The Uninvited (The Julianna Rae Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

She returned his curiosity. He outstretched his arm while his hand casually caught the knife flying into his clutches like a magnet to metal. He pressed the blade tip into his finger, clenching its handle, querying her on the notches to the side with a raised expression.

‘Militia-issued, carried only by the senior ranks. How’d you get your hands on this baby?’

‘Trophy,’ she said. ‘Caden did those notches twelve months ago, after we escaped camp 4.5.2 together.’

The man raised his gaze away from the knife.

‘Julianna Rae.
You’re
Julianna Rae?’ the old man asked. ‘Doesn’t mean yer not a collaborator. Lock her up.’ He growled and stood beside the younger man. ‘He’s barely yer acquaintance.’

The knife politely returned to her hand, handle first.

‘Come on, Hal, lighten up.’ He paused. ‘I’ve been waiting to meet Julianna face to face for a very long time.’ 

‘She shows up now, on the eve of battle. Don’t like it one bit, young fella. Always following trouble, yer are.’ Hal shook his head in disgust and finished cleaning the counters.

She pulled her stare away long enough to lean toward the younger, more handsome one.

‘I need your help,’ she said quietly.

He nodded. ‘Follow me,’ he said.

The man lifted the bar flap for her to join him. The room he came from was behind a storage area of alcohol. He ushered her though its doorway, pulling away the old cream curtain stained brown that hung for privacy.

The old man yelled out after them, ‘Yer making a mistake trusting her, sonny!’

‘My mistake to be made, Grandpa. Now leave us in peace!’ he called back. Their eyes connected. A sense of knowing flooded her every fiber, as she followed his lead to a staircase heading down into a cellar. A single light bulb flickered and a generator’s low hum rose from the depths of the musty room below.

The single light hanging from the ceiling did little to brighten the area. A solitary poker table spread with chips and cards cast under the musty haze so dim that a nocturno would struggle to see with their superior eyesight. Narrow slits to the edges of windows from upstairs, permitted the outside world light in. Small billows of sunlight streamed through their glass in wisps of light, illuminating the dust dancing in the air. It was well lived in, but dirty, just like everything in the Sector. She pushed her restless hands into her jeans pockets to fiddle with the bike keys she still carried, and waited.

He sat heavily on a chair beside the table and kicked another out for her to sit in front of him. She did in blind faith.

He rocked on his chair, swiveling it under his feet. ‘Sooo,’ he said and a long pause followed. Julianna waited for him to talk, figuring it was his territory and she was his guest.

He folded his marked arms across his chest. He had his own ritual scars. She wondered who this man was that Isis had reluctantly sent her to speak with.

‘Isis sent you to me for some help.’ He pondered the situation. ‘You read too easily. You should learn to close off a bit more.’

‘So you know Isis and you know about me, but I’m not a watcher, I’m a norm. I can’t
close
off
the way you can...’ She paused. ‘And your name is?’ she asked.

He slouched in his chair. ‘I don’t give my name to
norms
.’ His brow raised, questioning rather than stating. He leaned closer. ‘Nor do I give it to a watcher who claims false heritage. Isis and I are estranged; we don’t see eye to eye very often. And Master watcher Caden is a thorn up my ass, so it begs the question, don’t it? Why would Isis send you into a place like this, looking for my help, unless you already know?’

‘Know what?’ Her eyes wandered around the room. ‘He said you’re the only one who can help, and he wasn’t even sure about that.’ She returned his accusing stare.

His eyes lingered over her neck and narrowed. ‘Isis know that’s around your neck?’

She touched the pendant. ‘I escaped Central Command last night.’

‘It’s not what I asked.’

‘It’s not a fashion statement.’ She held it and he smiled at her terseness. ‘I really,
really
need to find Caden and his brother and I don’t have much time to do it in.’

‘I need to read you before I can help,’ he said. His tone was apologetic. ‘I need to be sure.’

She shrugged; it couldn’t be any different from the last – but he shook his head.

‘Without restriction. Don’t block me.’ His hands outstretched. ‘Lean forward.’ His voice was soft and trustworthy.

‘Getting a little personal for the first meeting, don’t you think?’ She leaned forward. His hands rested on her temples and she closed her eyes.

A nagging sensation seeped inside her skull, a dull ache, and then the pain. His strong pull reminded her of Taris. It surged in pulses, thumping between her ears. Julianna flinched from his grip but he held her firmly where she sat and he wasn’t letting go on a whim. She whimpered under the stir and clenched her eyes.

The memories flickered around. She bit her lip and gritted her teeth. Her mind ran a thousand miles, replicating a movie on permanent fast-forward – except this movie was displaying her life.

