Nerve

by Kirsten Krueger

  “Don’t delude yourself into thinking Eliana actually likes you.” Pausing, Tray eyed her warily. “But…that isn’t…a terrible idea. We’ll talk to Eliana about it.”

  “Of course you will,” Adara drawled, inhaling as her self-importance swelled. “It’s okay to admit that you need me—that you wish I was out of this cell.”

  “Yes, it would be okay, if it were true,” Tray countered pitilessly. “You’ve already caused enough trouble today, running around town and—”

  “I was running around town today?” she gasped in mock astonishment. “Really? Tell me more.”

  “She already knows,” Mitt cut in as the boy opened his mouth to explain. “Mardurus came here to make sure she was still locked away, and he told her.”

  Tray’s already-disgruntled attitude amplified. “I see.”

  “Is that a problem, Nerdworm?”

  “He didn’t…tell me he was stopping by,” the Stark twin answered, avoiding her radiant red eyes. “He could have relayed some information. It doesn’t matter now, since we’re—”

  “Hold on,” Adara interrupted, taking a slow step toward the bars. “Are you…working with the Pixie Prince? Are you two friends now? You are.” She laughed before he could even grunt a reply. “He said he snuck into Fraco’s office to look for information. You guys went with him, didn’t you?”

  “Only for the sake of finding the truth,” Ackerly responded hastily. “We aren’t…friends with him, though. He did try to drown us that one time…”

  “I had nothing to do with him,” Seth said, holding up his hands in innocence. “I’d never betray you like that, Dar.”

  “Thank you, Jockface.” The condemning look she shot Ackerly made him cringe. “I’m unsurprised Nerdworm would ally with one of my sworn enemies, but you, Greenie? I’m disappointed.”

  “If you’re allowed to receive visits from Mardurus, then we can work with him during this investigation, okay?” Tray snapped as he scrubbed his forehead. “Is there anything else we need to discuss with Stromer, or can we leave now? This was a severe waste of time.”

  “Mm, I agree, Nerdworm—talking to you is always a waste of time. Why don’t you just leave then, so I can talk to my real friends?”

  “Yeah, you can go, Tray,” Seth agreed. “I want to stay and tell Adara about how I almost broke her out of prison.”

  “Did you?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t recall that.”

  “Well, it happened during Nero’s Dominion—”

  “Nero’s Dominion?”

  “Yeah, it’s this whole thing—but the important part of it was that I almost struck a deal with Nero that could have freed you from this place. I lost the bet, obviously—mostly because of Hartman—but it’s fine, because Hartman teleported us here to see you, so now I forgive him and we’re bros again.”

  Adara pressed her lips together and glanced around at the others, who all sighed—except Hartman, who looked thoroughly befuddled. “I’m not really comprehending the story,” she said. “Can you start over?”

  “Sounds like a story of forgiveness to me,” Angor yawned, stretching as he sat up on his metal slab. “I didn’t hear the beginning, though, so I can’t quite be sure.” Blinking his coral-colored eyes, he roved the group of people before him, unperturbed until his vision locked onto his former associate. “Well, this is an unexpected surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure, Olalla?”

  Her expression was tight as she watched him stand on bare feet. “I was curious as to whether the consequences of your actions were adequate punishment. Considering you’ve been grouped in a cell with this innocent girl, justice has not been served for the death of that poor boy.”

  “Innocent girl? That’s a new one,” Adara remarked. “Makes me sound kinda pathetic.”

  Angor’s brow scrunched. “If I recall, you called yourself innocent not too long ago.”

  “She’s only innocent when it suits her argument,” Tray explained.

  “Adara cannot be held accountable for the unleashing of her Affinity,” Olalla insisted, her hostility still aimed at Angor. “This school should have prepared her better. Regardless, the event that triggered it warranted such a response. We have disagreed in the past, Angor, but never have I been so appalled by your methods. To try to murder the Reggs…and to use Hastings—disgusting.”

