Vices

  Chapter 19

  The arbitrary grogginess that surrounds you when you first wake up is overwhelming as I’m roused from my sleep by the sound of hurried footsteps. I feel as though my lungs aren’t taking in as much air as they should be, and when I breathe in all I feel is the empty spaces in my throat constrict in a horrific manner.

  I gasp for air and feel my mouth, hoping that something may have covered my mouth and that I could fix this breathing problem easily. I feel up my neck and onto my mouth, and finally come upon what’s causing my asphyxiation, a rough cloth. I throw it off of me and bolt straight up, clutching my chest and hoping that the air will begin to flow through my lungs again.

  I attempt to look around, but the world is a blur. I see many figures, but none of them look familiar. I feel my eyes begin to close as though I’m about to faint, but I force them to stay open. I scan the figures. They aren’t watching me, but it looks like they’re putting Os into a large van or something. But then one of the figures sees me.

  And I can tell he’s a “he” due to his shape and height. He’s got broad shoulders and dark hair from the looks of it; you couldn’t possibly mistake him for a girl. He’s covered from head to toe in dark clothing, like most of the other figures, but he seems to be the dominant presence among them. He holds himself up as though he were a guardian or a leader of some sort.

  I give out one final gasp for air and feel myself become paralyzed by weakness. But he is upon me before I even lay down, his long arms wrapping around me and I’m suddenly cradled up against him.

  As I finally faint, the last thing I see is the depth and light in his sea blue eyes. If I had fainted in any other stranger’s arms, I think I would’ve been worried. But there is something strangely comforting about those foamy eyes. Falling into unconsciousness is like falling into water—I know the impact won’t hurt me, it’ll suck me in and I’ll feel nothing but peace and silence.

  A gentle smack on the head sends my senses back to work. I rub my head with the palm of my hand and look around in an attempt to figure out where the heck I am. It looks as though I’m lying in the back of a van-- most likely the van that Os was taken into, yet I don’t see Os. But then again, I don’t see anyone.

  My vision is blurry as I try to make out the strange L shapes that are around me, but then it hits me, quite literally in fact, that these L shapes are people’s legs and feet. I feel another gentle nudge on my head and understanding floods through my mind like a water main break.

  The gentle smack that released me from unconsciousness seems to have come from a man’s foot whom I’ve never seen before. As I raise myself to look around better, I notice he’s dark haired and quite skinny; his skin is tanned. I also take note that he is definitely not the man who picked me up from the field; this man looks way too malnourished to be the same guy.

  I take note of another important detail; the man’s eyes are closed and he’s also giving out a small groan, which leads me to believe that he is asleep. That must be why he keeps kicking me.

  After a short time, my vision returns back to its usual capacity and I am able to look around the entire van. I notice that there are two men sitting next to the skinny man and on the side opposite of them, Os is lying on a bunk that’s connected to the wall. The interior of the van is dark, but the early morning is providing enough light for me to make out where all of the figures are located.

  Os seems to be awake due to the fact that he’s groaning in a painful manner, something quite different from the nasally snoring that had put me to sleep the night before.

  I quietly turn myself over and crawl to Os’ side.

  “Os, are you okay?” I whisper with an edge of concern.

  “Yeah— ugh. They gave me some pain meds and they have a strange tendency to cause stomach pain, which happened to just hit me like a fuckin’ freight train,” he replies.

  “Oh, okay. Well I just had to make sure you weren’t going into cardiac arrest or something more serious, what with you on the way to getting yourself fixed and whatnot.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the skinny guy stir from his slumbers, most likely from our chat, and look over at us. I wonder if we’ve broken a rule or something and I move away from Os as fast as I can back into the spot where I had woken up.

  I don’t look at him and from my periphery I see him give me a confused look. I’m guessing that little paranoid thought was untrue and he puts my worrying to rest.

  “No worries, hon. You’re not in prison anymore. You can talk to whomever, whenever ya like,” he says. His voice is gentle and has a nice little southern edge to it; he’s definitely American.

  “Uh, okay. Yeah,” I reply awkwardly.

  “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout Os,” he says, pointing at the wounded man. “He’s got a strong stomach. In fact, one time I saw him eat an entire roa—“

  Os cuts him off. “Pete, shut your trap, why don’t ya?”

  “But Os, she deserves to hear o’ your infamous escapades in the kitchen just like everybody else at the mansion.”

  A silence passes over for a moment.

  “So I’m guessing you two are pals, huh?” I ask.

