Inquest

by Gladden, DelSheree

  I have two, maybe three minutes. Lance is asking me something, but I can’t focus on him right now. A full, twelve-member Guardian strike team is on their way to the stage. Not even Lance and Milo, with his fledgling Guardian abilities, will be able to handle that. I have to help. My consciousness centers on my leg, accessing my Naturalism to see what one week has done for my ankle. Hopefully having my talents unlocked will mean an even speedier recovery than usual. The crack is still there, but less defined than before. It will have to do.

  Shoving my fingers down the sides of the cast, I pull against it with everything I have. Faced with my Strength, the plaster and gauze disintegrate. I look up to find myself faced with a stunned Lance. “Guardians!” I exclaim before dashing down the aisle.

  I don’t know if Lance is following. I can’t see anything in front of me. All I can do is push people out of my way as I flash through the throng to the stage. Tapping into my Concealment, I send feelers out in all directions, searching, desperate to know how far away they are. Two dozen yards to my left, I find the first one. My Speed leaps to its fullest. Grating pain throbs in my ankle. Dr. Layton is going to kill me for this. Two more steps and I reach the edge of the crowd. The sudden emptiness feels odd, but I can finally see Milo. He’s waiting patiently while Celia gushes over the dancer.

  “Milo,” I scream, “Guardians!”

  Milo crouches, and Celia does exactly what we’ve trained her to do. She runs. But not without grabbing Isabelle Sanders and yanking her back behind the curtain to safety. I reach the stairs leading up to the stage just as the team of Guardians converges on Milo at a speed I can’t match with my injury.

  Fast before his second Inquest, Milo is even faster now, but the Speed and Strength he’s attempting to use are way beyond what he is used to. Instead of the fluid grace with which Lance executes every move, Milo lurches and stumbles through his attacks. A dozen hits have already gotten through his defenses when I reach the stage floor. Luckily none of them have been fatal. They seem to want him alive. Their focus is entirely spent on Milo, so none of them even react to my advance. I take out the two closest to me with lightning-fast flicks of my hands to the base of their necks. They drop like spaghetti, drawing the attention of everyone else.

  The split-second surprise they suffer gives me all the opening I need. I drop to a crouch and sweep my leg out to the left. The nearest Guardian falls hard and tries to bounce back up, but my elbow to his throat ends that attempt. Vision actually warns me of the next attack. I leap into the air and watch as another Guardian’s low tackle misses completely. My heel comes down hard on his neck. The snapping of his Strength-enhanced vertebrae makes me cringe, but I don’t stop moving.

  Milo is back in action, and Lance leaps onto the stage and engages two at once. There go his chances of ever joining them. The gusto with which he snaps one Guardian’s neck and slices into the knee cap of another one with his Guardian blade makes me think he doesn’t care about that right now. Focusing on the random glimpses I’m getting, I leave the two of them to their work and take down Guardian after Guardian.

  It can’t be more than a few seconds before all but one is either dead or unconscious on the ground. Milo is panting on the floor next to his last opponent, and Lance is kicking away the Guardian that fell on him in his death throes. Apparently they’re both fine, leaving the last one to me. Thanks. My ankle is killing me.

  Tall, broad shouldered, and surprisingly young, the last Guardian faces me balanced between admiration and wariness. The insignia on his jacket marks him as the leader. Vision reveals no intention of him attacking, so I hold my stance as well. “Call off this attack and I’ll let whoever is still alive stay that way,” I say.

  “I can’t do that, Cassia.” His firm voice only betrays his nerves when he gets to my true name. I don’t like hearing it any more than he does. I doubt anyone does.

  My gaze slips over his shoulder to the frozen mass of ballet patrons. Every eye in the theater is focused on me. The cameras in place to record the opening performance are trained on me as well. Their red indicator lights glare at me from the darkness like a pack of evil fairytale monsters. There is no going back, now. No pretending I’m not Cassia. If I had to guess, I would say this whole thing is playing live around the world. The chances of me seeing my eighteenth birthday just decreased dramatically. I sigh and focus my attention back on the remaining Guardian.

