Horace’s eyes flash with a moment of doubt, before returning to their icy scowl. “I have to. She’ll destroy us all if I don’t. Get out of my way, Inquisitor.”
The pain in my wrist finally begins to subside just as the overwhelming reality that I am about to die finally settles in. With it comes utter darkness.
Chapter 3
Gift
Opening my eyes is something I never thought I would do again. The harsh light and throbbing pain in my arm very nearly makes me cry. Exhaustion and pain beg me to drift back into unconsciousness, but I refuse. As sweet as still being alive is, I have no illusion that this is a permanent state of being for me. Whatever Inquisitor Moore said after I passed out is only going to postpone the inevitable. Even the highest ranking man in Albuquerque, New Mexico, can’t save my life.
“Oh, thank goodness, you’re awake, Libby. I was beginning to worry,” says Inquisitor Moore as he sits down beside me. Jen is close on his heels. The Inquisitor’s bleary eyes are red and wide, while Jen’s cheeks are streaked with tears.
“What happened?” I ask. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Jennifer is the only one still here. The others have all left. You are safe…for now.” His last two words carry a subtle warning. It’s one I don’t need, though. Whatever made that Guardian stop, one of those blades will find me eventually. I’ll deal with that later.
“How did you do it?” I ask him.
“He didn’t,” a voice says.
My eyes dart around the room furiously, landing on not one, but two men. For a moment I stare at them with no recognition, but only for a few seconds. When I realize who I’m staring at panic lodges itself in my throat, choking me in an attempt to finish what Lance started. The men stalk forward. Power follows in their wake like a blanket of pure evil descending on the room.
“P-President Howe,” I stutter. I can’t believe the president of the entire world, the ruling Guardian is standing in front of me. Was this why I was saved? So he could kill me himself?
“If you know who I am you should also recognize the man standing behind me,” Howe says.
Ungluing my eyes from Howe takes considerable effort. I’m terrified that the moment I take my eyes off him his Guardian blade will slice through me like I was made of tissue paper. My gaze settles on the second man, still standing silently. “Vice President Lazaro,” I acknowledge. He doesn’t say anything. “What…why are you both here? How did you get here so fast?”
“I was warned that I might want to be in the area tonight,” he says cryptically, clearly not about to offer any other explanation. I swallow slowly.
“Are you going to kill me now?”
“That,” Howe says, “is still undecided.”
“Why? I know the laws. When the Destroyer is found, she will be killed by Guardian blade.” Word for word, that is the law. Why didn’t it happen?
Howe rubs his chin. I think he was meaning to look thoughtful, but the only impression I got was of a villain plotting his next atrocity. I know who this man is. I’ve heard of the horrible things he’s done. Killing me should be nothing to him.
“The problem is,” Howe says, “you aren’t actually the Destroyer yet. Your power was unlocked today, but only a portion of it. You won’t gain your full power until age eighteen. Until then you can’t be called into service by any class, either. You won’t truly be the Destroyer until your eighteenth birthday.”
“That was never how the law was supposed to be interpreted!” Lazaro fumes.
“I am the president. I can interpret the law however I want.” Howe’s voice never rises in pitch, but the deadly edge to his tone grows more frightening with each word.
“But why?” I ask. He’s a Guardian. He rules the entire not-so-free world. I am the biggest threat to his power. The only threat, really.
“The law says to kill her!” Lazaro argues, breaking in before I can get an answer. “Do it now, Howe. Your one responsibility is to protect the world from her. Kill her!”
For this first time, Howe’s expression cracks. “My responsibility?” He turns to glare at Lazaro. “My only responsibility is to ensure some conniving, underhanded leech doesn’t try and steal my office from me.”
Again, he never yells, just speaks in a way that freezes the marrow in my bones. He couldn't care less about the world in general, only keeping his position as an all-powerful demigod. That scares me almost as much as thinking he is here to kill me. I still don’t understand what he’s doing, but I’m terrified of finding out.
“How would not killing me help you?” I dare asking.
Howe turns back to me, a disturbing smile twisting his mouth. “I have been the president for twelve years. Some think I’ve held the position long enough. I rule with regret-free cruelty. It keeps everyone in line. However, I didn’t get to this point solely by ridding myself of any competitors. I can see an opportunity when it falls in my lap.”
“An opportunity?”
“You. Dripping acid into someone’s eyes impresses Guardians, but the public doesn’t like hearing about devices like that. They want to believe I care about their well-being even if deep down they know it’s an illusion. I can kill anyone who tries to take my position,” he says. Lazaro’s hands ball into fists even though Howe never even glances at him. “I cannot force the general population to view me as anything more than a murderous demon. But feeling like that about their leader turns too quickly to revolt.”
Howe brushes an imaginary piece of lint from his suit sleeve. The closest thing to a nervous tic I’m sure he would ever display, I take a wild guess that revolt is more likely than he wants to admit. Having had more than one run-in with the hospitality of Guardians, the possibility of someone taking their egos down a few notches forces me to hide my satisfaction.
“So where do I come in?” I ask, feeling a bit more brave.
