oversized cashmere sweater I slept in.The sweater is fragrant, and not in a good way.But I’ll be ditching the bag — and the other tracking devices that have no doubt been hidden on and in it — and I love the lightweight charcoal sweater too much to leave it.

“Impressive work, your new tech,” Coda mutters.“Oh, and this … this little bit was pure artistry …”

A moment later, it’s a shouted, “What the fuck!”that lets me know Coda has found footage of the incident on the beach.From some private security system on one of the houses edging the shoreline?

“Your new tech,” Coda sneers over the speakers, “isn’t as good as me.”

“The tech isn’t mine,” I say easily.“And no one is as good as you.”

Coda huffs, still pouting.“I’ve cleaned up the residual, but what the fuck was that on the beach?I couldn’t get a good angle and can’t zoom in enough — yet — to get a clean image.”

“A berserker.”

“What?!”More sounds of keys being clicked are heard over the phone speaker.

I comb my wet hair and pull it into two long pigtails.I don’t have a hair dryer, and I’ve got too much hair and not enough skill to twist it into anything prettier or smoother.Though I was too out of it to fully notice yesterday, I had indeed lost the expensive multilayered haircut and all my pretty streaks in the transition between life and death, then back again.

There’s never been any point in me getting a piercing or a tattoo, because every time I die, I awake as a severely underweightblank slate.It’s a shame, because I love the idea of wearing diamond studs, or even brown topaz to match Muta.

“A shifter man-eater?”Coda asks.

“That’s usually the way they manifest.”

“I thought packs took care of that sort of thing.”

“That’s the generally accepted decree.”

Coda grunts.“Your tech has a trace on the other biker who was dogging you.But also … it looks like they cleaned up after him for a bit … then the trail goes cold, best I can tell at first glance.The second shifter goes by Chains, Cataclysm MC.”

“Yeah,” I say wryly.“We met.”

Coda snorts.“Who is this dude tech?He’s got great fingers and a sexy amount of reach … you want me to put a pin in him?”