Smoked - Mari Mancusi Page 0,47
She couldn’t find her parents, which is why I brought her down to Neg twenty-three in the first place. But when I came back after the fight, I couldn’t find her among the others. And when I asked around, no one seemed to remember her ever being there to begin with.” He frowned. “I wanted to make sure she got back to her family all right.”
And that the bastards didn’t kick her out the second I walked away, he wanted to add but didn’t.
Frederica reached for her transcriber and dragged her long, painted fingernail across its side to wake it. Then she pressed at the screen a few times before looking back up. “Is this the girl you’re talking about?” she asked, holding up the device for Connor to see.
He took a step forward, squinting at the hologram. “Yes,” he replied eagerly. “That’s her. That’s Salla. Is she…?”
Frederica gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Connor. It appears she didn’t make it.”
“What?” he asked, ice spinning down his back. “What do you mean, didn’t make it?”
Frederica looked down at the transcriber again. “From what this says, she was found near the Surface Lands after the strike. It looks like she was one of several casualties that day.”
“But that’s impossible! She should have been a mile underground!” Connor protested, fury warring with fear.
Solomon shrugged. “Perhaps she left.”
“Or perhaps those guards forced her out once I turned my back,” he returned, the fury gaining dominance. “God, she was only a little girl.” He scanned the Council, desperate for an ounce of sympathy. Compassion. Humanity. But all he saw were blank, expressionless faces.
And why not? he thought with sickening dread. She was only a little girl, as he himself had just pointed out. People died every day. Dozens. Sometimes hundreds. The Council couldn’t possibly allow itself to care too much for just one more dead little girl.
But Connor could. And he would.
He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering her grubby face, the way she’d held up her trading card and stared at him with wide, worshipping eyes. He’d been her hero. And despite his best efforts, he’d let her down.
“Those guards—they should be arrested. Punished. Stripped of their posts,” he cried, squeezing his hands into fists and taking a step forward.
“Now, now, calm down, Mr. Jacks,” Solomon said sternly, holding up a hand to stop him. “There’s no need to get upset. We appreciate you making your report and are very sorry about your friend. I know it must be devastating news to hear. But I promise you, we have taken down all of your information, and we will take appropriate measures.”
Connor wanted to believe them. He really, really did. “Okay,” he said limply, feeling the fight drain from him. “That’s all I can ask. I appreciate you taking the time to hear me.”
“And we appreciate you taking the time to come here and tell us,” cooed Frederica in a saccharine-sweet voice. “Now go, Dragon Hunter, and continue to fight the good fight. And know that we at the Council are watching and applauding you from afar.”
“Right. Thank you,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn toward the door. It was all he could do not to run from the room, frustrated tears cascading down his face. Instead, he pushed his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. He was a soldier, after all. A goddamned hero. “Good-bye,” he managed to say.
He’d almost made it to the door when he heard the whisper.
“Yes, he will be perfect. Just perfect.”
But perfect for what, he had no idea. And he had too much pride to turn around to ask.
Chapter Eighteen
Present Day—Five Months Later
“So you’re sure this won’t hurt them?” Scarlet asked, giving Zoe a doubtful look. “You’re sure they’re big enough now?”
“Are you kidding me?” Caleb grinned. “They’re practically the size of Clydesdales.” He slapped Zavier affectionately on his front flank. “And trust me, they’re ready. Just look at how excited they are.”
Zavier puffed two twin balls of smoke from his nostrils as if to confirm his guardian’s words. And Zoe pranced around, barely able to keep all four feet on the ground as Scarlet attached the makeshift saddle to her back.
“Poor Zoe! Is the mean man calling you fat?” she cooed. “That’s no way to speak to a lady!” She shot Caleb a mock offended look. “You go on and tell him, you’re just big boned!”
Caleb snorted, turning back to his own big-boned beast and slapping a hand against his left flank. All joking aside, it