“Killing a sixteen-year-old that has never hurt anyone despite having been named the Destroyer isn’t going to improve my image. The majority of the world doesn’t even believe in you, my dear.” He chuckles, though I can’t imagine why. There is no merriment in his eyes when he locks gazes with me. “Don’t misinterpret that to think they won’t spurn and hate you, because they will. I’ll make sure of that.”
“W-what do you mean?”
“Just trust me. I will.” His smile turns vicious, making me sink into my chair. “If I give the people a new enemy to hate, they’ll be distracted from their hated of me. Plus, I’ll have earned a step back into their good graces by appearing merciful in sparing you. At least until you do something that forces me to end your life.”
Howe stares at me with an expression of unbridled anticipation. “And I know you will. You’ll unleash the power you do have and make my killing you a heroic act, one that will cement my position for good.”
“I won’t hurt anyone,” I say fiercely.
He laughs. “You may think that now, but I guarantee you will change your mind about that soon enough.”
I can guarantee he’s wrong. I came to my Inquest believing I would be murdered because I would rather see my life ended than kill, break, and destroy like the stories about me say I will. Part of me is curious what he thinks will change my mind. It’s a small part, and I ignore it for the time being, afraid of the minute chance he might be right.
“This is ridiculous!” Lazaro shouts. “Kill her now and be done with it, Howe.”
“No. Not yet.”
“You’re only giving her the chance she needs to end everything. You’re putting everything at risk!”
Howe moves slowly, turning to face Lazaro at a pace that sucks every last drop of color from Lazaro’s face. “The choice is mine,” Howe says calmly, “and it has been made. Libby will return to school tomorrow. She will do her homework like a good little girl and train, live her life as quietly as she can manage, and prove that I was right to grant her this reprieve.”
Turning back to me, Howe says, “I really would appreciate it
if you could hold off trying to destroy the world until your eighteenth birthday so I can kill you legally in full view of the entire world. Painting me as a hero probably doesn’t sit well with you, but it is the only way you will earn two years you were never meant to have. Do we have an understanding?”
The temptation to kill him right now hums under my skin. I could do it. Probably. I have more power now than I used to, but that is more worrisome than reassuring. I saw Lance try to use his Speed and Strength moments after they were unlocked. He is the picture of grace now, but until he got a hold of his power, he stumbled and flailed more than anything. I wouldn’t be facing just another couple of Guardians, either. I would be going against the two most powerful, most deadly Guardians on the planet. Destroyer or not, I don’t like my odds. Accepting Howe’s tainted gift is really my only option.
“We have an understanding,” I say, the venom behind my words not hidden in the least.
“Wonderful,” Howe says.
Having gotten what he wanted, Howe makes a military-style turn and walks out of the room. Lazaro, however, is not as quick stepping. Instead of following his leader, he glares at me. “Howe may be idiotic enough to let you live, but trust me when I say that if the opportunity presents itself, I will kill you.”
Then he too leaves the room, storming out in a flourish of fury pouring off his body. Their absence leaves the room muted and hollow. I feel as if they sucked out every drop of life and hope out of my soul in the few minutes they were present. I thought I knew exactly what this night would bring when I walked through the Inquisitor’s doors tonight. A two year extension and a visit from Howe and Lazaro had never once entered my mind as a possibility. I am scared to death of both of them, but they are a distant threat I do not want to think about right now. I have two years to worry about what they might do. In spite of the bizarreness of what just happened, one fact dominates my mind.
“Two years,” I whisper. My life will be over in two years. To some that might seem like a short span of time, but to me, a person who realized as a small child who I was, living to age eighteen is two years longer than I ever thought I would have.
Inquisitor Moore stands, heaving out a great sigh of relief. “Thank goodness they’re gone.”
He shudders. Jen looks as if she is about to shake herself to death. A calming hand on her shoulder offered by Inquisitor Moore helps to calm her down somewhat. When he seems convinced Jen isn’t going to go into shock, he faces me.
“As long as you stay out of the Guardians’ way you’ll be safe until you turn eighteen. I wish I could offer you more, but you have a little hope for now. Despite what Lazaro said, Howe will keep the Guardians in line.”
I don’t share his confidence, but I don’t care to argue about it right now.
“That means Lance can’t come after you again either,” Jen says softly.
Her comment hits me just as hard as the relief did a few minutes ago. I have two years to convince the world I don’t plan on destroying anything, two years to convince both the Guardians and my boyfriend not to murder me. Ex-boyfriend, I tell myself bitterly. His betrayal sinks into me like a burning machete. He abandoned me like almost everyone else in my life has. I could almost forgive him for anything else, but not for that. Even if I wanted to try and fix things with him—which I don’t—the quick way he jumped up to end my life and then bolted when he failed is a pretty clear indication of how he feels about the possibility. I will never feel his lips against mine again, never lay in his arms as we watched movies together, never again call him when I need help and understanding.
Stinging tears roll down my cheeks as the familiar, deep-set ache of loss settles into me. I never actually thought he would turn against me. At the most, I thought he might be scared of what I might do, worried about me changing, but never did I think he would try to kill me. He was so fast. Not even a breath of hesitation before he was trying to gut me. I used to enjoy watching him play football. Even without his full power he could dart or barrel past anyone on the field, but tonight was no game. I will never see his abilities as anything more than weapons now. My sense of loss deepens to a crippling level.
