Night Resurrected Read online

  “You what? Would have taken it from me before? You would have left me to Seattle?” She was getting angry now, and damn it, her eyes were growing wet with furious tears.

  “No, Remy. Have I ever hurt you? Haven’t I protected you, and even saved your ass more than once?”

  “But it was all because of the crystal. That’s why you took care of me: you figured I’d lead you to it at some point. Or you’d take it from me. If you’d known I had it, things would have been a lot different.”

  “How do I know you aren’t lying to me? There’s no way you protected that thing for years and suddenly lost it in one night.”

  She lifted her chin, crossing her arms, speared him with her glare. “Feel free to search me. It’s not as if you haven’t seen everything before.”

  “I’m going to have to,” he said, standing suddenly. “I can’t take that chance.”

  “Fine.” She stood, too, and whipped off her damp shirt, then yanked down her jeans. “Here you go. Have at it. Want me to take off my bra and panties too?”

  Ian glared at her for a minute, then snatched up her jeans and felt through them quickly. He did the same with her shirt then tossed them back at her. “You could have hidden it somewhere before Lacey found you.”

  “I could have,” she replied. “Somewhere in the wilderness, where the zombies could easily find it. As you saw, they’re attracted to it. That would make a lot of sense, seeing as how I spent the last twenty years trying to keep it safe.” She made no effort to hide the derision in her voice.

  He swore, his hand coming up to rub his temples. Ian’s whole body seemed to sag, his devastation obvious. If she weren’t so furious and disappointed in him, she might have felt sympathetic.

  “Look,” he said at last, looking up her. His eyes were terrible: cold and bleak. “I’ve spent eight years risking everything for that crystal. I need to have it. I have to find it.”

  “You and everyone else, it seems. Besides, I don’t even know what it is,” she said. “I don’t know for sure that it’s the Mother crystal.”

  “Well it’s fucking something,” he snapped. “Something important. Your grandfather gave it to you, didn’t he?”

  She nodded, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “Yes.”

  “What did he tell you about it?”

  Remy shook her head. “Nothing. He just told me to protect it.”

  Ian turned away. “Damn,” he said. His voice was quiet. Broken.

  She watched him for a minute, alternately wanting to smash him in the head with something hard and pull him into an embrace. He was a dangerous, violent man . . . but there was something at his core that didn’t fit with that persona.

  What was his weakness? His soft core?

  “What do you need it for?” she asked finally. “What does it do? If it even is the Mother crystal.”

  He sat down heavily, his expression drawn and dark. His hands hung loosely over his crossed legs. “I need it because the Elite want it.”

  “The Elite? You mean the Strangers,” she added to herself. “So you want it in order to keep it from them—to use whatever power it has. Or you want to give it to them. In exchange for something, perhaps? Money? A crystal of your own, so you can live immortally?” A thought struck her, way out of the blue, and she tilted her head, looking at him closely. “Unless it has to do with her.”

  It was hardly noticeable, but she was watching for it. His fingers spasmed, then relaxed.

  “Who is she?” Remy asked. “What’s her name?”

  Ian looked up, his eyes boring into hers. She caught her breath at the odd light in his gaze; she couldn’t tell if it was loathing or despair. “Liana. Her name is Liana.”

  She opened her mouth to ask more, but he stood abruptly. “That’s it.” He held up a hand to ward her off, then looked down at her. His expression was not pleasant. “It occurs to me that your companion Wyatt might somehow have acquired the crystal—with or without your knowledge. If that’s the case, you’ll help me get it from him.”

  “Or?” she retorted, her pulse spiking.

  “I have no allegiance to anyone. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get it. You can count on it.”

  Chapter 12

  The last time Remy was in Envy, she’d thrown a snake at Wyatt. Literally.

  With that tense moment long past, she couldn’t hold back a smirk as she and Ian approached the walls of the city. It had been sort of funny.

  Wyatt had been chasing her and Dantès through a deserted, dirty underground hallway and when she finally came to a set of stairs that offered escape, they’d encountered a snake. It wasn’t a big snake—not like the ones that lived in the old sewer tunnels—but it was much bigger than those little garden snakes.

