“No problem. I had fun too. I’m up for crawling anytime,” he says. “In fact, I’m not doing anything important tomorrow…”
“You should be,” I interrupt.
He stares at me with one eyebrow cocked.
“I know you have a big English paper due Monday, and I have a hundred trig problems I’m still trying to wade through.”
“Why do you care?” Milo asks. “It’s just school. Grades really don’t matter, especially not for you.”
“Why, because I’m not going to live long enough for my GPA to get me into a good college anyway?” I snap. I regret my harsh tone instantly, but that attitude has been thrown in my face all week. None of my teachers will help me because of who I am, but also because they know my grades won’t matter in two years. Everyone is just biding their time until I’m dead.
“That’s not what I meant,” Milo says.
“Then what did you mean?”
Milo looks at me hard, his steely eyes focused on mine. “Just that you’re more powerful than anyone else on this planet. Who’s going to stop you from doing anything? Who cares about your GPA or whether or not you go to college. You could rule the world if you really wanted to.”
“Well, I don’t want to,” I say firmly. “I just want to get through high school and live my life without people trying to kill me.”
Looking away from me, Milo turns off the car. “Well, we both know that’s not going to happen.”
He pushes his door open and steps out. Filled with frustration at him and everyone else I’ve come into contact with lately, I find myself unable to get out of the car for several seconds. Milo could get in his own car and drive off, leave me to wallow in my self-pity, but he doesn’t. He waits at the front of the Bronco for me to get out and join him. Eventually I do. I slide up next to him and lean against the Bronco’s grill.
I’m not mad at him exactly, just annoyed that he put a dent in my good mood. Maybe school shouldn’t matter to me, but it does. It always has. I’ve hated school since the first day of kindergarten. I still dread walking through the doors every morning. That doesn’t change the fact that it has always been the one consistently normal thing in my life. I’ve spent my life hiding my talents, fighting my mom, and running from Guardians. Outside of school, my life has always been a mess. Inside those dreary walls, I’m just one of thousands plugging along. I know that’s not totally true anymore, but it’s still pretty close. There’s that, plus I’m not ready to admit I have no future beyond my eighteenth birthday.
“You want me to come over tomorrow and help you with your trig?” Milo asks.
I’ve yet to see Milo actually do any homework. He’s obviously only offering as a way to apologize. Still, it’s sweet of him to offer. “Sure,” I say, glad the dark night hides the small smile on my lips.
“Alright then,” Milo says as he pushes away from the Bronco, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
Milo waits until I am safely inside my room before driving away. He tries to pretend he has absolutely no concern for anything, but every once in a while he lets a little hint of his gentleman side slip out. Despite the frustration of our conversation outside, it’s been a good day. Across the room lie my drawing pad and charcoals. Nothing makes me want to draw more than being happy. It’s such a rare feeling, I usually pounce on it right away. I’m about to do just that when I spot my tiny little motel-sized trashcan overflowing with food wrappers and scrap paper. Part of me wants to just leave it there, but I know it’s going to bug me all night and screw up my focus when I’m trying to draw.
My charcoals stay put for a little while longer as I gather up the trash and tie the bag off. I’ve yet to witness anything even remotely creepy or scary around the hotel, but I still sweep the parking lot for anything dangerous looking before I step out. Whatever made President Howe let me go back to school has kept the Guardians away from me so far, but I have no idea how long that will last. My attention is so focused on spotting lurking killers that I don’t notice the silver Mercedes until I turn away from the dumpster.
Our eyes lock on one another and I can’t move. I don’t know how I missed his car. I rode to school in it every day for almost an entire year, not to mention trips to the movies, dinner, or sneaking out at night. Lance stares at me from the dark interior, his blue eyes narrow and his hands clenched on the steering wheel.
The only complete thought I can manage is, he knows where I live. Pure, freezing fear drips down my spine. He’ll tell his dad! He’ll tell the Guardians and Lazaro might find out. I seriously doubt Howe can control Lazaro half as well as he thinks he can.
I don’t have anywhere else to go. Slowly, my feet start moving independent of my brain. They carry me away from the dumpster and away from Lance. His eyes follow me every step, never moving or faltering.
I slip back inside my room. My charcoals are abandoned for a blade. The long hunting knife stays in my hand as I wait at my window for any sign of the attack I know must be coming. Lance’s car doesn’t move. Hour after hour I sit there, crouched and ready. I can’t see his face from where I sit, but it hovers in my mind regardless. Lance’s eyes stay with me all night, long after I fall asleep during my vigil, into my dreams, and they are still there when I wake. Not literally—Lance must have left sometime during the night—but I can still feel him watching all day.
If Milo notices my preoccupation when he comes over, he doesn’t say anything about it. Focusing on my math homework is even more impossible than usual, and eventually we just give up and watch a movie. When Milo picks me up for school Monday morning, I can’t help searching the parking lot again for Lance’s car. It isn’t there. That doesn’t mean he isn’t watching, though.
