Five's Legacy

by Pittacus Lore

  “Uh, yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother.”

  “It’s all in the past,” Ethan says. “But you—you’re the future.”

  Ethan’s lips curl up in a smile.

  “Tell me more about yourself,” he says.

  And so I start talking. Nothing about Lorien or the island, but about the things I like. Arepas, movies, books, arcades. And Ethan looks fascinated. It turns out he’s a movie buff. He’s waxing on about a long list of films I should have seen when I suddenly start to wonder how I managed to end up in a fancy Miami restaurant talking movies with some high-ranking criminal mastermind.

  What would Rey say? I wish he were here. I wish he could see how well I was doing on my own. How important I’m becoming.

  Emma is always hungry for more, wanting bigger and better assignments.

  Eventually, we get one.

  Ethan wants a series of warehouses bugged to keep tabs on competitors or something like that. As usual, we don’t ask questions. Emma and I are supposed to sneak in at night when the buildings are empty and plant a few tiny devices Ethan has supplied us with. It’s an extremely simple task.

  So of course everything goes wrong.

  Emma and I split up to get the work done, and I’m halfway through planting the bugs in a small warehouse filled with row upon row of boxes and shelves when a dozen guys show up. If I lived in a superhero movie, they’d be stereotypical henchmen.

  “Uh,” I say as they form a half circle around me. “Hi. I was just looking for a place to sleep tonight. I’ll move along and—”

  “Ethan sent you, didn’t he?” one of the men asks.

  “Ethan?” I ask. “Who’s that?”

  The man answers by throwing a punch at me.

  At first the rudimentary training Rey had given me during hand-to-hand fighting comes in handy, but I’m rusty and was never really that good at it to begin with. And there are just so many of them. I dodge a few punches and then a fist lands in my gut and I crumple. Then I’m on the ground, kicks coming from every direction, my vision sparking as someone’s heel meets the back of my head.

  They can’t kill me—there are still two Garde standing between me and death—but they can break me. Incapacitate me. Send me to the emergency room or abduct me.

  I only have one chance of getting out of this.

  Telekinetic energy erupts from my body, sending all the attackers sprawling backwards. I don’t give anyone a chance to recover. I use my Legacy to send them flying into walls and one another, lifting them into the air and then slamming them down onto the concrete. I lash out and use my powers in ways I never imagined. It’s strange how naturally it comes to me, this destruction. It feels so good—like I’m stretching a muscle I haven’t used in a while. I realize that I miss using my telekinesis so often, like I had on my little island or when I was first picking pockets. Bodies fly all around the room, crashing into shelves and lights, until someone calls my name and I freeze.

  Emma.

  I turn to see her standing in one of the open loading bay doors, half silhouetted by the moonlight. She makes no move to come forward. There’s a look on Emma’s face I’ve never seen before. Her eyes are wide, the whites standing out in the near darkness. Her hands are shaking.

  She’s terrified.

  Around me, all the attackers fall from the air, hitting the ground with thuds.

  “Emma,” I say, stepping towards her.

  She takes a step back.

  “What are you? How did you—” she says.

  Her eyes fall on someone lying a few yards away from me.

  “Marcus?” she asks. And then she’s running towards him. He doesn’t respond when she shakes him, and tears start to fill her eyes.

  It takes a moment for me to figure out why I know the name Marcus, and then it clicks. I hadn’t immediately recognized the name because she usually just calls him her brother.

  Marcus appears to be alive but his leg is twisted in a way that I know means it’s broken. He’s probably cracked a few ribs from the drop in the air too.

  What have I done?

  “I’m sorry, I—” I start, but I’m cut off by Emma’s glare, one of pure hatred.

  “You monster,” she says. “You fucking freak. Are you possessed? How did you do this?”

  I take a step forward but she’s on her feet, a pipe from one of the shelves I knocked down in her hands.

  “Emma . . .”

  “Don’t you take another step closer.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “It’s me. Cody.”

  She shakes her head. Or maybe it’s just trembling—it’s hard to say. At her feet, her brother gurgles something unintelligible.

  I take another step forward.

  “Let me help you—”

  And then she swings. The pipe connects with the side of my head and everything goes black.

  When I wake up I’m in a car. A really nice car, all gray leather and touch screens. A man in a suit drives. I sit in the back passenger seat. Ethan sits beside me.

  “Welcome back to the world of the living,” he says.

  My head pounds. I raise my fingers to find a throbbing knot on the side of my skull.

  “Emma . . .” I murmur.

  “It was quite the swing. You’ve probably got a concussion. I can have one of my doctors look at you if you feel dizzy or off.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She stayed behind. Apparently one of the men was her brother. She called for help. I came in as soon as I heard there was trouble and took you. Didn’t want you getting hurt more or arrested or anything like that.”

  I nod my head a little, but that just makes it hurt more. The pain makes it difficult to piece together everything that’s just happened. A hundred different places on my body hurt. My white T-shirt is stained with drops of blood. My Loric Chest . . . there’s a thump in my heart when I think of it. I look around the car. My dirty duffel bag sits at my feet on the floorboard. I reach for it, frantically ripping back the cover. The Chest is still there. I exhale.