  “Just give us the Cipher…”

  How odd that he knows the nickname Mr. Walters gave Milo.

  “…and we’ll leave you and the others in peace. I promise that I will not attack you or your friends, even that one, though I’d truly like to strip him of his weapon right now for his traitorous involvement in this,” he says gesturing at Lance.

  Lance kicks the Guardian next to him and snorts at the promise. Unless this guy is Super Guardian, the threat of him attacking us at this point seems pretty minimal. He is still alive, though, so you never really know. I know better than anyone that people are rarely what they seem.

  “You give me your word, Guardian…” I pause, waiting for him to fill in the blank. If I get a promise from a Guardian I definitely want a name to go along with it.

  “Braden,” he supplies, his head tilting to one side at my request. He almost seems curious, or maybe he’s just trying to memorize my features for when he comes back to kill me, but he stares at me very intently with an odd expression on his face. It’s like he’s trying to figure something out, but I can’t imagine what would be more important right now than wrapping up this mess.

  “You give me your word, Guardian Braden, that if I give you Milo you’ll leave without hurting my friends?” I ask.

  His first two fingers touch the emblem on his dagger, and he says, “I do.”

  The gesture binds him to make an honest answer, which I appreciate, but hardly need given the truthful aura surrounding him. Still, it’s good to know that the guy hunting me and my friends is at least honest.

  “The first problem with that is,” I say, “that Milo is my friend, too.”

  Braden’s expression shifts to amusement as he brushes a dark lock of hair out of his face. His eyes don’t leave mine. “Yes, I figured that when you leapt up here to defend him. What’s the second problem?”

  He’s being so…decent about this. Most Guardians I ever tried to argue with just backhanded me, or something equally unappreciated. He actually seems to want to know what I have to say. Is it weird that I find myself actually liking this guy? There’s got to be something seriously wrong with me. “The second problem is…Milo isn’t what you think he is. He has talents. You can check for yourself.”

  “I don’t need to see the forgeries he’s been wearing since his Inquest. The Inquisitor who tried to hide him already confessed to his crimes,” Braden says.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  I motion for Milo to stand up and join me. This will bring him within reach of Braden, but he trusts my judgment and moves to stand up. Well, he attempts to stand up, anyway. A trail of blood running down the side of his face that I couldn’t see before makes him wobble. The way he winces when he puts weight on his right leg doesn’t look very good either. My heart convulses with worry. I can’t show Braden any more weakness than I already have, though. My eyes beg Lance for help. He responds with pleasure at having to help a woozy Milo stand up.

  Braden’s brow arches in surprise as the two draw near us. I keep a careful eye on my Vision for any warning that his interest will turn dangerous, but I get no such glimpses. He waits patiently for me to take Milo’s left arm and hold it out for him to inspect. His cuff is covering his diktats. I move to push his sleeve back, but Braden folds his arm across his chest, a none too subtle sign that he is no longer amused.

  “Wrong hand,” he says.

  “No,” I say, “it’s not.” My fingers slide up the cuff of his shirt. The black band of diktats that go almost completely around his wrist look like onyx under the st
age lights. Milo’s eyes are growing glassy, but Braden’s double in size.

  “I…I don’t understand. How did this happen?”

  My lips part to explain, but instinct warns me to be careful. He may be willing to let me talk rather than just killing us all, but he’s still a Guardian. Not to mention the video cameras trained on me right now. “The first Inquisitor, he did something wrong. I redid the Inquest and Milo’s diktats appeared.”

  The frown Braden is wearing crinkles his eyes. I can’t tell whether or not he believes me because I’m too focused on Milo’s pain to tune into his emotions at the moment. Milo is trying to hold off his agony, but he’s losing ground. Braden seems doubtful of my explanation, but Milo’s problem was unique. Who is Braden to know for sure what could remedy the situation? “Why are the diktats on his left arm?” Braden asks finally. “And why are they black?”

  I shrug in false ignorance. “Maybe because I’m the one who unlocked them,” I say, lifting my own hand in comparison. “I don’t know, but he’s not talentless. You can’t have him.”

