Poison Tree (2 page)

He glanced past her, but the prisoners had already made their exit.

“Want to get a coffee?” he asked, on impulse.

She lifted a brow, considered giving a snarky answer, and then said, “Offer chocolate and I’ll say yes. I always want chocolate after a hunt.”

There was blood on Sarik’s hands, and it was driving Jason crazy. He had refused to feed from the tiny human girl they had been ordered to kidnap, which meant he hadn’t fed in days. Healing the injuries left by Maya’s displeasure had weakened him even more. Maybe, if Sarik was grateful …

“I need to get this off me,” the shapeshifter said, her voice trembling.

They had holed up in a run-down motel that was the first place they reached that didn’t seem like it would also be the first place Maya looked. Now Sarik pushed past him and fled to the bathroom. He heard water running as she washed blood—hers, the dead girl’s, and his—from her hands, face, and hair. The water stopped, and he thought she might emerge, but instead he heard the door lock, and then the shower running again. With a vampire’s sense of hearing, he could easily make out the sound of sobs beneath the hissing of the water.

It’s a good thing I don’t mind cold water
, he thought, looking at the blood on his own hands.

An hour passed before Sarik emerged dripping wet, wrapped in a towel, and announced, “My clothes are covered in blood.”

“What do you expect me to do about that?” he demanded.

She flinched, but then fire rose in her eyes, and she snapped, “I saved your
life
. Is it too much to ask for you to hit a gift shop?”

“I thought
I
saved
your
life.”

“You couldn’t even
walk
.”

So he went to the touristy store down the road, wondering why he was even still with her. She was no one, a shapeshifter
running away from home who had crossed into the wrong territory and gotten herself in trouble. Maya liked shapeshifter blood, called it sweet and spicy, so she had grabbed this one without hesitation.

The nearest gift shop had closed hours ago, but snapping the lock wasn’t hard. He picked clothes up indiscriminately, deciding that a large T-shirt and some sweatpants would be good enough for her to go out and find her own stuff.

She didn’t complain when he returned and handed her the bundle, but instead disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes before emerging in blue sweatpants that read SALEM STATE COLLEGE in large orange letters and a pink T-shirt emblazoned with a huge black lobster. Both were far too large, dwarfing her in their folds.

Jason couldn’t help it. He started laughing.

A lip quiver, a half smile, and a few seconds later, so did she.

N
OW

S
ARIK LOOKED UP
at Jason with a grateful smile when he placed a cup of hazelnut coffee with a dollop of heavy cream next to her, and was startled by his brief kiss. She had been so absorbed in the papers she had been drowning in for the past hour that she hadn’t noticed he had left.

Next, he handed a steaming black coffee to a petite Asian girl who looked fourteen but in reality was the oldest person in the room. Lynzi was a Triste, a type of witch with the same physical agelessness as the vampires. She liked her coffee so strong Sarik couldn’t take a whiff of it without her eyes watering.

A fruity herbal tea with honey went to Diana Smoke, the witch who ran their organization. Unlike Tristes, Macht
witches were as mortal as any human, but despite the fine lines that had recently begun to appear at the edges of her eyes, Diana had a presence that always made Sarik feel like she could be closer to immortal than any of them.

“Thank you, Jason,” Diana said as he set the tea in front of her.

None of them asked if Jason wanted anything for himself. Vampires could drink or eat anything they wanted, but they didn’t need to, and Jason rarely chose to indulge just for the taste. The woman who had changed him, and claimed to own him, had set strict rules about such things. Even now, six years after he had escaped her control, he still tended to be nervous about breaking those rules.

He also tended to anticipate and respond to the wishes of those around him, like making a beverage run and returning with everyone’s favorite without being asked. The thought that his constant consideration had been taught to him through fear made Sarik’s next sip of her coffee bittersweet.

“Israel said you asked for this,” he explained to Diana as he handed her another bulky file from the records room.

Diana nodded. She had been alternating between the files on the table in front of her and her phone, which periodically chirped to tell her about an email. “I may have found an applicant worth looking into,” she explained. “Central recommended her and sent over her file.”

SingleEarth Central, located outside Burlington, Vermont, was the nexus of the international SingleEarth organization, and Sarik’s hopes rose at the notion of a recommendation from them. Surely they had found a better candidate than anyone
from the endless line of people who had applied for the open mediator’s position at Haven #4 as if it were some kind of résumé-builder.

Diana handed out copies of the new file, still warm from the machine.

“Her name is Alysia Marks. She has been in SingleEarth for about two years now and has been in the Technology and Communications department at Central for the last eighteen months. She recently overheard a call she thought sounded suspicious, and when the staff at Central dismissed her concerns, she went to investigate on her own. She ended up spending two hours in a hostage situation with a panicked young man who had just learned about shapeshifters and decided to take drastic measures. According to witnesses, Alysia was the one who talked him down and convinced him to turn himself in to authorities. She also managed to take identifying information from all the victims so our crisis teams could follow up with them.”

Everything Diana said about this Alysia Marks made her sound like a perfect candidate for mediator, but Sarik’s first glance at the file made it obvious that the witch had left out a
lot
.

“I’m sorry, but have you read the rest of this?” Sarik asked, startling even herself. “It says here that SingleEarth’s hunters forced her to resign because they viewed her as ‘a loose cannon, unpredictable, taking unnecessary risks.’ ” She looked up at the others. “Plus, she has a juvenile arrest record about a mile long.”

