Nerve

by Kirsten Krueger

  “You…don’t like Nero? Aren’t you his closest friend—or ally, or whatever he likes to call it?”

  Calder’s nose twitched, but he didn’t answer that inquiry. “I walked right off campus to the police station. No one stopped me. The Reggs can’t be everywhere at once. And, for the record, Stark, I went to mock her, not visit her.”

  Tray was unconvinced, but he didn’t bother to question it. “The Regg government plans to train us to fight the Wackos. Angor wanted Hastings to kill all the Wackos on his own, so none of us would have to fight. The meeting he had with the Reggs to propose the idea was when someone took over Hastings’s mind. I was certain it was Angor, but now… Someone erased his memory—”

  “And you think it could be the same person who controlled Hastings,” Calder concluded, scratching his chin. “Who else was at the meeting?”

  “The Reggs, Olalla Cosmos…”

  “She is a Mental, but her Affinity is peace. Think it’s possible she can cause peace and discord?”

  “Based on what I’ve researched, no. Mind Affinities are usually too specific to have multiple facets. And, though she did seem to have some negative history with the Reggs, she was more opposed to Angor during the meeting and his plan to use Hastings.”

  Calder’s deep blue eyes bored into him, saying what neither wanted to voice aloud.

  “No,” Tray shook his head. “The Rosses are Reggs. It’s a fact. Neither have weird hair—”

  “Artemis’s hair matches her eyes perfectly. Your color is brown—plain. Hers could be, too.”

  Tray gnawed on the inside of his cheek, calculating the probability. “But Artemis seemed like the victim. Hastings was demonstrating on Angor, and then her blood vessels began bursting as well.”

  Calder’s eyebrows perked up. “But Angor’s ceased popping?”

  “Well, no. His kept popping, too…”

  “What if,” Calder said, standing straight, “Artemis forced Hastings to pop her own blood vessels to deflect attention away from the fact that she was the one doing it?”

  Tray scowled, peeved not because of the notion but because he hadn’t thought of it first. “What reason would the Rosses have to kill Angor?”

  A spiteful laugh erupted from Calder’s lips. “Isn’t it obvious, primie? They wanted to take over the town, and that’s what they did. This way probably worked better for them, honestly. If Hastings had lived, he would have had the opportunity to tell everyone the truth. With him dead and Periculy in jail—and without any memory of his Affinity—no one can prove he didn’t do it and Artemis did. I don’t particularly care what happens to you, but if I were you, I’d start learning how to combat Mental Affinities. If this ‘Regg’ can control minds and she’s ruthless enough to use an innocent boy and let him die for her cause, we’re all screwed.”

  Strangely, Tray agreed, but he felt uncomfortable saying so, especially to the boy who hadn’t had any qualms with nearly killing him. Instead, he asked, “Should I expect you to tell Nero what I told you?”

  Calder flashed a complacent grin. “I don’t answer to him.”

  A knock sounded behind Tray, not on the door to the bathroom but on the door to the corridor. Ackerly would deal with it; Tray’s focus remained pinned to his strange, new ally. “I know Seth couldn’t have beaten you last night. He…doesn’t know his Affinity, and you’re powerful…”

  “I appreciate the compliments, Stark, but—”

  “You let him beat you. You wanted us to win.”

  Calder’s lips pursed with the implication, but an alarmed voice beyond the door thwarted his response.

  “Um…Tray?”

  The two boys exchanged a wary glance before Tray hurried out of the bathroom, expecting the worst. When he entered his dorm, still in his boxers, Ackerly stood unharmed near the open doorway in which the Regg ambassadors waited.

  The look Tray shot Ackerly surpassed scathing, but the Reggs seemed unperturbed by his lack of clothing; they merely stared at him with those blank, unfeeling eyes. The only solace Tray could find was that, from their vantage point, the Rosses couldn’t see Calder lurking in the bathroom, listening.

  “Tray Stark?” Artemis’s eyebrows perked slightly, as if the tightness of her bun pulled them. When Tray gave her a slow, perplexed nod, she continued. “We require your assistance, Mr. Stark. How well do you know computer systems?”