  Ethan continues. “So, you have a few tricks up your sleeve you hadn’t bothered to tell me about. No wonder the two of you were so good at the jobs I gave you.”

  “She didn’t know,” I say.

  I regret the words immediately. They’re an accidental admission of truth—that I do have powers. That I’m different.

  But he knows that already. He saw what I did just as clearly as Emma did.

  “Ah, that explains her reaction.”

  A monster, she called me. I thought she was my friend.

  I stare out the window, unsure of where we’re going. Maybe I should just roll down the window and fly out into the night. Find some other place to go. Start over again.

  Maybe it’s time I finally do go back to Canada.

  A question forms in my sore head: Is this what my life is going to be like now? Moving from place to place, with no idea of what I’m supposed to be doing? No way to find the other Garde. No way the Garde are going to find me. If they’re even looking for me. I could cause a scene or show off my powers, but the Mogs would probably have me killed before the Garde ever came out of hiding.

  I wish there was another way.

  “What were you to her? Partners? Friends? More than that?”

  I roll this question around in my head for a moment, trying to see what he’s getting at.

  “Friends,” I say. “I mean, I think we were.”

  “A friend wouldn’t have reacted as she did, Cody,” he says, leaning back into his seat. “A friend wouldn’t have turned her back on you. I hate to say this, but I think it’s possible that Emma has been riding on your coattails, trying to get anything out of you that she could. Using you.”

  I start to protest, but he raises a hand, stopping me from speaking.

  “Do you know what you are to me?”

  I shake my head slowly. “An employee?” I ask.

  “Potential,” Ethan says. “Raw po
wer. I am not a fool. I know talent when I see it, and I respect it. I’ve been all around the world. I’ve seen some pretty crazy, unexplainable stuff in my day. Stuff you wouldn’t believe even if I swore an oath on everything I hold dear and holy. I’ve seen men in Indonesia who can tell you your darkest secrets. Women in the Caribbean who can resurrect animals. Nothing surprises me. You don’t have to tell me about yourself or your history. But you don’t have to hide anything either. I’ll never look at you like you’re a freak. Whatever power or gifts you have, it means you’re stronger than most people, right? It means you’re someone who is going to endure. To survive. And that’s why you’re here now.” He gestures back and forth between us. “We have a lot to offer each other. If we worked together, we’d be unstoppable.”

  “What about Emma?” I murmur.

  “Emma has a family. Her foolish brother, yes, but parents and a home as well. You, on the other hand, are alone, aren’t you?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Cody, I run a very tight ship when it comes to my business. I do thorough background checks on everyone I work with. You, my boy, have been something of an anomaly.”

  It occurs to me that he hasn’t seemed shocked at all by anything that’s happened. My powers, or Emma’s leaving.

  “You’ve been following me.”

  “You need to work on your stealth.” Ethan pushes his dark hair back behind his ears. “That’s something I can teach you. And from the looks of it, you could use quite a bit of hand-to-hand combat training as well. But most important is that ability you seem to have. You can move things around just by waving your hands.”

  “Telekinesis,” I say.

  What am I doing? I should go, should jump out of the car and disappear into the darkness.

  But Ethan already knows. And I suddenly realize he’s the only friend I have now. The way Emma looked at me—I know there’s no going back to her now. I’d be surprised if she ever talked to me again. Besides, all this talk of training—maybe this is actually a really good thing. Ethan is obviously a powerful man. If he can train me to be like him, I can use that later. I mean, I can always leave, right?

  “People like you and me are different, Cody,” Ethan says. “You’re special. I knew it the moment I met you on the beach. I could tell that you were the talented one of your little duo. You’re powerful, but I can help you become someone that people truly admire and respect. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” I say. I don’t even really have to think about it.

  “Good,” he says with a smile. “We have a bright future ahead of us.”

  The driver turns towards a towering wrought-iron gate. It parts, exposing a long driveway leading up to a house that looks like something out of a movie about Hollywood millionaires.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “Your new home.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT’S KIND OF STRANGE HOW QUICKLY TIME GOES by after Ethan takes me under his wing. I tell myself I’ll stay a day or two, and then weeks pass like nothing. I keep thinking, “I’ll leave tomorrow.” But it’s always tomorrow and never today, and I stay.

  There are no more courier assignments or picked pockets. I live in luxury.

  With a place like Ethan’s it’s difficult to imagine going back to sleeping on rooftops or in a shack. His house has everything you could ever want. A library, game room, beachfront view—there’s even a little movie theater in the basement, which is where I spend a lot of my free time. Everything’s locked and unlocked with a little key card I carry around in the expensive wallet Ethan bought me. There’s a staff that cleans up after me. And there’s a cook. A cook. He’s probably my favorite person in the house. Aside from Ethan, who watches movies with me almost every night.

  I like to remind myself that Rey would have wanted me safe. What could be safer than a place like Ethan’s? A compound. Ethan sets me up in a room bigger than our entire shack on the island. I practically have the whole second floor to myself. Everything I could possibly want. Things I didn’t even know I needed. We never had floss on the island, much less computers. I use the internet to try to find anything I can about the Garde—any news article or blog posts I can find that might lead me to them—but every time I think I’m getting close, the internet turns into a brick wall. I get an error message in the browser telling me the link is broken or the website is having difficulties. I figure the other Cêpans are doing this, trying to cover their tracks. If Rey were alive and we had the internet, I’m sure he’d be going around deleting things I posted too, or hacking into news sites.