Trembling from head to toe as I cry, I can’t feel anything but my pain. Jen wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into a comforting embrace is the only thing able to break through my agony. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
It takes several more supernaturally long minutes for me to be able to pull back and face her. “Th-thanks for staying, Jen,” I stammer. The hiccups that always plague me after a bad fit of crying break up my words, but my honest appreciation still comes through.
“Of course,” she says. Jen takes my hands. Her fingers brush across my wrist, making me flinch with pain. Her eyes snap down to my diktats and her face pales.
I don’t want anything to do with them, but my gaze slides down regardless. I expect to see brilliant red from the trauma of the diktats taking shape, but my eyes widen at the unexpected sight I’m faced with. Standing out against my flesh are jet black, half-inch long raised vertical scars that completely encircle my wrist, their unnatural perfection a ring of judgment that feels like a noose tightening by the second. It takes me a second to really process the color. They’re black. They aren’t supposed to be black.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice quavering.
“They turned black a few minutes after you passed out, when the initial swelling went down,” Inquisitor Moore explains. “I have never seen that happen before. It must be a mark of who you are.”
A quick rise in my heart rate propels me toward panic. I look up to find Inquisitor Moore staring at them as well, his face filled with amazement, confusion, and remorse. When his eyes peel away from me they go to his own wrist, the right one instead of the left where my diktats lay. He is the most powerful man I know, yet his flesh colored diktats only spread across the underside of his wrist. Anyone who sees my wrist will instantly know what I am.
“You’ll want to keep those covered as much as possible, Libby. I know it won’t keep people from finding out—it sounded like Howe would take care of that—but there’s no point in reminding them if you don’t have to,” he says. He’s talking about the diktats, of course, but the gentle urging in his expression conveys more than his actual words. The diktats aren’t the only thing he wants me to hide. My talents need to be as nonexistent as possible. I nod in response to both warnings. Hiding isn’t anything new for me.
Coming down from the shock of a few moments ago brings on a throbbing headache. I don’t want to think about any of this anymore. Tomorrow will be horrible enough without making it worse by dwelling on it now. For whatever is left of tonight, I just want to crawl into bed and be happy I’m still alive. By tomorrow I might be wishing Lance had finished what he started.
“Jen, can you drive me home? I don’t think I’m up for driving right now.”
Jen and Inquisitor Moore both freeze before dropping their gazes down to the Oriental rug covering the hardwood floor.
“What?” I ask wearily.
“Your mom had your bags dropped off about an hour ago,” Jen says quietly.
I suppose that should send me into another crying jag. My mother has kicked me out. Blood wasn’t enough to make her stick by me. My body stiffens in anger instead.
“Do you think your parents would let me stay the night?” I ask Jen. “Just for tonight. I’ll figure something else out tomorrow.”
Shaking her head so slightly I almost miss it, Jen tries to blink away her tears. “I already called. They won’t let you stay. I tried to tell them you weren’t going to hurt anything, but they wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry, Libby.”
I look over at Inquisitor Moore. His head dips in shame. “President Howe already forbade me from taking you in, Libby. They’ll go after my daughter and her family if I try to help you.”
I nod and try to keep more tears from falling. I would never ask him to risk his daughter for me.
“I did
call my uncle, though,” Jen says quickly, “the one that owns that motel downtown. He said that as long as you stay out of the way of the other guests, you can stay in one of his rooms…for a while at least. I didn’t want to tell him about tonight, but he wouldn’t agree to let you stay if I didn’t explain.”
A one room hotel room in the middle of historic downtown Albuquerque, an area filled with tourists, vagrants, and probably a smattering of criminals. And my being a young, single, and attractive white girl. It sounds heavenly.
I sulk for a moment before perking up. It sounds like exactly what I need, actually. I’ll be one more person in a throng of ever changing faces. Cover up my diktats, keep my head down, and nobody will ever notice me. Outside of school, that is. I still have to go to school thanks to Howe. I have enough trouble coming my way without Concealment Officers breaking down my door for ditching. So much for never having to do homework again.
“Thanks, Jen. Tell your uncle thanks for me. I’d tell him myself, but…”
She nods. Her uncle is only willing to let this happen if he never has to see me and be reminded of who he is allowing into his establishment.
“I’ll drive you over,” Jen says. “I’m sure you want to get out of here as much as I do.”
I agree heartily. We rise together, and I find myself facing Inquisitor Moore again. His face is pained, almost as much as the first time we saw each other after my dad died. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to do more for you tonight, Libby. I want to help you, but…” His voice dies away in shame.
“We need a good Inquisitor here, one who knows the people, and who everyone trusts,” I finish for him. He offers me a weak smile, but his guilt doesn’t dissipate. “Besides,” I continue, “you’ve done more for me in stopping that Guardian from killing me than I had any right to expect. I came here tonight knowing I would probably die. You kept me from dying long enough for Howe to grant me his twisted mercy. You gave me two years I never thought I would have.”
Inquest Page 3
