Page 4 of Love, Nemesis (Ocean to Ashes #2)

LETHE WANDERED SOMEWHAT aimlessly, hands in his pockets as he watched the sky and dodged passing wagons and horses. He strolled around the stables, checked the empty stalls, and walked along the barbed wire fence that circled the town.

He counted down the hours until sundown when he returned to the house to find Manaj gone, the bread sold.

Lethe went to his room. The book and skewers were gone too. He unscrewed his flask, throwing it back to feel the acidic heat as the drink hit the back of his throat.

He’d started on his nightly routine before Jamie knocked on his bedroom door and strolled in.

She jumped on his bed as he pushed the water through his sandy-brown hair from a bowl near the bed, following suit with a dry cloth.

She talked about her day in her usual, excitable tone, rolling back and forth as she relayed what she’d learned.

Jamie’s chatter always put him at ease. At least in general, Lethe very much enjoyed the company of people.

As a soldier, there had been close to no solitary activities.

They’d eaten, showered, and fought together, nearly sleeping on top of one another in crowded tents for months.

Unlike most, he sorely missed it—the noise, the heat, the arguments even.

When Manaj had first taken him in, the old man had gotten quickly frustrated that Lethe wasn’t giving him enough space, as Lethe followed him from room to room like a pet.

“Next, we’ll be learning all about the Mystics,” Jamie said, rolling over on his bed as she kicked her feet behind her. “It’s a lot since they’ve been around for like a thousand years. They have fancy houses and kings and stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re the descendants of the bad guys from the war since all the bad guys escaped there when we won.

We also learned more about how bad war heroes are.

It’s all your fault the war got as bad as it did since we shouldn’t have fought at all.

” She gathered her hair over her shoulder, damp strands leaving wet spots down her shirt.

“Yeah, I’m sure we mysteriously missed option number three somewhere between being slaughtered by the Strike or enslaved by them.

You have learned a lot. Cute,” he grumbled.

He grabbed a fresh shirt from beside the bed and put it on.

“If your teachers could have made a better choice, they’re much smarter than I am. Scoot over.”

She made a space for him as he lay down on the bed, linking his fingers behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes with a sigh.

Jamie lay down beside him. “That’s why they’re teachers,” she said flatly.

Lethe yawned, immune to the sting of Jamie’s reasoning. Many people thought that way, and over the years he’d gotten used to it. “You’re a lot harsher than usual today. Rough day at school? Any bullying that you’re passing down the chain?” Lethe grumbled.

“Lethe. The orphanage mother reads us stories with characters in it, and you’re like the bad character in every story.”

“Is this why you don’t leave me alone? You just like telling all of your friends you hang out with a criminal?”

“Of course. They love it. Plus, the fact that you have a mutation makes it even better.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re a psychopath, and that’s a lot coming from me,” he grumbled, hand over his face.

“Mutations aren’t gifts and rarely have advantages.

Most people who caught them when the world broke died , all right?

Pretty much everyone who gets them now dies too.

I have one mutation and it happens to be useful. I didn’t ask for it. That’s it.”

As if sensing his irritation, her tone changed. “I’m just glad to spend some time with you. Both of my parents are dead,” she reminded him. Daily.

He groaned inwardly. He hated when she pulled the dead parent card. Every. Time.

“Everyone’s parents are dead these days. Get over it,” he said.

“What’s a psychopath?” she asked.

He didn’t respond and then after a while mumbled, “Someone who is very smart, and caring, and has a good heart, and will do great things in life…and people love them very much.”

After giving it some thought, Jamie folded her hands over her stomach and looked up at the ceiling.

“Lethe,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I think deep down you’re really a psychopath too.”

He didn’t respond.

“Lethe?”

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He closed his eyes and took in a steady breath, feeling in his bones how tired he was. He felt himself starting to drift off just as the bed bounced and shifted under Jamie’s squirming.

“Go to your house,” he groaned, “and blow out the candle on the way. You shouldn’t be here. If you didn’t learn how to pick the locks, you’d still be outside.”

“Do you ever want to get married?”

He rubbed the exhaustion from his face. “No.”

“I want to,” she said. “I could see you with a wife and like ten kids.”

