The Reflective Dissent Read online

  Her Bloodling father is here on Three, where she naively thought she'd return Maddie and Jacky. She has no partner, no locator, and a Reflective who wants her dead or, worse, may have roused himself by now. It would take a lot for Ryan to build up his blood after what Gunnar did.

  What I allowed. A smart Reflective would jump back to Papilio and recoup, then think about options.

  However intelligent Ryan may be, he's lost to his vendetta against her. He won't jump back and use logic. Ryan will press toward her. And now that he knows Jeb has declared her, he'll redouble his efforts.

  Beth's mind isn't sharp, her time on One having obviously dulled it. And the horrors of what's transgressed in her own world helps that along.

  Think, Beth.

  Why would Madeline's mother be dead and Jacky's domicile destroyed? Figuring out the why of what's transpired shouldn't matter. But her warrior's brain nags at her. Some niggling bit of unease is trying to warn her there is more to what's happened here than just a superficial event.

  “It is almost as though someone is destroying evidence.”

  Beth turns to Jacky, a sheet of gooseflesh coating her skin as she remembers his well-above-average IQ. “What did you say?” Though she heard him.

  Jacky yanks his head back toward the still-smoldering ruins of his house. “What if you guys leave a ʻfootprintʼ of having jumped from place to place?”

  Of course they do. But only a Reflective could note such proof of their jumping.

  Jacky studies her face. “So ya do? You leave some kind of trail of bread crumbs.”

  Beth feels her face screw up. Gunnar's expression matches her own.

  Jacky's exhale is impatient. “I thought you knew earth slang and shit.”

  Beth frowns at the boy. “I do. But not all. I am expert in all the explored sectorsʼ languages. But some slang”—she lifts a shoulder—“escapes even my ability to interpret.”

  “Okay, ya get lost in the woods,” he begins to explain.

  Beth nods, moving her hand in a circle of impatient encouragement.

  He holds up a palm. “And you want someone to pick up your trail, so you chuck little pieces of bread for that person to find.” His light eyebrows spring up.

  Gunnar snorts. “Or a hungry animal to eat.”

  “Shut up,” Jacky says, and Gunnar growls.

  “Sorry, big dude, but this is one of those things where it's more an idea than a literal thing, ya feel me?”

  Gunnar blinks, and Beth feels momentary sympathy. He is getting to know the Jacky they all did at first blush, and he can be tiresome.

  “Jacky,” Maddie speaks for the first time, “you're not being very nice.”

  Jacky and Beth watch her take Gunnar's hand. He looks down at her, smiling, and that bit of fang that all Bloodlings possess peeks out from behind his lips.

  Maddie's pulse speeds at the hollow of her throat, and her pupils dilate. The Three female behaves as though she's drugged in the presence of Gunnar. Beth's eyes shift to him.

  He is no less affected.

  Beth wonders if this is how Merrick is affected by her. If that is so, he has been very careful not to let on the full extent of his feelings.

  “It's not about nice. Listen, since all this paranormal bullshit came down, there's been a lot of behind-the-scenes speculating about big brother and all that.”

  Now Beth is well and truly stumped. “Big Brother?”

  “Yeah, ya know—government spooks.”

  Ah yes, Beth remembers the phrase is a crude description of legitimate government having a covert subsection. Usually for deeds for which they don't want to be accountable.

  He shrugs. “I think this might fall under that.”

  They look to the destroyed domicile.

  “Chuck killed my mom, Jacky.”

  Jacky walks over to her, and Gunnar tenses, then Beth. She does not want to protect the Three against her newfound relative.

  “Chill, big guy.” He turns to Maddie. “Listen, Mad. You're a Dimensional, and then you went to Papilio and you ended up being what they classify as Reflective. But here on our earth”—Jacky glances at a silent Beth—“all us teenagers who've been dosed with the DNA cocktail to make paranormal markers manifest within our hidden genes or whatever—we're being observed. Maybe groomed, you get it?”

  Beth frowns. They took care of the criminal scientists—the Zondorae brothers. Their plan of total sterilization won't be realized. It was one of her and Jeb's most critical first assignments when they were paired, preempting a dark, barren future for Three.