  “Would you be able to decode a password?” William asked, his tone as severe as the streaks of gray in his dark hair. “Have you ever tampered with security systems?”

  Tray really wished he were wearing clothes for this conversation. “I… Are you…blaming me for something? If anyone’s done something illegal, it was probably Adara Stromer.”

  After a shared side-glance, the Rosses attempted the most pleasant smiles their taut lips could manage. “We are having trouble with some of the school’s security systems,” Artemis explained. “Mr. Periculy did not give Fraco Leve the knowledge to fix this problem, and we were informed by Mr. Leve that you are one of the smartest students at this school.”

  “Well”—Tray’s chest puffed up—“he isn’t wrong about that.”

  In his periphery, he noticed Calder roll his eyes, likely fighting off a snide comment.

  “So, you will help us?” William clarified, struggling to hide the hopefulness in his voice.

  Tray’s haughtiness deflated as he recalled the conversation he’d just had—the one in which they’d determined these Reggs could very well be more dangerous than they seemed. “Oh, well… How would it benefit me?”

  Artemis inhaled sharply, warding off impatience. “If you know how to fix our problem and refuse, you will not be fond of the consequences.”

  “In that case, I’ve never touched a computer in my life. Can I get dressed now?”

  Though the Rosses saw through his lie, they surrendered with a nod. “We’ll go speak with Angor then,” William said to his wife just loud enough that Tray caught his words.

  “What’s going on?”

  The Reggs nearly jumped at Hartman’s voice. Behind them, he lingered in the hall with Lavisa, who appeared far less sociable than her companion. After the initial surprise waned, Artemis narrowed her eyes at the gigantic welt on the boy’s forehead. Although Tray had carried Hartman to the nurse’s office the previous night, Jason Pane had been out working at Periculand’s hospital, which meant he’d been unable to heal the swelling mound.

  “Where did you get that?” William asked, studying the injury critically.

  Hartman’s carefree demeanor plummeted, and he gaped. “I…teleported into a wall.”

  Lavisa’s eyebrows jumped dully. “Does sound like something you’d do.”

  The Reggs weren’t convinced, but they simply eyed the students with warning before stalking toward the spiral staircase. It wasn’t until the sound of their footsteps became inaudible that Calder slunk out of the bathroom to confront the primaries. Hartman yelped at the sight of him, and Lavisa, though not wearing her hand wraps, immediately lifted her fists in defense.

  “Relax, Dispus,” Calder droned as he strolled toward them. “I’m not here to fight you. Stark and I are working together—temporarily.”

  Lavisa’s eyes widened at Tray, but she averted her gaze upon realizing he was barely clothed. “Working on what?”

  Ignoring her, Calder said, “If the Reggs are going off campus to speak with Periculy, this would be a good time to snoop. Corvis, go fetch the mind reader.”

  “E-Eliana?”

  “What do you need her for?” Lavisa demanded. “Are you planning to kill her for hurting your sister last night?”

  Calder’s jaw shifted in irritation. “No, I need her to alert us if anyone’s coming. And I’ll need you two to hang out in the library and be on guard.”

  Lavisa matched his agitation by placing her hands on her hips. “What makes you think you can tell us what to do?”

  Again, her inquiries were ignored as Calder met Hartman’s orange
eyes. “You can teleport, can’t you?”

  “A whole twenty-five feet.”

  Calder’s expression remained bland. “I don’t know why you find that impressive.”

  “I’ve gained an entire five feet in the past three days!”

  “Then you’ll have to teleport in twenty-five-foot increments to reach us—and alert us if you see anyone who might interrupt us,” Calder concluded, massaging his forehead in exasperation.

  Lavisa’s defiance still radiated. “Where will you be?”

  Cutting his eyes to the right, Calder surveyed Tray and Ackerly. The former’s mouth went dry when he realized he would actually have to work with the boy who had nearly drowned him—the untrustworthy secondary who seemed interested in someone as deviant as Adara. His unease heightened at the formation of Calder’s grin and subsequent utterance of the words, “In Fraco’s office.”