  “I agree,” Angor said as he attempted to flatten the wrinkles in his prison garb. “I never had any intention of harming the Reggs. The only way in which I desired to use Hastings was to subdue the terrorists—which is why you must believe me when I say I played no part in Hastings’s death. I don’t have a mind controlling Affinity.”

  “He’s so freaking bad at trying to prove his innocence,” Adara sighed before any of her friends could speak. “He always leaves out the vital pieces of evidence—like the fact that Hastings was his son. Yeah, I’ve been dying to tell you all about that one, but you never deign to—”

  “What?” Tray breathed as all five of them blinked.

  “Oh, did I reveal something important, Stark? I think you’ll have to bust me out of here with your super strength if you want me to repeat—”

  “You’re Hastings’s father?” Tray demanded, his rapt attention trained on the former principal.

  “Was, but yes. Hastings was my son. I was thirty-five when I met Jocosa—”

  “They don’t need to hear your sappy love story, Your Highness,” Adara intoned. “All they need to know is that I believe you, and I’m too cynical to believe anyone.”

  “I do see it.” Seth squinted through the bars to study the man. “You’re, like, an identical version of Hastings—just, you know, old and with lighter hair…and skin.”

  “Did you know?” Adara asked Olalla, who scrutinized Angor with uncertainty.

  “No, I didn’t, but…it seems…possible.”

  “Hastings didn’t know who his dad was,” Seth recalled, gazing into the distance reminiscently. “I always used to talk to him about my dad, and he once told me he didn’t know his. Pretty much the only thing I ever got him to say, but—”

  “I didn’t know you actually talked to Hastings,” Adara mused. “I thought he was too emo for you.”

  “He was,” Seth conceded, “but I used to talk to him before going to sleep, and it made me feel less alone. He never answered, but I still felt like I had a friend. Now I just talk to myself before I fall asleep.”

  “That’s sad—in a pathetic way. Bet you miss chatting with me from across the hall. Did they ever fix my door?”

  “Yeah…” Seth answered slowly, “but now it’s Kiki’s door. She took over your dorm.”

  “Ah, so I’ll be rooming with Mustard when I break out of this pit.” Adara smirked at Lavisa, whose expression remained impassive.

  “I thought you’d prefer to be Seth’s roommate.”

  “An interesting concept. But, if the Wackos don’t know Hastings is dead and they decide to come back here for him, I don’t really want to be sleeping in his bed. They could mistake me for him—the reddish hair, you know.”

  “I could never mistake you for Hastings,” Hartman said, still leaning on Lavisa. “He was so bony and you’re…well…you eat a lot of donuts.”

  “You’re telling me I don’t remind you of Hastings, not because I’m a girl but because I’m fat?”

  “There’s a difference between not bony and overweight…”

  “How would the Wackos even know Hastings was in room 302?” Tray cut in, his tone far too severe for the lighthearted banter. “Periculand’s location is a secret; I doubt you can look up our room numbers on the web.”

  “Don’t ask me, Nerdworm, but they know. When they broke in last month, they went straight to Hastings’s room…like someone told them before they came.” Adara’s eyes bulged in the same instant Tray’s did. “There’s a Wacko sympathizer in the school.”

  “If Hastings was your son, I assume it wasn’t you.” Lavisa nodded toward Angor, who sh
ook his head.

  “I’ve corresponded with the Wackos on a civil basis, but I have never divulged any information about Periculand. Its location, obviously, is known to them, but I have made it very clear that they are unwelcome.”

  Tray seemed like he might rub his forehead raw. “The sympathizer could be anyone in this town—any citizen, any student, any teacher…”

  “None of my employees have any affiliation with the Wackos,” Angor said. “I did thorough background checks before hiring.”

  “Oh, you did background checks, how cautious of you,” Adara derided with a sarcastic smile at her prison-mate. “It’s not like people are smart enough not to add ‘Wacko’ to their resume.”

  “Don’t you think…if the Wackos planted a spy in Periculand…that they would have executed a mass invasion already?” Ackerly inquired. “Why bother sending one of their own here if they only ever relay small information?”

  “Valid questions, Greenie,” Adara agreed, tapping a finger at him. “We’ll need to investigate. Mitt, set me free.”