  It was the element of surprise working in her favor when, after she climbed several steps ahead of Wyatt, she turned and flung the reptile into his face. Probably not what he was expecting.

  That was more than six months ago, and it was how she made her escape from the people who wanted to keep her in Envy—Elliott, Wyatt, Quent, and the others. She hadn’t seen any of them again until Wyatt found her under Seattle’s truck.

  Now Remy looked at her current companion as he climbed out of the Humvee. “Have to leave the truck here, and hidden,” Ian said.

  It was true. If they approached the gates in a vehicle, they would be presumed Strangers or bounty hunters. She helped him pull the steel door of an old garage closed behind the truck and then they swung up their packs.

  “I think,” she said as they started toward the city, Dantès padding along at her side, “it would have been faster, as well as more comfortable, riding a horse.”

  Ian glanced at her. “Duly noted.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away. The sooner she ditched him, the better.

  Since Ian learned she didn’t have the crystal any longer, he’d been quiet and distant—more so than usual. He’d also kept a very close watch on her. They hadn’t talked other than necessary for the last day and a half of travel, but to ensure she didn’t run off in the night, he made sure they slept close together. Body heat notwithstanding, it actually allowed her to rest more deeply—knowing he was listening for danger (zombies, wild animals, Lacey) too.

  Despite being enclosed in his arms, she had a nightmare about Seattle that first night, likely because of her capture by Lacey and Goldwyn. It was the first one she’d had in months. But Remy was able to pull herself out of it and fight back to consciousness using some of the techniques Selena had taught her. If she’d wakened Ian, he gave no indication . . . but his arms had remained close around her.

  The walls of Envy loomed above as they approached. The enclosure was twenty feet tall and built of remnants from a long-gone twenty-first century civilization: billboards, pieces of cars, airplane hangar walls, large piles of rubble, massive segments of buildings or vehicles. The purpose of the barrier, or so Remy had been told while she was in the infirmary under Elliott Drake’s care, was not to keep people out or in, but to offer protection from the zombies and other predators.

  Thus, although there was a watch at the entrance, the large gates—made from two massive garage doors—were kept open from sunrise to sunset. Entering and exiting Envy wasn’t like being given access to a medieval castle. No one was denied, no one was retained.

  But she suspected that didn’t mean there was a lack of communication about who was entering or exiting.

  She, Dantès, and Ian walked past the guard on duty as he waved and smiled at them. A few yards farther inside they found themselves in the wide, bustling streetfront previously known as the Las Vegas Strip. Tall buildings, structures unfamiliar to her, rose on either side. If it weren’t for the expanse of the street, she might have felt boxed-in. A Statue of Liberty stood at the base of the street as if to welcome newcomers, just as the original statue had done in Manhattan more than two hundred years ago.

  There were two intact buildings on either side of the wide street,
and neatly kept flowers, trees, shrubbery, and even streetlights paraded between them. Except for the lack of motorized vehicles, the area looked almost identical to the pictures Remy had seen of pre-Change civilization. Beyond the two flanking buildings were the remnants of other, smaller structures: some maintained and others in utter disrepair. And at the top or north end of the street, rose the tall, metal skeletons of buildings that didn’t survive the Change. Beyond them and in the perimeter of the main thoroughfare were more ruins, the rest of the wall, and, to the north and beyond: the Pacific Ocean.

  It was months ago she’d been here last, but Envy felt different this time. There was an air of excitement or expectancy in the people moving about.

  “Wonder what’s going on,” she said, looking up at Ian, who shrugged.

  “Looks like some sort of celebration,” he replied in a tone that indicated his disinterest.

  “Well, look who the fucking zombies dragged in.”

  Remy and Ian turned at the same time. The woman standing there was lean and athletic, with short, blue-black hair that flung about in choppy waves around her jaw. She was beautiful, with her almond-shaped eyes and rich, mahogany skin, but she also had a no-nonsense air about her and fairly bristled with sass.