  “Pft, if you think having to room with a guy for two years and having to listen to him snore every single night is friendship, then me n’ Os should be the best of friends,” says Pete.

  “Ha! I am probably the only guy there who has to put up with somebody who refuses to allow lint to stick on any of his clothing. If I wanted him to go somewhere with me, I’d have to wait for twenty minutes until he had himself all primed and proper. Just about drove me nutso!” Os declares.

  We all laugh and Pete clarifies his reasoning behind his lint obsession. “I’ve just gotta look my absolute best for the ladies.” He slicks his hair back and gives me a wink. Os and I laugh and Pete flashes us a grin.

  The other two men stir from their sleep and rub their heads.

  “These two blokes who we rudely awoke from their beauty sleep are Tully and Gent, best friends ‘til the end. You can hardly ever separate ‘em without one worrying ‘bout the other,” says Pete.

  “Hey there,” says the gray-haired one. “I’m Gent.” His voice is very calm, but rather rough. He talks like a surfer dude. He hardly opens his eyes when he talks.

  “’Ey, I’m Tully,” says the dirty-blonde one. He doesn’t seem to look anywhere other than the ground.

  Tully sounds like he’s from the east coast and Gent sounds like he’s a Midwesterner such as myself. Their different births don’t seem to affect their close friendship. Nor does their apparent age difference.

  “Hey, I’m Aidan.”

  “Aha! Another Midwesterner,” says Gent with an enthusiastic grin. It appears he isn’t a legit surfer dude after all. “It’s nice to hear somebody else without an accent. Man, when we get back to HQ, your head will be spinnin’ from all the different accents. We’ve got lots of different people working together.” Gent is one of those guys who talks with his hands; you may go so far and call it flailing.

  The thought of a hundred different accents floating around one place makes me wonder if I’ll be able to even understand what’s being said.

  The look on my face must show my concern, and Gent laughs.

  “I wouldn’t be too worried about the accents, really; it makes it much easier to identify everybody. I’d reckon if we were all from the same place, we’d actually have to rely on remembering names!” Pete’s words are reassuring, but I’m guessing I really have no idea what’s in store.

  Gent and Tully laugh at Pete’s remark and nod their heads in agreement.

  “And hey, if you’re ever confused, just come and see Tully and I. We know everybody in the house and hardly ever have anything important to do.”

  “So are you two really best friends?”

  “Yep, have been ever since I found young Tully tryin’ to pick some poison berries. You’d think the boy’d learn, but I still can’t trust him handl
in’ any of the food in the house. He’s probably mistake arsenic for paprika!”

  “I’m certainly not a cook, let me tell you that,” Tully says with a smile.

  “Sorry about asking about you two being best friends,” I say. “It just seems like you’re old enough to be his dad.”

  Gent lets out a deep laugh and says, “Well yeah, I am, but it ain’t never put a wedge in our friendship.”

  “Gent doesn’t believe in wedges, or even problems for that matter. Everything is smooth sailing for him. So that means things are smooth sailing for me too.”

  They enter into a conversation about a girl or something. I try to listen, but my concentration falters.

  I quit my eavesdropping and look up at Pete, who has brought out a small book and a chewed up pencil. He flips it open and begins to write something.

  “Eh, Aidan, how ya spell that?”

  “Spell what?” I ask.

  “Your name, silly,” he replies

  “Oh, uh, A-I-D-A-N.”

  “A’right, just wondering. I’m the record keeper for the whole operation, and if we don’t have record of everyone that comes through, then we may get disorganized and all hell could break loose,” he says with a joking chuckle.

  “So, are there a lot of people coming through there or are there just a lot of members? The way you said that make it sound like you house refugees or something,” I ask.

  “Eh, yeah, a bit of both. We have people coming through every once in a while and then some people that never leave. Gent, Tully, and I would be examples of some that never leave.”

  “So is living there exclusive to just a few, or are you guys welcoming?”

  “Hun, if you’re worried about us throwing you off somewhere, you have nothing to worry about. The only way we send you away is if you consent to the plan and if we’re positive it’s to a safe place. Unless you’re putting the house or the people living there at risk will you be thrown out by force.”

  “Okay, I was- uh- just wondering. I haven’t really been situated in a safe place for the past five years. It kind of makes you a bit paranoid.”

