The Walls of Jericho

Connecting Dots

I can tell the instant I wake up that at least one part of my dream was real: the part where Channing said he was coming for me.

Immediately, I can sense the extra electricity—a delicate, spindly kind— that I’ve learned to recognize as the saltatory conduction of action potentials along the axons of excitable mammalian cells, particular nerves. More than Mr. Adriani and Ferdi are in the house, and all of them are gathered on the first floor.

Men and the television. Big surprise.

Heaving a deep sigh, I try to will myself back to sleep. I’d rather not deal with Channing, and likely Damien too, especially not now, when I’m still feeling the bitter sting of my own culpability for last night's fiasco. Add that on top of the fact that waking up from that kind of dream, well, it’s exceptionally tough in the first place.

No one wants to wake up from the dream where they feel accepted and forgiven, even flawed as they are.

No one wants to wake up from the dream where they feel loved and wanted, even after they’ve behaved like an unadulterated unintelligible jackass.

No one wants to wake up from the dream where they feel safe and assured that things will turn out okay, even if there are rough spots, simply because they'll be navigating them with someone else.

I’ll be the first to admit, I definitely don’t want to wake up from the dream where all that plus some pretty fantastic s*x comes wrapped up in a chiseled package of perfection with divine abs and a pair of gorgeous blue eyes.

Yet, I must.

My gritty eyelids grate over eyes that burn as I open them. I guess by the angle of sunlight slanting through the windows it must be early afternoon. I should feel rested—I’ve had about seven uninterrupted hours of sleep since I arrived home. Instead, I feel stricken with gnawing anxiety.

There’s a low pulsing ache in my head from the weird night—falling asleep on the beach, waking up in the middle of the night and walking home for a few hours, then going back to sleep and staying that way far later than usual. Unfortunately, none of it is enough to justify pretending I’m an invalid and staying in bed any longer.

Also, Nature calls. I need the bathroom.

On tender feet, I prowl across my bedroom, donning my robe, collecting fresh clothes and opening the door quietly. Gingerly, I ease down the stairs to the second story bathroom, but by that point, I’ve already been detected.

I freeze in my tracks before the bathroom door as Channing’s eyes land on me. He doesn’t say a word, merely watches quietly from the landing on the first floor. When he doesn’t move or speak, I hurry into the bathroom and close the door behind me. My guilt is positively crushing.

It’s not my typical practice, but today I’m needing the extra bit of solitude and self-care, so I run a bubble bath just for the sake of luxury and to spare myself a few extra minutes before I have to eat crow. I brush my teeth as the tub fills. While I had hoped bathing would make my body and mind more relaxed, when I’m prune-y and ready to get out of the tub, I don’t feel less pessimistic about confronting the six foot one square-jawed personal issue waiting around for me downstairs.

But at least I’ve committed myself to the way I’ll do it.

The television is, in fact, on downstairs, but for once the volume is at a tolerable level. I have to admit, Channing was right. For a burly tattooed guy with a shaved head and piercing blue eyes, Ferdi's definitely got a way with crazy people. 

No sooner does my foot hit the first floor than Ferdi is powering it off with the remote control.

“Adriani, come on.” Ferdi taps the old man on the leg, then levers himself out of the old worn sofa. “Let’s go play croquet.”

“But it’s I Love Lucy.”

“Yeah, it’ll be here when we get back. Come on.” Ferdi offers him a hand, and when the old man takes it, pulls him up easily. “Damien, let’s go.”

Damien’s eyes lift from the small screen on his phone. He stares blankly at Ferdi. “What?”

“I said, let’s go. We’re going out back to play croquet.”

For a few long seconds, there’s a tense stand-off, then Damien’s face screws up in an expression of mixed confusion and revulsion and he gives a tight little shake of his head. “Nah. I’m not much for sports. Thanks. I’m good.”

Sports? This would be laughable if I didn't know Damien is serious.

Ferdi’s ice blue eyes glint steely. “Put the phone down. Get out of the chair. Come outside.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s a sharp edge to the brusque enunciation of each word that brooks no refusal. “Now.”

It takes another minute for the room to clear while Channing and I stare at each other across it.

“I didn’t even know we had croquet around here,” I say weakly, looking for a way to break the ice.

Channing shrugs one shoulder, then a half smile curls his mouth. “Ferdi said he found all kinds of equipment and fun stuff out in the garage.” He jerks his head towards the back yard where the detached one-car garage sits. “You know why he was out there though.”

“No.” I confess, shaking my head, confused.

That scarred brow of his flicks up. “He was looking for swim fins.”

It takes approximately three seconds for my brain to connect the dots between Mr. Adriani Sweatin’ to the Oldies in swim fins and Ferdi’s rummaging through the old garage for his own pair, then my eyes squeeze shut and I burst into laughter. My head hangs as the absurd hilarity rolls through me imagining the two of them here in the living room doing aerobics with Richard Simmons, and the blossoming anxiety I’ve been nursing for the better part of an hour evaporates while I giggle with mirth.