Her head ached more; she pulled away from the steely grasp that quickly recaptured against her ears and cheeks as she felt a trickle of blood leave her nose. Then the images slowed and Taris was in the picture. Her heart pounded at the first memory of their meeting during a family dinner, being bared for him to see. Taris stared at her from across the table, over the glass held to his wine-stained lips. The table sprawled in an elegant white tablecloth and silver service, and butlers were at their disposal. It had been an official family gathering; she remembered it well as a day when her life appeared to be on track. It was a rare family day free from argument, all for the man she had met, the man who became her mortal enemy over time. It was the family’s intention she marry Taris and this was their first meeting – predetermined without her knowledge. He had known, of course, and had admitted it to her during a casual discussion.

What happened after that was a whirlwind courting with no expense spared and an expensive rock on her finger. She closed her eyes tightly; the image burdened her and she desperately wanted the stranger to move on.

The man allowed her the grace, and the memories skipped forward, blurring into each other until the image of Caden scratching the notches into the knife and handing it back were before her. His words rippled through her mind.
See you in the Rebellion.
She didn’t want the image to leave and whispered his name as her hands reached out for him. Their kiss followed, but faded quickly, and when she opened her eyes, the man held a handkerchief towards her.

Julianna accepted and pinched her nose through the material. The man sat back; he reached for the bottle on the table and poured himself a dusty glass of the liquid. Its odor reached through the cloth as the last of the blood wiped away.

‘He’s a dangerous man, you know?’

‘Taris? I know.’

He shook his head slightly and raised his glass to his lips. She needed to leave before noon. He saw no rush.

‘It’s not a guarantee. Nothing ever is with them brothers, but I’ve given you a place where you can start. Look deep enough within your mind; trust your instincts and you should be okay. You should find them by evening.’

She nodded, and tucked the cloth into her pocket. Handing a puddle of blood to a watcher wasn’t the nicest of gestures.

‘I meant Caden. Caden’s the dangerous man. Isis knows you’re romantically involved, right?’

‘We’re not romantically involved.’ She stood. ‘We’ve spoken twice.’

He stood with her. ‘Spoken twice and kissed once. The odds suggest romance, no? If I were your big brother, I’d be warning you to leave a Master watcher the hell alone. Tell him what you have and then leave. He’s out of your league, and not in a good way.’

Julianna listened to his words and wanted to prompt him for more, but she knew better than to poke around with a watcher she didn’t know. He smiled and she returned it warmly. The door was behind her; if she wanted to make the camp by dusk, she needed to leave.

‘Julianna Rae,’ he called.

When she turned, he stood behind the off-balance table, holding his fist across his chest. Privacy could afford all things and the passion of it shocked her. A loyalist stood before her, and though she was one herself, the returned gesture felt awkward.

‘I do need one more favor.’

He nodded knowingly again. The smile reached his eyes, a sea of green. It was a reflection staring back at her – her eyes were the same dark shade. They had the same eyes. She blocked him on the thought.

He caught her attention, responding to her favor, and she returned back to the reality of the dark, musty room.

‘I think I can help you with that one.’

SECTOR #6
.

Julianna caught sight of her bike, still intact with no signs of looting. He was hard-pressed to match the hastened footsteps she took; as he walked his bike behind her. Julianna circled her bike and he rested his nearby, scanning the alleyway while she crouched on her haunches.

The sparkplug slipped between her fingertips as she screwed it into its oily home. He watched her between takes at the open road behind them. The sound of hover drones closed in; they needed to move quickly or risk a scanning.

She looked up at her comrade and flicked him a smile.

Finished.

Leaving Sector Four was beyond his call. Staying in her company for the sake of a new bike part was insanity – but without him, she’d be walking. She owed him, but the impression he sent was one of debt to her, and she was puzzled by it all. She wiped the grease against her pants and stood to face him, the unmistakable hum of drones catching both their attention again.

He pointed his bike towards the busy road, the engine purring quietly as he did. The striking blue Triumph was painted dark for the intention of being mistaken for a Militia Patrol, he’d mentioned proudly on the way. She admired his cunning as she held his waist while they made their way to an acquaintance of his, a mechanic by trade who made bike parts in an abandoned warehouse. She was surprised at the shop’s exposure, but in Sector Five, Militia had bigger things to deal with. Julianna supposed they probably sourced him for parts, too; he was good at what he did.

They paid the mechanic with a bottle of fine whiskey, against Julianna’s insistence at paying with cash. The alcohol was an easy trade in the New Order, and placed her comrade in front with the mechanic for spare parts on his own bike.

His disobedience amused her, too. The old man missed the bottle slipping beneath his jacket as they left together, and the mechanic missed the spare sparkplug in his pocket as they rode off. In another world, without the Militia to worry about, they could have been friends, but friendship caused grief; hers left her open to Taris. 

His bike revved, Julianna beamed a smile at him.

