Allie. You and me, we’re survivors. We do what we think we have to. I can’t blame you for that.” He scoots closer and his hand cups my chin. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, but his lips stop short of mine. “I want to stay with you,” he says, the words confession soft. They hold more weight than I expect he wants them to, and definitely more than he intends. I just wish it mattered.
“We’re not stupid, you and me,” Ploy says. His thumb brushes my cheek. “We both know this is new. We’ve both got history on us. But right now...” His eyes fill with a fierce determination. “Right now I need you to promise me you’re not going to throw yourself at these people. This Jamison won’t hesitate to cut you down, Allie.” He pauses. “Not from what I’ve seen.”
Why is he trying to protect me? I think about the whispered parts of Talia’s speech in the bedroom, the things he didn’t hear. Why am I pretending his admission of guilt is going to do anything other than condemn him? I’m falling for a dead boy.
“You have to understand,” I say slowly, “that I’m not some weak damsel in distress. I’m not some little girl on a mission to right wrongs. He killed my family. He’s taken the things in my life that mean something. I won’t stand by and let it happen again.” I don’t know what more I can say to make him understand. “I’ll stop anyone who’s a threat to me and those like me. At any cost.”
“I wish you’d just walk away.” He kisses me then, finally, a tentative brush against my lips.
“I tried.” That’s the awful part of it. I told myself I was done with resurrecting, with charging, with this life. And now I’ll be leading them all with his blood on my hands. “I wish I could,” I whisper.
Before I can say anything else, Ploy gives me a single nod and then crawls out of bed. “Might as well get up,” he says. He meanders to the kitchen. “Think she’ll mind if I make us all some breakfast?”
“No, go ahead,” I tell him. The meal will be his last, I promise myself. I run lines through my head, the confrontation. I know who you are. But that’s not entirely true. I know what you’re after. Another lie. I watch, silent as he whips up some scrambled eggs and tosses them in a skillet. Finally, I give up and head over to my phone. I grab it and sit on the barstool on the other side of the island from him. He spatulas the eggs around.
“Can I ask you some questions about the resurrectionist stuff?” Ploy asks from the stove.
What’s it matter now? I reason. Talia will be searching the notebook for the number if she hasn’t already. When she comes out, Ploy’s time will be up and once I’ve proven to Talia my loyalties haven’t been compromised even if my heart has failed me, I’ll make the call and Jamison too, will be dealt with. “Depends on the questions, I guess,” I say distractedly.
“Is it a rare thing, this genetic twist?”
I’m sure I’ve given him this info before. Maybe he’s trying to ease into the questions. “Yeah. We tend to gather around each other. Strength in numbers and all that. I think there’s ten to fifteen around Fissure’s Whipp and the cities near it. There’s a cluster in Washington State. Another in Colorado,” I say, keeping things intentionally vague though there’s no point. I’m sure there are more clusters; my aunt would have known where. Those answers, like everything else in her house, are cinders and ash.
“And you’re in charge now,” he says. “Of the resurrectionists around here.”
“Yeah.” I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to be doing besides having the others call me about cases and handling cash. Sarah always seemed stretched thin. There must be more to it. Each resurrectionist doesn’t bring back more than one person every few months, and normally the number’s much lower. That’s why the income from resurrections goes to a central person to be equally divided.
“How did you guys realize you could even bring people back? I mean, it’s not like shoving a needle full of blood into a heart is a go-to medical procedure.”
Despite everything, I smile. In eighth grade biology, I’d been assigned a report on blood transfusions. I hadn’t even needed to crack a book. “They