I have to hand it to him. Channing may not be particularly smart about girls, but he sure does know how to break the ice.

All of that dissolves the instant I lift my head and find he’s standing directly in front of me. A stupid little hiccupping gasp I wish I hadn’t made escapes my lips, then I suck the bottom one into my mouth and peer up at him through wide-eyes.

His gaze drifts over my face, stopping at my nose. “I love those freckles,” he says softly, then lifts one massive paw and gently tucks a loose tress of hair that was hanging in my face behind my ear. “You smell nice too. Girly.”

“Girly?” My brows arch with amusement. “I’m supposed to smell like lavender fields and Madagascar vanilla. Maybe I should go try again.”

“Only if I get to help this time.” It rolls of his smooth tongue like spun satin and he finishes his one-two punch with a knockout smile that puts me down for the count. Before I’m over being breathless, he adds with all seriousness, “Forgive me?”

“If you agree to return the favor.”

“You never needed it. It’s me who keeps screwing up.” He lifts his arms slightly, offering a hug. “I’m afraid I didn’t learn much about getting along with a mate by ignoring the conversation of all those girls I walked home.”

I tip my head to the side with an expression of tolerant disappointment. “Did you have to bring up your supermodel harem?”

Channing twitches his fingers, motioning ‘come here’, and encouraging me into his arms. “No. I just like it when you look at me like I’m a brainless beefcake.”

“You are a brainless beefcake,” I retort, collapsing into him. The whole world rights on its axis and a celebratory shiver washes over me.

His chest expands in a deep sigh as my head settles into that spot I’m starting to think of as mine, the one between his collarbone and his square jaw. “If you wanted brains, you should have been making those amber goo-goo eyes at Damien.”

I snort derisively. “That would have been too easy. I prefer slow torture.”

“You wound me, Jericho.” One muscular arm tightens around my waist. His other hand creeps up my spine, underneath my hair along my nape, then his fingers rest protectively and a little possessively over the stretch of tender skin where he’d made his mark.

“Why are the three of you here, Channing?”

“Because Damien finally finished processing all the stuff you uploaded to his brain. If you were having second thoughts, I’m pretty sure he’s completely lovestruck now.”

“Gross. No thanks. You didn’t really answer my question.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Not sure I can besides the way I did. Damien wants to put you under a microscope and study you. Since he mentioned you’re going after the dragon, Ferdi wants to know how.”

“And what do you want?”

“Same as I did before. To have my mate and to finish the job here in Crossroads for Avernus. We’ve never been so close, but you’re such a wild card, Jericho. Ferdi tells me I’m the alpha and you should submit except you throw a wrench into that too. So all I can do is ask you to tell me. How is it you think you can get to him that we can’t?”

“Because he’s looking for me.”

Channing’s hands close on my shoulders and he jerks me away so he can peer into my face. It takes barely a second for the alarm I read from him to metamorphose into adamant refusal. “No. I will not allow you to use yourself as bait.”

“You don’t have an option, Channing. Avernus doesn’t have an option. He already found me. You were there. That alley where we stopped, it wasn’t three miles from here.”

“I don’t care. I’ll—I’ll send you away. I’ll put you into hiding.”

“You'll 'process' me?" I snort. "All that is is a geographical change. I won’t be any safer. Wherever you think you can put me, he can find me.”

“How do you know that?” The question comes from Ferdi behind Channing at the junction of the kitchen and the living room. Damien stands there with him.

“Where’s Mr. Adriani?” I ask in a panicked rush.

“He’s fine. See?” Ferdi shoves Damien into the living room  with a big hand between the smaller man's shoulder blades and steps aside so I can see my charge. He sits at the knotty-pine retro 80s kitchen table with a glass of milk and a short stack of chocolate chip cookies. “We’re done playing for now. I got him a snack. He’ll be fine for a few minutes. Now, what do you mean that the dragon will find you?”

“Oh, come on. I don’t believe for one second that nerd-boy over there,” I point my finger at Damien scrolling through something on his phone, “doesn’t have an electronic file on me that takes up two terabytes of storage. You know my parents were killed by the dragon. Don’t bother denying it. I recognized that plasma ball he hurled at Channing and me at the park. It’s the same thing that hit my family’s home the night my parents died.”

“Jesus!” Damien gasps, then starts frantically tapping on his phone. “All this time it’s been you.”

“What are you babbling about now, Damien?” Ferdi demands. “What do you mean it’s been her?”

“There must be some kind of signature Jericho gives off that enables him to find her. Look.” Damien motions all of us closer. “This,” he turns his phone so we can see, “is a map of south Crossroads. The blue lights are all the addresses associated with Jericho.”

“You bastards.” I give them each a withering gaze. Only Damien has the decency to look chagrined, but he still turns the phone. His shame rapidly fading, he takes some more actions on its touchscreen.

