I have a feeling there’s some other reason he’s here, but whatever it is, I’m not going to find it out until after class. I turn in my seat and face Mr. Walters, who has made his way back to the front of the room.
“This is wonderful,” Mr. Walters says. “Milo tells me that he is very interested in learning more about the Destroyer class. I thoroughly applaud his initiative. Perhaps if others had followed in my path, we would have had some warning of your coming.”
I was only half listening, but his last sentence slips into my mind clearly. “Wait, what was that? What do you mean there wasn’t any warning? Who was supposed to warn people?”
“Becoming a Guardian typically only requires one to have Speed and Strength, but occasionally certain individuals are gifted with Speed, Strength, and Vision. Once trained, these people are often recruited into an elite rank of Guardians known as Seekers. Their Vision commonly allows them to anticipate attacks from enemies during a battle, which allows them to avoid injury. Even more importantly, though, is that they can sometimes foretell the possibility of conflict days, months, even years in the future. It had long been believed among the Seekers that they would be able to predict the coming of the Destroyer and prepare for her arrival.”
“Guess they were wrong,” Milo says.
Mr. Walters pauses. “Quite.”
“I’ve never heard of these Seekers,” I say.
“They are a closely guarded secret,” Mr. Walters says. “You only learn of them when you are inducted into their ranks.”
“So…you’re one of them?” Milo asks.
“Formerly.”
“Huh, you would think something like that would be pretty hard to get out of.”
“Incredibly difficult,” Mr. Walters says.
Milo’s eyes narrow with incredulity. “Then how did you get out?”
“The hard way,” he replies.
In the time that I’ve known Mr. Walters, I have never seen him wear a short-sleeved shirt. I thought it was merely due to the cool, fall weather outside. As he unbuttons his cuffs and pushes back his sleeves, I realize there is another reason entirely. The gasp that escapes my throat is completely involuntary, but utterly appropriate. Scars crisscross his forearms to the point of there being no unmarred flesh left. The horrible knowledge that his arms are likely not the only part of his body that looks this way blankets me. Even Milo looks disturbed by the display.
“Why did you leave?” I ask.
“Because I disagreed with the way they operated. They believed that they could simply wait around in their lair for one of them to glimpse your presence, then march out to kill you when they did. It was a ridiculous notion, of course. How were they supposed to see something they knew nothing about? Vision is erratic at best. Other Visionaries have told people for centuries that their talents work best when they are familiar with the subject they’re trying to glimpse.
“It’s the precise reason that Visionaries who are not particularly talented usually only receive glimpses of members of their own family or close friends,” he says. “I tried to explain this to the other Seekers, but they were so sure of their own tactics that they didn’t bother to listen. So I left to continue my work on my own.”
He says it like it was a polite disagreement. Judging by his scars, it was anything but. I’m certainly not going to press him for the gory details, at least not right now. Having more information about these Seekers will be invaluable if I ever have to face them, though. Which I probably will.
“So none of the Seekers ever had a premonition about me?” I ask.
Mr. Walters smiles like I imagine a grandparent would to a silly grandchild. “If they had, you would already be dead, my dear. The Seekers follow a much looser code of conduct than the rest of the Guardians.”
My spine twitches in revulsion. I can’t imagine the terror of having men and woman capable of scarring one of their own so badly slip into my room at night with the intention of murdering me. There is little doubt in my mind that they would wake me before they slit my throat just so they could watch the life fade from my eyes.
“How did President Howe get to me so quickly then? I was only unconscious for a few hours, but he and Lazaro were already there. Someone must have known about me.”
Mr. Walters stops moving. His eyes stare past me at nothing in particular. “I don’t know. Perhaps they were already in the area when they were notified of you.”
I’d say he was acting kind of strange, but he always acts strange. I don’t know what to make of this newest oddity.
“Besides,” he says, coming back to himself, “Howe has use of a Leer jet. He can travel very quickly that way. He may not have needed to be close by.”