Lynzi replied, “It’s common for people—
especially
younger
people—to act out when they learn that humans are not alone on this earth. It also isn’t unusual for people to have trouble transitioning when they
do
finally make it to SingleEarth.” The remark was directed at Jason and Sarik. They had caused a few waves with their quick tempers and frequent spats when they had first joined SingleEarth four years ago. “The issue with the fighter’s guild was two years ago, when Alysia had just joined. I don’t see any disciplinary actions or other negative marks on her file since then.”

“You’re right,” Sarik admitted. “Who we are in SingleEarth often has little or nothing to do with who we used to be. But I’m not seeing any evidence here that she even
wants
this job. Did she apply?”

She had not. There was, however, a note indicating that she had applied for a promotion in the Information Technology department, which included everything from network support to document acquisition. Jason and Sarik both had birth certificates and Social Security cards provided by that group—SingleEarth’s own form of witness protection.

“Alysia has been working in IT for almost two years now,” Diana replied, “but she has previously expressed an interest in moving into a more people-centered career.”

Jason stepped up in his own cautious way. “I share some of Sarik’s reservations,” he said, “but I see no reason not to invite her in for an interview. We all became mediators because we are better with people than with paper.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Diana said.

Lynzi nodded her agreement, and with that, the discussion was over. Diana Smoke had made up her mind, and no
twenty-two-year-old tiger hired a little over a half year ago was going to override her.

Funny, that was exactly the reason Joseph had cited for quitting, leaving this position available: despite SingleEarth’s stated mission of equality, he had felt that witches’ voices carried more power. Sarik wasn’t sure who he thought
should
have final say, given the fact that Smoke witches had founded SingleEarth, and Diana Smoke was officially the organization’s CEO. Witch or not, someone always needed to be in charge.

Sarik realized guiltily that she had been expecting the stereotypical tech geek, but Alysia showed up at SingleEarth Haven #4 wearing a gray suit jacket with black pants and a dark rose button-down shirt. Her brown hair was tied back and clipped up and she looked like a young professional trying to make a positive first impression. Sarik found herself sympathizing with her, despite her earlier reservations.

She’s nearly my age
, Sarik thought as they shook hands and introduced themselves.
Only a year older. Is she as nervous as I was when Diana interviewed me?

Alysia did not look nervous as she shook hands with the others around the table. She smiled at the right moments, but the smile disappeared when Diana asked her to describe what had happened at the Café au Late coffeehouse recently. She chose her words carefully, relating the story modestly but honestly.

Why does she seem so familiar?

The thought pricked at Sarik as Alysia was answering
questions about her past, a subject most members of SingleEarth tried to avoid.

“I spent most of my life getting into trouble,” she freely admitted. “I’m good at figuring out how things work, and when I was fourteen or so, I didn’t care that sometimes it was illegal to make something work—like a car or someone else’s computer.” The rueful acknowledgment made Diana, Lynzi, and Jason nod sympathetically. “I enrolled in university to study psychology when I realized that people are even more interesting than machines. I discovered that I am good in a role where I can talk to people and help them understand what is going on.”

“And manipulate them,” Sarik interjected.

Diana shot Sarik a warning look, but Alysia just gave a half shrug. “Sometimes,” she answered, meeting Sarik’s gaze squarely. “I mean, yes,” she continued, her voice rising slightly as she continued. “When I walk in looking for a coffee and there’s a guy with a gun, a round of explosives, and a filet knife who plans to keep slicing people up until he gets his way, then yes, I pray to whatever powers might exist that I can manipulate him so we can all walk out of there alive. And I did, and then I got every person who had been in that room into SingleEarth’s care within hours so they could decide if they wanted to become shifters and could get the post-trauma therapy one tends to need after spending six hours as a hostage. That’s why I’m
here
, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Diana said. “You and Sarik are both right. Sometimes in this organization, it is our job to educate openly,
and sometimes it is our job to manipulate in any way possible to ensure the safety of our people.”

Alysia nodded.

“You should know,” Lynzi said, “that Haven Number Four isn’t the type of place that normally deals with things like hostage situations. While we do act as point people in times of crisis, your day-to-day job here is more likely to be spent doing paperwork or getting on the phone to coordinate with hospitals, therapists, and law enforcement within and beyond SingleEarth.”

Haven #4 was one of the smallest of SingleEarth’s properties, and mostly housed individuals who just needed a safe place to stay. The Haven had a therapist on staff but did not even have fighters; unlike some of the other Havens, they didn’t work with the types of individuals who drew violence or caused it. Sarik had chosen #4 for that very reason. She wanted to stay far,
far
away from the other side of SingleEarth, which dealt with supposedly reformed mercenaries and killers and with violently unstable survivors of magical mishaps or of uneducated upbringings that made them unable to control their own bodies and minds.

Alysia smiled modestly. But to Sarik, her expression seemed fake.

“I function well in a crisis,” Alysia replied, “but I don’t need or want to spend every waking hour living one.”

Does she remind me of myself?
Sarik wondered as Diana thanked Alysia for her time. The human made her round of polite goodbyes and left.

Everything Alysia had said had been right. Sarik couldn’t fault her if it seemed
too
right; she was applying for a job that would require knowing how to say the right thing in the right way. Sarik had walked into her own interview with significantly less experience and far more questionable moments in her own background.

“I like her,” she said to the others after Alysia was gone and the door was closed.

It wasn’t true, really, but it
should
have been, because Sarik had no valid excuse to feel otherwise. Nothing except a vague sense of familiarity and the ever-present anxiety that someday the demons of her past would catch up to her.