Inquest

by Gladden, DelSheree

  I can’t keep the acidic edge from my voice. “And you being the daughter of the leader of the Veil, and a Concealer yourself. Your own daughter was the Destroyer, and you didn’t even see it.”

  She looks so broken.

  That’s why her sudden attack catches me off guard.

  Springing off the stairs, she flies at me, knocking Milo back in surprise. My mother has no Strength, but her psychotic, adrenaline-fueled lunge is powerful enough. My scrambled wits and lack of real sleep make it a struggle to react. Her fingers close around my neck before I can finally get my own hands up to force her away from me. I throw her back and call on my Speed to get me away.

  In the seconds I have before she gets back to her feet, I close off my emotions so she can’t track me or anticipate my moves. I try to blur my focus into seeing what she will do next but her own Concealment strangles my attempt. A brief thought that I need to learn how to do that myself for when the Seekers come after me lodges itself onto my list of things to do should I survive my mother trying to kill me, and disappears from my mind.

  This is going to come down to Speed and Strength. The real trouble is going to be beating her without killing her. Although the positively murderous look in her eyes is quickly making that less of a concern. Milo, please don’t fail me. As horrible as she is, I can’t handle being responsible for both of my parents’ deaths.

  She’s back on her feet, and I tense for her next attack, but she just stands there. She’s not giving up. I know her too well for that. She’s planning something. Stepping back slowly, I move further away from Milo just in case hurting him is part of her plan. Manuel is standing slack-jawed in the corner, but I doubt my mother will hurt him. It would be too much trouble trying to train someone new. She’s still just standing there. Forget this.

  I break into a run meant to get me to her side before she can react, but the first step I take sinks into the marble floor. My heart stutters. I look down and am shocked to find the marble I was standing on has turned to slush, its swirling pattern ruined by my foot sinking into it.

  How could I forget her Naturalism? Her talent for manipulating natural elements was what inspired me to try and convince everyone I was following in her footsteps. I just never saw it as a weapon. Leave it to my mom to turn the beauty of speaking to the elements of this world into something she could hurt people with. The gelatinous soup pulls me in up to mid-calf, cutting off my musing and sending me back into panic mode.

  Desperately I try to pull my foot back out by shifting my weight to my back foot. That foot sinks as well, and I gasp in shock and fear. I shift again and yank my back foot out of the mess. My mom rushing toward me only intensifies my panic. A venomous curse slips out of my mouth as I drop to one side just enough to avoid my mom’s slap. With one knee on solid ground, I drag my leg out. Almost out.

  My ankle is still trapped when my mother launches her next attack. The marble sucks itself back into shape, trapping my foot in its razor sharp grip. One tiny movement to the side sends the sharp edge of the rock into my skin. Pinned to the floor, my mother seizes her chance. Her hand slams into my face, and my vision pitches wildly. Only the cool green blob of Milo’s shirt bobbing up and down in the haze alerts me that he’s moving toward us.

  “Milo, stay back!” I scream. The green blur stops moving.

  “How are you going to protect him now, Little Libby,” she asks. Her vicious tone, and her use of the nickname my dad used to call me, clears my vision in a red-tinged wave of hatred.

  “Leave him alone.”

  “Why should I? It only seems fair that since you took the man I loved, I should take yours in return.”

  She’s bluffing. Milo may not have the talents of a Guardian, but he is still a pretty big guy. Her talents aren’t going to protect her against brute force. As long as he can get to her before she wraps him in marble or simply convinces his heart to stop beating. She won’t. Will she?

  “Mom,” I beg, “Mom, please don’t hurt him.”

  “You deserve to suffer like I have, Libby.” She isn’t moving toward him. Yet.

  “I have suffered, Mom. I know you loved Dad, but so did I.”

  “It’s not the same. You were just a child. You couldn’t have loved him like I did.”