  “I do get it,” Beth replies slowly. “But that should no longer be a factor.”

  The fine machinations of Jacky's mind revolve. Beth sees them plainly on his open expression. “Okay, so you and Merrick came here and changed some shit.”

  Beth doesn't answer.

  Jacky smirks. “Bingo. But anyway, maybe you didn't change enough, and there's someone that noticed that a Dimensional suddenly vanished, and her dead boyfriend's little brother's parents were murdered and why.”

  Principle help them.

  “So somebody that matters found out enough of the why. And they have an idea about you guys.” He points at Beth then taps his temple. “And maybe they're working really hard to find you—and Papilio.”

  Beth's heart rate begins to speed, and the dense forest seems to close in around her—claustrophobic.

  “That would be disastrous,” Gunnar comments unnecessarily.

  Yes it would.

  “Did ya ever run into Threes? I mean, besides me and Maddie? When you guys jumped here?”

  Beth remembers the reanimated corpse, the female law woman they encountered—the gang that nearly killed her—where she and Jeb jumped through a piece of a shattered automotive side mirror to escape.

  “Yes,” she says slowly, explaining some of what she can and keeping much of it to herself. She is still a Reflective of The Cause. Speaking about their soldiering is not done.

  “So you think a female cop is just going to say ho-hum, as you and Merrick hit a broken car mirror on the side of a car and, poof, you vanish? Yʼknow.” He pauses, scratching his head. “She's not gonna just chalk it up as one of those things.” He snorts.

  Beth locks her hands behind her back. “Merrick and I assumed they would identify us as Dimensionals. After all, by your own admission, paranormal talents are rampant in Three.” She shrugs. They went in knowing those facts. She and Jeb were counting on it for the sake of blending in with the locals.

  He nods. “Yeah, they are. But Dimensionals don't go through glass, Beth.” His eyes are bright in the gloom as they study her. “They jump, like Reflectives... in a way. But they're not jumping through locators mounted on buildings and lakes and that.” He rolls his eyes.

  “I think we should get the hell out of here and back to Papilio,” Jacky says, and Maddie's inhale is shaky.

  “I thought you couldn't wait to get to Three?” Beth asks in a low voice, though she keeps sarcasm at bay. His parents were murdered, and the only home he knows is gone. Now is not the time to teach lessons. Life has been an apt teacher.

  He shakes his head. “I'll miss my homeboys, and maybe someday I can come back, but if I've got government wackos looking for me and bringing out the big dogs?” He shakes his head. “I'd be safer on Papilio—older.”

  It's not lawful to remove Threes from their home world. But where does the law end and justice begin? Can she leave the two of them without protection, resources, or family? If Jacky is only thirteen cycles here, in this time, who will tend him until he's grown?

  Beth dips her head, taking a few, deep breaths.

  “I don't want to go back to Papilio,” Maddie says into the deepening gloom.

  Beth gives a sharp look to her, then Gunnar.

  “No,” Beth says, and Gunnar spreads his arms. “I can't deny our tie, Beth Jasper. Mine to you”—he shifts to Maddie—“hers to me.”

  Maddie steps away from Gunnar.


  His shocked expression would be funny if Beth didn't know better. A male Bloodling in the throes of a kindred blood tie is not something to be taken lightly.

  Maddie puts her shoulders back. “I'm not going to Sector One, either.”

  Jacky laughs.

  And Gunnar hisses. But not at Jacky—at something else entirely.

  There's no time to worry about a lover's spat.

  Voices carry down to them from above, and Beth pivots where she stands, automatically securing better footing.

  Bright LED spears of light slice the dusk like blistering knives.

  Instinctively, Beth searches for reflection—any reflection—to spot jump them away from the intrusion.

  Nothing. Principle.

  Then the unexpected happens.

  Ryan, in the clothes of this sector, reveals himself at the top of the hill. “That's them,” he says, using perfect Three language.

  His grin is malicious.

  Beth's gut tightens as Three men start climbing down the incline toward them with weapons of this world.

