Lightbringer by K.D. McEntire Read Free Book Online Page B

wasn't the one saving you from those Walkers, was he? And I'll have you know, I'm better at keeping my ear to the ground than James could ever be!”
    “Now ain't the time—” Elle began, but Piotr cut her off.
    “Net , I want to hear this.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me. What's James got that I don't? How would James, Mr. Punch-It-and-It'll-Go-Away, be a better scout than me? What? Lily? No answer? What about you, Elle? How's James better than me, huh?”
    “Pete, you've been balled up for longer than I've been dead,” Elle cried in exasperation, half-laughing, half-angry. “Loonier than a henhouse rat. I've known you for decades. Even way back when, you were a deuce or two shy of a full deck. A couple aces down, a couple marbles lost.” Elle groaned and rubbed a hand across her face. “Listen up, jealousy, we ain't got time for one of your offended megrims, got it?”
    Piotr clashed gazes with her, unwilling to let the suggestion that he might not be an asset to their team pass. “It's a simple question. I simply want an answer.”
    Elle slammed a fist on the floor. “Fine! You want to know the truth, Petey? Great, here's the truth. You're mostly right—even Pocahontas here is willing to admit that, kissy-face or not, James has himself one hell of a temper and under normal circumstances he ain't better than you at most things. But there is one mighty exception: that old memory of yours just ain't what it used to be, and James ain't in the habit of forgetting things. We need a scout we can trust, Petey, that's all we meant.”
    “My memory?” Piotr rolled his eyes. “That's what this is about? Everyone forgets things, Elle. I'm not alone.”
    “Things? Sure. Everyone misrecollects where they left the keys to the breezer now and then. But you don't just forget things , Petey. You forget a lot more than just little old things. This ain't about walking out with the stove on. And that's why Pocahontas here don't trust you with most of this operation, flyboy. Your head ain't exactly trustworthy all the time.”
    Brushing off Elle's mocking tone, Piotr shook his head. “My memory may not be perfect but I can remember what goes on. Better than you, that's for damn sure.”
    “Oh yeah? Fine.” Elle crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, eyes narrowing with the challenge. “Tell me about the day I died, Pete. Tell Miss Elle all about it.”
    “You died on…” he stopped, straining his mind for the important information. It seemed very close at hand, the date on the tip of his tongue, but muffled, as if the memory were wrapped and stored carefully away. “You were killed by…wait… net …” For several seconds he struggled. Finally, realizing the futility of trying to argue with them, he flushed and muttered, “You were wearing red.”
    “Got that right at least,” she sighed. Then, teasingly, “My death was a doozy, though. Maybe I'll remind you about it sometime. Sit down and have us a little recollect.”
    Lily sighed. “This is not helping.”
    Elle smirked and flopped back onto the dirty floor, chuckling to herself. “Hush your mouth. Everyone needs to laugh at death a little, else all you can do is cry. Besides, it's funny the things a girl can have a chuck or two over, given enough time.” She turned to Lily and made the shoo-shoo gesture again. “What about you, Pocahontas? Got any questions for old Pete, since we're toodlin' down old memory lane?”
    Ignoring Elle, Lily gravely took Piotr's hand in hers and gently rubbed her fingertips across his knuckles. Like his, her hands were roughly calloused but her touch was soft. “Elle brings up a good point. This can be our test to see if you should indeed be our scout. Do you remember my death, Piotr?”
    “Of course not,” he scoffed, “you died ages ago, Lily.” He laughed. “James said you lived in tents, made pots, that sort of thing.” He shook his head. “I didn't believe him at first. It didn't seem