  “No worries, I know how it feels to be a wanderer, believe me. I wandered for three years after the extermination, but one thing I know is that wanderers that survive are some of the strongest people left.“ As he says this, he pats me on the shoulder comfortingly. The physical contact catches me off guard, but I quickly remember the healing properties it possesses. It feels good to know someone’s got your back.

  “I’m sure that the wanderers that aren’t insane are the strongest,” Os adds in. “But it’s just sad when you see the ones that have lasted so long but have lost their minds on the way.”

  “You got that right. Just last week a fella came stumblin’ in shouting and flailing, tellin’ us that we were about to be ambushed,” says Pete. “Of course he was wrong, and Kael had to personally help take him some place safe. That fella certainly put up a fight, but Kael isn’t a man to mess with.“

  There was that name again. Kael. The name just sounded strong and from everything I’ve heard about him, his name most likely reflected who he was. I’m guessing I’ll have to be meeting him sometime soon.

  “So do a lot of crazy people come through?”

  “Meh, not too often, maybe every couple o’ months. It’s nothin’ to be worrying ‘bout though,” remarks Pete. “We’ve always got people around to keep situations that arise under control.”

  “But then again we do have Pete working for us,” jokes Os. “He’s as crazy as it gets.”

  They both laugh and I can’t help but smile.

  “Hey, Os, if you were rooming with Pete for two years, how long had you been working in the prison?”

  “A couple of months.”

  “But I thought you said you’d been there for longer than that,” I say, confused about the facts I had written up in my head about Os.

  “Ah, well sometimes I can’t separate fact from fiction when it comes to that place. It’s the kind of place where once you get out, you want nothing to remember it by. I suppose it just felt like years.”

  I purse my lips silently, suddenly curious of the truth.

  “Our friend Osmond-- the man who has no recollection of time!” Pete narrates.

  The three of us laugh and a silence is ushered back into the van. I take off my shoes after trying to ignore the pain in them for a while. I rub my feet, trying to ease the ache out of them, and can’t help but notice that the crease in my shoe where I kept my knife has seemed to melt back together. How odd.

  The ride to wherever we’re going is long and the time spent in the van is hardly a silent experience. Gent and Tully talk to each other the entire way and Os and Pete never once stop teasing each other. I fight the urge to smack one of them upside the head out of angry annoyance.

  As we seem to slow down, I realize I have no idea who’s driving the van. There’s a barrier between us and the driver and passenger. I wonder if Mara and Devlin are in the car after all. Devlin seems like the type of guy who’d enjoy driving cars.

  “Hey, um, where are Devlin and Mara?”

  “They’re in another van we brought, bickering like an old married couple, those two. I’m guessing once we get back they’ll be off brawling somewhere. I think they need some time to themselves,” replies Pete.

  My thoughts float back to when the world was still turning as it always had, and how in the winter driving wasn’t so much fun. The Midwest is known for its four seasons; all of which show the extremities of Mother Nature.

  Hopefully it isn’t snowy where we are; nobody likes sliding around on ice. I look over to Gent and Tully, who have stopped talking and have begun looking out the back window. I look to Pete for some sort of an explanation, which he gives to me just as I’m about to ask.

  “We’re here.”

  Those two words shock and thrill me; I’m nervous with excitement.

  As we drive further, the daylight stops streaming into the car; we must be going into a garage or something. I rush over next to Gent and Tully and look out the back window. All I see is endless rows of tall hedges; it reminds me of the kind of yard some Victorian-aged house would have.

  The garage door slowly shuts behind us and Gent and Tully open up the back doors of the van. I turn around to see Pete unhooking Os’ bunk from the wall, being very careful not to hurt his friend in the process. Gent and Tully help Pete with carrying Os out of the van. I don’t hear Os complain once from pain and hope this means he’ll recover just fine.

  I hear the front car doors open and shut. A blonde-haired man walks over to Os and takes over for Gent. Tully, Pete, and the blonde walk off into the garage, being careful not to hit Os or anything around with Os. Gent comes over to the van and helps me out. He gives me a warm smile as I step down from the van.

  As I turn to look around, I see the other man who had been sitting in the front of the van.

  Kael.

  I can tell who he is without even being told. He is tall and muscular. His dark brown hair is short, which gives you full view of his sharply cut face. He has a distinct jawline that’s covered with dark stubble. He has broad shoulders and a fierce gaze, his eyes are deeply set, which causes a natural shadow to lie over his eyes. He is incredibly handsome; the living definition of masculinity. There’s something even more striking than his good looks--his blue eyes.

