The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2)

buying our silence, the cheapest way she knows how.”
“The cheapest way would be killing us.” Lock scratched at his chin. He’d gone stubbly already, though I could still smell his shaving cream. “I mean, I guess she was a little strange. But that could be just culture shock—like, that’s how it is up there, straight to the point, no time for small talk.”
“I thought she was amazing,” said Ona. “You’re just mad ‘cause you screamed.” She marched on ahead of us, putting some swagger in her step. I followed her, fuming. She wanted to believe, so she did. Nothing I could say would shake that.
“I get it,” said Lock, as we clattered down the stairs. “Me and Ona, we’ve had years to make peace with this. Being a Decemite, you Ascend or you die. For you, it’s not so simple. You had other dreams, maybe.”
“Maybe I did.” I thought about Ben. He’d be on patrol about now, tramping through the yellow grass. Or he’d be out by the vents, snatching gretha off the Decemites. I could’ve lived like that, too, under the sulfur-stained sky. Under the sun, with the breeze in my face. “Listen, you guys go ahead. I’m going to see Gran.”
Ona spun on her heel. “What, right now?”
“I might not have time tomorrow.”
“Well, don’t take all day. We’re supposed to be celebrating.” She did a little skip-step. “Celebrating. Someone pinch me, quick.”
I fought the urge to do just that, to pinch her hard, keep pinching till she woke up. I shot her a thumbs-up instead and turned my steps toward the old district, past the reservoir and the market square and the exhaust pipes from the refinery. I cut through the stockyard where old machinery went to rust, and I followed the lamps along the catwalk above the sewers.
“That’s not what I heard,” came a voice. I spotted two watchmen below me, trudging about their patrol. One of them was smoking a cigarette, and he stubbed it on his boot. “I mean, they’re all going at once. Has that ever happened?”
“They send the squads out in twos when the mutants are swarming,” said the other. “But all fifty at once, or however many she’s got?”
I froze where I stood. All fifty? The Decemites?
“I heard it’s not mutants they’re after.” A lighter sparked, and I smelled smoke. “I heard there’s this—”
“Shut up. Someone’s listening.” Two faces turned my way, pale circles in the dark. I took to my heels. Nobody followed, but I kept running anyway. I ran till my chest ached, only slowing when the swing shift crowd poured from the factory gate. They streamed around me, and I lost myself among them, hunching over to blend in. It wasn’t hard to walk like them, all stooped and glassy-eyed. I’d been the same, till just recently, marching to the same beat. I marched to it now, all the way to Gran’s building, and up the side stairs.
The warm smell of ginger spice greeted me at her door. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, but my stomach was tied in knots. All fifty at once—who could it be but the Decemites? What could they be planning, if not war with the Outsiders? I swayed and caught myself. My heart hadn’t stopped pounding since Lazrad pulled her disappearing act. Since Prium had sprung from her shadow, grinning his snake’s grin.
“Hello?” Gran’s voice came quavering through the door. “Myla? Is that you?”
I kicked off my boots and let myself in. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I heard you’d come home.” Gran came shuffling to meet me, arms outstretched. Her smile was everything Prium’s wasn’t: warm and welcoming, full of joy. I melted into her embrace, and for that moment, all was well with the world. I was home. I was safe. I felt like a kid again, and I sank into that feeling.
“Come sit,” she said at last. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re so thin.” She pinched my arm, and I laughed.
“You always say that. I’m always the same size.”
“Then you’re always too thin.” She went to the kitchen and came back with a tray of cookies—the fat, fluffy ginger kind, fresh from the oven. I took one and bit into it, more to please her than anything else. Her tarot cards sat on the table, face up from her last reading, and I gathered them into a pile.
“Will you read for me?”
“I don’t think so. Not today.” Gran sipped her tea. “Why don’t you tell me a story, all about your adventures?”
I looked down at the table, at its patina of tea stains. “I can’t,” I said. “What’s out there, I’m—”
“I know about the Outsiders.” Gran took the cards from me and tucked them into their pouch. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I raised a Decemite daughter. I saw her through childbirth. She told me for your sake, in case you lived. In case one day it got too much for you, living the lie she left you.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Why didn’t you ever ask?” Gran took a cookies and nibbled around the edge. “I knew you’d see for yourself, when you were ready. And now you have.”
“They’re good people,” I said. “They’re not like the Decemites’ll tell you, all brigands and thieves. I lived with them. They were kind to me. Made me feel like I belonged.”
“Your mother suspected as much.” Gran looked sad. “She had to shoot one of them, a boy about Ona’s age. She said he called out his name, over and over again, like he wanted her to know him. Cameron, it was. Cameron Stark.”
I nodded, unsurprised. Time was, I’d have cried for that, let it haunt me through the night. Now, I had more pressing concerns. “I heard something, heading over here, about the Decemites riding out. I heard they’re—”
Gran laid her hand on mine. “You found someone out there, didn’t you? Someone you care for? Maybe someone you love?”
At that, my eyes stung, and I pressed my lips together. “Ben. His name’s Ben.