  Three days had passed since Adara was thrown in jail. Three days since she’d woken up to find her friends on the other side of those bars, all dressed in black. Three days since the Pixie Prince had visited, taunting her with those duck slippers in a way that, though she would never admit it, had been highly entertaining. Three days of no responsibility, no school, no Tray, no Kiki—

  And Adara Stromer was bored.

  She’d always thought her life goal was to do absolutely nothing, but being cooped up in this cell without anyone to start fights with had her beyond restless. Yesterday, Friday, she’d tried grabbing the bars to pry them open—as if she had the strength to bend metal—and had been severely electrocuted. At least her involuntary nap had killed a few minutes of her miserable existence.

  Now it was Saturday, and she should have been out in Periculand, roaming the streets with Greenie and causing some mayhem that would give Nerdworm a heart attack. Instead, she lay on her back, soaking in the cold of the metal slab and staring blankly at the white ceiling.

  Angor sat on the opposite side of the cell, probably probing his mind for knowledge of his Affinity to no avail. As he’d repeated to Adara numerous times, all of his memories that involved the use or mention of his Affinity had been skewed and distorted, leaving a hole that tore through the majority of his mind. Every time he grew closer to distinguishing it, that void would consume him; still he persisted, though, inducing agitated insults from Adara at his strange meditation techniques.

  Other than the times she contrived one of those sarcastic quips or an inappropriate question that the principal refused to answer, the two prisoners didn’t converse much. That was why, when the Regg ambassadors unexpectedly arrived that morning, Adara was actually ecstatic to see them.

  “Ah, the Reggs,” Adara greeted as soon as Mitt guided them into the hall outside her cell. His expression was far less bright than his ugly orange uniform, and he remained in the doorway, observing them with wary vigilance. “How convenient that you’ve come at this exact moment. I was about to ask Mitt to unlock the bathroom door for me.” She motioned with her foot to the plain, white door beside her metal slab, which led to the tiny toilet she and Angor were only permitted to use when Mitt electronically opened the door with a button outside the cell. “But, now that you two are here, I think I’ll enjoy pissing on you much more,” she finished with a wicked grin.

  Mitt scrunched his nose, but the Reggs were unfazed.

  “I would advise stepping back,” Angor warned the Rosses when Adara swung her legs over the side of her bed and stretched into a sitting position. “She isn’t bluffing.”

  “You two deserve it for locking me in a cell with a murderer.” Her red eyes must have appeared particularly demonic with that comment, because it provoked the Reggs to take a wise step away from the bars, which she approached on bare feet. “When are you pricks gonna let me out of this hellhole? Mitt won’t give me donuts.”

  William’s chin remained high as he looked down on her. “Your confinement here is based on the possibility that you may have conspired with Angor in his attempted mur—”

  “Bullshit—you’re just afraid of me. But I have news for you: I don’t have a fire Affinity. Whatever you think happened in that office—it didn’t.”

  “When you erupted in flames before our very eyes, you mean? That didn’t happen?” Artemis challenged, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll remain here until we’ve had enough time to organize the mess Angor’s left in his wake—and until we can determine whether you will be a liability to the rest of the people in this town.”

  “Of course. You couldn’t have me incinerating your army of teenagers that you intend to kill by throwing them to the Wackos for slaughter.”

  The Rosses bristled at that lick of knowledge—the truth she shouldn’t have known.

  Intrigued, Angor stood and paced toward her, stopping a healthy distance away. Meeting her gaze, he implored her not to divulge what else she might know, but she ignored him and rolled her eyes back to the Reggs.

  “And now I’ll be here forever, won’t I, because you don’t want everyone else knowing your dirty little secret?” Her gaze darted between them, but neither showed any hint of emotion.

  “We repaired the damage your fire Affinity inflicted on the principal’s office,” Artemis informed her before redirecting her vision to Angor. “But upon sealing the hole, we found we were unable to reenter through the doors. They’ve been locked, and we don’t have the code.”

  “Oh, I never created a code.” Angor simpered, even though he smelled of body odor and had been degraded to the garb of a prisoner. Somehow, despite this setting, when he stood with his hands folded behind his back, he still exuded authority. “The only way to open the doors is through the computer within, or by voice recognition.”

