The Rising

NINE

MY BROTHER HAD NO idea if our mother was alive or dead? That made no sense. I’d been told she’d kept him. He’d grown up with her. Had he run away? Or was “no idea” just his way of saying “piss off”?

At the table, Ash ate his wrap, but not without complaint. Wraps? Seriously? In a park? Where were the burgers and fries? Damned West Coast.

“So where are you from, then?” I asked.

From the look he gave me, you’d think I was asking for his home address so I could send a death squad.

“Around,” he said.

“So where did you get the email address?” I asked.

“From the person you gave it to, obviously.”

I shot a look at Daniel.

“We called the number for Cyril Mitchell,” Daniel said. “That was the emergency contact another skin-walker gave Maya. The woman who answered said he was dead. She claimed to be his daughter. Is that true?”

“Yeah, he’s dead. Yeah, she’s his daughter. But if you expected any help from that dumb bitch, you’re even more clueless than I thought.”

“So tell us what we’re missing,” Daniel said, his voice low, calm. “Clue us in.”

Ash shrugged. “Later. Maybe. Point is, she’s not going to help. She didn’t want her dad mixed up with the St. Clouds or their genetic projects. Blames them for his death.”

“They killed him?” I asked.

He looked ready to shoot back a sarcastic response, then checked himself. “No. It was a heart attack. She blames them because he was working for them. Working both sides—employed by the Cabal, but helping some of the Project Phoenix parents. So she blames us, too, which is why she isn’t going to help. But she did decide it was her duty to pass on your email to me and tell me you phoned from a Vancouver number. She knew you were my sister. Acted like she was doing us a huge favor. She shouldn’t have been passing out your contact info without asking you. Like I said, dumb bitch.”

“So she told you I called, gave you the email address, and you decided to come meet me?”

“Yeah.”

He was sitting there, barely able to look at me, barely able to speak without snapping at me, yet he’d dropped everything, paid God knows how much for a plane ticket, and crossed an international border to track me down. I didn’t know how to reconcile that. I would have been sure it was a trap except, if it was, he wouldn’t be nearly so pissy about the whole thing. He’d be all, “Hey, I’m your brother and I’m here to help.”

“You know Daniel’s a benandanti, and you know we’re supposed to be dead, and you know there are two Cabals after us. Did Mitchell’s daughter tell you that?”

He snorted. “She didn’t tell me nothing. I already knew about the crash and the escape. There are a few parents out there who left Project Phoenix, like our mother. They’ve kept in contact with me. One of them contacted me after the crash. She had a Google alert on Salmon Creek. She told me—” The briefest hesitation. “She told me you were dead.”

“Oh.”

“Then I get this call from Sylvia Mitchell. So I made another call, to another parent, and found out you survived. This guy knew how to contact me, knew that I thought you were dead, and never even bothered to phone when he found out otherwise. Said it wouldn’t do any good. That I was better off thinking you were dead.”

“Nice,” Corey murmured. “So I’m guessing these parents aren’t going to be helping us anytime soon.”

“You guess right. The one who told me you were dead is okay but useless. Just wants to protect her daughter.” He paused. “Can’t blame her, I guess. The other guy is even less helpful, though he knows more. He has contacts. Won’t share them, though. Might endanger his kid. Cyril was in charge of this little network, but when he died, it just fell apart. He’s the only one who would have helped—or made them help.”

“Okay,” Daniel said. “So who can we get help from? Your mother?”

Ash snorted. “You know where to find her?”

“Um, no, I thought you . . .” Daniel looked my way again.

I cleared my throat. “I was told our mother separated us because the St. Clouds would be looking for twins. She left me at a hospital in Portland, but she kept you. Raised you.”

“You heard wrong.”

“Oh.” I paused. “So she aban—Left both of us?”

“Abandoned. She abandoned both of us. You at the hospital as a baby, me with some so-called friends when I was five.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I haven’t seen her since and I don’t want to now. If you’re going after her, count me out. I’ll suggest you save yourself the trip, though. She doesn’t give a damn about either of us. Dumped us on strangers to save herself.”

I sat there, stunned. Then I said, “Is there anyone we can go to?”

He stared at me, then laughed. “You guys really are spoiled rich kids, aren’t you? When things go wrong, you don’t have a clue how to save yourselves. Just run in circles looking for a grown-up to do it for you.”

“Does it look like we can’t save ourselves? We’re free, aren’t we? But our parents think we’re dead.”

“Good. Makes it easier to disappear. No one to come looking for you.”

“I don’t want to disappear. I want my parents back.”

“Why? They sold you out.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’re not just a sheltered rich kid. You’re a stupid one, too.”

Daniel cut in. “We also need help because the Cabals have our friends.”

“Then wish them well and start making new ones. They’ll be fine. The St. Clouds and Nasts will take care of them. They’re valuable future employees.” Ash eased back on the bench. “Look. I came for my sister. I know how you guys grew up and I figure she’s not going to last ten minutes on the street. I’m going to take her someplace safe. I didn’t expect”—he waved at Daniel and Corey—“an entourage, but I suppose it’s a package deal.”

“It is,” I said. “But we’re not running and hiding. We can’t.”

“Maya can’t,” Daniel said. “There’s a problem with skin-walkers after they start shifting.”

“What?”

“One of the first subjects is the sister of the guy who gave me Cyril Mitchell’s number,” I said. “She’s been shifting for a few years now and she’s . . . brain damaged.”

“From the shifts?”

“Maybe brain damaged isn’t the right term. It’s like she’s becoming more . . . animal. All she cares about is eating and sleeping and running around the woods. Now I’m starting to shift, and . . .”

“You’ve noticed changes?”

“No,” Daniel said. “But it’s only been a week and Rafe told her it took awhile with Annie. If Maya starts reverting like that, we can’t exactly take her to a hospital and ask them to fix it. We need help from the people who did this to us.”

“And how the hell are you going to get that? Ask nicely?”

Silence. This was the part we hadn’t worked out. Hadn’t dared discuss.

I spoke first. “Ideally, we’d find someone who worked for the project—a scientist or a doctor—who has either left the St. Clouds or is willing to work against them. Which sounds like Cyril Mitchell.”

“Yeah, it does. Which means you’re shit outta luck. I’m not even sure he could have helped. This is . . .” A look crossed Ash’s face. Something like fear. “Big.”

“It’s huge,” Daniel said. “And I’m not letting it happen to Maya.”

“So how are you going to stop it, benandanti? Put all their scientists in choke holds and use your power to persuade them to help?”

“If I have to. The better option, though . . .” He took a deep breath. “Is a truce.”

“What?” Ash laughed and shook his head. “You really don’t know anything about Cabals, do you?”

“No, but I’m hoping you’ll fill us in. I do believe, however, that under the right circumstances, a truce is possible. For that, though, we need our parents—not because we want Mommy and Daddy to hold our hands, but because these people won’t take our demands seriously. We’re just kids. We need to get to our parents and let them know what’s happened. Yes, maybe some joined the project voluntarily, but they didn’t sign up so their kids could be taken away. If they know the truth, they can use it. Threats. Blackmail. Whatever it takes. Get the Cabals to help us on our terms.”

Ash looked me in the eye. “This stuff about the girl. Annie. You’ve met her?”

“I have.”

“Could she have been faking it? Maybe her and her brother set this up so you’d think you need a Cabal’s help?”

I shook my head. “It was real. She’s regressing, and it’s . . .” I swallowed. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll try it your way. It won’t work, but I can tell you’re not going to believe that until you’ve given it a shot.”