  As he looks at me, I can tell he’s analyzing every inch of me. He is no doubt a loyal leader, one who doesn’t take well to snitches or spies.

  He walks towards me and if I could see myself, I would say that I probably look like a little bit awestruck. As he walks nearer, I notice how disheveled his hair is. He looks as though he’s been scratching his head for some time.

  Upon further deduction, I realize that he is also most likely the man who had carried me into the van. Those eyes aren’t easily forgotten.

  Once he’s finally within arm’s length of me, he opens his mouth an
d begins to say something, but stops. He seems to be taken aback for some reason. It’s probably due to the fact that I’m still gazing with my mouth agape at him.

  “Kael, this is Aidan, the girl who helped out Devlin ‘n Mara,” says Gent with a giggle. He’s obviously noticed the strange reaction we’re both having. “She was a wanderer like Pete-- five years in fact. I wouldn’t worry ‘bout her being any trouble though, once she starts talking, she’s a pretty nice girl.” He smirks after saying that last bit and pats me on the back.

  “Um, hi,” I say as calmly as possible.

  “Ey, I’m Kael,” he says. He offers his hand to shake and I somehow find the strength to grasp it.

  “You’ll be comin’ with me. I’m guessin’ yer a bit confused and whatnot,” he says as he scratches his head. “We’ll get yeh situated in quick.”

  His voice is deep and thick with some sort of European accent. It sounds similar to Devlin’s. I would go as far and say it’s sort of like having molten chocolate pouring through your ears. Yeah, it’s that good.

  As he finishes speaking, he takes another step even closer to me. His eyes look into mine, but he doesn’t analyze me like he did before. I wouldn’t even call it analyzing this time. He’s just looking at me, like he’s trying to take a mental picture of me. He looks a tad bit confused, like he’s seen me before or something.

  He takes a step back and looks at me with his mouth sort of agape again. It seems as though he’s at a loss for words. His hand reaches up onto his head and scratches his head, yet again. I’m guessing that’s a habit of his.

  “A’right, come with me,” he says.

  He turns around and leads me through the large garage, which can fit maybe four or five cars. It smells like burnt oil and some other chemicals I can’t really put my finger on. As we make our way past the van, I look to my right and see a couple men working on what looks like an ancient convertible. Something from the 1900s maybe.

  I also spy the other van Mara and Devlin must’ve ridden in. The dark gray exterior looks scarred and worn, obviously a very well-used van, with a rather crooked crack carved into its windshield, a reminder of its past experiences.

  He leads me to the left and through a door after pressing a passcode to enter. As we make our way through a short hallway and take a left, a delicious scent fills my nostrils. Chocolate. He leads me through the kitchen and I spot the source of the intoxicating aroma-- brownies. Mmm. I hope they don’t let people have free reign of the kitchen, because if they do I will be very fat by the end of the week.

  The next room in our journey is some sort of workout room I spy two people fighting in the corner and a couple of guys lifting weights in the adjacent corner. It smells of sweat and the walls are covered with mirrors, like a ballet studio.

  I can see that Kael’s expression has turned to pensive and thoughtful and he does not look up as he leads me to wherever it is we’re going.

  As we make it to the far wall of the training room, I notice there’s no door. This perplexes me, so in turn I look over to see Kael who’s smirking at me.

  “Confused?” He asks, a smirk still carved into his face.

  “Yeah, a bit.”

  “Well, ye won’t be, soon enough.”

  Kael saunters over to the left corner of the wall and places his left hand gently on the mirror, and seems to press his fingertips in some certain order. I can’t really tell; he’s like five feet away.

  The mirror in front of him slides out and over and he ushers me through as if a secret door in a mirror is the most normal thing in the world.

  The next room we walk into is quite dark, so he moves over to the left wall and flips on the light switch. We’re standing in a small office, which seems to be used quite sparingly. He gestures to the chair sitting in front of the large oak desk and moves over to the chair on the side.

  You know, it’s really starting to look more and more like a visit to the principal, if the principal was as handsome as a Greek god. It may be the fact that I haven’t been around many guys for the past five years, but man, this fellow is attractive.

  As I nestle myself into the large green chair, I notice that to my left there is an entire wall of bookshelves. A disarray of books, papers, and some random knickknacks fill the oak shelves, making the room seem less formal and homier. On the opposite wall, there’s a window which has blackout curtains covering it. I’m guessing he either dislikes sunlight or he likes his privacy. It’s most likely the second one.

