In Plain Sight by Hope Anika

Chapter Twenty-Two

“That’s not a word.”

“Sure it is.”

“No.” Lena sat back, folded her arms, and gave Ares a chiding look. The Scrabble board sat on the table between them, gleaming dully in the light. Rain fell against the top of Fiona’s trailer, a steady, heavy torrent that streamed down the windows in thick rivers.

“You just don’t know what it means,” Ares told her, shaking his head. He grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit beside the game board. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He added an orange and a banana. “But you should just admit it.”

Giving her the bland, smart-assed look he had down pat, he began to juggle the fruit, sending the banana so high it nearly hit the ceiling. Just to be a show-off, he added a kiwi and a bright red nectarine, creating a remarkable aerial display of summer produce clearly meant to impress.

And distract.

“Use it in a sentence,” she challenged. Not that that would make it legitimate. But Ares had his own unique way of going about everything, and Scrabble was no different.

“That’s a crackerly thing to do,” he said.

A giggle whispered in her throat. “What does that even mean?”

He shrugged. “Acting ignorant.”

“You’re using the word not only as slander but also as an adverb,” she said, trying not to laugh. “The first is slang, which is at least arguable. The second isn’t.”

He looked at her, his dark, rich blue eyes glinting. “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?”

The seriousness of the question made her look away, down at the tiles they were arguing over. “I guess.”

“I’m not book-smart,” he said matter-of-factly. “But I’m street smart.”

Had she not spent the afternoon with him, allowing him to lead her deep into a part of Green River she wouldn’t have believed existed had she not see it for herself, she might have questioned that assertion. But his confidence as they’d explored a neighborhood far seedier than the sparkling waterfront had left her with no illusions: Ares was comfortable in the darkness.

He’d strode down a street filled with barred windows, dark taverns, tattoo shops, and stores filled with leather-clad, whip-carrying mannequins without concern, and it wasn’t bluster. It was knowledge. Of himself and his surroundings.

Like he’d been during the confrontation with Josh. Ready.

The realization had both thrilled and horrified her. When he’d finally halted before a tiny hole in the wall called Stained and pulled her inside, she’d been nearly speechless. But the small, grizzled man who owned the shop had greeted Ares with a wide grin and a back-thumping hug, and he’d given her a cup of sweet mint tea to drink while he tattooed an intricate black and white four-leaf clover on Ares’ arm. He’d offered her one, too, but she’d politely declined.

There had been an interior open doorway between his shop and the small beauty parlor next door, the walls of which were painted with glitter and decorated with Christmas lights. The scent of hair products perfumed the air, and dramatic black and white prints of men and women with perfect bones and sleek, shining hair lined the walls. When Lena’s gaze had landed on a photo of a young woman with an adorable pixie cut, she hadn’t been able to look away. She’d always wanted a cut like that, but her mother—who was a firm believer that one’s femininity was tied directly to the length of one’s hair—had strictly forbidden it. But now…

Now there was no one to say no. Which, no matter how painful, was also liberating. So after ten minutes of heated internal debate, she’d strode into the salon and pointed to the photo. The emerald green dye job had been impulsive, spawned by the rainbow of colors the hairdresser had offered, and Ares double-dog daring her to go for it. In the end, it had been the knowledge that she would be completely transformed that had decided her. Partly because it offered protection, but mostly because she already felt transformed on the inside. Seeing it in the mirror seemed somehow necessary.

Getting her nose pierced was just the final piece. Rebellion and a declaration of independence. It hurt, but only for a moment. And then Ares had insisted that they stop at one of the Goth shops on the way back to the midway, and she’d spent what little remained of her paycheck on a new outfit and boots.

She’d blown it all. Which was dumb—because she was going to need every penny she could get because no matter what, family services was going to come for her eventually—but she couldn’t find it within herself to regret it.

She felt like herself, really herself, for the first time. And if that didn’t make it all worth it, the look on Max’s face certainly had.

“I think you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” she told Ares honestly. “Even if you do make up fake words and act like a circus clown.”

He scowled at her. “Bite your tongue, woman. We’re not circus folk. We’re carnies. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah? What’s the difference?”

“Puke.”

Another laugh escaped her, and Ares’ eyes gleamed, and Lena realized she felt…happy. The boy sitting across from her was changing her. Challenging her. Giving her hope.

Thunder boomed down suddenly, a fierce, unexpected crack that made her jump. The lights flickered out, then back on. The tiles on the board rattled as the thunder rolled across the sky.

“It’s getting worse,” she said and squinted out the window into the night. Fiona should be back soon, and Rye…he said he would be close. Where had he gone?

Ares tossed the collection of fruit he’d been juggling back into the bowl. “Just hope it stops by morning. Or we’re screwed.”

Pop!

The cushion next to Lena suddenly burst; chunks of white stuffing flew through the air. She started and looked down at it.

“What—”

Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!

The window beside her shattered in an explosion of glass and steel; the door flew inward and slammed against the wall. Bullets tore through the trailer, plowing into the cabinets and appliances, shattering tile, splintering wood. The deadly barrage made her scream and cover her ears. Ares grabbed her arm and dragged her to the floor, shoving her beneath the table, forcing her between his body and the wall.

Something slammed into the table above them. Glass rained down, coating her hair, her skin; the sound of the bullets was deafening. Her ears were ringing, her heart was pounding, and she was dizzy and sick, and it was happening again.

Again.