  My body tenses as Braden reaches out for Milo’s hand. I scour the future and get assurance from my Vision that Braden won’t hurt Milo, but I don’t back down. Milo is barely aware of the fact that his new diktats are being poked and examined by the man who just led a strike team against him. The bump on the side of Milo’s head makes me anxious to wrap this up and get him some help.

  “They’re real,” I snap, worry edging into my voice. “You can’t deny they’re real. Let us leave.”

  Braden’s blade flips out of its sheath with a harsh whisper. My own hand intercepts his before he can do anything with it. The threat in my eyes and stance is met by a peaceful, but insistent, posture from Braden. “I need to be sure,” he says softly.

  Every talent I have works furiously to reassure me. My Vision finally splutters and gives up, but I can sense the calm energy of his body and his honest need to examine Milo. There’s no readiness to fight, or malice in him. More than anything there is curiosity, about Milo, but even more about me. Even feeling secure in Braden’s intentions, it’s almost impossible to make my fingers uncurl from his wrist. The dark red marks that I leave behind when I finally do let go gives me a faint pang of guilt. I hadn’t meant to grab him that hard.

  It’s an insect bite compared to my fear for Milo, though. My stomach takes a nose dive when Braden presses the blade against Milo’s wrist. The slow draw of the knife across his skin mimics the sound of steel on steel. No blood colors his transformed skin, but I cringe until the tip pings and slips away. Braden puts his blade away and drops his hands to his side.

  “He looks like he needs medical attention,” Braden says. “I would suggest getting him to a doctor as soon as possible. Head wounds can be dangerous.”

  “Wait,” Lance interrupts, “you’re just going to let us go? Is there another strike team waiting outside to ambush us?”

  “No, of course not.” Braden seems offended by the insinuation. His stringent honor is a far cry from what I usually see in Guardians.

  “Why?” Lance demands.

  Braden rolls his shoulders in a careful shrug, his eyes trained on me. “I was sent here to collect a Cipher…”

  Again with that nickname.

  “…but your friend is not one. I have no other reason to arrest him.”

  Lance looks less than convinced, but I’m not going to let him stand around and argue the point. The next strike leader might not be so understanding. “Lance, take Milo out to the car. You’re going to have to drive.”

  I turned to the curtain behind me. “Celia?” I call. She creeps out from behind the heavy curtain still holding Isabelle Sanders’ hand. “Celia, go with Lance and Milo. Miss Sanders, everything is fine now. You should probably go to your dressing room.”

  The dancer scampers away daintily, but Celia hesitates. “You’re coming, right?”

  I look to Braden for an answer to that question. “Are you going to take me in?”

  What I just did probably constitutes a breach in my agreement with Howe. Braden surprisesme by shaking his head. “I only came here for your friend. If you’re going to be arrested, it will be by someone else. My job here tonight is finished.”

  Not a hard and fast guarantee I didn’t just sign my own death warrant, but it’s better than nothing.

  “I’ll be right behind you, Celia. Now go help Milo.” The insistence in my voice pushes her to act. I want Milo out of this theater as quickly as possible. The crowd below us opens in front of them. Their cowering assures me that they’ll be safe all the way to the car. I want to race after them, but I have one more thing to take care of.

  “Braden,” I say, “thank you.”

  He regards me curiously. “Apparently you’re the one to thank. I would be very interested to know the specifics of how you accomplished unlocking your friend’s talents. The Inquisitor who performed his Inquest was very talented.”

  “Maybe another time,” I say anxiously.

  “I may just hold you to that,” Braden says. I have a bad feeling that he means that. If he does, I’ll deal with him later.

  “Look, Braden, you’re going to tell your bosses, or whoever told you to come after Milo that he’s not what they thought. He’s a regular person just like you and me.”

  Braden’s eyebrow rises at the comparison. Oh, yeah. I am the farthest thing from normal imaginable, and for some reason I doubt Braden fits into that category either. He looks to be in his early twenties, but that is way too young to be leading a professional strike force. Maybe I was wrong about him being Super Guardian.

  “You know what I mean. Anyway, you’re going to tell them, right? Nobody else will come after Milo?” I’m begging, but Milo is worth it.