Hmm. I wasn’t sure how fast a Leer jet could go, but I suppose Mr. Walters is probably right.
“What about you?” Milo asks in the silence that has fallen.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Walters asks.
Milo folds his arms across his chest and stares at the old man. “Did you have any glimpses or premonitions? You’ve studied the Destroyer class most of your life. If your theory was correct, shouldn’t you have seen Libby coming?”
Bending his wrinkled lips into a rueful smile, Mr. Walters returns Milo’s stare. There seems to be appreciation for Milo’s insight in his eyes. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I had either a premonition or glimpse of Libby, but I was drawn to this town by her presence. I grew up in Boston, served as a Seeker in Los Angeles, and retired from that service in Colorado. Sixteen years ago, I felt the need to move to the desert. Once in a while I would get the distinct impression that the power I was looking for was being used. It guided me to this school just over five years ago, though until I met you, Libby, I had no idea who I was looking for. You, my dear, are extremely good at hiding your talents.”
The subtle hint of awe in his voice is reflected in Milo’s expression. It makes my skin crawl. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” I mumble.
“Yes, I suppose you have,” Mr. Walters agrees. “But how? How did you do it? You must have come into your powers almost from birth, because I felt your presence days after you were born.”
I hate it when he turns his planned lecture into a “Let’s ask Libby a million questions” session, but in a weird way, it is actually a huge relief to talk about everything I’ve tried to hide for so long. Plus, Mr. Walters really does enjoy hearing me explain everything. It’s funny to watch him get so eager and interested. So, once again, I indulge his obsession for no good reason.
“The first time I remember actually using any of my talents is when I was three years old. I was playing with a rubber ball in my backyard. I kicked it especially hard and it went over the fence into my neighbor’s yard. My dad was at work, so I tried to get my mom to help me. She was busy, so I decided to get it by myself. I climbed the tree that leaned over into their yard and jumped down—which I didn’t realize until much later that I should have hurt myself doing—and went to find my ball.
“I found my ball pretty quickly. It was in the jaws of a Rottweiler named Max. I remember being furious that the dog had popped my ball. I yelled at it. Stupid idea, but I was only three. It dropped the ball and starting growling and walking toward me. I was terrified. It reached me so fast. I still don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I reached out and put my hand right on its nose. I could feel the dog’s spirit immediately. It reminded me of a porcupine, sharp and bristling. I didn’t like how it felt. I could feel its anger washing over me, so I pushed it away, off of me, and out of the dog, too. He stopped growling and his spirit mellowed into something that felt like marshmallow fluff. Max never bothered me again.
“After that encounter with the dog, I started to realize that I was doing things other people couldn’t. I didn’t understand why that was, but something deep inside of me told me it was dangerous to let anyone see what I could do. I hated hiding, especially from my dad, but I knew I had to,” I say.
In the end, my skills at hiding
my true identity weren’t enough. I tried to protect my dad from the knowledge of who I was, but I didn’t do a good enough job. He found out, and he died.
“Amazing,” Mr. Walters says. “At three years old you were able to access your talents. Strength to kick the ball and protect yourself from being injured when you dropped from the tree, Naturalism and Spiritualism to connect with the dog, and Perception to feel its emotions. You were even able to tap them with enough strength to actually do something productive. Most don’t even begin to manifest talents until they’re young adults, and even then they have so little control over them that they’re practically useless.”
“Lucky them,” I say.
I would be thrilled to be one of those people. I look over to see Milo’s reaction to my story, hoping it isn’t as dramatic as that of Mr. Walters. I’m not sure he even heard me, actually. Milo is frowning again, something I’m beginning to realize means he’s thinking very deeply. When I first met him I might have wondered if it hurt him to think, given his disregard for school, but now I know better. He may hate school, but Milo is neither stupid nor incompetent. I wait patiently to hear what he has to say.
