Blaze of Memory

approaching, he could feel it in his bones. Thirty minutes later, they were back in the car, traveling toward something neither of them truly wanted to see. . . and yet couldn’t not see.

“I think we need to turn right at the crossroads.”

Not questioning her, he took the direction. The sky finally started to lighten almost three hours into the journey, streaks of pink and orange emerging in the east. But despite the burst of color the world remained desolate. The outpost they’d stayed in had been the last trace of civilization. “Have you ever seen the northern lights?” he asked, watching the car’s own lights dim automatically as the sensors picked up the sun’s stealthy creep across the sky.

“No.” She released a breath. “I’d like to, though.”

“You might get lucky—the timing’s right and we’re far enough north.”

“Have you seen them?”

“Yeah. I used to come up here to visit Michel when we were kids. When my mom was alive.” The memory ached, but it was one of the good ones. “His mom, Cindee, and my dad are brother and sister.” Cindee had wanted to raise him after his father’s incarceration, but he hadn’t been able to bear the guilt in her beautiful eyes.

Even as a nine-year-old he’d known that if he walked into that house, she’d spend the rest of her life trying to make up for a crime that had never been her fault. It hadn’t even been his father’s, though that was a forgiveness Dev simply couldn’t find in himself. Instead, he’d gone into his nani’s spice-and-glass- scented embrace, letting her warmth melt the ice that had grown around his heart.

“But Michel doesn’t live in Alaska now?”

“No, he does. He’s just on a transfer to Washington State for the year. Some kind of training course.”

“He remains a good friend,” Katya said, obviously trying to keep her tone light though her eyes were locked on the road in front of them. “He must be—to pull Jessie’s truck over because you were looking for me.”

Dev scowled. “I still can’t believe you managed to get out of the house with three of us trained in combat there.”

“People tend to underestimate me.” It was the first time he’d heard a hint of arrogance in her.

He decided he liked it. “I won’t be making that mistake again. And yeah, me and Mischa, we’re close as brothers.” Cindee had made sure the cousins met, coming down to West Virginia, where Nani had her home and studio, when Dev had refused to go up to Alaska. He hadn’t been able to bear the journey without his mom.

“Mischa?”

“That’s what his mom’s always called him.” Dev grinned. “He’s given up trying to get anyone in the family to use his actual name most of the time.”

“Does anyone call you Devraj?”

“My nani—my maternal grandmother.” Without asking, he turned left.

Katya leaned forward, her motion almost absent. “Yes.” Putting her hands on the dash, she scanned the road in front of them, but there was nothing to see—it twisted this way and that, leaving limited visibility. “What are they like, the lights?”

“Like seeing a piece of heaven.” He grimaced at the poetic words, but they were the only ones he had. “Makes you humble, they’re so beautiful. If you don’t get to see them this time around, we’ll come up here again.”

“I’d like that.” She gave him a strained smile. “Do you visit Michel much?”

“Now and then.” Dev had finally returned to Alaska when Cindee was admitted to the hospital after a bad accident on the ice. His aunt’s guilt still lingered, but it had been mellowed by time, by seeing him grow up into a stable youth. These days, they could have a conversation almost untainted by the past. “He comes down sometimes, too.”

Katya gave Dev a penetrating look, her attention momentarily caught by the amusement in his voice. “What do the two of you get up to?”

“We used to raise hell when we were younger.” A wicked grin. “We’re more civilized these days.”

“Somehow, I don’t quite believe you.” She thought of Dev and Michel together, darkly sexy and wickedly charming. Hmm . . . “I think I need to hear more about these civilized times.”

“Male code of honor. No telling.”

A shiver crept up her spine even as she went to tease him back. Whipping her head around, she spied the narrow one-lane road to the right. “There.”

Dev was already turning, all humor gone from his face. Now he reminded her of nothing so much as a hunter, lean, hungry, and determined. She was suddenly very glad he was by her side—she didn’t know if she’d have made it this far alone. The dread in her stomach was a heavy weight, inciting nausea and a panic that told her to run, dear God, run!

“No,” she whispered. “No more running.”

Dev shot her a quick look before returning his attention to the road. “We’ll finish this.” It was a vow.

Two minutes later, they came over a final, snow-covered rise and into a ghost town.

The sun’s rays cut over the houses half buried in snow, glanced off the broken windows, the ripped and hanging signs. “How many?” she whispered almost to herself.

“Five hundred.” Dev pointed to the severely weather-beaten—but still standing—sign to their right. “Sunshine, Alaska, population five hundred.”

Sunshine. Every tiny hair on her body stood up. “This place is too small for five hundred.”

“Yeah—sign’s pretty old.” Unclipping his safety belt, he looked to her. “Ready?”

“No.” But she undid her own belt, feeling as if she was letting go of her last hope of escape. Shuddering, she shook off the chill, and when Dev came around the car, she was waiting to link hands with him and walk into Sunshine, Alaska. The sense of dread that had been chasing her for days settled into a kind of viscous miasma, at once frightening . . . and sad. That, she hadn’t expected—the sense of sorrow, so heavy it weighed down her very bones. “Where are they all?”

Dev didn’t answer, frowning as he looked around. “We’re in the town center, but I don’t see a bar.”

“Why’s that important?”

“Human nature,” he muttered. “Bars are some of the first places to go up and the last to close in any small town. This far out, it’d probably be the only place people could socialize. Unless there’s a church? Could be a religious settlement.”

She shook her head. “The buildings are all very uniform. Even the Second Reformation churches have a symbolic shape that makes them stand out.”

They kept walking, the snow thick but manageable around their boots. She was glad she’d stuffed a woolen cap over her head before she exited the car, but Dev’s hair shone dark under the cool winter sun. “Aren’t you cold?” Reaching into his coat before he could reply, she took out his own knit cap and tugged it over his head.

“Thanks.” It was a distracted comment as he took her hand again.

“The buildings aren’t completely submerged,” she said, glancing around. “This place wasn’t abandoned that long ago.”

“No,” Dev murmured. “Look at the way it’s packed on the left—there’s been a strong wind at some stage. It pushed everything that way.”

She turned, nodded. “We can’t explore that side, not easily.” There was no question they had to get inside. “It’s so quiet here.” The absence of sound hurt her.

“Listen to my voice, listen to our feet crushing the snow and ice. There is sound.” A reassuring squeeze of her hand.

Nodding, she did as directed. They reached the first accessible building seconds later.

“Let’s hope this opens inward,” Dev said, walking up to the door. “Or we’ll have to find something to dig— bingo.”

The creak of the door he opened was loud, the thud of their boots on the plain plascrete floor dull and echoey. Snow tunneled inside as she stood looking around. “Appears to be a supply depot.” Computronic items lay iced over in the case to the left, while tools and machinery lay in neat rows to the right. In front of her stood a stack of plas boxes stamped with a name that was vaguely familiar. “EarthTwo,” she muttered under her breath, moving with Dev as he went to look at the equipment.

“It’s mining gear,” he told her, picking up a powerful-looking length of rope with one hand.