Nerve

by Kirsten Krueger

  Surprisingly, Naretha didn’t verbally assault Danny for whatever he’d said to irk her; she merely stalked through his office to the elevator, barely checking to see if Jamad and Meredith had joined her before jabbing the button to shut the doors. After ascending two stories, the elevator stopped and they exited into a narrow, metallic hallway, lined with numbered doors. As instructed, Naretha escorted them to dorm 208, a small, square, windowless room with two beds. The décor was distinctly female, pink accents inlaid with punk posters, and the two dressers brimmed with leather skirts and lacy undergarments. Jamad noticed quite a few articles of clothing that were large enough to fit someone Nero’s size, but the rest seemed petite enough for frail Meredith.

  “I’ll see if I can scavenge some men’s clothes for you,” Naretha said tautly, a hint of longing in her eyes as she scrutinized the room. “Danny might have assigned you to this dorm, but if you ruin anything in here, I’ll clog your ear canals with salt. Got it?”

  Meredith nodded profusely while Jamad gave her a quick bow of his chin, wondering silently who this Cath person was and how Naretha actually had the capacity to care for her so ardently.

  Since there were not yet any clean clothes for Jamad, he allowed Meredith to use their shower first. He was surprised when, a minute after she disappeared into the bathroom, she poked her head out and asked how to turn the water on. After being confined to that dungeon for so long, though, maybe Jamad shouldn’t have been surprised that she would have to relearn common functions of life.

  After spending nearly forty minutes scrubbing grime off his own skin, Jamad reentered his new dormitory to find Meredith dry and sanitary, smelling of berries and honey, her skin ghostly pale without the stains of dirt and her hair a vibrant, blinding magenta without years of built up grease. Instead of the raggedy undergarments or the blood-soiled clothes she’d borrowed from Devika, Meredith now adorned loose fitting navy blue pants and bra that actually fit her. Though he’d seen the girl practically nude before, he still felt a little uncomfortable about being in a bedroom alone with her while she was so scantily clothed—until he realized she’d only foregone a shirt in order to inspect her stomach wound.

  “Doesn’t look like it’s healing.” Jamad stopped by the bed closest to the bathroom, where Naretha had deposited a stack of darkly colored garments. Typically he preferred lighter clothing, but the Wackos did seem to have a darker color vibe that he would apparently have to grow accustomed to.

  “Oh.” Meredith hiccupped, nearly jumping when she saw he had emerged from the bathroom. “Um—no, it’s not… I don’t know if it will heal. It’s old. I can barely remember a time when I didn’t have it.”

  Jamad’s lips parted, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “The experimenters just…kept reopening it, huh?”

  Biting her lip, she grimaced down at it, likely bombarded with the nightmarish memories. “Well…yeah… They—”

  The doorknob abruptly turned, and Jamad tightened the towel around his hips, preparing for Naretha to barge in and berate him for not dressing quickly enough. When the door flew open, though, it was not Naretha that filled the doorway but—

  “Mads,” Jamad breathed the moment her burnt orange hair and eyes entered his view. She looked exactly as she had when she’d disappeared from Periculand months ago, the same bouncy curls, the same soft face, the same tan skin—except now that skin was woven with intricate orange designs that laced up her arms with delicate beauty: Wacko tattoos.

  “Jamad!” She took two eager steps into the room and then stopped at the sight of his bare chest and towel. “I-I’m sorry—I’ll—I’ll let you get dressed—”

  “No, no, stay—I-I don’t want to let you out of my sight again,” he insisted, his throat constricting with emotion. After a month of her absence in Periculand and a month of trudging through hell to find her, Madella Martinez was finally a few paces from where he stood—and she was a Wacko. He couldn’t judge, since he was soon to be initiated as well, but… “You—aren’t in prison. We thought—I just…thought you were being tortured all this time.”

  “I…was locked away until recently,” she admitted, avoiding his gaze by staring ashamedly at her tattoos. “Danny said if I didn’t join him he’d kill all of us once you arrived and—and I’m so sorry I doomed us—”

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Closing the gap between them, he rested his hands on her shoulders. At this proximity, he saw all the faint freckles decorating her cheeks, the same orange hue as her hair. “I’m glad you didn’t get yourself killed. I’m glad you’re safe—I’m glad we’re together again. I agreed to join the Wackos, too.”