Since seeing his car I have wondered non-stop why he chose such a blatant spot. Lance will one day make a superb Guardian. He knows tactics better than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s the fastest and strongest in class, and he’s smarter than parking his car in the middle of the parking lot when he’s trying to spy on someone. Clearly he wanted me to see him, to know he’s watching me. But why?
Lance has spent every second at school doing everything he can to get people to hate me. A lot of them don’t believe in me as much as they should, but his efforts do enough to make sure everyone skirts around me like they’re afraid I’m contagious. Is this just another form of his torture? It doesn’t make sense.
I have spent plenty of mental power this week hating Lance’s guts, but as I think about why he would want me to know he’s watching me, a traitorous part of my heart comes up with an alternate reason. Could Lance still be trying to watch over me? The idea of him trying to protect me is more disturbing than him doing recon for his father, but the idea lodges in my head and makes me wonder about everything Lance has done since my Inquest.
The fact that no Guardians tried to kill me over the weekend is reassuring, but as I walk to the gym for Speed and Strength training I realize Lance doesn’t have any need to send Guardians after me. I’m coming to them. My stomach lurches and almost dislodges my breakfast when my foot hits the hardwood floor of the gym. I can’t go in. I’m stuck in the doorway unable to force any of my muscles to move. Something crashes into me from behind, throwing my body forward. My fear disappears completely, and I stumble back to my feet and into a fighting crouch.
“Get out of the doorway,” Angus growls. He steps forward aggressively, and the goons behind him do the same.
“Don’t touch me,” I warn him.
His face screws into a mask of disgust. “Don’t touch me,” he mimics in a high, annoying voice. The idiots behind him snicker. Angus’s gaze only darkens. “I don’t know if you’re really as pathetic as you pretend you are in class, or if the stories about you are all just a bunch of crap, but either way, I’m not scared of you, Libby.”
Oh, if only I could show him what I can really do, let him choke on my real power. Strength hums in my muscle cells. My talents are straining to be
released. I had my hands raised defensively in front of me, and when my fingers start shaking Angus smirks. He clearly thinks I’m shaking out of fear. That only makes my desire to pound his face in even more intense. I have to dig deep to find enough discipline to hold back.
Angus doesn’t have the same problem. His finger jams against my chest. “I said get out of my way.”
I should just move. Play the weak, helpless little girl I want everyone to think I am.
I’ve never been very good at weak and helpless.
“Get your grimy finger off me, and I’ll consider it.”
Fire flashes in Angus’s eyes. “Oh, you’ll do more than consider it.”
His fingers slide across my collar bone, making me gag, and continue their way up my neck. The soft touch makes me panic. I don’t know what he’s doing. Not until his hand reaches the back of my neck, grabs a fistful of hair, and yanks. My head jerks back. Even though my skull is stinging I refuse to let him see it. I have to tap my Naturalism to keep tears from falling, but I hold it together.
“Destroyer, or not, there is nothing you can do to stop me.” Angus forces my face to within inches of his. I’m close enough to bite his nose off. If he considers that, it’s clear he doesn’t believe I could do it. I want so badly to prove him wrong. But I don’t. Angus smiles mockingly. “See, boys, she’s nothing but a freaking bedtime story. I could get rid of her right now and end this whole overblown mess if I really wanted to.”
“Then why don’t you?” I ask. “If you’re so sure I can’t rip you into kibble-sized pieces, why haven’t you gotten rid of me already?”
“Because I don’t care to waste my time on you.”
That might be partly true. He certainly never wasted any time trying to be nice to me before unless Lance was around for him to impress. That’s certainly not the only reason, though. If I can’t rearrange his perfectly Romanesque features, I’m at least going to mess up his image. I know, stupid, but I can’t resist.
“You don’t want to waste your time on me? What are you doing right now?” I ask. I glare at him and exert the tiniest bit of Spiritualism—the most I can manage—to manipulate his fear and take it up a few notches. “You can say whatever you want, Angus, but you and I both know you’re too scared to ever actually do anything. You want to look macho now, but inside you’re so scared you’re about to piss your pants. I can feel it.”
Just to emphasize my point I tap my Naturalism, toss it over to him, and put a little extra pressure on his bladder. His eyes fly wide, and he yanks back on my hair, throwing me to the floor. Away from him. Little pussy. It’s so satisfying seeing him in such a panic that I laugh before thinking better of it. I can’t use my Speed, but he can use his. His hand is around my throat half a second after the sound escapes my lips.
“Keep your talents away from me you little…”
“Get your hands off her!” Lance’s voice booms across the gym.
Surprise flashes through both me and Angus. Lance? Why is he helping me? Neither of us moves.
“I said let go of her, Angus!”
Angus’s grip slackens and I shove his hand the rest of the way off my skin. I scramble back up to my feet and stare at Lance. What is he doing? He’s focused on Angus, though, not me, so the only thing his expression gives away is anger.
“What?” Angus snaps.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing!”
Lance’s eyes narrow even more. “Then how’d your hand end up around her neck?”
“She was in my way,” Angus argues.
“In your way?”
“She threatened me! What was I supposed to do?” Angus’s gaze momentarily leaves Lance to glare at me. Lance follows. His eyes are just as blue as they’ve ever been, but there’s something darker at their core now. It makes me shiver.