  And she can't reflect anywhere.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Merrick

  They move like well-suited partners instead of tolerant enemies through the murk of trees that separates Three dwellings from one another.

  With perhaps only ten meters of dense tree cover, Slade and Jeb stay tight to each other, their shoulders almost brushing as they make their way toward the combined scent of the others.

  Jeb reluctantly concedes that Slade and he are not completely unalike, excepting Slade's delusion of having Beth.

  Three is an unpredictable and violent sector. Perhaps not as violent as One, but a less certain sector. On Sector One, everyone encountered is an enemy. That one thing is very predictable.

  Slade will be safe only with Jeb's help. And Jeb isn't feeling particularly magnanimous.

  “Stop,” Slade says abruptly, and Jeb keeps walking, tossing a why over his shoulder.

  “I scent a problem.”

  Jeb halts, and turning only halfway toward Slade, he places his right foot to rest on a knot of tree roots; the enchanted forest where they landed is no more, having given way to mundane, magic-less trees. Jeb tilts his head upward. Those treesʼ presence passively guards Slade from the Three's single blazing sun.

  Jeb flares his nostrils, and though he scents Beth fairly well, and to a lesser extent, Gunnar and the Threes, he does not smell Ryan—or anything else of worth.

  However, Jeb is Reflective, not Bloodling, and therein lies a critical difference. Jeb does not have the vampiric ancestry necessary to smell a drop of musk in a coliseum. A pure Bloodling could. In this, he must defer to Slade.

  Jeb scowls.

  Slade misses his opportunity to grin at what he surely thinks is a Reflective failing.

  His head is tipped back, long black hair is spilling around his shoulders. Slade's lips are slightly parted, arms are flung wide—his eyes shut.

  Jeb remains quiet, letting the Bloodling continue whatever he's doing.

  “I smell gun oil.” Slade's chin lowers, and his indifferent gaze meets Jeb's. The Bloodling's eyes are cups of shadows beneath his brow in the quickly fading light of day.

  “Gun oil?” Jeb furiously attempts to recall what weapons of this era are prevalent.

  Fossil fuel is being aggressively phased out in this time on Three, he's sure. Traditional gun rights are facing an aggressive challenge through a constitutional amendment. Jeb palms his chin. He can't recall exactly what it is.

  He is not at his best with the history and accents of the Sectors. His concentration and interest are focused differently, toward justice and defense.

  “What is the significance?” Jeb asks quickly.

  Slade jerks his jaw back in clear surprise. “A—humanoid—”

  “Three,” Jeb corrects.

  “It is no matter,” Slade says, still narrowly searching their immediate area. “A humanoid from this planet has been cleaning a killing weapon with gun oil.”

  “A professional?” Jeb asks.

  Slade nods. “Men who kill frequently generally take excellent care of their weapons.”

  That has been Jeb's experience as well. His searing gaze stays pegged on Slade. “How do you know of guns?”

  Slade folds his arms, his lids lowering to half-mast. “Contraband.”

  “Ah,” Jeb says, letting the sarcasm blow through his reply. That would make sense. Corrupt Sector One. Of course.

  Slade's frown marks tight angles and planes across his face as he studies Jeb's expression. “You judge me, but hear this—if there are assassins close to us, close to Beth, we need to ask ourselves why.” His voice is soft, but he has the unusual ability to almost throw the modulation like a ventriloquist, and Jeb catches his words easily. “If Ryan were the only obstacle in our way of returning everyone to where they hail from, then what of this?”

  Jeb shakes his head, parking a hand on his thigh. After a few moments, he admits slowly, “I am not a lover of coincidence.”

  “Nor I,” Slade adds, frowning. “I think we need something besides my good looks to get us close to Beth, without alerting this other group of our presence.”

  Jeb smirks, thinking Slade doesn't look that well. “No one will have the abilities of the two of us. We are on Three, a most primitive world in terms of males who can handle themselves. Many of this world's males are without worth, having nothing to back up their posturing.”

  “And what of the females?”

  Jeb pulls an unconcerned face, lifting a dismissive shoulder and letting it drop. “They are soft.”