  “Oh, J,” she moaned, her face wilting with despair.

  “No—no, it’s good. I want to join them. I want to dismantle the Reggs. Those research facilities, Mads… And my parents willingly sent us…” Trailing off, he closed his eyes, burying the grief welling within them. When he opened his eyelids again, a figure was positioned beyond Maddy, awkwardly shuffling in the doorway.

  “Oh, um, this is Zach.” Maddy stepped back from Jamad to give him a clearer view of this Zach. His instinct was to be defensive and antagonistic toward the tall, lanky man standing there with his finely combed hair and sharp features, but Maddy’s next words quelled the glacier building in his gut. “He’s Danny’s brother. I’m, uh, not really trusted to roam the complex without a chaperon yet.”

  “Neither are we,” Jamad said after giving a stiff nod of acknowledgement to Maddy’s chaperon. Zach’s demeanor was as dismal as his gray hair and eyes, so starkly different from the intensity of his brother. “Naretha brought us here just a bit ago.”

  “Are Av and Z—” Maddy paused when she spotted Meredith standing in the left corner, probing the gash on her stomach. “Oh—you have a roommate.”

  “Yeah, Meredith.” Jamad peeked over his shoulder at the girl. Her head didn’t even perk up at the sound of her name. “She’s—ah…we kinda grouped up with her when we escaped the research facility. She was there for…a while.”

  “Is she okay?” Maddy hissed with genuine concern as she watched Meredith squeeze the sutured wound.

  “Meredith, stop playing with it,” Jamad commanded, jolting the girl out of her trance. Noticing the visitors in their dorm for the first time, she blanched. “Don’t panic, Mer. These are our friends…sorta,” he added with an uncomfortable glance in Zach’s direction.

  “Which room did they put Avner and Zeela in?” Maddy inquired, slicing through Jamad’s good humor. Leaving Zeela behind in the woods and ditching Avner in the dungeons hadn’t seemed like unforgivable crimes until now.

  Scratching the back of his head, he opened and closed his mouth four times before finally saying, “They’re not… Avner’s still in a cell. He refused to join the Wackos, so he’s a prisoner. And Zeela…well—it’s such a long story, Mads, but she didn’t make it here with us. She’s safe—she’s safe,” he amended hastily when tears began to bulge in her eyes, “but I’m not sure exactly where she is. We’ll find her, though, I promise.”

  “But,” she started, looking frantically toward Zach, “you said my friends—two boys and a girl…”

  “Meredith,” Jamad confirmed when Maddy looked across the room to the girl who was a stranger to her—the girl who had, in her mind, replaced Zeela. “But we’ll find Z, Mads. You know she’s like a sister to me, and you know she’s smart and tough—she’ll survive.”

  “And—and Avner? We’ll find a way to free him, too, won’t we?”

  Quenching the desperation in her watery eyes was a painful task, but he couldn’t give her false hope and promises. “Avner chose his own fate. He’ll stay a prisoner as long as he wants to. And if he never chooses to join the Wackos…” Jamad licked his lips, hating the truth even as he spewed it, “then I’m gonna let him rot in there.”

  28

  The Fate of the Demoness

  Since Tuesday evening, Tray Stark had been even more annoying than usual. Calder had trie
d holding a secret meeting with him in their joint bathroom to discuss the affirmation of Than’s allegiance as well as the new knowledge of Ashna’s Wacko mission, but the Stark twin merely grumbled, “Later,” and then locked himself in his dorm room. As expected, “later” had never come, because for the remainder of the week, Tray pointedly ignored Calder, and none of the other primies knew what to do about his newfound attitude, either.

  The sudden lack of assistance from his strategic ally was more disconcerting than Calder could have anticipated. It wasn’t surprising that Ashna was a Wacko; she’d shown up in a Wacko van, and it was too convenient that the Headquarters location she’d given had been empty. Still, her motives remained unclear, and having grown accustomed to being on the inside with the Rosses, Calder loathed this sense of the unknown.