  “I’m not going to set you free, Adara.”

  “There is a Wacko in this town and you’re still worried about an innocent girl like me? So what if those Reggs fire you? If they’re working with Nero, I say we overthrow them and elect the Purple VP as our principal. Then I can call her the Purple Principal.”

  Olalla smiled fondly at the nickname, but her tone was stern. “We should respect the Rosses’ wishes for now. We don’t have enough evidence on any front to start a conflict, and though I don’t agree with them, we don’t want all Affinities to look like terrorists by forming a mutiny against the Reggs.”

  Groaning, Adara flopped back onto her slab and stared dejectedly at the ceiling. “Fine. Have fun figuring it out on your own, then.”

  “I doubt you’d help us, even if we did free you,” Tray scoffed. “All you want is to get out of this cell. You’ve never cared about the greater good.”

  “I just need donuts. I’m being deprived of basic human rights in here!”

  “We should get moving,” Tray said to the other primaries, ignoring Adara’s bemoaning. “If we need to search the entire town for a possible Wacko—”

  “You don’t need to search the entire town.” Swinging upright, Adara met Tray’s hostile gaze and said, “You just need to suspect the unexpected. So, you know, the nice people—like Aethelred or Floretta or Medea or maybe even my freaking brother. It’s always the nice people.”

  “Your cynicism is showing, Stromer,” Tray retorted. “If anything, it’s probably someone shady. We’ll figure it out.”

  “You might need me,” she sang, but Tray didn’t show even an ounce of sympathy at her hopefulness. Mitt only cared because he knew this exchange would worsen her attitude toward him for the rest of the day.

  “No.”

  “Fine, do my dirty work for me. Go, my servants, while I stay here and relax in the company of our enemy.” With a dramatic gesture at Angor, she lounged back on her slab and eyed Tray drolly.

  He was, obviously, not impressed. “Who are you impersonating?”

  “Myself as empress, of course.”

  “Empress of prison? Not surprised that your aspirations are still exceedingly low.” Her following frown inflated his chest a bit. “We’ll report back if we find any information on this Wacko sympathizer—or on Angor.”

  The former principal bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, shit, do I have to teleport again?” Hartman moaned as he wobbled away from Lavisa.

  “No, I want you to save your strength,” Tray ordered as that classic brooding look overcame his features. “There’s something we need you to do tonight.”

  “How was training with Nero?” Hartman asked as he twirled a pencil through his fingers.

  “Awful,” Eliana muttered, eyes fixed on the piece of paper before her. Over the past few hours, she’d sketched a drawing of Periculand’s northern forest, constantly displeased with the state of the depiction. Night had fallen by now, and even though the woods rested directly behind the library, the bare trees were invisible beyond the dark glass.

  “Nero gave almost everyone bruises while demonstrating,” she continued, her gaze flicking up to meet Hartman’s. He’d arrived about an hour ago to inform her that Tray had tasked them with prying some information from Nero. Verbally, he had been respectful and quiet, but his mind was as sporadic and unremitting as his physical movements, and his random thoughts distracted her.

  “Did he notice we weren’t there?”

  “No, he was too busy reveling in his power.” She paused, assessing him as he flipped the pencil in the air. “Your stepbrother…he’ll have to be caught very off guard for me to glean any knowledge from him—and he’ll need to be actively thinking about it.”

  “If you’re nervous about talking to him…I can try to do it on my own. You can read his thoughts from a distance—”

  “No, no…I can do it,” she assured him, gently placing her pencil on the table. “We’ll have to act now, though. I just sensed him leaving the Reggs’ office upstairs.”

  Hartman inhaled deeply as he rose from his chair. “Here we go then… Get into position. And I know you aren’t very loud, but do try to yell for me if you need help.”

  Her returning smile was soft, but he didn’t see it before teleporting twenty-five feet across the library, scaring a group of students in the process. Once he’d disappeared to intersect Nero in the stairwell, Eliana crumpled her hideous drawing and slunk into the nearest aisle of bookshelves, collecting volumes as she walked.

