The Pain in Our Veins (Maven Time Travel)

Chapter One

My bones ache when I wake. Fire crackles amongst the rhythm of chopping vegetables, moonlight sketching a faint silhouette in the darkness. I squint, prepared to feign sleep again if I must. Last I remember, a stranger sliced my skin to bits before dragging me through a hurricane. Not Mare. Not a friend either.

"Good morning." The voice is soft, and a little too sweet. "Sleep well?"

Friendly, then, or invested in the appearance of friendship. "What time is it?" I yawn, lolling my head as though I've lowered my guard. "Who are you?"

"I'm your sister." She turns around, moonlight catching on the curve on her knife. "And it's three AM."

I swallow. "Strange. I don't remember having a sister."

She chuckles. "We've never met before, I s'pose." There's an odd lilt to her words, a Piedmont drawl that swoops her vowels and drowns her consonants. "Though I know a lot about you."

Sirens ring as I sit upright. "How so?"

"Your favorite meal is grilled cheese, your favorite color is purple, and when you were twelve, Cal almost ran you over with his Cycle." She punctuates each word with a chop, sliding the carrots into a bubbling pot. "You were so upset he thought you'd broken a bone."

I force a chuckle. "Have you been stalking me?"

Pause. "In a sense." She lines some herbs beneath her knife. "You don't mind, right?"

"Why would I?" My palm sweats as I press it to the mattress. "May I see what you're cooking?"

Her face lights up. "Of course!" She ushers me closer, pulling another knife from beneath the table. "Do you like chicken?"

"It's my favorite." The lie is easy, easier once the knife is in my hands. "What's your name?"

"Echo Mandiver." Her tone darkens, rolling the words as though they were poison. "But you can call me Mandy."

We were close, close enough that I could study the details of her frame. While her body was plump, her cheeks remained hollow, drained by some force I haven't the knowledge to pinpoint. Scars ripple across her arms, sunburn peeling at her neck. If she has family, they haven't looked after her. "Should I introduce myself?"

Mandy laughs. "That's not necessary." She sobers. "I didn't tell the whole truth, when you asked the time." A pause, thick with guilt. "It is three am. Fifty years ago."

I still.

"Well, fifty years for me. One for you, I s'pose." She hands me a stick of celery, reaching for the lid. "The soup should be done by sunset."

"Good to know." I'm going to lose it. "Can you turn on the light?"

"Of course!" It flickers within moments, illuminating the door several feet behind her. I should've asked Mare how to pick locks. "We'll need to leave by nightfall, so rest while you can."

"Shouldn't you do the same?" My tone is measured, not too eager. "You must need it, after all that . . . " I struggle to find the words for what she's done. "Cooking."

"Yeah, well, this knife wasn't gonna clean itself." She chuckles, and I resist the urge to pommel her. "I had to–" Her mouth clamps shut. "Never mind."

I follow her gaze to a wooden trunk, lid propped open by a limp hand: one I don't care to investigate. My fingers curl around the hilt of her knife. "Do you still need this?"

Mandy flushes, pulling away. The knife clatters on the cutting board. "Yes. I mean, I--"

"It's alright." A reassuring smile, one that edges me closer to the door. "Why did you bring me here?"

She grimaces. "You'll think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy."

"Really?" Her accent thickens with surprise, the naivete of someone unaccustomed to liars. All the better for me.

"I think this is a well-conceived kidnapping that would take a sound mind to implement." I nod, still smiling. "I'm very impressed."

She scowls. "That's a weird way to say 'thank you.'"

My fingers twitch. "Take the compliment."

"You were going to die, you know." Mandy grabs hold of her knife again, inching towards the trunk. "I didn't kidnap you. I saved your life." A breath. "And now we're going to save hers."

The door is less than a foot away, one hasty lunge from freedom. Assuming it isn't locked. Assuming I have anywhere left to go. "Who?"

Her eyes gleam, giddy with delusion. "Elara Merandus is still alive."

Something in me cracks, a wheel stuck in a ditch. Nausea and hope war within me, drawing blades against each other until my mind runs thick with blood. I'm going to see her again. I'm going to see her again. I'm going to see her again.

Mother's whispers rise with a hiss. I never left, son.

"We can save her, if we do it right." Mandy tightens her grip on the knife. "If we take care of Barrow before she strikes."

My gaze snaps to the trunk, at the hand which now holds paralyzing interest. The light is dim, too dim to discern the color or shape, and I kneel at the hinge to open it. Hold her hand one last time, a pulse faintly beating. Her or me. A choice I never should've made.

Something shivers within me, a memory slithering into focus. Darkness, a blade, a scuffle in the middle of the night. I lay there bleeding, too hoarse to scream, too weary to run. "Is that my dead body?"

Pause. "You've done, like, five war crimes–"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"He's not dead." She fiddles with the blade, wincing as it pricks her finger. "I tried, but I-I'm–" She bites her lip. "I'm not very good at murder."

"Shame." My head spins, stumbling against the door. "I can help, if you'd like."

"Really?" She almost trips and skewers herself. "That would be amazing."

"You saved my life. It's the least I could do." I hold out my hand. "The knife?"

"Oh!" She fumbles for a minute before realizing it's in her hand. My fingers curl around the hilt, the rest around the knob behind me. It's unlocked.

What a fool.

Moonlight, the rush of cold air, pebbles skittering as I flee into the night. Houses rush past, small and worn from years of neglect. No one will find me here. Who would bother to look?

Red eyes flicker in the darkness, and I stumble to a halt. Perhaps I imagined it. Perhaps he was long gone, off to curse some other wretched village until I called upon him.

Then a hand stretches, a claw in the night, rattling against brick and concrete. The rest of him comes into focus: his silver hair, his hollow cheeks, and his rancid, rancid grin. "So we meet again."

I stare Jon in the eye. "I should kill you."

He scowls. "That would be a very bad idea."

"I don't care." Truth feels strange coming from my lips. "I have nothing left to lose."

"On the contrary." Jon has no business sneering at me. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You told him you'd do it over a thousand times, given the chance." He didn't blink. "That was a lie, wasn't it?"

"You know nothing."

He cackles. "If only."

Footsteps approach, halting and unsteady. "Maven?" This girl will set us both aflame. "Maven, come back! I'm sorry I killed you! It was--well, it wasn't an accident but--"

"Get me out of here." The knife fits snugly against his neck, tightening as he takes a breath. "Now."