  “I’ll tell the Captain what I’ve seen. It should be enough to keep anyone from coming after your friend again, but I can’t promise you it won’t happen. And I can’t make any promises about what Howe will do about you, either, Cassia.”

  “My name is Libby,” I snap.

  He nods his apology. “Libby. I’ll do my best to convince the Captain of what I’ve seen, but it will be his call. Watch over your friend for the time being. Watch out for yourself, too.”

  It’s the best I could have hoped for, but I still feel a pang of disappointment. “I will, and thanks for giving me the chance to explain.”

  My concern for Milo has reached its limit. I’ve gotten some hope of Milo’s long term safety, even if mine is more uncertain than ever, but his short term health is even more pressing. I turn to follow after them. The loss of adrenaline and focused Strength buckles my ankle. I’d completely forgotten about it. I reach out to catch myself, but Braden moves faster. His hand clamps down on my arm and pulls me back to my feet. A strange tingling races up my arm at his touch. I find my balance quickly, but he doesn’t let go.

  “Are you alright?” he asks.

  “What do you care?” I ask, though my tone is more curious than vicious. He’s different than most of the Guardians I’ve met. “You’re going to try to kill me at some point anyway, right?”

  He shrugs. “At some point…maybe. But for now, do you need help getting to your car?”

  “Right, you carrying me to my car? That’ll make a great headline for the ten o’clock news. No thanks. My ankle’s broken, but it’s not bad enough that I can’t walk on it. I’ll be fine.”

  Braden releases my arm and takes a small step back. One of his brothers moans. My cue to get going. Carefully, I limp toward the stairs.

  “Maybe I’ll see you again, Libby,” Braden says.

  I look back, and say, “No offense, Braden, but I really hope not.”

  Chapter 30

  Purpose

  The door pulls open and light spills across the porch. A middle-aged woman still dressed in an elegant black evening gown from the hospital’s staff Christmas party stands in the entryway. Her confused frown looks out of place on her soft features. I slink back from the light, t
elling myself again what a terrible idea this is. We should have just taken Milo to the hospital.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Hanover,” Lance says, “I believe this young man belongs to you.”

  Her eyes finally take in more than the stranger addressing her. The sight of her bloody son hanging limply on Lance’s arm shocks her into reacting. “Milo! What happened?”

  “He and a Guardian strike team had a minor disagreement,” Lance replies.

  “Guardians!” Mrs. Hanover gasps. “Matthew! Matthew, get down here right now! The Guardians found Milo!”

  The terror in her voice is answered immediately by the pounding of footsteps. A man with lightly graying brown hair barrels down the staircase and takes in the scene with the practiced calm of an experienced ER doctor. Which is probably because that’s exactly what he is. “Get him into the living room and lay him on the couch. Annabelle, get my bag from my office, please. Celia? Celia, honey, are you alright?”

  Stuck behind Lance and Milo, Celia calls out to her worried father. “I’m fine, Dad, just take care of Milo.”

  Lance lugs Milo through the doorway, allowing Celia to dart inside the house and race into the living room ahead of them. Mrs. Hanover rushes back in and crosses the entryway without looking at me once, her voice filling the room as she starts yelling at Milo.

  “What on earth were you doing that got the Guardians’ attention? How many times have we told you that you have to be careful? Look at you, Milo! You could have been killed!”

  “I was being careful,” Milo growls. “I’m always the one being careful! You and Dad were the ones trying to get me killed from the beginning!”

  The argument fades in volume, if not in anger, as they drag Milo into the den. His dad joins in as soon as he gets back in sight of his son, bag of supplies in hand. It’s a free-for-all of blame and accusations. I’m left here without anyone missing me. I can leave, sneak outside and wait. Milo’s dad will help him, and he and his wife will never be the wiser about me. I am trembling with concern for Milo. He perked back up on the drive over, and his ability to fight with his parents now shows he’s in control of his faculties. I can’t say the same thing about his temper. It’s a promising sign, but I’m afraid of his condition turning back around. I have to know he’s okay. Plus, Celia is the worst secret-keeper in the world. She’ll spill the whole story the moment Milo is okay.