  Therefore, he spent the majority of his days observing Than’s and Ashna’s movements, searching for some clue to what they planned. Why the history teacher neglected to tell the Wacko leader that Ashna had arrived here was still a mystery, but Calder assumed it meant that her task shouldn’t have taken long—but it was taking long.

  This alluded to endless possibilities, which he spent his nights brooding about. The plant-kid’s unexpected friendship with Ashna should have harvested more information, but all it had sown was tension between Ackerly and the rest of his friends. While the other primies were rightfully suspicious, Ackerly believed the girl blameless, resulting in continuous scowls from Calder as he nonverbally warned the kid to stop being so ignorant.

  The lack of sleep, combined with the constant glaring, turned Calder into a grump, and he was in desperate need of someone whose dark humor could brighten his mood.

  For that reason, he was almost anxious to accompany Nero to the Rosses’ office when they summoned him that following Sunday afternoon; surely they needed their bodyguards for a visit to their predecessor’s cell. When they arrived, however, Calder’s countenance soured at the sight of the Reggs seated firmly in their respective chairs behind their shared desk, implying this would be another boring meeting, not a field trip.

  “Corvis, Mardurus, sit.” William motioned to the two empty seats opposite them. The cushioned chair on the left was worn and frayed from the repeated strain of Nero’s heavy form, but the one Calder always assumed on the right remained in pristine condition. Its cushiness didn’t make him any more pleased to plop into it, though.

  The Rosses ascension to principals hadn’t invoked any serious changes in the office’s décor: Adara’s spot of discolored wood and Angor’s wall of books hadn’t been touched, but Periculy’s plaques and awards had disappeared from the left wall, leaving a blank sheet of red paint with a new flatscreen television in the corner. Currently, the news played on the screen, highlighting Emmett Ventura’s “Life Before Presidency.”

  Calder’s eye roll was interrupted by Artemis asking, “Well, Nero, why have you called for this meeting?” at which he fought not to display his surprise. Consumed with his own air of diplomacy, Nero didn’t notice Calder’s newfound demeanor of dread.

  “It’s been almost a month since Periculy was jailed,” the brute began, eyeing the two adults as if they were his equals, “but there are still some rebels in this school who defy your authority—namely, Tray Stark and his hooligans. They’re pissed their precious Stromer’s in jail, and I know they’re plotting.”

  Though Calder maintained a neutral expression, his heart raced. Had he actually heard something about Tray’s wealth of knowledge on the secrets of this town—or about Calder working with the primies?

  Nero sat forward, oblivious to his ally’s internal fretting. “If we have a trial and find both Periculy and Stromer guilty, their little supporters will be less likely to rebel. How could they possibly justify associating with convicted criminals?”

  Calder was tempted to mention that Nero was once a convicted criminal, but Artemis would have disregarded the fact. Already, she’d folded her hands on the desk and contemplated the suggestion.

  “To tell you the truth, we don’t have any evidence against Adara Stromer. Legally, she hasn’t done anything seriously incriminating. The most we can do is fine her for destroying school property, and even that would only entail community service, not further jail time. But, you know she’s a dangerous girl—wild and vengeful. We’ve been pushing back the trial because we know this town will be in jeopardy with her freedom.”

  “Then don’t free her,” Nero concluded, shrugging his meaty shoulders as a devilish grin spread on his lips. “Find her guilty.”

  Serious intrigue broke across both of the Rosses faces. William leaned forward and said, “What do you propose?”

  Reclining, Nero crossed his legs; the pale light seeping in through the back wall of glass made his dark eyes glimmer with depravity. “Convicting Periculy will be simple since he is guilty—just gotta ask a few of my allies to testify about how he tortured them with his mind controlling Affinity. Stromer will be trickier, but my allies are all skilled at blocking mind readers; the judge won’t assume they’re lying when they say they overheard Stromer conspiring with Periculy to burn you both to char if his plan failed. Mardurus will gladly be one of those witnesses.”