  Barely two minutes passed before Hartman’s fearful yelps and Nero’s rancorous growls penetrated the library’s silence. Mentally, Eliana felt the panic surging through the room, and the alarm rooted itself in her brain to the extent that she almost did scream when Hartman and Nero rounded the corner, both Corvises barreling down the aisle toward her. Hartman’s expression was apologetic when, only two paces from her, he abruptly teleported, allowing Nero to plow into Eliana at full force. This had been the plan, but as she plummeted to the ground, an avalanche of books raining around her, she realized she really hated Tray Stark’s plans.

  As expected, Nero didn’t profess his sincerest apologies at the sight of Eliana struggling to sit up. She was relieved that he even had the decency to stick around for a moment to see who he’d unintentionally assaulted. Whatever Hartman had said in the stairwell to provoke him hadn’t been enraging enough to dispel all of his conscience.

  “Little Mensen,” he huffed, his bulky body eclipsing the ceiling lights. “Second time you’ve crossed my path today.”

  “S-sorry,” she stuttered, so focused on gathering the books that she nearly forgot to try to read his mind. The wall he’d built around his thoughts was as formidable as his physical appearance—and as thick. Though a brute, he was not senseless, and his mind reader had probably instructed him to be cautious in Eliana’s presence.

  His eyes darted around warily, but it wasn’t her that he feared; it was the possibility of witnesses. For, when he realized no students were peeking down the aisle, his meaty hands hastily reached down and yanked Eliana upright, standing her on her feet like a doll. She was too stunned by his rough kindness to even thank him. Nero never helped anyone. The way he winced down at her now indicated he regretted the decision, but that he hadn’t left yet implied this plan might go smoother than she’d anticipated.

  “What, um…did Hartman do?” She hugged a book to her chest, awaiting an aggressive reply.

  Nero’s tone was subdued when he grumbled, “Breathe. That little shit doesn’t have to do anything to piss me off.”

  “He is…a bit…annoying,” Eliana admitted. The words weren’t entirely false—Hartman was a little agitating—but her sentiments toward the younger Corvis boy weren’t negative, and she would certainly choose his company over his stepbrother’s. For the purpose of this plan, though, Nero had to believe otherwise.

 
His eyebrows formed a unibrow of skepticism. “I thought you were friends with the runt?”

  “I don’t…think I have any friends here,” she replied quietly. “Hastings was the only person I trusted.”

  Nero’s eye twitched at that, opening the smallest crack in his mental wall. Out of it seeped…sympathy—not enough for him to console her, but enough that a burst of confidence took hold of her tongue.

  “I know you were afraid of him…”

  “I wasn’t afraid of him,” Nero sneered, crossing his arms defensively.

  “I can read minds,” she reminded him, lips twisting knowingly.

  Refusing to meet her gaze, he snorted, “I’m good at guarding my mind.”

  “I know…but Hastings also told me you were afraid of him. And…that you’re afraid of Angor.”

  “I have no reason to be afraid of those freaks—Mentals.” As if realizing who he was talking to, his eyes locked onto her purple cargo pants, but he didn’t add, “No offense.”

  “Well…I’m afraid of Angor,” she told him, not giving herself enough time to consider if it was a lie. “Who knows if he’ll decide to use his mind controlling Affinity to take back the town? With an Affinity like that, he could easily complete his mission to murder the Reggs.”

  The notion that Angor could return to his position of power did strike enough fear in Nero to knock holes in his mental block, but his thoughts of Angor were…muddled. He did fear the man, but he didn’t know why. It was as if someone had put a shield around those memories—one that not even Nero could tear down.

  “I’m not worried about Periculy,” he said breezily, even though confusion still riddled his brain. “He can rot in jail. The Reggs’ll restore order to this town, and once I have enough leverage…”

  “You…want to take over Periculand?”

  Nero smirked devilishly. “You’ll be lucky if I do, Little Mensen.”

  Even as a mind reader, Eliana had no idea what that could mean, but she did comprehend that the wink he gave her before stomping off was a threat. A threat that didn’t concern her—not now, when Nero’s lack of knowledge gave her all the information she needed.