  She can ferret out the truth behind gossip in a second or locate anything touching a natural element of the world, but she can’t see anything beyond her own selfishness. “You say Dad was your whole life, well, he was my whole life too. He cared about me when I knew you didn’t. He tucked me in at night while you were out with your friends. He kissed me when I got hurt and held me when I cried. He loved me. He loved me so much that I never felt anything but safe and happy when I was with him, not because of his power and prestige. I loved him more purely than you ever did.”

  My mother’s beautiful face darkens under a mask of malevolence. Maybe that last sentence wasn’t such a good idea. She takes several slow steps toward Milo. He glances back and forth between us, unsure of what to do. My mother doesn’t seem terribly concerned. “And what about this one?” she asks. “Do you love him?”

  She’ll know if I’m lying. I’m good at hiding my emotions, but she is a master at breaking through barriers. My throat is trying to strangle me, but the curious look on Milo’s face despite what’s going on around him dilutes my fear enough to think. Do I love him? I’ve doubted why he’s with me, but despite ample opportunity to leave, he’s still here. I know he’s hiding something big from me, and I’m scared to death that really letting him in will only get him killed. My hurricane of thoughts and emotions finally center on one simple truth. Despite everything, I can’t think of anyone I would rather be with than Milo.

  “Do you love him?” she demands as she moves forward.

  My answer is simple and honest. “Yes.”

  The corner of Milo’s mouth turns up without ever taking his eyes off my mother. I want to kiss him more than anything right now, but the hateful gleam in my mother’s eyes terrifies me. Milo holds his hand up to her as she takes another step, but she won’t try to attack him physically. Her focus draws her thoughts inward. I don’t wait.

  My fingers force themselves into the tiny space between the marble and my ankle, and I heave it back .The edges dig into my flesh, staining everything red. And all I accomplish is crumbling a few pieces. This is taking too long! Terror for what she might be planning spurs me forward. Pulling with my whole body, I try to simply yank my foot from the rock. Fiery hot pain shoots up my leg, making me scream. But I don’t stop. I wrench it again. Something pops and grates. Seizing my Strength, I will the pain away and pull again.

  “Libby!” Milo calls out, grabbing my shoulders. “Libby, stop it! Just stop, wait a minute. You’re hurting yourself.”

  “I can’t,” I cry, “she’s going to hurt you.”

  “No she’s not. She’s not going to hurt me or you. Just calm down for a minute and we’ll figure out how to get you out of here.”

  “What?” I ask, twisting around so I can see his face. He presses his hand against my cheek, and then his eyes slide away from me to where he had been standing a second ago. I follow them. My whole face lights up in shock.

  “What happened?” I ask. For some reason my mother is lying of the floor, looking very much like she’s unconscious.

  “I’m sorry, Libby, but I had to hit her.”

  “You what?”

  He shrugs. “When you screamed she lost her focus, and well, I saw my chance to stop her, so I took it. Sorry. I’ve never hit a girl before.”

  “Sorry? Milo, don’t be sorry. She was about to kill you. I think that’s the one exception to hitting girls.”

  “I still feel bad about doing it. She’s your mom,” he says.

  I snort at that and try to keep from grinding my teeth, this time from anger instead of the pain pulsing up my leg. “Only by blood.” Standing up from his employer, Manuel walks over to us. His hands are visibly shaking, but his voice sounds quite cheerful
. “Well, I’m glad that’s over, Miss Libby. I have never seen anything quite like that before.”

  “What, attempted murder?” I ask.

  He grimaces and shakes himself.

  “Is she alive?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Manuel sounds a little resigned at that prognosis. “I’ll have someone take her to bed when I get the chance, but I think we have more important matters to attend to right now, like getting you out of the floor.”

  “Yeah,” Milo says, “we should probably do that before your mom wakes up.”

  “Definitely, but I’m not sure I can. I think I might have broken my ankle trying. It hurts like hell right now. Strength is the only thing keeping me from passing out,” I say. And even that isn’t working very well. My vision swims in warning that I’m not going to be able to hold the pain back much longer.

