"Mads, Miss Capot?" Graynard's voice seemed to be coming from somewhere very far away.
Graynard? So Mads wasn't dead after all.
Mads had been caught in a nightmare about an ocean that rose up and crushed The Shop and everyone inside. She was actually happy to hear the Atelian's grumbly voice in her chest.
Wait, what was it doing in her chest?
Mads opened an eye and winced. It was too bright, and she was rocking back and forth, like she was on a boat.
There was a pond in Springs Village – a pond that had once been part of something called a lake. A lake was a big natural basin filled with fresh water. Now natural lakes were just filled with sludge and debris and goo and thousands and thousands of bones. But there was a water-filled pond at home. Mads had been out on the pond before, in Alan's rowboat.
Am I out in the boat with Alan? Why's Graynard here? Why can't I move?
"Well you're not dead." Graynard sounded grim. "But you might wish you were when your senses come back."
Mads had no idea what he was talking about, but she found the grumble of his voice soothing.
"They gave you a shot of something, to numb you a bit. But I'm not your nursemaid, and it's your own fault. What was the Commodore thinking, stopping the fight like that? He didn't even offer to patch you up." Graynard continued complaining, more like he was talking to himself.
Mads vaguely remembered the Commodore. He was big, and dangerous, and he had dreadlocks just like her.
"This is his problem," Graynard muttered. "I'll let him deal with it."
The Commodore? Mads' thoughts were a confused tangle. Wait, was she actually in a boat?
The rocking motion stopped, and Mads was distantly aware of a throbbing in her chest. She couldn't feel her legs and arms, just a pin-pricking sensation, as if she'd been sitting on her limbs for far too long.
There was a thudding sound in the distance, and an answering creak as a door opened.
"Your. Problem," grunted Graynard, and Mads felt herself falling, falling, and Graynard's arms were gone.
Mads blinked, dizzy and hopelessly confused, but she saw four green eyes spiraling like a kaleidoscope before everything went dark again.
Her thoughts were a little clearer the next time she awakened, and she could feel her arms and legs. She wished she couldn't. The sudden onslaught of pain made her gasp, catching her breath and fighting back a scream. Her mouth was swollen, and her tongue felt heavy and too thick.
There was something hard under her, pressing on her sore tailbone and sending ripples of pain up through her spine. Maybe a chair? The floor spun in front of her, and Mads felt the bile rising in her stomach as she fought to breath in and out. Even her lungs were on fire.
"Here." A gentle voice drifted in from the side.
Mads blinked and focused on a hand, a hand with a cup that bumped her swollen lips. The cup was cold, metallic, and the goldish-brown liquid inside reeked like puke.
"Drink it." The cup tipped, and Mads was forced to choke down the liquid, or choke in general. She gagged.
"Good." The voice was familiar, and so were the finely shaped, scarred hands holding the cup, but Mads couldn't remember who they belonged to, or why she was hurting so badly.
"Am I, dying?" she gasped, the words barely audible.
"Hmph." There was a hint of a laugh — a laugh! — in the response. "No. Unfortunately for you, and fortunately for me. You aren't going to die. You just took a helluva beating." He sounded . . . impressed, and maybe surprised.
Mads closed her eyes against the pounding and the light. "Oh." Talking hurt. But so did breathing. She wished she would pass out again. The hands hovered over her right shoulder, she could feel them in the air above her. Her skin prickled a warning, and she realized that her right side was strangely numb.
"This is going to hurt, very, very badly," said the voice. "But it will be fast." The hands were cool and dry, and she felt their light pressure near her collarbone, just before she was jolted by a bolt of pain that sent her reeling back into the darkness.
The third time Mads was forced back into consciousness because of the pain. She groaned, and like a slap to the face, she remembered everything.
"Welcome back," said Luc, from somewhere beside her.
Luc, now she knew him. But why was Luc here?
Mads glared at a spot on the wall in front of her, waiting for her vision to clear and her head to stop spinning. She seemed to be sitting on a chair in a plain, unfamiliar room. She was afraid to move more than her eyes, lest the pain overwhelm her again. Regardless, the aches and burning sensations were more numerous than she could have ever imagined. It felt like someone had tried to shred her and then jumped on top of her for a while.