  “If you were wondering about the house, it belonged to a rather famous billionaire,” he explains as he gestures to the window and then to the door we just passed through. “He liked his privacy quite a bit.”

  Another heavy silence floats through the air and I stop looking around, realizing that he’s most likely waiting for me to start paying attention.

  “Uh, sorry.”

  “It’s a’right, a curious eye is nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

  I look up at him, right in his eyes, and yet again he’s studying me intensely. He has his elbows resting on the desk and his hands clasped together, as if he’s praying. But I can hardly look at anything other than his eyes; the way they’re focused and yet strangely gentle is a bit unnerving. I would call them hypnotic, but I don’t think that’s the right word.

  “Done?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I say sarcastically. If only he knew how perplexed by this whole situation I was.

  “A’right,” he says. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. From the way he rubs his hands together, he seems to be choosing his words carefully.

  “Aidan, the way you helped Mara and Devlin is something that will always be remembered. Whenever someone helps anyone part of our group, we are indebted to them forever. We are a family here, and if you’re without a family, then you are certainly welcomed into ours.”

  He stops gripping his hands and puts them onto his desk. He looks a tad bit uncomfortable as he stares down at his hands and I’m starting to wonder if that’s all this little spiel is going to be about. I don’t realize that a smile has spread across my face until he looks back up at me and smiles as well.

  He lets out a grunt of relief and continues with, “In fact, in your case we’d be honored if ye’d be interested in staying as a permanent member. More and more people have been leaving lately for the western rebel colonies, but we all know we have to make changes here before stability can occur anywhere.”

  He lets out a deep breath and smirks a bit. “I’ve been told that yer courage is something to take note of,” he says with a laugh. “Mara couldn’t stop gushing over ye when I asked about you.”

  “I’m sure I’m not as great as Mara made me out to be. I just did what anyone should do,” I admit.

  His breathing is loud and rhythmic, but he does not look at me. His eyes travel along the desk, looking at a cup filled with pens and pencils, a small note, and a couple manila folders. Either he has no time for my modesty, or he’s unsure of what he should say.

  “No, in this world, a person would do anything to stay alive,” he says. “What you did was selfless; something that many people would never have the courage to do. You threw yourself into the belly of the beast and crawled back out unscathed. It’s something to be admired.”

  Before he gets into praising me anymore, I decide it’s probably the best to tell him about Os’ confession of Taylor’s whereabouts.

  “Os told me something that I think you should know.”

  “What?” he asks, his expression turning into a mixture of confusion and interest.

  “Well according to Os, Taylor may still be alive,” I say as his face turns from confusion to anger. “He said that the guard was lying when he said they had killed her.”

  As quickly as a strike of a match, Kael’s mood changes. He stands up, pushing back from the desk with a mighty shove, and glances around the room, emotion rushing through him.

  “Are you sure that Os said this to yo
u, are you absolutely certain?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “When we were waiting to be picked up, he told me that.”

  Kael’s expression turns from anger to outright frustration. He moves away from the desk and looks like he may in fact pull out his hair. I’m not really sure what I should do, so I sit there awkwardly.

  “I need to speak with Os, come with me, quickly,” he orders.

  He nearly drags me out of the room with him; practically running through the training room and kitchen, but instead of going back into the garage, he takes a right and leads me into a giant great room. It has huge vaulted ceilings and the woodwork on the walls is intricately carved; the hunter-green pinstriped wallpaper adds to the luxurious feel of the room.

  There are ten or fifteen tables on the side closer to the kitchen and couches and comfy chairs on the adjacent side. A humungous ebony staircase resides in the center of the room, whose steps lead up to a balconied second floor walkway. I spy Gent and Tully sitting on some chairs to our right and I wish I could ask them if Kael usually reacts like this.

  The room is nearly empty, but everyone who’s currently lounging about has brought their attention to us as he grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs.

  The landing is dimly lit, but he continues on at his unwavering speed. He takes a left and basically busts down the door at the end of the hall. This room is well-lit and comfy, with three beds; one containing Os. Os somehow doesn’t look surprised to see Kael standing in front of him, panting like a very angry gorilla.

  Kael begins pacing in front of Os, taking in deep breaths as he goes. He stops and looks to Os, his tone is harshly civil.

  “My dear friend, Osmond, this lovely girl says that you haven’t been telling us the full truth. You know how I am with people who keep things from me—,” Kael says before being interrupted.