“So why don’t the Seekers come after Libby now? They know where she is. The whole world knows who she is thanks to the reporters who like to follow her around. But all that’s happened so far is we’ve had to take out of the way routes to avoid the few straggling reporters that hang around the school trying to get a glimpse of Libby and figure out where she’s living. Why haven’t the Seekers tried to kill her yet?” Milo asks.
“If they could have found her before she was revealed to the world, they would have. But now that she is known, she falls under the responsibility of the Guardians,” Mr. Walters says.
“And they can’t touch me for two years.”
The older man’s chuckling sounds like leaves tumbling along the ground. “A fact that I’m sure neither group is terribly happy about.”
“Not to mention President Howe demanding everyone let me keep walking around like a normal person,” I add.
“Yes, that is interesting, isn’t it? I was quite surprised when I first heard about his edict, but I suppose I shouldn’t have been,” Mr. Walters says. “He’s always had a flair for the dramatic, not to mention an ego that could swallow the entire world in one gulp.”
“What do you mean?” I’m still pretty confused about why Howe didn’t just send a team of Seekers after me the night of my Inquest.
Mr. Walters shakes his head. “Howe got to the top by force, but just beating his opponents wasn’t enough. He always had to do it in the most memorable way possible. I remember his second-to-last opponent, Guardian Ivan Bok, particularly well. I still see that man’s face every time I hear the word bamboo.” He shutters and I refrain from asking for the details. I’ll probably end up googling it later, but I don’t want to think about all the spectacularly awful ways President Howe might kill me right now.
“I still don’t see what’s stopping the Seekers,” Milo says, interrupting our conversation as if he weren’t even aware of it. Frustration has him sitting up straight for once. “If the Seekers were going to kill her in secret before, why wouldn’t they kill her in secret now? Nobody even knows about them. If Libby ended up dead everyone would just suppose some rogue Guardian or crazy citizen had taken things into his own hands. Traditional boundaries can’t possibly mean very much to the Seekers when their whole world is at stake. They could come after her at night when no one else is around and no one would ever suspect them.”
Milo looks up and meets Mr. Walters’ eyes. “What’s really stopping them from killing her?”
Mr. Walters’ voice loses all its mirth. “Nothing.”
Chapter 14
Celia
“Milo, you can’t spend the next two years brooding over this,” I say. He ignores me, of course, and sits on my little dresser. “Um, I don’t think that thing’s sturdy enough for you to sit on.”
“Are you doubting my carpentry skills?” he asks, still frowning.
My derisive laugh makes him frown even more. “Yes, actually. I watched you put it together, remember? I still think those extra screws should have gone in there somewhere.”
“I still can’t believe you made me put it together by myself,” he says. But he does get off the dresser. He almost sits in the sling chair we got along with the dresser before thinking better of it and joining me on the bed. That chair looked comfortable, but it was definitely not.
“You deserved it,” I remind him.
“Ha, see if I ever buy you anything again.” He lies back on the bed and sighs. I think his worry is finally starting to mellow. Thank goodness. This room is small enough without his nearly six-foot-tall frame pacing around all evening.
I lie down next to him, propped up on my elbow. Resisting the urge to snuggle up next to him is even more difficult than usual. I don’t like seeing him so wound up. Even more, I hate knowing that being around me is doing this to him.
“Why don’t we do something?” I suggest. “You said you brought some movies to watch, right?”
Milo growls at me, which unfortunately for him has the completely wrong effect on me. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “How can you not be as freaked out about the Seekers as I am?” he demands.
“I am freaked out, Milo.”
“Well, you sure don’t act like you are. It’s…irritating that you want to watch a movie when a group of assassins we didn’t even know existed until a few hours ago could be coming for you.”
I can’t help smiling this time. Not only is his worry over someone he should hate very endearing, but he’s incredibly handsome when he’s frustrated—despite his hair and lack of fashion sense. Milo doesn’t appreciate my amusement. He jerks back up and turns away from me.