"I lost," she muttered. "He cheated."
"But you didn't die, so that's a win in itself. And from what I heard, you actually won a round – and gave Caddeus a scar to remember you by." Luc was doing something suspicious at her side, but she didn't want to try moving to find out what it was. "I'm glad my little token helped out."
Token? Mads frowned. What was he talking about? Oh, the hairpin, she remembered. I cheated too.
"You'll be fine." He moved into her peripheral vision. "Your arm was wrenched pretty badly. Not out of the socket, but it was definitely strained, so you'll want to leave it in the sling for a few days. You don't seem to have any broken bones, or even cracked ribs, just some heavy bruising. 'Stel said that you were hopping around like a rabbit in there, so I guess it paid off. You're going to hurt like hell for weeks, though."
Luc was sitting on a rolling stool, making their height difference less apparent as he rolled round to the front. "This is going to leave a scar." He reached out and lightly tapped a spot below her collarbone. She could feel the pressure through what seemed to be wads of gauze and some sort of numbing agent.
"We stitched it up as best we could. Same with the cut on your face. You're lucky that Caddeus is pretty honorable, and that he didn't take you seriously. He only smuggled in a finger-blade."
Mads stared at Luc's arm, trying to process what he was talking about. "No knives," she managed. "No knives allowed. That was honorable?"
Luc's mouth twisted up, and his eyes glinted. "Rules don't really matter inside the cage. Lucky for you, or you'd be dead."
Mads just stared at his mouth in fascination. His canines really were long and pointed. "You have fangs," she mumbled.
Luc just blinked at her. His eyelashes were very long, soot dark. And seriously, his eyes had to have been enhanced. There was no way they could be natural, that shade of green, with those amber rings around the pupils. And his snake pupils.
He smirked, this time with no teeth. "I gave you something for the pain. It's probably making you a bit loopy. You might hallucinate, see things that aren't there, or feel sort of, giddy."
Mads scoffed, which made her chest hurt. She'd never been "giddy" in her life, and she wasn't about to start.
Luc stood up. "Point is, anything you see, say, or do, can't really be trusted till it's all out of your system."
Mads frowned, pondering this. "Wait . . . you, drugged me again?"
"Medicine. For your own good. We need to get out of here as soon as possible, and we don't have time to wait for you to heal."
Mads tensed, but her eyelids felt heavy and she was having trouble thinking straight. Really, again?
Luc was behind her, pressing something cool and soothing into the back of her neck. "As soon as I finish patching you up, we're leaving. But surprisingly, the Commodore is helping us. That's all you. He stopped the fight, and he's letting us go. It's impressive. I thought his heart was even more shriveled and dead than mine."
Luc's voice was soft, hypnotic, though Mads' brain was screaming at her to resist. The cold compress was nice as well, and Mads' eyes felt so heavy.
"That's it, relax," he continued in the same tone, his voice drifting over her shoulder. "Sleeping it off is the best thing for you." She could hear the smile in his voice as she drifted away.
I hate you, was her last conscious thought, but she couldn't seem to form the words.
Mads remembered very little about leaving Helen's Point. Impressions, muffled noise, blurry faces, tangled imagery that flickered in and out of her consciousness like a damaged holo reel. Luc's hands, the green glow of his eyes. Graynard, grouchy as usual. Estrella's voice pattering like raindrops, her cool hand brushing Mads' sweaty brow with surprising gentleness.
At some point, she was vaguely aware that the Commodore was holding her. The scent of his office – leather and metal – the bass rumble as he spoke, and that strange, familiar, inexplicable trust she had for him. She recognized it even in the fog. As she focused on him, she realized it was dark, and she could hear Estrella and Luc talking somewhere nearby.
"One day, we aren't going to let you leave." Estrella was frustrated.
"Sorry Stel, but Graynard's right, we're out of time." Luc just sounded tired.