“Okay, so Jericho’s addresses. Go on,” Ferdi urges.

“And these red dots are where the dragon’s attacked.” He turns the phone again.

For nearly every blue dot representing one address associated with me that’s visible on Damien’s city map of Crossroads, there’s a corresponding red dot within a few miles at most that represents the dragon attacks.

“Oh my God,” I gasp and feel suddenly light-headed.

How many people were harmed because of me? Over the course of the seven years I spent as a ward of the state and part of the Crossroads social services system, there had to have been hundreds. Starting with my own parents. It wasn’t gang violence. Avernus wasn’t responsible for their deaths. I can't even blame the dragon since he was merely the instrument.

I was.

“I’m cross referencing dates now to see if there’s a pattern to how long it takes him to figure out her new location.”

“Jericho? Jesus, you’re pale as a ghost.” Channing scoops me into his arms and carries me to the sofa. Laying me along it, he rests my feet up on the arm. “Damien, that’s enough.”

“No!” Before Channing can do something that prevents me from capitalizing on Avernus’ resources, I connect the display on Damien’s phone to the sixty-inch television in Mr. Adriani’s living room. “I need to know.”

“The longest Jericho remained in any of the foster homes where she was assigned was seven and a half months.” The television display of what Damien’s working on splits down the middle, one side still showing the map, the other creating and populating a table. “The median length of time it takes him to find her is seventeen weeks and the average is fifteen and a half.”

“Except you’re forgetting that she’s been here for the last five years, nerd-boy,” Ferdi says drily.

“No.” Channing shakes his head. “I placed her here. This arrangement is through Avernus.”

I scramble to get my elbows under me, then pull my legs in with the intention of sitting up. “Excuse me!? How long have you guys been messing with my life!?” I'd like to kick all of them right in the crotch for their arrogance.

“A lot less time than that dragon has, apparently,” Ferdi bites back.

“It’s got to be an electronic trail,” Damien states flatly.

“Well of course it’s electronic. She’s a technomage. I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Ferdi storms to the center of the room to get a better look at the images on the television.

“No, I mean it’s an electronic document trail,” Damien explains. “There must have been something that drew him to you the first time when you were nine, Jericho, some kind of signature or event. But after that, it would be a simple matter to hack social services and just follow the foster home addresses.”

“Then how do you explain the lag?”

I exhale a sigh. “I know how.”

Ferdi pivots to stare at me with his icy blue eyes. “By all means, enlighten us then.”

I gaze blankly at a spot on the floor, seeing right through it. A heavy accountability has settled onto my shoulders and I slump under it. “South Crossroads social services still requires everything documented on paper. There's no personally identifying information in the database. Wards of the state are assigned an identification number. Once the foster care paperwork is completed, it’s handed off to a data entry clerk and entered into the antiquated database system they’re still using.”

“Bingo,” Damien says. “Bet that’s an easy hack.”

“Abysmally simple,” I supply. “I hacked it once to remove evidence of my ability.”

“What evidence?” Channing sits down beside me.

“One of my foster parents was abusive when he was drunk—.”

“Several of your foster parents were abusive drunks,” Channing interrupts. I could smell them on your belongings when you’d make your way to the park.”

I glance at him. My God. It wasn’t just five years. He’d been loyally following and protecting me for far more years than that. “You’re right, but this guy was the worst of them. One night he grabbed me by the hair and went to hit me. I didn’t have much control of my ability then, but I drew up a charge and tased him with my fingers. It wasn’t enough to stun him, but it did get him off me long enough to pull sufficient electricity for a second stunning blow when he came at me again. He reported that to social services, so I hacked them and took it out.”

“That probably saved your life.”

My eyes blur with hot tears when I meet Channing’s gaze again. He reaches for my hand and covers it possessively with his. Hacking the social services network wasn’t the only thing that had saved my life. Clearly, he’d been guardian of it many times I’d never known. “It’s definitely made the hunting process slower for the dragon. But he was here. Two nights ago. Within a few miles of this house. Which means he’s found me again using whatever signature  Damien mentioned.”

“Oh crap.” Suddenly the stoic Ferdi is frantic. “Go get your stuff together. Now. We’ve got to get out of here before nightfall.”

“What? Why?” I demand.

“Because as soon as he recovers from the last time you put him on the mat and relights his furnaces, he’ll be back here looking for you. This place is as good as gone.”

“What about the people around us?” I gesture to either side at the high-rise condominiums that box Mr. Adriani’s house in. “What happens to them?”

“Damien, I want a truck and some bodies here in thirty minutes. Clean this whole place out. Everything comes to Avernus,” Channing orders. “Then we’re going to need a cover story to clear the surrounding buildings. Ferdi, you’re in charge on the ground. Come on, babydoll.” He pulls me to my feet. “I’m going upstairs to ransack and pillage your underwear drawer.”