Chapter 29
Another section of the wall slid open, seamless as breath, and she stepped through.
Wraith looked at her with the strange juxtaposition of seeing her through her own eyes, and through Elijah’s.
She was tall. Taller than Wraith, and lean almost to the point of being too thin. Her hair was long, dark and tied in a thick waterfall that fell down her back in soft waves.
Her eyes were large, the irises almost as black as her pupils. Her cheekbones were pronounced. Her skin pale to the point of translucence.
She was beautiful.
And she was Other.
Elijah smiled and reached out a hand to her; his other held Wraith’s tight like he had no intention of ever letting it go.
The woman glided forward, and as she reached them, a section of the floor rose to form a seat for her that would put her at the point of a triangle between her and Elijah.
She smiled softly as she took his hand, sat down, and placed her other on Wraith’s.
“Ash…”
He glanced at the woman. Back to her. His voice was gentle.
“This is Seori. My wife.”
The second Seori touched her, resonance flared: echoing, joining. Wraith felt her as deeply as she felt Phantom. Knew Seori felt her, too.
It was intimate as hell, and it should have been violating. But it wasn’t.
Seori mourned with them. For the love they’d shared, and lost, and could never regain in the way they both still wanted.
Which made her a much better person than Wraith. Void, it probably made her a much better human, even though Seori clearly wasn’t.
“You know,” she told Elijah, “when they talked about crossing enemy lines, I don’t think this is precisely what they had in mind.”
He chuckled, the low wry laugh she’d heard so seldom and loved so much.
It had always struck her as funny that Zane’s laughed boomed, and Elijah’s was soft. As if they’d swapped mannerisms to be deliberately annoying.
She found she was crying again.
Closed her eyes against the two-way burn of longing between her and Elijah, and the three-way collision of love and grief between all three of them.
“Will you give us some time?”
Seori’s voice was soft, kind, and rock steady.
She felt Elijah’s hesitation.
Not rising from lack of trust or any type of concern. Just his bone deep need to not let her, Ash, out of his sight.
Ever again.
He’d have to get over that.
He chuckled again as if she’d said it aloud.
Of course, she didn’t have to.
Then he squeezed her hand and gently let go. His presence didn’t fade, but his touch on her mind receded.
“I’ll go and check on your Golden Boy.”
He touched Seori’s cheek, and left them alone.
“Would you like to walk?”
Seori had let go of her hand. Wraith could still sense her, but not in the visceral way that Phantom’s presence still resonated. Instead, it seemed she was feeling Seori through Phantom.
She looked up at the ceiling.
You know what? Yes.
Yes, she would very much like to walk. Possibly run. Almost certainly scream.
“Please.”
They stood together. Seori lifted a hand and the wall slid open again, revealing a long corridor.
For several minutes they walked in silence. The air was cool, dry, and tinged with something metallic. Not blood, but not exactly pleasant either.
Somewhere beneath her own thoughts, knowledge that wasn’t hers was surfacing—Elijah’s understanding. Seori’s knowing. These Others didn’t just use their ship. They were part of it. And of each other.
That explained the damned murmuring.
Which was still annoying the hell out of her. The temptation to hit the wall again, to hit out at them and to drown out her own emotional pain was growing with every step.
The corridor curved toward what looked like a dead end. But the wall slid open again—responsive, not mechanical.
As if it had been waiting for them.
The Void sang to him—haunting, melodic, almost too beautiful to resist.
It offered everything:
Peace.
Purpose.
Demanded nothing in return.
Only that he let go.
The room they stepped into was large. Living quarters, if Wraith were any judge.
And nicer than anything she’d seen on any ship. Ever.
A kitchenette and dining space with real furniture; cups and plates still on the table.
A massive viewport that welcomed in the darkness and the echoes of the Void like a guest.
And an area with couches—actual couches, not benches—and a low table with…
She stopped. Stared.
Were those books? Real paper-based, Void-forgotten books?!
“Tea?” Seori asked her.
And… the Others drank tea.
Somehow that, just that, was finally a step too far.
“With respect, Seori, who the fuck are you?”
Where there had been only harmony, a tiny dissonance stirred.
He paused—
Caught between peaceful promise…
And something stronger.
Seori passed Wraith a steaming, fragrant cup of tea.
Invited her to sit.
Wraith lowered herself to one of the couches, moderately worried that it might eat her whole.
Seori’s eyes danced with amusement, all directed at her, and she sat with a grace that Wraith could never hope to match. The woman studied her with obvious and unexpected fondness.
“You’re everything he said you were,” she said, eyes warm. “And so much more.”
Wraith searched for something to say. Found… nothing.
To buy time, she had a small taste of tea. It was rich and reassuring, with a hint of citrus. It was, without a shadow of a doubt, tea.
She placed the cup carefully down on the table in front of her, looked up at Seori, and spread her hands helplessly.
“It’s overwhelming. Elijah felt the same way when he first came here.”
“How… did he come to be here?”
“He came looking for us. But what he found wasn’t what he expected.”
“No shit,” Wraith muttered, and Seori’s laughter was like water spilling over rocks.
The Other woman leaned back and studied her.
“We’re more tactile than most of you. It aids understanding. But I don’t think you’d be comfortable with that just yet.”
“A safe assumption.”
Seori gave her a delighted smile. “Then, I’ll just ask you to stop me if you need more detail or clarification. If that’s okay?”
There was cold fear whispering over her skin, coiling in her gut.
Truth was a dagger as often as a hearth.
But Wraith needed to hear it. All of it.
So, she nodded.
“When we first met, Elijah was broken. Not just his body, but his mind. His soul.”
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes at the memory.
“He’d been diving deeper and deeper into the Void. Trying to find us. To take revenge on us after losing you.” She sighed quietly. “He came after us, not to win—but because he couldn’t live without you.”
Wraith wiped a tear from her own cheek.
The stubborn fool.
“I couldn’t tell you what his plan was the day he finally found us—because he didn’t know himself. But find us he did. A single-man attack craft against a Kraken.”
Seori gave her a look that was three parts exasperation, one part admiration.
Wraith blinked. “Kraken… it’s this ship?”
“Its type, yes. A creature of the deep.”
Wraith hesitated, instincts and impressions colliding. “It’s really alive, then?”
“In a manner of speaking. Perhaps we’ll show you.”
She smiled again, “More tea?”
Kael
—if that was who he was—
hesitated
at the Edge of Beyond.
He turned
what was not his head.And
istened…
The re-filled cup was warm in Wraith’s hands, but didn’t touch their chill.
Fear saturated her; completely irrational as she knew he survived.
“What did he do?”
“He could probably give you the technical details. But as I understand it… he tried to ram us.”
Wraith stared.
Then she started laughing. Deep, helpless laughter that carried all the way to her bones.
She couldn’t stop. Tears followed.
If someone had told her that Shade or Spook had done it, she would have whole-heartedly agreed.
Spirit or Geist? She’d have been surprised, but would have accepted that they had their reasons. Albeit on completely different ends of the spectrum.
Her? Well, she’d already proven once that she was capable of a literal suicide run.
But Tom?
To do the stupidest thing she could possibly imagine? Even knowing he’d been suicidal?
She’d be more likely to accept Colonel Brandt’s romantic dinner invitation than believe that.
But it was true.
Seori raised her hand in a resigned, what can you do? motion, which only served to set Wraith off again.
Eventually, she wiped her eyes, amazingly feeling… better. She blew out a breath, half-laugh, half-sob.
“I’m guessing that didn’t work out so well.”