  “Ian Marck,” the woman continued. “I’d say you were a sight for my sore damn eyes, but that’d be a fucking lie.”

  “Well, well, Zoë,” Ian said, the hint of a sneer in his voice. “You’re looking well. I see that captivity suits you, locked up behind these walls. Remind me to ask Quent how he does it.”

  “He acts like a fucking human instead of a murderous asshole, that’s how,” Zoë replied. “Maybe you ought to take lessons.” But her sharp eyes had transferred to Remy and then Dantès. “I remember this big-ass guy,” she said, crouching to pet him. “He hung out here for a while with Wyatt. I’ll have to introduce him to Fang. There aren’t any other dogs big enough to play with him without getting their asses kicked,” she said, standing up to look at Remy again. “That is, assuming you’re gonna fucking stay this time.”

  Remy nodded, feeling Zoë’s attention linger on her face. The bruises had faded, but they were still a little yellowish, and the nasty cut by her eyebrow was still red and swollen. She wanted to ask about Wyatt—although surely he wouldn’t be here yet. But from the time she’d spent at Yellow Mountain, she knew he had some way of being in contact with the people here. She needed to find out where he was. She had to get that damned crystal back, and she’d murder Wyatt in the process if she had to. She’d trusted him, dammit.

  But she had to do it without Ian knowing.

  “Yes. I . . .” She looked around, again noticing all the activity. “What’s going on here?”

  “This shit?” Zoë looked utterly disgusted. “Hella big-ass party, more noise and food and people than should ever be in one fucking place, you ask me. Survivors Day is what they call it. Been wasting an assload of time getting ready for it. Fricking pig roast, ice creams, something called—what the hell, rhino ears or—”

  “Elephant ears, luv,” said a clipped voice. “They’re called elephant ears. And they’re delicious.”

  Remy looked up at the handsome blond man who’d appeared from nowhere. His hand settled proprietarily on Zoë’s shoulder and he was looking at Ian with unadulterated dislike. “Ian Marck. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  The words were polite enough. Even his accent—which sounded like the people in all those Harry Potter DVDs—made it sound pleasing and almost formal. But the expression on his face and the inflection in his tone belied anything related to sincerity.

  “Just passing through,” Ian replied. “Don’t get in my way, Fielding, I won’t get in yours.”

  “It’s Quent. I don’t use my father’s name.”

  “There you go—we have something in common. I don’t use mine either.” Without another word, or even a glance at Remy, Ian walked off.

  “Remington Truth,” said Quent, thankfully pitching his voice low. “The last I heard, you were with Theo and Wyatt in Yellow Mountain. Then you took off.”

  “You traveling with that asshole?” Zoë demanded, glaring after Ian. “Because if you are, we’ve got some serious talking ahead of us. Asshole didn’t decorate your face like that, did he?” Her lips were flat with disgust as she looked pointedly at Remy’s face.

  Glad to be extricated from Ian’s presence—although she was by no means confident it would be permanent—Remy replied, “No, he didn’t. And we met up because we happened to be traveling in the same direction. Two is safer than one, even with Dantès along.”

  “Where’s Wyatt?” Quent asked. “He went after you, didn’t he? He find you?”

  Probably better not let on she was ready to kill the man. Play it cool, lure them in . . . “Yes. We got separated during a zombie attack. I was hoping he’d be coming here.”

  “I haven’t heard from him recently.”

  “I . . . was hoping to speak with the woman named Ana.” Remy looked from Quent to Zoë. “I understand you know her?”

  “Zoë! There you are!”

  “Shit.” Zoë’s face went pale under her dusky skin.

  Remy turned to see two women coming toward them, purpose in their steps. One of them looked familiar—she had amazing red-gold curls that shined like a flame in the bright sun. Remy remembered her: she’d been with Wyatt and his friends when they found her in Redlo. Her name was Sage. Her companion had darker, auburn hair and clear green eyes. “Flo’s been waiting for you for an hour!” she said.