  “Beth is not, Merrick. Beth is fierce in all things.”

  This is true. “She is Reflective.”

  Slade mutters something underneath his breath.

  “What did you say?” Jeb continues to look sharply at Slade.

  “There are other beings that might give you concern, Jeb Merrick.”

  Jeb shrugs. “I don't worry about the Three's guns or their other crude, slow weaponry.”

  “Because you hop, eh?” Slade asks, his chin hiking, hands going to his hips.

  “Yes,” Jeb says, not adding the of course at the end of his reply. “Reflectives do not hop, they jump,” he adds with mental disdain.

  “And if you cannot hop your way out of a mess?” Slade inquires softly.

  Jeb straightens, his hands fisting. “Then I fight, Bloodling.”

  “Ah”—he wags his finger at Jeb—“the first thing of merit you've uttered.”

  “I do not have time for your assumptions about Reflectives. Or what I consider myself to be, or my abilities. I have been training to be an assassin, a soldier, and a bearer of justice since the age of five cycles, and nothing will alter that directive.”

  “Even our fair Beth?”

  Jeb whirls in the opposite direction, leaving Slade behind him.

  Slade's chuckling follows him, and Jeb's veins burn with pent frustration.

  Let the Threes come bearing arms or whatever battle they think they can muster.

  Jeb is ready.

  *

  “Guns,” Gunnar says with barely more than a breath, his nostrils flaring.

  Beth doesn't move—and can't smell the guns. But her vision is just fine, and she sees them hoisted steadily in strong hands.

  Ryan stays at the crest of the ravine, looking down on them like a god.

  He isn't one. And Beth will not give him more of an advantage by getting near him. Besides, she can see no benefit when he is above her.

  “Who are these guys?”

  Government spooks, Beth answers mentally, taking inventory of their manner, wardrobe, and deliberate stealth.

  “Jackson Kennedy Caldera?” calls one in the lead, though Beth doesn't see his face clearly behind the weapon he holds.

  Slowly, she extracts her blade, thankful she chose the black ceramic before their journey. White would present like a flag in the shadowed forest.

&n
bsp; “God,” Jacky mutters, jabbing a thumb at his chest, his eyebrows to his hairline. “Nope. That guy's dead. Me and my buds here are taking a little stroll through the woods.”

  Gunnar moves in front of Maddie, and the approaching men flick their laser eyes to him.

  None of them seem surprised to see a Bloodling male.

  More unease buries itself in Beth, flooding her insides, and she shifts her weight, observing the five armed men. They're outfitted in the black military garb popular on Three as they zigzag a path closer to their position.

  “Vamp world male, four o'clock,” the lead Three says into a mic close to his face.

  Vamp world—could they mean One?

  “My daughter,” Gunnar calls softly, and she knows he is using a frequency not detectable by the human Threes and turns to him in surprise. “Let them get close.”

  Beth subtly changes position, sliding a dagger behind her back and letting her right arm hang loose.

  Tenseness would be more natural looking as these killers approach, but that will make them even more watchful.

  The lead male's eyes move to Beth. “Butterfly bitch at noon.”

  Heat suffuses Beth's body, dull rage thumping its way through her vasculature.

  She is not a bitch, and butterflies are sacred. Beth Jasper is a warrior of The Cause.

  Beth feels a feral smile stretch her lips.

  “Dimensional,” the man begins, then his eyes sweep Maddie a second time, “or something, at four.”

  “Our liaison”—he speaks to Beth and indicates Ryan, standing like an imperious fortress at the top of the ravine—“has told us how dangerous you are. Stand down, and we won't hurt the boy and the”—he looks to Maddie again—“female,” he finally decides.

  Beth's sharkish grin widens.

  There is nothing for Ryan to reflect to help these males—as there is nothing for her.

  She senses Gunnar's readiness.

  Beth speaks in the ancient language of Sector One, knowing her father will understand and the Threes will not.

  Gunnar shoves Maddie down, and the men follow his motion.

  “Stop!” the leader of the Threes bellows.

  Gunnar disobeys, of course, and crouches, leaping with his powerful legs he flies at them.