  “It only causes more trouble in the long run. Yada yada yada, I’ve heard it a hundred times Kaely,” Os replies disdainfully. “You don’t need to tell me again.”

  Kael has begun pacing again and he looks like he’s on the borderline of causing Os some more pain than he’s already in.

  “Well I wouldn’t be telling you it again if you were smart enough not to be a complete ass!”

  “Well I’m sorry,“ Os says sarcastically. “I thought that maybe due to the fact that I’ve been shot twice that you’d let me have some time to rest.“

  “Os don’t be so damn daft! You know that you should’ve just told us,” spits Kael. “We aren’t so cruel that we’d force you to help, but as you’ve been acting perhaps I’ll just send you back in there yourself to clear this whole thing up!”

  “Well the jokes on you, because she’s not there anymore.”

  Kael stops his pacing and looks straight at Os; his eyes could probably burn a hole right through him.

  “What? Os, you tell me right now what’s going on or I swear I will put another bullet into that precious body of yours,” Kael shouts. He brings himself to an intimidating distance from Os and the ex-guard looks as though he may wet himself.

  “Guerra believed that Taylor was working for the underground, so he decided that he would take her to his private faction and attempt to get information out of her there. She was taken there yesterday, right before we set the fire.”

  These words bring Kael back a distance from Os. He looks shocked and hurt.

  “Osmond, Taylor is a part of this family and I will never forgive you for not telling us this sooner. I swear, if she is dead-- you’ll be on the streets and you will never receive a bit of help from us again.” The near whisper of Kael’s voice echoes through the air, like it was floating through the air just waiting to slither into Os’ ear.

  As if bitten by a viper, Os recoils a bit and looks down. I have enough proof now to decide that it’s best to stay on Kael’s good side; his bad side is quite fierce.

  Kael turns his back on Os, making a point by not looking at him.

  “Aidan, please come with me, we have a little somethin’ else we need to talk about.”

  Without even a sideways glance, Kael leads me back out of the room and down the ebony staircase. Now that he’s not dragging me through the giant room, I can take a closer look at its beauty.

  The dark wood flooring is somehow so polished that I’d guess when it’s sunny in the room that it would have a good chance of burning your eyes out. There are five enormous arched windows across from the balconied landing and yet again, they are covered with blackout shades. There are a number of eloquently drawn pictures hanging on the walls, all in simple dark brown frames.

  The delicious smell of chocolate permeates through the room, making you feel like you’re waiting in your grandma’s living room rather than a billionaire’s great room. There are a number of exotic-looking rugs that line the floor, drawing your eyes to down.

  The whole room is too great to take in with only a few seconds of time for your own, so I figure that next time I come in I’ll be sure to look around closer.

  Kael leads the way through the kitchen and training room again and opens the secret door behind the mirrors without a word to me. He walks in and slouches down into his chair, giving out a massive sigh as he does so.

  “I’m sorry you had to see me lose my temper like that; it’s not a good first impression,” he says as he places his head in his hands. He doesn’t look sad, but somehow he looks a little lost.

  “It’s alright; I suppose I would be mad if someone kept that kind of information from me, too,” I admit.

  He looks up at me from the security of his hands, his eyes placed firmly on mine. He doesn’t intimidate me, and I doubt he means to; he looks more like he needs some solace or a hug or something. I’m guessing it’s tough running an operation like this.

  “Thank you for understanding,” he says carefully. “It’s just that there are some people that I can never trust, and Os is one of those people.”

  He breaks eye contact with me and brings himself to his feet, not making a sound in the process. From the looks of it, Kael is one of those men who never ask for help from anybody. He looks around at the bookcases, completely engulfed in his thoughts.

  “Kael, if you need someone to help you get Taylor out, I think I could help,” I say with as much confidence I can muster. “I feel like it’s partially my fault that she got taken away. Maybe if I hadn’t approached Guerra, than she would’ve been brought back at the same time as Mara.”

  “Ye don’t know that, love,” he murmurs.

  “No, I don’t. But I still feel responsible.”

  “The only person who can be held responsible for Taylor’s capture is Guerra himself; it’s not your fault.”

  “Nevertheless, I still want to help,” I admit. “I may’ve never spoken really with Taylor, but I still feel connected to her. I’ll do everything in my power to help.”

  He turns and looks at me, as if I’d just said the strangest thing in the world.

  “You really mean that?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I reply.

  “Well then it looks like we’ve got some planning to do,” he says as scheming grin spreads across his face.