I pull myself up behind him and place my hand on his arm, tugging gently until he turns to look at me. “Milo, I’m not trying to irritate you. It’s just that I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. I’ve always been afraid that someone was going to sneak up on me and slit my throat. Being afraid for my life is like an old blanket for me. It’s nothing new. The Guardians are all poised to kill me on Howe’s orders. Lazaro’s followers are out there right now hatching a plan to get rid of me. Now there are Seekers. They’re only one more twig on an already high stack of fears. I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t feel threatened.”
“People shouldn’t have to live like that. It’s not right,” he says softly.
“But it’s how things are.”
My hand slides down his arm to cover his hand. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he turns his palm up and winds his fingers with mine. Warmth races up my arm and surrounds my heart. I start to fill dizzy, so I lean my head on Milo’s shoulder. Mostly because of the dizziness. I’m not sure if we sit there for seconds, or minutes, but I have to stifle a groan when Milo pulls away from me.
“You still up for a movie?” he asks.
“Sure. What’d you bring?”
He smiles, and says, “A classic.”
A few minutes later I roll my eyes as Terminator starts playing. “Seriously? This was the best you had?”
“Hey, I watched plenty of your girly movies. You owe me.”
“Whatever. I saw you getting all choked up last night when the girl died,” I say.
“Liar.”
I’m pretty sure he would have been crying if he’d been watching it alone. Wimp. Not that I can say too much about it. I was crying myself. There certainly won’t be any crying tonight.
Milo folds his pillow in half like he always does and lies down. His arms are folded across his chest, but I plunk down right next to him, near enough for him to take my hand if he wants to. He doesn’t seem to notice the lack of distance. His emotions are so nonexistent right now I wouldn’t even know he was here if Perception was all I had to go on. The scenes I’ve seen a dozen times before start playing across the screen. Not that I’ll admit it to Milo after tea
sing him, but I actually like the Terminator movies quite a bit. Milo is making it hard to pay much attention tonight, though.
Twenty minutes into the movie, Milo unexpectedly turns to me, and says, “Did you see all the posters they put up for the Winter Formal next weekend?”
And Terminator made him think of that why? “Uh, yeah. Couldn’t help notice. They were everywhere.”
Silence. For a full two minutes.
“Were you thinking of going?” he asks.
I laugh. “No. I don’t really relish the idea of dressing up just so people can gawk at me even more than they already do. Plus it’d be too easy for someone to sneak up on me at something like that.” Then that little cartoon light bulb flickers on in my brain. “Why? Are you going?”
He shifts on the bed. He barely moves at all, and it might have been simple coincidence, but his arm moves just far enough to press up against mine. “Not alone,” he says.
More silence. The noise of cars racing down freeways and bullets flying around the TV screen suddenly becomes very annoying. I just want to hear Milo.
“We could always go together,” he finally says. “There would be a lot of witnesses, so I doubt the Guardians would try anything. Anyway, people seeing me at a dance will be more earth shattering than you showing up. They’ll probably forget you’re even there.”
“It would really piss Lance off, too,” I offer.
Milo’s mouth twitches, almost smiling. “Most likely.”
My insides are dancing with delight, but I haven’t said yes, yet. Seeing Lance twisted up with jealousy would be satisfying, but it really doesn’t sound like a good idea to put myself out there like that. Plus, making Lance mad isn’t the reason I wanted Milo to ask me. I don’t like it that they fight so much as it is. If either of them gets hurt, I would never forgive myself.
Milo is incredibly hard to figure out with his brooding, casual, sarcastic, teasing mishmash of personality traits. I…think he likes me, but he refuses to really show it. He always finds some way to joke or tease his way out of any situation that feels even remotely intimate. If all he wants is to be friends, I need to know that. Not to mention, the last time I went to a dance, it was with Lance. He’ll be there for sure, but it won’t be with me. I’m big enough to admit that will hurt. I don’t really want to go to the dance, but I do want Milo to ask me. Silently, I wait.
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