The Commodore sighed and Mads felt it shake her. "Phelan, Hearts, enough. Phelan, take the girl and go. I don't want anyone else to know I was involved."
Mads felt her head loll as the Commodore gently transferred her into Luc's arms. He smelled like engine grease and something antiseptic, and vaguely, wet dog. Mads wrinkled her nose, but she didn't feel up to opening her eyes or trying to protest.
"Be safe," said Estrella, her voice strained.
"Don't worry." Luc's voice dropped, so soft that probably only Mads heard him. "I don't deserve it."
Mads heard retreating footsteps, and felt the pressure of silence.
"Hmm." Luc shifted her in his arms. "Don't pretend you're asleep, there's a difference in your heartbeat. And were you always this heavy?"
"What?" Mads blinked at this, her eyes flickering open to peer up into the darkness. "You're full of sh—"
He cut her off. "Shhh, someone's here. I'm going to set you down. Sorry."
Mads felt herself shifted onto the cold, hard surface of the floor. Her limbs ached, and the pain was a phantom presence in the back of her skull, but Luc's "medication" had just replaced most of it with fatigue.
She was going to kill him as soon as she could stand.
There was a rattle, and a strange sliding whisper that was vaguely familiar, but Mads couldn't place it.
"Clubs, I suppose?" Luc said, but it was pitch black farther down the hall. The only light was behind Mads, a faint yellow glow that seemed to come from a panel display or something similar.
"Slinking off, like the whipped mutt you are." Clubs' voice echoed down the hall, so Mads couldn't be sure where it was coming from.
"I wasn't the one who was whipped." Luc sounded like he was smiling.
Mads' bleary eyes were adjusting, and she could barely make out Luc's lanky frame, that sword shining silver in his hand. Why didn't he have a gun?
"I could shoot you through the heart right now. Or shoot her. Your choice. You can't see me." Clubs' voice was still somewhere in the darkness.
"Are you sure about that?" Luc stepped forward, soundless. "Want to bet?" His voice was cold, humor gone.
On the floor, Mads shivered.
A light erupted into the chamber, and Mads saw Graynard step into the hall from her right.
"This is a waste of time." Graynard was also holding a gun, which was pointed past Luc. "I'm going to blow you all to the hellscape (41) if you don't shut up. Luc, get the lady inside or I'll shoot you first."
"Gray, I had it handled." But Luc sheathed the sword and turned his back on the shadows. "Until next time, Clubs."
Luc strode over to Mads and picked her up, too easily for someone as lean as he was. After all, like he'd pointed out, she wasn't a lightweight.
Mads screwed her eyes shut as the floor and ceiling seemed to spin with the motion.
"I could shoot you dead where you stand!" Clubs' voice was shaking, with rage or fear, or frustration.
Luc paused at the airlock. "If you could have, you would have." He stepped inside the doors, followed closely by Graynard. The doors whooshed shut, followed by a hollow thump, as a bullet hit the door where Luc's face would have been just a second before.
"Drama queen," muttered Graynard, punching several buttons in the keypad opposite the door they'd just come through.
"Yes, he is," agreed Luc.
Graynard snorted. "I was talking about you, asteroid brain. Come on." He disappeared into the next room, and Luc followed.
Mads felt lightheaded, bile pooling in her stomach. She watched through slit eyes as they boarded the ship, and the airlock disengaged.
"So," Luc said, to the air. "Ga'naa. Are we ready, team?"
Graynard muttered something foul under his breath.
Mads didn't say anything. She was trying to decide if throwing up on Luc was juvenile or justified.
"If you want to be a killjoy, go for it." Luc shrugged, jostling Mads.
"Go put her somewhere more convenient," snapped Graynard. "Let's just hope you haven't done irreparable damage this time."
"I didn't hurt her," said Luc, sounding indignant.
"I didn't mean her." Graynard's voice was a growl. "We'll talk later."
Mads didn't have to be lucid to realize that "later" meant 'without her listening in.' She wished that Luc would just let her enjoy Graynard's inevitable scolding. However, Luc complied without a fight. Graynard was obviously losing patience, and Luc seemed to know exactly how far he could push the Atelian.