  “Miss Libby,” Manuel scolds, “you should know better than trying to pull a foot out of solid marble by brute force. Strength does not make your body impervious to injury. I should think you would be well aware of that fact by now.”

  “You would think,” I mutter.

  “How are we going to get her out then?” Milo asks.

  Manuel offers him a patient smile. “The same way she got stuck there in the first place.”

  “You know how to do that?” I ask.

  “I have lived with your mother for a very long time. I thought it wise to learn a few of her tricks just in case I ever needed to defend myself,” he says. “I would have helped you earlier, but even though I can perform the feat, my talent is nothing close to your mother’s. I need to be in physical contact.”

  “Of course, Manuel,” I say.

  “Pay very close attention so you can repeat it if the need ever arises again. Which I’m sure it will, knowing you.” He smiles playfully like I am five years old again, but this time there is real fear behind his teasing. “Now, lay very still, Miss Libby. When I release your foot the motion may be very painful.”

  “Milo, if I pass out, you’re going to have to carry me to the car again. Sorry.”

  “Again?” Manuel asks.

  “I was asleep, not hurt,” I say matter-of-factly.

  He nods, but not convincingly. Placing his hands on the floor at either side of my foot, he is about to start when Milo moves into place behind me. Thank goodness. I don’t want to smack my head on the ground if I faint. That would really top off my morning. Manuel settles back in to start his work. I watch as the marble starts to twist and soften under his gentle guidance. Every move he makes, every emanation of power that flows from his body into the floor imprints itself on my mind. I feel confident I can imitate him as I start to feel the pressure on my ankle lessen. I can also feel the added pain spreading through my body and cringe. I am not going to last much longer.

  “Hey,” Milo says.

  “What?” I ask, glad for the distraction from the pain. My foot is going to pop loose any second.

  “I love you too.”

  The agony of my foot coming free jolts me into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 23

  Helpless

  The steady beep-beep of medical equipment finally sinks into my brain and pulls me back to the waking world in a nauseating sweep. Getting my eyes open is another trick entirely although I don’t really want to open them anyway. My breathing is picking up by the second, reaching near panic very quickly. I need to wake up and find Milo. He’s the only thing that will calm me down. My eyes feel like they have lead weights on them. An image from a Jack the Ripper movie I once saw assaults me, reminding me of how people used to put coins on the dead’s eyes to pay the ferryman on their way to Hell. My eyes flutter open immediately, no coins falling away like I feared. Milo’s concerned face and the antiseptic walls of a hospital greet me.

  “Hey, you finally decided to wake up,” Milo says.

  “You brought me to the hospital?” I gasp as I sit up. I hate hospitals. An irrational desire to have Lance by my side grips me fiercely. He’s been there every other time I’ve been hurt. He knows how to keep me calm, to stop the panic. Thinking about him only adds to my pain, but I can’t help wish he were here with me now. My breathing rapidly starts climbing to hyperventilation. My head starts swimming, and I have to grab the side of the bed to keep from tipping over drunkenly. One thing I do notice is that my leg feels much, much better. The bandage indicating a needle prick on my arm might have something to do with that.

  “Libby, calm down. Your ankle was dangling like a loose tooth. What else was I supposed to do?” Milo pulls his chair close to my bed and brushes my hair back from my face in slow, soothing motions. Every stroke takes my panic down a notch. “You slept through the worst part, at least. Your leg has already been X-rayed and the bones set back in place. We’re just waiting on the doctor to start putting on your cast.”

  My vision begins to clear as I tap my Naturalism and force my breathing to slow. I lock my gaze on Milo to stave off another wave of panic, forcing away thoughts of Lance. It takes me a moment to focus enough to process what Milo just said. “A cast? Manuel must have died laughing about this.”

  Milo grins. “Just a little.”

  “He’s hopeless,” I mumble through my clenched jaw.

  “Funny,” Milo says with a laugh, “that’s exactly what he said about you.”