  Clearly the Reggs had not anticipated this, for both of their expressions turned acidic. “So, only your voice can open the doors?” William clarified.

  Now it was Angor who frowned, and Artemis caught onto that brief displeasure. “Is there someone else who can open it?”

  All he gave them was an ambiguous, “Perhaps.”

  “Fraco told us he was not informed of any code,” Artemis said flatly.

  “No, he never was, nor does he have the ability to enter the office without me. His voice cannot open those doors.”

  “But he is your vice principal. Is he not meant to fill in for you in your absence?”

  Angor resumed that presumptuous smirk. “I never had any plans of being absent. Now that I am, it appears Fraco didn’t rise to my position regardless.”

  Artemis looked poised to lunge at the bars and grab Angor by the throat—and, judging by Mitt’s guarded posture, he likely wouldn’t have warned her of the electrical consequences. Before she could, Angor asked, “What reason would I have to inform you of how you can infiltrate my office and overthrow my town? The logic isn’t there, Artemis.”

  “If you bring me donuts, I’ll torture it out of him,” Adara offered with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

  Both Rosses pointedly disregarded her as William said to Angor, “It would make you seem less suspicious. If you oppose us, it only adds to the argument that you attempted to murder my wife. If you cooperate with us, perhaps we will consider your plea.”

  “I don’t believe you’ll free me from this cell, no matter what I do. How would you ever rule Periculand when its founder is an innocent, free man? No, you will keep me here whether I’m proven guilty or innocent.” Artemis’s lips pursed, as if to refute, but Angor continued. “I will tell you who can open my office if you agree to free Adara from this jail.”

  The girl slowly pivoted her head toward the principal and cocked it to the side. “Did you not hear me when I offered to torture you for donuts?”

  “Maybe that’s why he wants you out of this jail.” Mitt’s suggestion earned a middle finger from her.

  Artemis eyed her husband, brooding. “We could always cut another hole in the ceiling of Fraco’s office to get into Angor’s.”

  “You’d rather destroy the damage you just fixed than let m
e out of this place?” Adara questioned in dry disbelief. “The only person I would burn if I had a fire Affinity would be Nero Corvis. And probably Kiki Belven. And maybe the Pixie Prince, if he’s being particularly an—”

  “We will free her if you tell us,” William conceded with a sigh. Adara blinked at the same instant Artemis did, both in shock.

  “Good,” Angor said, though he hardly masked his astonishment. “If you must utilize my office, you may speak to…Jeannette Alberts. Her voice can open the doors. She will know I have approved it simply by the fact that you have this knowledge.”

  Adara’s mouth fell open. “The librarian is the only person in this freaking town who can get into your office, other than you? What, are you banging her? The librarian? Isn’t she a bit young for you? I pegged her at thirty-five, maybe thirty-fo—”

  “Thank you for the information, Angor,” William interrupted with a curt nod. “We will return in a few weeks to discuss your trial.”

  “Have fun in solitude, Your Highness. I’ll tell the librarian you miss her,” Adara crooned, stepping up to the bars. “All right, Weaponizer, open it up.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” William assured the officer before he could reach for the electronic keypad on the wall.

  Artemis’s countenance shifted to relief just as Adara’s shifted to dismay. Clenching her fists on the hem of her flimsy shirt, she growled, “What do you mean it won’t be necessary?”

  “We will free you, eventually,” William informed her with a pitying glance. “Just not now.”

  A torrent of fury swelled in Adara’s chest. Her freedom—her chance of escaping this pit of boredom—had been dangled in front of her nose, only to be cruelly snatched away by these freaking Reggs. It wasn’t her animalistic snarl that made the Rosses pause in the doorway; it was the crackle and glow of flames.

  From her fists budded two separate fires; with cores of whitish-yellow that cascaded into orangey-red, they heated the chilly jail while scorching the edges of her shirt. If she reached forward, she probably could have melted and bent those bars as she’d wanted to earlier, but the sight of that fire, morphing her hands into flesh like hardened lava, searing through her clothes, threatening to consume her…