  “Oh, fuck, I’m so outta here.” Zoë would have bolted away but Quent had her by the arm and hauled her back. “Let go of me, genius.” The sass was gone, replaced by desperation. “I’ll make it worth your while. Really worth it.” Her voice and eyes had gone smoky—but still with a hint of panic—and she fairly melted into him. “Please?”

  Quent merely chuckled, keeping a firm hold on her arm. “It’s not going to kill you to get a little primped up for tonight,” he said. “You’re already glowing,” he added, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he patted her belly, “but if you let Flo have her way, you’ll be even more stunning than usual. And then you can make it worth my while.”

  “I am not letting that dominatrix put any of that face paint shit on me,” Zoë said. “And she’s not making me wear anything with a skirt.”

  “But Zoë,” said Sage, giving Remy a curious glance. “Your grandmother is being celebrated tonight. You should honor her and what she did by putting on something special.”

  “I promise, it will be painless,” said the other woman. “Flo is a genius!”

  “She’s a bloody damned sadist,” muttered Zoë, still trying to weasel out of Quent’s grip.

  Chuckling, the second woman turned to Remy. “Hello. I’m Jade. Elliott’s wife. You look familiar . . .”

  “Hi . . . yes, I’m Remy. Elliott . . . um . . . helped me a few months ago. When my leg got all cut up. Zoë brought me here to him.”

  “She’s the one who threw an assload of snake at Wyatt,” Zoë put in. “I don’t know which pissed him off more—when she shot at him or threw the damn snake in his face.” Her panic receded as her eyes gleamed with relish. “Wish I’d been there to see that.”

  Remy felt her cheeks warm. “Yes, I guess I did piss him off a little.” Guess we’re even now.

  “Well, that’s not hard to do, frankly, Remy,” Jade said with a smile. “Wyatt’s . . . well, he’s not an easy—”

  “He’s got an ass-crap-sized boulder on his shoulder big as that fucking building there,” Zoë said.

  “He’s a wonderful man,” Sage put in. “A very good one. He’s just got some . . . stuff. To deal with. Like we all do,” she added, spearing Zoë with her eyes. “All of us.”

  “Right,” Zoë replied with great insincerity. “Anyway, Remy just arrived here, and I was going to show her around, get her settled—”

  “That’s wonderful,” Sage interrupted with a sunny smi
le. Her voice was soft and sweet, but firm. “She can join us in getting freshened up for the party tonight. Would you come with us?” she asked, looking at Remy. Her aqua-blue eyes were guileless, and concern lingered there too. She probably wondered about the bruises as well.

  Looking from Zoë to Quent to Jade, Remy had the sense that Sage would get her way even if she tried to refuse. She had no reason to do so. These people were not only friends with Ana and Wyatt—and would be the first ones to know when and if he arrived—but she loved the idea of freshening up. Ever since the zombie attack, she’d been wearing the same loose shirt she’d planned to sleep in and jeans. It was too bad she’d been forced to leave her new clothes behind at the truck rig, but at least she was still wearing the new pink and white bra. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Traitor!” Zoë hissed at Remy. “I saved your ass from Ian and his father, and this is how you fucking repay me?”

  Sage and Jade laughed, and Remy shrugged. “Sorry. It’s been a few days since I showered.” She smiled.

  “I’ll see to . . . Dantès, is that his name?” Quent offered. Clearly, he was willing to do whatever it took to get Zoë sent off and taken care of. “If you’re comfortable with that.” He glanced up at her.

  Remy nodded. She crouched and hugged Dantès, saying, “Friend. Go with Quent.” She made the hand gestures and her dog immediately transferred his attention to the blond man. Remy turned back to Sage. “So who is this sadist named Flo and what is she going to do to me?”

  “Torture,” moaned Zoë. “A shitwad of torture.”

  It wasn’t torture at all.

  In fact, although her agreement to go with Sage and Jade had been more practical than anything else, Remy found herself completely enjoying Flo and her ministrations.

  The so-called sadist was a soft, fluffy woman of about fifty, with hair the color of moonbeams except for a wide pink streak. This breach of color went from the front of her part around to the nape of her neck, where it was twisted and pinned up into a puffy coiffure that looked like clouds coming out of her.