“Shit,” Ares snarled, and terror tore through her. He was pressing her into the wall, his body heavy and warm, and when he swore again—like he was hurt, like he’d been hit—she fought for enough space to turn over, shoving against his weight, feeling something sharp scrape across her skin, tearing it open, but she didn’t care, pushing and wriggling until she was facing him.

“Goddamn it,” he hissed. His eyes were closed, and when she looked down she couldn’t see anything because the lights had been blown out and it was dark, and bullets were still coming at them—poppopopopopop!—and the wind and rain were coming in through the open door—and only a sudden flash of lightning provided any illumination. But not enough. So she ran her hands down over his shoulders, across his chest, down his arms to his side—

Blood.Sticky and warm, coating her fingers.

“Shit,” he whispered again.

And fear unlike any she’d ever known threatened to choke her. He was shot. Because of her. It was her they wanted. Her they were trying to kill.

Her.

Fury slammed into her fear. They didn’t get to do this.

Not again. Not to him. No.

She ignored the incessant gunfire, and the disintegration of the trailer around them, and pushed to her knees. She swung her leg over Ares’ hip awkwardly—hurry, hurry, stupid skirt in the way—maneuvering her weight over him, until she managed to get a knee on his other side, but when she went to throw herself in the other direction—so that she would be shielding him—hard hands wrapped her waist and halted her.

“No,” he growled.

“It’s me they want.” She gripped his fingers and pulled, but her hands were slippery with blood. “Let me go, Ares.”

“Fuck you if you think I’m going to let you kill yourself.”

“Let me go.” She pulled and strained against his hold; it held.

He wasn’t going to let her go. He was going to hold onto her, and refuse to let go, and he was going to end up dead.

Tears massed in her chest. Terror and fury and something she couldn’t name, something powerful, welled inside of her.

“Damn you,” she said. Then she found the place in his side where he was bleeding and pressed.

Hard.

The sound that tore from him punched through her; he let go, and she flung herself sideways, tumbling off of him, rolling out from beneath the table. The door was open and she slid across the floor; glass cut her palms and debris rained down like hailstone. Then she stumbled out into the wet grass, the rain slashing at her, surrounded by darkness.

Ears ringing, heart in her throat.

“Here I am, you dick,” she yelled. “Come get me!”

And then she ran.

Her feet slapped through the water that flooded the midway; lightning flashed and thunder rolled, shaking her bones. She ran along the back of the trailers until the line broke, and then slid between them. She halted there, frozen, soaking wet, waiting, listening, but all she could hear was that ringing, and the rain, and—

“Selena McLean.” A voice rang out. Male, cultured, amused. Close. “Carnival worker! Surely your mother is rolling in her grave.”

Lena slapped a hand over her mouth so the sob in her chest wouldn’t escape. Leland Dolan. That was his name. She hadn’t even known before Max told her. But she could picture him perfectly. His pressed suit, and his perfect face, and his shiny black gun.

“I’ve been looking for you, little girl. Far and wide, near and far, upstairs and down. We have unfinished business, you and I.”

The voice was coming closer, and when lightning flashed, she could see him, walking past the break in the trailers where she hid, and just the sight of him was enough to send her running in the opposite direction, out into the darkened midway. The games were shuttered for the night; the wagon was locked up tight. The rides were shut down and gated; the tents were walled off.

There was nowhere to hide.

“Se-len-a,” Leland sing-songed behind her, his voice as hideously beautiful as his face. “If you make me, I’ll kill them all. You know I will.”

She did. But she didn’t stop. She was the one he wanted; as long as he was chasing her, he would leave Ares alone.

And what about Fiona and Rye? Or were they already dead?

That thought was too horrible; she shut it down and kept running. Past the food stands, the ticket booth, the funhouse. The carousel, the Ferris wheel, Athena the All-Knowing—

She slid atop the slick grass as she tried to stop, slamming into the folded wooden sign in front of Thea’s tent, and knocking it over. She kicked it aside and dove into the dark confines of the tent, where it was dry and warm and scented by sage. It was dark, but for the faint glow emitted by a large pink stone sitting atop the table in the middle of the tent. A thick, red velvet tablecloth covered the table, and Lena scrambled beneath it, curling herself into a ball to make herself as tiny as possible.

Her lungs hurt; she was soaking wet and shaking violently. The powerful thud of her heart echoed in her skull, but she couldn’t hear anything except the low roar of her blood and that incessant, internal ring.

Had he seen her? Was he coming?

Would he find her?

This was a stupid hiding place. She should have jumped in the river. Why hadn’t she jumped in the river? God, she was dumb. She could have just swum away—

But then he might have gone back for Ares. Ares. Who was shot. Who might be lying there, bleeding out—

Oh, God.

She had to keep running. Why had she stopped? Stupid!

She needed a weapon. Why hadn’t she asked Rye to teach her how to shoot? She could have grabbed one of the .22s and hidden it, and then she would’ve had a gun. She’d known she needed firepower, but she’d gotten distracted and complacent. Stupid!

But there were huge tools on the show: sledgehammers and spud bars and giant crescent wrenches as big as her arm. If she could find one of those—

“Silly girl. You didn’t try very hard. And here I was looking forward to a real hunt.”

Ice slid down her spine.

He was in the tent.

Terror blossomed inside of her like an ugly stain.

“Athena the All-Knowing,” Leland Dolan said conversationally. “Fascinating. Do you think she foresaw me?”

“Oh, she did,” replied a cool, unexpected voice. “And she came prepared.”