Page 18 of Shadowblood Souls: The Complete Series

Twelve

Andreas

R iva doesn’t act all that different even when she thinks she’s alone. At least, I assume she believes she’s alone.

It was more than a year after she disappeared that I stumbled onto one of the new extremes of my talent—in front of a couple of the guardians, just my luck.

I was in the middle of a testing session, trawling for memories in the mind of some random woman they’d pulled in from who knows where and pretending I couldn’t find half of what they asked for, when I started thinking about how nice it would be if I could just erase myself from all their minds.

Technically, I could have. Or, it’d have been possible if my talents hadn’t been blunted by the drugs they kept us on. I could right now if I really wanted to—simply wipe all memory of my existence from every mind in the world but my own.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve essentially erased someone.

But my skill with memory doesn’t come with that many gradients. I could destroy one set of memories at a time, person by person, or I could sear away all impressions in a massive wave.

I’d be screwed if even my friends couldn’t remember me. And it wouldn’t have gotten me very far with the guardians anyway, since they’d still see me right in front of them and know something was up. The digital records of me wouldn’t disappear.

All those thoughts passed through my head in a meandering sort of way, with the wish to vanish getting increasingly strong—and then I glanced down at my hand and realized I could see right through it to the chair arm I was resting it on.

Invisibility should have been a super useful skill, but all the accidental discovery accomplished was giving the guardians even more to prod and question me about.

The few times they tapered off the drugs enough that I could pull off a full disappearing act, they had me in an ultra-secure exam room I couldn’t escape from anyway.

Most of the time, when I tested myself in the semi-privacy of my regular room, the best I could manage was to hide a limb or two. Not enough to factor into our plans in any significant way.

But the drugs wore off completely a few days ago, and I feel like I’m breathing unclouded air for the first time in years. When Jacob suggested I follow him and Riva up to her room invisibly and keep an eye on her for a couple hours, it was a piece of cake to come along.

I slipped into the room after her while he held the door open and propped my transparent body in the corner away from anywhere she might walk, since she could still bump into me. And since then, I’ve been watching.

But really, there hasn’t been much to see.

She sits on her bed for a little while with the same serious expression that’s been alternating with annoyance on her face since we found her, pulling out her necklace and clicking it around.

Then she hunkers down on the floor and runs through a series of exercises—pushups and crunches before getting back up for some squats and lunges.

It’s impossible not to appreciate the strength that flows through her deceptively delicate-looking frame. As her face flushes with the exertion, tingles of heat course through my own body.

I’m not any kind of peeping Tom, though. When she moves to swap her now-sweaty tank top for a clean one, I turn toward the wall until I’m sure she’s done.

It’s not my fault images of what her slender curves might look like play out in my mind anyway. Riva was the only girl I ever really wanted, even after I had a chance to meet others—if briefly—on my missions into the wider world.

No matter what else has happened since, some feelings don’t just vanish, even if you’d like them to. As I’m pretty sure Jacob could attest to if he was willing to own up to it.

When the rustling of fabric fades, I let myself look again. Riva walks over to the window and pushes it open a few inches so a waft of cool autumn breeze can seep in.

Good. I think we’ll both benefit from that.

There’s a digital clock on the dresser. I’ve been in here a little more than an hour. I flex my muscles, checking for any sign of flagging energy, but there’s no indication that maintaining my invisibility is wearing me down.

At least not that way. I’ve gone as long as several hours in the facility’s exam room, with none of the aches that creep in if I’ve been poking around in people’s memories for too long.

But the sensation always rises up after a while that I’m permanently fading—that if I wish my body out of view for too long, I’ll never be able to bring it back.

It’s probably just paranoia, but I don’t plan on pushing myself to the limit just to test that assumption.

Riva sits back down on the bed and flips idly through a magazine she grabbed on our foray into the campus convenience store. It doesn’t appear to be doing much to captivate her.

Jacob is going to be disappointed that I can’t report back some vast conspiracy that she’s been conducting behind her closed door.

Boredom itches at me. I could slip into her memories again, but so many of them I’m already familiar with because I was there too—and I’m not totally sure how well I’ll hold my invisibility if I divert my concentration that much.

I fish in my pocket for the smooth shoelace I picked up a pair of along with our new clothes and twist it between my fingers. One knot, another knot, another knot, until I can’t tie any more and I need to pick them all apart again.

The shoelace isn’t as good for my fidgety habit as the length of woven cord I kept in my room at the facility, not quite slick enough to unravel quickly, but it keeps the restless itch at bay.

Soft strains of music start to filter through the open window. Someone in one of the townhouses nearby is blaring an upbeat pop song, like they’re trying to pep up the neighborhood.

And Riva begins to sway.

At first, I can’t say it’s a definite motion and not just my imagination as I tune into the beat. But the gentle rocking of her torso becomes a little more pronounced, so it’s obvious she’s absorbing the music.

I can’t tell whether she realizes she’s moving with it. Her gaze is still focused on the glossy magazine pages.

Then her head tips a little to one side and the other, forming a more complex rhythm separate from her shoulders. Her chin bobs a little with the beat.

All at once, her eyes leap to the window. She stiffens abruptly, as if she’s worried some horrible backlash is about to descend on her.

She gets up and shuts the window. When she flops on the bed again, she holds herself perfectly, rigidly still.

My gut twists. I remember now—catching glimpses of her here and there when we’d have a TV show or a movie on with a prominent soundtrack, or when the guardians pumped music into the training room while we exercised. Little moments when she’d slip into the melody with a few graceful motions.

Her momentary lapse with the music is the only thing I’ve seen during this stint of spying that’s at all different from how she’s been behaving around the rest of us. The only time she hasn’t seemed totally self-aware and controlled.