“Yeah?” he said, the word weak. For a second, he imagined himself and the imaginary wife at a backyard BBQ, borrowing a scene from a commercial he’d seen a lot in high school.

He was grilling in an apron by a white picket fence.

Burgers. Or maybe it was hot dogs? He couldn’t get as far as imagining kids running around with a dog—if he recalled correctly, it was a golden retriever.

She shoved him. “Wake up. We’ve barely talked all week.”

He tugged on the covers, rolling her toward the edge of the bed. “It’s getting late. You’ve kept me up long enough.”

“It’s not even really dark yet!”

Lethe sat up, giving her a stern look. “Jamie, we’ve talked about this. Go. To. Bed. If you don’t listen to me, I will shave all of your hair off so the other kids laugh at you, and then your orphanage mom won’t let you ever talk to me ever again. Understand?”

“Okay. All right. Fine, but she already told me I can’t, and look where I am.” Jamie swung her legs off the bed and skipped to the door.

“You really don’t help my reputation. Get the candle.”

“If you cared about your reputation, you wouldn’t steal things,” she said, nodding to the caramels on the floor near the bed. A few had skirted out at some point, and Lethe hadn’t bothered to pick them up.

He raised his eyebrows.

She grinned back at him sheepishly. “Night.” She blew out the candle.

Lethe fell back against the pillow, staring into the darkness. He settled in and tried to let the exhaustion pull him under. He rolled to his left, settled, and then rolled to his right. He thought about that old commercial again.

He imagined his face pasted on the griller’s like a bad collage.

He rolled over again. He tried to avoid thinking about anything at all.

The quiet made his heart race. A chill hooked itself into his skin.

He cursed loudly into the room and rolled out of bed.

He whipped his lighter off his bedside table and lit the candle, pressing his arm to the wall as he rested his forehead against his wrist and exhaled.

He shivered and sank down against the wall, breathing, waiting for the feelings inside him to settle and pass.

He imagined that day in the park. The sun and that red balloon, drifting so bright into an endless sky. The carnival rides. The laughter.

He rolled back under the covers, pulling them over his head to shield him from the light.

That balloon kept drifting away, and away, and away. Lethe’s mind spun with the image, his skin starting to feel hot. He gritted his teeth and cursed, shutting his eyes tightly against the sensations that crackled under his skin like electricity.

The room seemed to radiate around him, and everything breathed with pulsing color. Lethe’s bones felt like a barrier he wanted to fight his way out of, and as he held his head, the world around him shook and trembled.

A moment later, the door creaked open. Lethe heard Manaj’s soft socks across the floorboards. The mattress shifted as Manaj sat at the end of his bed and peeled back the sheet over his head.

Manaj sighed as he placed a cool hand over Lethe’s where they rested over his ears. Lethe didn’t open his eyes, the world still shaking around him.

“You won’t kill us,” Manaj said, and Lethe found his mind suddenly tethered to the old man’s voice.

“You won’t hurt a petal on the most fragile flower.

” He walked through the script calmly. “You won’t kill us,” he repeated.

“Life is precious. All life is precious. No exceptions.” Manaj paused. “Now stop this nonsense.”

The shaking in the room ceased. Lethe cracked his eyes open slowly to see Manaj searching the room. A glass of water on a nearby table still rippled, but soon settled. Manaj drew a bottle from his belt and refilled Lethe’s flask.

“You’re starting to get worse again,” Manaj said, offering him his flask. “What’s wrong?”

Lethe remained focused forward, eyes barely cracked open with his hands still clamped over his head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said with a peculiar and unnatural cool. “Why do you always think something is wrong?”

After a few minutes, Manaj sighed and spoke.

“You are on fire,” he whispered, re-screwing the top of Lethe’s flask before handing it to him to drink.

“You were on fire when I found you alone up in those mountains.” Manaj waited in the flickering candlelight of the room.

“The man who has no faith left thinks he can only offer his blood to get what he needs, and so you sold your soul to the devil to save the world you loved.” Manaj leaned forward and placed a fatherly kiss on Lethe’s head.

“You are on fire,” he repeated. “Every day, I pray it rains.”