  The sound of his name nearly made Calder jump, but he maintained poise, plastering a lazy smile on his face. “You can imagine no one wants Stromer to stay in jail more than I do. I don’t have the patience to waste my time extinguishing her fires.”

  “You two won’t have to worry about any of the details, really—just compose your own testimonies and ensure that Stark and his gang can’t get into the courthouse,” Nero finished, nose twitching at the mention of Tray.

  “Legally, we can’t bar anyone from entering the courthouse,” Artemis reminded him, her words spoken carefully. “Anyone who wants to testify has the right. However, I believe we can find a way to ensure that Tray Stark and his friends are indisposed at the time of the trial. We’ll schedule it for this week.”

  “Gather your witnesses,” William instructed as if they had been the ones to come up with Nero’s devious ploy. “We’ll inform the president-elect of the plan so he can secure a spot in federal prison for Angor Periculy and Adara Stromer.”

  “Stromer’s not going to juvie?” Calder asked, feigning indifference.

  “Ah—Affinity prisons aren’t structured by age or gender.” William conjured a taut smile. “You can leave those details to us, though. We will ensure that Periculy and Stromer get what they deserve.”

  “Have you been able to locate Ruse Dispus, the shapeshifter?” Artemis asked as Nero stood.

  “No, he’s probably still hiding somewhere…but I’ll sniff him out soon enough.”

  “Deliver him to us when you do.”

  Nodding, Nero motioned toward the door, and Calder followed, refusing to even dip his chin in farewell to the Reggs. Once they were within the stairwell, the brute’s aura of superiority amplified.

  “Stromer’s gonna owe me a few debts after this.”

  Pursing his lips, Calder glanced up at him. “You just gave her more jail time—in a real prison. If anything, it nullifies the debt.”

  “No, because when the trial comes around, I’m gonna testify on her behalf—against the Reggs.”

  Calder should have seen this coming, but it was impossible to subdue his bewilderment. Nero reveled in it.

  “I’ll expose them for lying in court, they’ll be jailed, and Stromer will be free—and in my debt. And, given that I’m second-in-command now…”

  “Fraco’s the vice principal,” Calder reminded him flatly.

  “I know,” Nero said, his self-importance radiating as they walked into the library, “and soon he’s gonna be my vice principal.”

  Adara had ogled the Pixie Prince for days—or, more accurately, she’d glared at a crude drawing of him that he’d requested Mitt paste on the ceiling above her bed for days. Designed in a dark blue crayon, the stick figure barely resembled Calder at all, but the point of it, she kne
w, wasn’t to impress her with his artistic skills but to taunt her with the fact that he was out of reach—and that he’d refused to deliver the masterpiece personally.

  Calder wasn’t the only one neglecting her existence, though. Not one visitor had appeared in almost five days. Since the night Tray had come to announce Ashna was a Wacko and Ackerly had come to proclaim his love for that Wacko, none of her friends had visited, and Mitt seemed equally as perturbed about it. Though the officer rolled his eyes and played authoritative cop, he enjoyed the presence of outsiders as much as she did, which was clear through his increasingly dejected posture whenever he brought her food.

  Angor didn’t give a damn either way. He was perfectly content to sit in silence and meditate over the conspiracies running rampant in his town. For all they knew, Periculand’s problems could have been solved by now and everyone had simply forgotten about them. Or maybe the Reggs’ façade of peacefulness had cracked and they’d killed all of Adara’s friends—or, worse, Artemis had finally decided to use her Affinity, seizing the primaries’ minds.

  No matter the case, Adara was beyond relieved when Mitt opened the door with a sly smirk on his lips and a person at his back. When Weaponizer stepped to the side and the visitor became visible, Adara had to stifle the elation sparking in her core: Calder Mardurus sauntered into the corridor outside her cell, his grin even more complacent than Mitt’s.

  Wearing a dark blue button up and gray slacks, he exuded a composed, collected appearance. His hair told otherwise: wisps of navy blue locks protruded from the knot in a much messier fashion than normal. With the rings of darkness around his eyes, he’d either taken a few light punches from Nero or he was severely over-tired.