“If you touch her one more time, I will personally make sure you never do it again,” Lance threatens.
Angus stares at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously trying to protect her?”
Maybe I just imagine it, but I swear Lance pauses for a moment before answering. Could I have possibly been right? I don’t understand that, but a small part of my anger at him chips away. Lance flicks his gaze away from me and back to Angus.
“I’m not protecting her, you idiot, I’m protecting you,” Lance snarls. “If Clement finds out about this, he’ll put you on probation and then you’ll never get the chance to really stop her. Now get out of here before I tell Clement myself.”
Angus hesitates for a minute but eventually nods. He and his pack of morons trail off to the locker room. I don’t pay them any more attention. My mind is completely focused on Lance. “I…” I begin, not even sure what to say, but before I can figure it out, Lance turns and storms away from me without saying a word.
I’m left standing there, more confused than ever. First, I find him outside my motel room, watching…protecting? Now he stops Angus from attacking me. It would appear that he didn’t tell anyone that he figured out where I’m staying, given that no one tried to kill me over the weekend. Despite the perfectly logical reasons he gave Angus for stepping in, part of me doubts his words. I’m not really sure what that means, though. Is he actually trying to help me, or just making sure no one kills me before he gets the chance to do it himself?
Chapter 13
Nothing
In the weeks since my run-in with Angus, I’ve only caught Lance spying on me twice. I think he’s been there more often than that, but he’s gotten better at hiding. There are times when I feel the brush of his familiar presence somewhere near me, but I don’t see him anywhere. I could find him if I tried, but to be honest, I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about him watching me or his reasons for doing so.
We’ve spent so much of our lives together, my Perception can feel it when he gets too close to me. If he tries to kill me again, I know I’ll be able to stop him. If he’s really trying to protect me, I don’t want to be faced with that either. The more I think about it, the harder it is to hate him. It scares me that when I think about him sneaking around, I feel safer knowing he’s there. He has always protected me, but I can’t let myself believe he always will.
Another concern about Lance’s spying is that Milo’s pretty much always by my side lately. His intentions aren’t any clearer than Lance’s, but I know for sure that if he sees Lance, or Lance tries anything, Milo will be more than willing to beat him into a pulp. I tell myself I would like to see Lance punished, but I don’t think I could ever really hurt him or let anyone else hurt him. He’s too much a part of me. So I stick close to Milo and do my best to pretend Lance doesn’t exist.
I wish Milo were here now. Not because of Lance, but because having Milo next to me right now is about the only thing that will make my Spiritualism class even mildly interesting. Not that I don’t think having a talent for Spiritualism is important, but I just don’t see how it’s going to help me stay alive. Going into the spirit world has absolutely zero benefit for me. Being able to connect with people’s souls in order to comfort or guide them doesn’t have a lot of offensive possibilities, either. Comforting President Howe out of wanting to kill me doesn’t seem very likely.
At least the rest of the school seems to be slowly getting used to me. It’s been nearly a week since anyone tried to injure me. Most of the world didn’t believe in me before my Inquest. They only believed after because the Guardians made such a big deal about it. People still avoid me, but in general that’s them doing what they usually did before. I’ve never been everyone’s favorite person.
Even the other Guardians-in-training seem to have given up trying to find a way around the law that will let them kill me and have settled for pretending I don’t exist. But again, that’s what they did before they knew who I was, so things actually seem like they’re getting back to normal. When the bell finally rings for the end of Spiritualism, I’m actually anxious to get through my next couple of classes so I can he
ad to Mr. Walters’ class. At least his class will be interesting.
I don’t realize how much more interesting until I walk into the normally empty classroom and find Milo sitting next to the seat I usually occupy. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Milo has decided to audit my class. I hope you don’t mind having a companion, Libby,” Mr. Walters says.
“No, not at all.”
“Give me a moment to gather my notes and we’ll get started.”
Tuning out the rustling noise of his preparations, I make my way to my seat. Right away, my thoughts center on Lance and Milo continually antagonizing each other. Milo doesn’t know anything about Lance following me, but he can’t stop himself from mouthing off at Lance every time he sees him, and Lance’s jealousy goads him into responding every time. Lance has come dangerously close to getting suspended several times already. I cringe every time I think of him getting tossed out of school and losing his dream. Usually when I hear him talking about me, doing his best to make sure everyone remembers who I am so they stay properly scared of me, I find it much easier to put him out of my mind, but lately that’s been harder knowing he might be watching over me. Still, Milo would rather be doing just about anything than taking on extra classes. Something must have happened.
I lean over to Milo, and whisper, “What are you really doing here? Is there a problem with Lance?”
“Yes. So I came running in here to protect myself like a scared child. You give me no credit at all, do you?” Milo says drily.
I just frown and wait for a real answer.
“Amazingly enough, I didn’t end up getting detention from anyone today. What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you?”
“Read a book? Do your homework? Something productive.”
“This is productive.”
I cock an eyebrow at him.
“Class is starting,” he says.
Inquest Page 11