  That, or the other Garde are just too scared to come forward or do anything other than sit around waiting for something to happen for them to react to.

  Not like Ethan. Ethan’s like a dream Cêpan. Anything I want, he gives me. And anything he wants, he just takes.

  “Everything out there can be yours,” he says at least once a day, and when he does it sounds like he means it. It makes sense. What better display of strength and power is there than being able to do whatever you want when you want to. Ethan forgoes the running and weight training and instead focuses on my Legacies. I tell him I don’t know where they came from, and he says it doesn’t matter—all that matters is that we have them to use now. And he trains me, some days on the precision of my telekinesis, and other days on its strength. Flying comes easier and easier, until I can lift off with hardly a thought. His staff is well paid and wouldn’t dare speak of anything they see. And he assures me he’s definitely not telling anyone about what I can do. I’m his secret weapon. He has incredible things for my future. When I’m ready.

  It’s a future I’m excited to discover.

  Ethan believes in power. I think he’s obsessed with it. It’s not hard to see how happy he gets when he takes us to a fancy restaurant or some incredibly expensive boutique and the servers and employees treat him like a god who’s come down to Earth to order a filet mignon. I get it. I feel that way, too, when I’m with him. The thrill of being looked up to, of being envied even.

  It’s like an addiction.

  But envy and money aren’t the only aspects of power that Ethan values. His trade requires intimidation.

  It’s not something I’m good at.

  A few months after the incident at the warehouse, one day after lunch, we walk through some trendy part of downtown Miami that’s all billboards and lights. Ethan wears his normal dark suit and I’ve got on a T-shirt and jeans that cost enough money to probably buy the entire island I lived on with Rey. Gone is my long, matted brown hair. I’ve got a buzz cut now. I wonder how I survived in the tropics so long with so much hair on my head.

  As usual, I keep an eye out for Emma. I don’t know if I really want to see her again, but I don’t want to just run into her on the street by surprise.

  The last thing I need is another concussion.

  We pass by a handful of kids a little older than me sitting outside a coffee shop—two guys and two girls. I don’t notice the dog at their feet until it barks at me, and I jump back, startled, half knocking Ethan into the street.

  The table erupts in laughter. One of the girls apologizes and pulls the dog back on its leash.

  “Pansy-ass douche bag,” one of the guys mutters to his friend.

  “What was that?” Ethan asks, stepping up to the table.

  I can see all of them begin to look uncomfortable.

  “Nothing,” the guy says.

  “Did you hear what he called you?” Ethan asks me. I recognize the tone in his voice. He’s turned on teacher mode, ready to impart some important lesson.

  “Yeah . . .” I say.

  “And are you a douche bag?”

  “Hey, man,” the girl says. “We’re sorry. He didn’t mean anything. He’s just a jerk.”

  Ethan ignores her. Instead, he talks to me.

  “That boy disrespected you.”

  “I guess.” I shrug.

  Ethan looks around for a moment
. We’re off to the side of the shop. There are not many people on the street. No one near us, at least.

  “Then show him he should respect you.”

  The guy at the table stands up. He’s twice my height, and at least two heads taller than Ethan.

  “Leave it,” the guy says.

  I look over at Ethan hesitantly.

  “You have to start at the bottom of the food chain and work your way up,” Ethan says quietly. He turns to meet my eyes. “If you don’t teach them that you’re more powerful than they are, they’ll never fear you. It’s time for you to take action.”

  I nod to him.

  “Look,” the guy says, “I said—”

  I raise my hand out in front of me and suddenly the boy flies three feet backwards, crashing into the wall of the coffee shop. He starts cursing and frantically trying to move, but I’ve got him a foot off the ground. He has no leverage. I’m in control.

  The others at the table gasp and start to freak out.

  “The girl’s got a phone out,” Ethan says calmly.

  With my other hand I use my Legacy to rip it from her fingers and throw it to the ground. The screen shatters.

  “The boy is going to run for it.”

  One of the other guys at the table is heading towards the side entrance. I take his legs out from under him with a flick of my wrist.

  “There’s someone behind you.”

  I swing around, both palms out, ready to fight.

  But there’s no one there.

  I turn to Ethan. He’s smiling.

  “Perfection,” he says. Then he glances around quickly. “We should go.”

  I let the boy drop to the ground. He’s shaking and gasping for air as we walk away as if nothing has happened. His friends gather around him. My heart is thumping in my chest. I feel dizzy and light and weirdly satisfied.

  I can’t help but grin.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” Ethan says. “How did that feel?”

  “Wonderful,” I say.

  It felt wonderful.

  A year after being at Ethan’s—almost down to the day—I’m pulled out of sleep in the middle of the night. My calf is on fire. I yelp, howling at the pain as I knock half the things off the nightstand trying to find the light. Even before it’s switched on, I know what the burning means.