Luc brought Mads to a tiny room off of the main cabin. A single bunk and a crude desk were built into the scarred metal walls, but it was cleaner than their previous ship. The bunk even had a faded blanket and pillow. Not bad, but Mads had felt her comfort standards becoming lower and lower the longer she'd been on this strange journey.
Luc gently lowered Mads onto the bed and left without a word. He returned moments later, a glass of water in hand. "Press the button, here, if you need something," he pointed to a small silver circle on the wall, between the bunk and the desk. "The best thing for you to do is sleep off the pain. It's a couple days flight in this ancient beast, but you'll need that time to start healing."
Mads looked at the glass of water, and then over at the button, and finally, up at Luc. "Why are you doing all this?"
A puzzled line appeared between his brows. "Doing what? You're my hostage, and unlike Jive, you're not worth anything dead."
Mads rolled her eyes. "No, I mean, why does Jupiter Jive matter so much? I'd be an idiot if I didn't notice how much you're risking, or giving up, to chase Jive down." She chewed on her lip, searching for a way to convey what she'd been thinking before the fight. "The Commodore seems to respect you. Estrella wants to love you, and even if Graynard is starting to resent you, he's still following you to this Ga'naa place. You didn't have any trouble making people like you back home. Well, except for me. I've never liked you."
Luc's eyes crinkled as he gave her a genuine smile for the first time. It was so beautiful that Mads forgot to focus on his teeth. He had dimples. For some reason, that was both disarming and irritating as hell. Of course he had dimples.
"Miss Capot . . . Mads." Luc leaned back against the wall and sighed. He stared up at the ceiling, absently rubbing at the deep circles under his eyes. From the side, his jaw and cheekbones seemed even sharper than usual.
Maybe it was the shadows, but Mads swore she could make out the bones themselves underneath his skin.
He continued, oblivious to or ignoring her scrutiny. "I don't want to do what other people do, don't want what they want. I don't want love, or friends, or even admirers. I want to win. Winning is all that matters, in the end."
Mads grunted her disagreement, causing him to shoot her a sharp look. She looked away, frowning at the rusted metal ceiling above. "Winning what?" she muttered.
He shrugged. "Anything, everything. A bet, a game, the last laugh . . . sometimes even living another day is a win. And Stel, she's . . . just someone I sort of care about." His laugh was humorless. "I mean . . . as much as I care about anyone, or anything. But what she wants, what she thinks she wants from me, that's impossible. She's got a good heart. She deserves someone who can do more than just care when they remember she exists. The person she thinks she wants . . . he's a lie. And because I do care . . . I don't make promises I can't keep, and I never look back. No regrets."
Mads blinked, startled, turning to scowl back up at him. "That's pretty cold."
Luc's expression was untroubled. "I wasn't made to be loved, and I have zero interest in sentiment. The hunt, the chase, the game. That's all I'm in this for. Oh, and winning." His eyes narrowed. "As I said, I am very much about winning."
He reached over and tapped Mads' forehead. "Just sleep it off, coffee psychic. Don't be so curious. I'm a lot simpler than I pretend to be." With that, he left the room, seeming to take Mads' energy with him.
"Don't call me that," she muttered, but he was already gone. Great, she thought, as she closed her heavy eyes, he's two steps from heartless and possibly side-stepping crazy. That's all. Mads massaged her sore arm and groaned. She did not want to sit on this ship for an indefinite period. She wasn't that badly injured, regardless of the phantom pain licking at the edge of her senses. And spending more time in close spaces with Luc and Graynard was certainly not on her wish list. She just wanted to hurry up and make it to Ga'naa. Then they could catch that stupid, freaking Jupiter Jive, and be done with it. And then she could go home.
Home . . . Mads would have suffered through five spontaneous health inspections if that meant she could go home right this moment. Even thinking of her own bed made her want to cry. She silently promised that she would savor every sip of coffee, every plant, every chore, even the health inspector's visit, if she could just go back to The Shop and never see Luc or Graynard again.