Layla knocked on the door to the house loudly. “Arthur!!! Open the door!” Milo leaned against the wall, panting heavily, his black hair drenched in sweat. Layla banged on the door again, swearing under her breath.
Finally, the door to the house opened and an older man with salt and pepper hair stood in the doorway, his glasses perched precariously on his sharp nose. He took one look at them both, the boy about to pass out and the girl covered in his blood, and ushered them inside, locking the door behind them.
Arthur’s house was huge. As a keeper, Arthur had demanded a large property and since he had chosen to live on the mainland, the government had had no problem providing him with it. His land sprawled over 500 acres; the property was on the west side of the lake, and his house sat just where the beach sand dunes turned to dirt. The southern part of the property was an expanse of rolling green hills that smoothened out slowly but surely, and finally ending - giving way to the North Forest. For the most part, the forest was dense, but the closer one got to the lake, the more marshier the forest became.
The house itself was like nothing Layla had ever seen. Nothing compared to its … uniqueness. It was grand and unadorned in the sense that the walls were not glass, but wood and brick. When she was young, she had asked Arthur why it was so different from the homes in the city. He had shown her pictures then, from his books. A victorian mansion, he had called it. But his home seemed to dwarf those in the books in its sheer size and splendor. Layla had always wondered why he had built such an old type of house. Her mother and father seemed to have been like-minded and had built their home in the “modern 2030s” style. Her friends always found the old-fashioned home cool, an old home had been rigged with new technology. Layla preferred Arthur’s home - she’d never seen anything close to it. The new homes in the city seemed almost transparent by the overuse of glass.
Arthur wasted no time in helping her half-carry Milo, into the living room. She noticed Arthur was carrying his ledger, but he quickly set it aside.
“Sen, please alert Hannah and have her bring up the grid stretcher. I believe … A12 of the vaults.”
“Yes, master Arthur,” his house computer replied. Just as they gently lowered Milo to the floor, in front of the fireplace, he asked, “How many minutes as he been bleeding out like this?”
Layla checked her watch, “12.”
“Mm.”
She glanced at her uncle quickly. His forehead creased in concentration, she saw the resemblance to the few pictures she had of her father.
He caught her looking and scowled. “Go make yourself useful, there are needles and thread in Gracie’s room,” he looked her straight in the eyes, “Black box beside the desk. Touch nothing else.”
Layla jumped up and with one glance back at Milo’s limp form on the floor, she disappeared into the depths of the house.
---
Bec checked his watch. Only a half hour until they would arrived.
“Ok, um where did I stop? Oh, right. They tried to shove past him, but he stood between them. He didn’t draw his gun even. I know he’s peaceful, but the one time in his life .... Anyways, I saw one nomad quietly draw a wickedly sharp knife. It was ornate: there was a design wrought into the scabbard and the man seemed careful when he held it. He advanced forward and looked like he would sidestepped Milo, but like always, Milo shifted a few feet and was right beside him. The man struggled to maintain his footing. It was man-to-man combat; this is Milo we are talking about! But I guess 5 to 1 isn’t great odds and between the rows of pots and shelves, it was cramped. People were yelling and rushing to clear the shop. I watched as they fought; Milo - like you - always seems to dance when he fights, his moves always graceful and light, but this time he sidestepped straight into one of the men. The man pulled the knife on him and he arched out of the way, but the knife grazed his side. It didn’t seem like it was deep, but the men must have seen it differently because they all stopped. Milo just stood, staring at his side, before he crumpled to the ground. That was when I screamed.”
“Go on.”
“They noticed me again, grabbed my hair and forced me out of the shop. I found myself being dragged into another empty tent. They yanked my hair back as I kneeled on the ground and kept asking me things like: ‘Your employer? Who is your employer?’ and ‘Where are the children?’ and ‘How did you target my daughter?’. And I just kept telling them over and over again that I didn’t know anything and it was all a mistake. Then I suppose, you found Milo and since they couldn’t get me to “talk” they wanted Milo back.” She looked down at her hands.
Bec found it was difficult to concentrate with all the information now. Suddenly things made sense, although they really didn’t. The nomads’ actions seemed to be more clear, but the underlying motive still seemed to evade him. He couldn’t think of anything to say in response, so he kept quiet.
---
Caza hissed again as he pressed the rag against the gash on her head. The hot blood seeped into her hair. “Bec?”
“Hm?” he responded, still deep in thought.
“What’s with you and Layla?”
“What?!” he turned to look at her sharply.
“Ouch!” she hissed; due to his sudden focus, he had pressed the rag too hard.
“Sorry.” he apologized flatly.
She grumbled something about blood in her hair and yanked the rag away from him. A steady, fresh stream of blood flowed down her face as she removed the rag. Bec looked down at her almost with an ‘I-told-you-so’ face, crossed his arms, and leaned back, smiling smugly.
She suppressed her retort before continuing on, “You. I’ve seen the way you stare at her when you think nobody else is watching. And you’ve known her for what? 8 years? And-”
“13.”
“13, fine, whatever! Wait...she’s 18 years old.”
He sighed dramatically, “Yeah, so am I.”
“Oh. Sooo…what’s going on then?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
She raised her eyebrows and narrowed her eyes, “Liar.”
He looked away.
“Oh!” she squealed. “I knew it!!!”
“What? No.” he looked at her, determined.
“Deniaaallll,” she practically sang.
He groaned, “you are so annoying.”
“She loves you more than anyone else.”
“Not like that.”
Caza paused. “She trusts you.”
He didn’t respond, but instead got lost in his own thoughts. Ugh, Caza thought. It was difficult to get anywhere with either of them. Stubborn as rocks.
YOU ARE READING
Our Price: Of Shifters and Rebels
Teen Fiction"Pathetic," Leo muttered. Bec saw Layla's hands clench and unclench as she struggled to contain her anger. She's going to lose it. He knew her, after all these years. "You all-" Leo began, but he never finished the sentence. Layla spun around, her a...