He still refused to give his name, but his returned grin raised his sunglasses higher onto his cheeks. No helmet for him, just vanity. His hair was tinged auburn in the sunlight, but in the shadows of the bar, it had been brown, with the slightest hint of a wave. Like other watchers, a grungy, dirty appeal took him to a level of handsome rather than dork. He kicked at the stand and started a slow ride down the stretch of narrow road.

Why won’t he tell me his name?

He smiled again and gave a nod. He had her thoughts in his mind.

Do we know each other, so familiar?

He nodded again. ‘Need to make tracks, Julianna. You should, too, if you’re to make the camp before evening curfew.’

She closed her eyes and sensed the direction she needed to ride in. The thought of seeing Caden again excited her on all levels – until she considered the news she held was likely to piss him off.

Her lips tightened as the stranger rode down the path, hand waving casually back with a flick of the wrist. She rummaged through her jacket pocket and found the keys, while he waited for a space to turn into the jammed-up street. His indicator flashed left, the direction she planned to take.

The motor turned.

It purred.

She fumbled in her other pocket for the tangled earpiece to push into her ear. Her new helmet the mechanic had given under her comrade’s instruction, fitted snugly against her face. She rocked her bike down from its perch and caught up to him before he turned into the heavy traffic.

‘I’ll follow down to the gates and see you out safely. Isis will have my blood for breakfast if I don’t.’

Julianna rolled onto the busy street, full of bikes wanting to make a day’s wage before curfew, and his bike followed. She’d need to hurry to make it out of the city before then, but took a smooth speed along the congested streets with the rest of the population down.

Another one on protection orders and this one barely knows me.

She stopped where the traffic lights failed. Everyone moved around the intersection at an ant’s pace. The Militia imposed blackout affected the smoothness of the traffic. Everywhere she scanned, motorbikes were crammed. Giving way and common courtesy abandoned for the disorder, the roads were chaotic. She glanced in her mirror at her comrade, a few bikes behind, negotiating the impossible traffic, and she felt her impatience rising higher and higher until –

Julianna dived on the gap opening the intersection.  The hysteria followed, sealing it with bikes, wheel to wheel, as she navigated her way slowly through the road. The pendant bounced against her skin on the narrow string holding it, its metallic disc resting high above her breasts. She touched it discreetly, tucking it farther under her jacket, away from suspicious eyes, and wished for a longer tether to attach it. A hover flew past and she ducked in her helmet. It didn’t stop; it was on a mission for someone else, flying quickly above the traffic to stand guard at the curb she was riding towards. 

The earpiece popped. A crackle of white noise went through the helmet, and she listened for his voice. The CCTV on each corner, the only powered system in the sectors, would track her movements for Isis.

‘I’m regretting this already. Each Sector is thick with Militia and they’re looking for you. Madison can fight this battle alone. He’s done it before.’

‘It’s nice to know you care about me, Issy,’ she replied, and Isis let out a harrumph in response. His curtness amused her.

Her attention returned to his ranting about each sentry point’s potential dangers, listing them off one at a time as though he were giving a presentation. He was tired of saving her ass, and this week it seemed his occupation, he said.

He nagged about the comms codes again. ‘You’re leading Taris to their doorstep, and that’s if they haven’t been arrested already. What if they’re there, waiting?’

`Christ, Issy, I said I’d be careful.’ She hit a bump and the pendant jumped. A high-pitched screech rang through the earpiece.

‘What in Rebellion’s name is that, Julianna? And stop calling me
Issy
.’

Oh, full name. Now I know he’s pissed.
She smiled and tucked the pendant away again. ‘Nothing but a bump in the road.’

‘And a lot of bumps you’ve been having of late. Look sharp, you have a tail behind you. Dark bike, three bikes back and to your left.’

‘It’s the lead from the Gatehouse. He insisted on escorting me out of here.’

Julianna thought she heard Isis mutter in the way of explosive language aimed away from the comms microphone.

His voice returned, louder than ever. ‘This is careless! Even for you! I want you at the safe house immediately so we can review this bullshit. I should never have sent you there in the first place.’

‘The comms are closed. They’ll be blindsided because of me if I don’t warn them.’

‘Well, once you’re out there, Julianna, maybe you should stay out there,’ he said.

She smiled at the CCTV camera perched high on another set of blank lights. She slowed the bike down as a wave of oncoming pedestrians swarmed around her.

‘And leave this beautiful city. You just wanna move me off sideways.’

He scoffed. The comment was true, but there were underlying reasons. Ones he refused to discuss. They’d argued manically for the last fortnight. He insisted she’d be better used in a camp, with her training background from Taris. She’d agree each time and then return the conversation to the lack of military presence at the safe house. He’d agree and the argument would stall until the next round. She wasn’t about to enter the argument again in crowded company.