  Maybe it’s the drugs, or Milo’s ability to somewhat distract me, but I laugh too. Another broken bone. What does that make now, thirteen? Unlucky thirteen, that would definitely make sense. My morphine-induced laughter subsides by the time the door pushes open. I’m shocked to find a familiar face when it opens all the way.

  “Doctor Layton?”

  “Good afternoon, Libby. It’s always nice to see you, though you do know you can come say hello without breaking a bone first, don’t you?” he says. His words are as cheerful as they’ve ever been. I’m immediately suspicious. Everyone else is at least a little nervous around me. What exactly did he give me? My eyes narrow as I scour him for a clue. He notices my reaction and sighs. “Sorry, Libby. I’ll admit that when they told me you were here I was nervous, but seeing you laid out unconscious, it sorts of takes away the ‘you’re going to kill everyone’ vibe. You’re the same girl I’ve treated a dozen times before.”

  There is no deception in what he’s saying. I manage to relax a little more. Maybe this will work on the kids at school, too. It’s hard to be afraid of the gimpy loser kid hobbling around on crutches. “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Layton. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else trying to fix me up.” Seriously. Hospitals freak me out bad enough without having to go through it with a stranger.

  “Nobody knows your bones better than I do, that’s for sure.” He sits down on his stool and starts the long process of casting my foot. After the first few layers are in place, he says, “You’ll have to keep this on for two or three weeks, but it looks like it should heal up fine.”

  “Two or three weeks?” Milo asks. “That doesn’t seem like very long.”

  “For a normal person, it wouldn’t be, but for Libby it’s more than enough time. Her Strength makes her heal faster than others,” he explains.

  “Is that usually how it works?” Milo asks.

  Dr. Layton nods. “To some degree. Everyone with Strength heals slightly faster than those without it, but Libby has always astounded me. The first time her dad brought her in, she had fallen out of a tree and broken her wrist. I set it and cast it, and scheduled for her to come back in three weeks to see how she was doing. Imagine my surprise when the X-ray showed the break was completely healed. Normally, Strength speeds up recovery by a couple of days at the most. Not weeks.”

  One more thing to betray me as a freak. I’m the only one who thinks so, apparently.

  Milo has a different opinion. “That’s awesome.”

  “Very,” Dr. Layton agrees.

  Well, at least they’re enjoying themselves. Their reactions do make me smile, though, even if my hands are still shaking. Milo quizzes Dr
. Layton about the other weird things my body can do, like withstand more extreme temperatures than others, take more damage before breaking down, go without food or water for longer, and a few other bizarre qualities that only I seem to possess. He keeps it up the entire time Dr. Layton is wrapping me in plaster. I tune them out after a while and try to think about nothing at all until this experience is over. Milo’s fingers constantly stroking my arm make that pretty much impossible.

  Thinking about him isn’t bad, either.

  Hours later, Milo carries me into my motel room and gently places me on the bed. After giving me a couple more pain pills, he lies down next to me. “How are you feeling?”

  “About my leg, or everything else?”

  “About all of it.”

  “My leg is feeling mildly better, and I don’t know what to think about my mom. Confronting her didn’t go like I thought it would,” I say.

  Milo motions toward my foot with a half-smile. “Obviously not.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I mean. Actually, I figured I would probably get hurt. What I meant was what she said. She really thought me and my dad would make it through the Serqet alive. She wasn’t trying to kill me, not that time at least. It doesn’t really change anything, now, I guess, but…it makes me feel a little better. Is that stupid?”

  “No, of course not, Libby. Your mom’s never going to win any parenting awards, but at least you know she did love you in her own way,” Milo says.

  “Just not enough.”

  “But I do,” Milo says seriously. “I love you very much, and I’ve been dying you tell you that.”

  My racing heart puddles in my chest and sends waves of heat barreling through my veins. “I love you too, Milo. I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you in a better way. Only my mom could screw something like that up for me.”

  “I don’t care what made you say it. I’m just glad you did.” His fingers come up to my face and trace along my cheekbone and jaw. “Actually, I think it’s pretty hot that you told me you loved me while you were trying to save my life.”