Read Online Wordless by AdriAnne Strickland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: AdriAnne Strickland
Ads: Link
Word on to the next person,” she continued. “Someday it will cost me my life to give this Word away.”
She drew her knees up to her chest, like she was cold. Her long-sleeved black shirt was off, her black tank top leaving her arms bare. From this angle, I could see the dark letters at the beginning of her shoulder, vanishing around her back.
“Who knows,” she added. “Maybe the Gods gave their lives to give the Words to us.”
“Well, I wish they hadn’t. I wish the Words didn’t exist.” Now that I knew it was possible to hurt her, it was like I wanted to. As soon I realized this, I felt terrible. More terrible, anyway. “Sorry. I don’t really mean that. But the Word of Death—Herio—killed Drey.”
“He’s good at that,” Khaya said quietly. “He can kill you however he wants, as long as he can lay a hand on you—quick or slow, messy or clean. That’s all he’s good at.” Even quiet, her voice was hard. And colder than ever.
Such enmity between the picture-perfect Words might have made me curious at another time, but I didn’t want to know about them anymore, or even why my shirt and pants were folded on the table instead of on me. I wished I could go back to the way things were, before I’d gotten Drey killed, before I’d even met Khaya. Well, maybe not that far. But I wasn’t particularly enjoying her company at the moment.
“Your clothes had so much blood on them, I figured you wouldn’t want to get it on your friend’s cot,” she said.
“You can read minds too, can you?” I wondered how the hell she’d gotten my clothes off while standing on one foot, and I didn’t know if I liked or disliked the idea of her undressing me while I was dead asleep. Then I hoped she couldn’t read that thought.
“No. You were looking at them, on the table.”
I reached for the backpack that I’d apparently been using as a lumpy pillow and opened it, just for something to do other than talk to her. Still wanting to know her made everything even worse, as if I’d somehow wanted Drey to die—like I’d traded his life for hers. Maybe I had, helping her and killing him in the process. She might be beautiful and powerful and important, but I didn’t even want to look at her. I looked in the backpack instead.
Everything was in plastic bags—waterproofed. I wondered when Drey had packed this; not recently, based on the number of things inside. There was a compass and a map; a flashlight with batteries; matches and a lighter; a first-aid kit; a packet about the size of my fist with a silvery, folded sheet inside; a water filter; food bars; a pocketknife that really deserved to be called a pocket-toolbox; and an envelope stuffed with euros, Swiss francs, and Eden City bills. A lot of them. The envelope also held the Matterhorn postcard.
I turned it over, not wanting to look at the blue sky that reminded me of Drey’s eyes, expecting to find the message I’d copied from Khaya on the back. But there was something else instead.
“What’s this?” I demanded, holding it out to Khaya, who’d been intently, almost eagerly, watching me unpack the bag.
She leaned forward in her chair, her dark eyes scanning it. “An address … but not one in Eden City. It’s outside, in Switzerland. There’s also a message. It says, ‘You must go here.’”
“Drey had an address in Switzerland?” I asked out loud, even though Khaya couldn’t answer that question. “So he was there—the place in the picture. He didn’t find this in the trash. He wasn’t wordless. He probably wasn’t even really a garbage man!”
And then I was angry at Drey’s lies all over again, like I’d been when I’d found out he could read, except much, much angrier.
I thrust my hand into the backpack again—the escape pack—to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. My fingers encountered cold metal beneath waterproof plastic. I pulled out the last bag.
A gun sat inside, heavy and dark, along with an extra
She drew her knees up to her chest, like she was cold. Her long-sleeved black shirt was off, her black tank top leaving her arms bare. From this angle, I could see the dark letters at the beginning of her shoulder, vanishing around her back.
“Who knows,” she added. “Maybe the Gods gave their lives to give the Words to us.”
“Well, I wish they hadn’t. I wish the Words didn’t exist.” Now that I knew it was possible to hurt her, it was like I wanted to. As soon I realized this, I felt terrible. More terrible, anyway. “Sorry. I don’t really mean that. But the Word of Death—Herio—killed Drey.”
“He’s good at that,” Khaya said quietly. “He can kill you however he wants, as long as he can lay a hand on you—quick or slow, messy or clean. That’s all he’s good at.” Even quiet, her voice was hard. And colder than ever.
Such enmity between the picture-perfect Words might have made me curious at another time, but I didn’t want to know about them anymore, or even why my shirt and pants were folded on the table instead of on me. I wished I could go back to the way things were, before I’d gotten Drey killed, before I’d even met Khaya. Well, maybe not that far. But I wasn’t particularly enjoying her company at the moment.
“Your clothes had so much blood on them, I figured you wouldn’t want to get it on your friend’s cot,” she said.
“You can read minds too, can you?” I wondered how the hell she’d gotten my clothes off while standing on one foot, and I didn’t know if I liked or disliked the idea of her undressing me while I was dead asleep. Then I hoped she couldn’t read that thought.
“No. You were looking at them, on the table.”
I reached for the backpack that I’d apparently been using as a lumpy pillow and opened it, just for something to do other than talk to her. Still wanting to know her made everything even worse, as if I’d somehow wanted Drey to die—like I’d traded his life for hers. Maybe I had, helping her and killing him in the process. She might be beautiful and powerful and important, but I didn’t even want to look at her. I looked in the backpack instead.
Everything was in plastic bags—waterproofed. I wondered when Drey had packed this; not recently, based on the number of things inside. There was a compass and a map; a flashlight with batteries; matches and a lighter; a first-aid kit; a packet about the size of my fist with a silvery, folded sheet inside; a water filter; food bars; a pocketknife that really deserved to be called a pocket-toolbox; and an envelope stuffed with euros, Swiss francs, and Eden City bills. A lot of them. The envelope also held the Matterhorn postcard.
I turned it over, not wanting to look at the blue sky that reminded me of Drey’s eyes, expecting to find the message I’d copied from Khaya on the back. But there was something else instead.
“What’s this?” I demanded, holding it out to Khaya, who’d been intently, almost eagerly, watching me unpack the bag.
She leaned forward in her chair, her dark eyes scanning it. “An address … but not one in Eden City. It’s outside, in Switzerland. There’s also a message. It says, ‘You must go here.’”
“Drey had an address in Switzerland?” I asked out loud, even though Khaya couldn’t answer that question. “So he was there—the place in the picture. He didn’t find this in the trash. He wasn’t wordless. He probably wasn’t even really a garbage man!”
And then I was angry at Drey’s lies all over again, like I’d been when I’d found out he could read, except much, much angrier.
I thrust my hand into the backpack again—the escape pack—to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. My fingers encountered cold metal beneath waterproof plastic. I pulled out the last bag.
A gun sat inside, heavy and dark, along with an extra
Similar Books