Her escort was no longer visible in the swarming crowds of people around her; she guessed they were twenty deep. 

‘There’s a Sector pass waiting for you at gate twelve. I have a contact there that’ll see you through the checkpoint.’

‘Caden left thinking his comms reached the safe house. I owe this camp.’

She stopped her bike; the crowds were too thick in rush hour, hurrying along to the lunchtime announcements on the city boards posted by the Militia Senate. She dismounted her bike and started pushing it on foot between the people, cursing at the ones who refused to give her enough room to move, shouldering them away until they did.

‘Vengeance, honor, or schoolgirls crush?’

Julianna wheeled the heavy bike onto a footpath away from the crowd’s squeeze.

‘Are you for freaking real? Is this what it’s about? Caden Madison is not my type.’

‘You stand at his portrait every time you check in.’

‘I’m trying to fix something I screwed up,’ she said.

‘Wonder how he’ll react,’ Isis said. ‘Taris probably killed her by now, if in fact, that was your mother you saw and not a shape-shifter. An act of revenge upon yourself perhaps, or maybe she’s Militia.’

‘You have no right!’ she said, her voice yelled inside her helmet.

‘I have every damn right. I know things you can’t even comprehend. Don’t you dare tell me I. Have.  No—’

‘You know what, not talking anymore.’ She bit her wobbling lip. ‘You’re an asshole.’

Julianna raised her visor and ripped out the earpiece. She smacked it hard against the pendant until she could hear the squeal and Isis cursing again, this time clearly.

She checked over her shoulder at the CCTV moving in her direction. She just smiled for it and proudly displayed the one-finger salute, but the smile disappeared as a hover drone flew sharply around the corner. It bounced in position above the crowds, its black disk spinning and its laser pointed in her direction. The crowds hurried along, each person with a guilty conscience about something.

She lowered her head, and walked her bike.
Surely, they know drones can’t read minds;
they aren’t watchers, just their product.
Her brow furrowed and she concentrated on emptying her mind.

The blue Triumph pulled alongside her, his sunglasses perched high on his head. ‘You know that just-in-case moment?’ he said.

She straddled hers again and turned the key, nodding to the hover drone moving again. ‘This is that moment, right?’             

The hover followed them from a distance, pointing its laser in their direction. 

‘I think I’ll see you to the open roads. Why’d you go and do that for?’

‘I was doing it to Isis.’

‘And everyone else watching, dumbass.’ He rode off, slowly weaving between the thinning crowds without apology.

She followed, sensing the hover creeping up like a sparrow tempting food near a person’s foot. It wasn’t sure; the blinking eye gave its final warning as she turned to see it.

I’m watching you.

‘Well, I’m watching you back, asshole,’ she muttered, and put a hand to her aching shoulder, from the laser attack the day before. She wondered if her new best friend could help with his healing hands.

His cool glance made her reconsider. His glasses were perched firmly in his thick hair, and his eyes had lost their green flecks for a shadowy appearance.
Sensing something or sensing me? J
ulianna rode behind, in case it was. 

His bike glinted in the sunlight. The magnificence of its well-designed edges allowed for the wind to run over its body…it did remind her of the Militia, the modifications he’d made were striking.
Too
striking
. Her blood chilled – they weren’t modifications at all. Could she be sure? Would Isis send her into the den of a Militia agent? Unless he didn’t know...

He glanced in her direction; his eyes were green again, soft and apologetic.

She rode up to his side and they moved two-deep across the road. The crowds weakened into lines, mostly on the footpaths again, and the hover abandoned them. He raised his wrist to answer her question. The mark was there, most definitely there, just as it had been on Hensley on the safe house rooftop. Triangle, circle, star. She was messing with the big guns of the New World Order. He was Militia bike patrol.

So that explains the bike.

He nodded again, back in her mind.

Rebellion now, comrade.

The Sector Seven checkpoint was in the distance. The green signs pointing in its direction, with the regulation warnings in white blurring as they passed. 

The Triumph slowed behind a truck under routine inspection; searched systemically with dogs, drones, and men before admitted through the boom gates. She sat behind them, perched on her bike, waiting. The pass from the safe house was good for Sector Seven. She hoped the normal bike routine of flicking the visor to show her eyes would appease the sentry on duty. She hid the pendant and waited, praying to a God who never answered that the pendant still worked, and that the drones were complacent.

He pulled his bike into the checkpoint and the sentries greeted him with the same paranoia they reserved for everyone. Her usual crew wasn’t on shift; Taris had changed the posting again.

He held his papers for them to see and lifted his sunglasses casually to the top of his head. It dawned on her the bike wasn’t just Militia issued; it was the one from the night before. Her eyes widened. She closed the space between them and waited with her papers ready in her hand. Their wheels bumped and the sentry guard shot her a glance.