I’m still turning that fact over in my mind when the lock rasps in the door and Zian calls in to Riva that it’s dinner time. He pulls the door wide, as planned, and I hustle out ahead of her.

By the time she makes it down to the first floor, I’m helping dish out the pasta the others managed to cook, every part of me as opaque as it’s meant to be.

I glance over my shoulder at her with a grin to cover a twinge of guilt. “How hungry are you, Tink?”

It’s like an unexpected gift, the way her expression softens just slightly when I use her old nickname, taking her from pretty to ethereal. My heart skips a beat.

I have to be careful I don’t start expecting that gift—or enjoying it too much. It’s when you assume you know how things are going to go that everything turns upside down.

“Just a little,” she says, sinking into the chair that’s become hers. “But it smells good.”

She offers me a quick smile in return, because she’s assuming I cooked it rather than spending the last two hours studying her in secret.

“I think Dominic deserves most of the credit for that,” I admit, and bump the other guy lightly with my elbow as he grabs his plate. I get a small smile out of him too, so that’s a double victory for the meal.

The fact that I can still smile as much as I do shows the difference in how the past few years have hit us. It’s hardly been a laugh riot for me, and I’ve felt Griffin’s absence every single day, but I know nothing I’ve been through compares to the worst of what the other guys have faced.

If I can distract them a little from the burdens they’re carrying, at least I’m helping in some small way.

Zian needs it too. He digs into his pasta enthusiastically enough, but when Riva leans past him to grab the salt, her arm almost brushing his knuckles, I catch the slight tensing of his shoulders. The tick in his jaw before he starts chewing again.

The flicker of uneasiness in his eyes.

No, I’m definitely not the only one feeling the draw of Riva’s presence—but I can’t even begin to imagine all the turmoil it’ll have stirred up in him, after… everything.

“I told Dom to fry an extra package of ground beef for the sauce just for you, Zee!” I call over to him from my armchair perch.

He rolls his eyes at me, but his expression softens with resigned amusement. The teeniest of tiny victories.

Maybe if I keep trying, I’ll eventually stumble on a larger one.

We’re just finishing eating when there’s a knock on the door. All five of us stiffen, our heads jerking toward the front of the townhouse.

When no armed guardians follow up the knock by bashing the door right off its hinges or smashing through the windows, I chuckle and get up, setting my mostly empty plate on the table. It isn’t as if an enemy would knock first anyway.

I open the door to find the girl from the next building over—Brooke, that’s her name—waiting on the front steps. She offers me a sunny smile, but her gaze flicks past me toward the room beyond as if she’s searching for something.

“Is Rita here?” she asks. “A bunch of us are going out—I thought she might like to come with.”

There’s no way in hell Jacob is going to okay Riva going off for a romp with a bunch of strangers.

“She’s deep in a study session,” I say. “Hates to be interrupted.”

Brooke’s eyes narrow—only for a moment but enough to set me immediately on guard.

“You boys keep her on a pretty tight leash, huh?” she says in a casual tone that I suspect isn’t casual at all.

Apprehension prickles over me. If she gets convinced that something unpleasant is going on, she could raise a fuss with the campus authorities, draw attention to us that we don’t want.

I prop myself against the door frame, offering my best charming grin. “Nah, she just takes the school stuff very seriously. I keep telling her she should lighten up. Where are you off to? Maybe I can persuade her to take the evening off.”

I’m convincing enough that confusion flashes across Brooke’s face before she catches her reaction and gives a friendly laugh. “Oh, we’re heading to our favorite club downtown. It’s kind of a Friday night ritual.”

“And what’s so special about this particular club?” I ask with a playful arch of my eyebrows.

“Just that we love the DJ who’s up on Fridays. And there are four-dollar drinks until ten.”

“Well, now I’m tempted, anyway.” I shoot her another grin, and a hint of pink colors her freckled cheeks.

I’ve spent enough time in the wider world to determine that if I hit the right notes, very few women are totally impervious to my friendly facade. But that doesn’t stop a greasy sensation from creeping over my skin, knowing I’m using it to distract her from her concern for Riva.

Riva doesn’t need her concern. I’m looking after her.

This college girl has no idea what any of us have been through, what we even are . She’d only make things worse.

But her mention of the DJ brings my mind back to seeing Riva sway with the distant music upstairs. Encouraging her to let loose a little doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

She should have the chance to really breathe too.

“Let me know the name of the place, and I’ll see what I can do,” I tell Brooke. “If I can work a little magic, we’ll see you there.”

After she tells me and leaves, I shut the door and walk back to the dining area where the other four are waiting with wary expressions.

“At least she went away,” Zian says.

“For now,” I say, clapping my hands together. “I wasn’t lying. I think we should all go dancing.”

I notice Riva goes even more rigid in her chair.

So does Jacob. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I give him a pointed look. “I think we all could benefit from a chance to blow off some steam. Let down our guards a bit and show how we can fit in.”

His mouth twists, but he doesn’t argue further.

“That doesn’t sound like my kind of thing,” Riva starts to say, her fingers curling tightly around her fork.

But Zian has perked up, getting into the spirit of the thing. “No, it is a good idea. We don’t have much else to do while we’re waiting on that hacker guy anyway.”

I aim a softer but still bright smile at Riva. “Come on, Tink. We’ve got our freedom. Don’t you want to live a little?”

“Your new best friend isn’t going to let up until she convinces you to hang out with her somewhere,” Jacob adds in a mutter.

Riva hesitates and then lets out a halting laugh. “Fine. Let’s hit the club—but only for an hour or two.”