by Tonya Kuper
I smiled. But it quickly faded. “Reid…something’s happening to me.”
Then the world tilted and I felt myself falling, slipping into darkness.
Reid
O
ne second Josie was on the verge of smiling, and the next she’d crumpled to the ground. I caught her head, keeping it from striking the sand. “Josie? Josie?” This happened to Nick a few times after excessive Pushing and Retracting. Between the storm—which I was fairly certain she conjured—and the forest, she’d overexerted herself.
She made a sound in the back of her throat and moved her head but didn’t open her eyes. She should be okay after some rest, but I still didn’t like it.
I carried Josie farther along the beach to the winding path that cut through the mangroves and back to the main roads. We exited to a silent street. A handful of cars were parked in metered spots beneath the streetlights. I Pushed an older model Mercedes. The better to blend in with the campaign fundraiser/award ceremony attendants. I jogged to the car and set Josie on her feet, leaning on me. She slumped against my side. I settled her across the backseat, then climbed in the driver’s side and started toward the tiny hole-in-the-wall motel I’d checked out when we first came to town.
We pulled up to the motel, off Highway 75, hidden behind several larger buildings and surrounded by pines. The L flickered on and off. The MOTE had seen better days. Like maybe in the sixties. A single light highlighted each grungy red door, except the one on the far end. In a movie, someone would probably die in a motel like this.
I parked in the stall directly in front of the lobby window, so I could keep an eye on the car while I booked us a room. I Pushed a blanket to cover Josie in the backseat. We couldn’t take a chance that anyone would see her.
The old lady behind the check-in desk looked cozy, with her nose buried in a romance novel and her feet slung across a stained recliner. I checked in and swung back to Josie in less than three minutes. I moved the car down in front of our room—the one missing the overhead light on the end. A banyan tree blocked the view of the car from the main road. To be safe, I Pushed the exterior of the car to match a beat-up Taurus.
I bent into the backseat to pick up Josie, letting the blanket fall away. Placing my head by her face, I waited for her breath on my cheek and watched her chest rise and fall. The movement was slight, but it was there. I placed my fingers on her neck and found a pulse. Like a drained battery, she’d be out of commission until she recharged.
I carefully scooped her into my arms, checked the area for anyone watching, and carried her into the room. I Pushed an entirely new bed, including Avenger sheets like Josie’s.
I sat next to her on the bed, one dim table lamp illuminating her face. I didn’t know how long I stared at her, memorizing her face as if it wasn’t already imprinted onto my brain.Eventually, she stirred, and I stretched out so my face was in front of hers. “Josie?”
Her eyes blinked open and she grabbed her head. “What happened? Where are we?”
“You fainted—I think you’ve used a lot of energy today. We’re in a motel.”
She shifted up to a seated position.
“Go slow,” I cautioned. “How do you feel physically?”
She shook her head. “I feel…okay.” Her gaze fell to the bed and her fingertips traced the outline of Thor printed on the sheets.
Not wanting to rush her, I waited for her to talk. After a few minutes, she finally cleared her throat but continued to study the bed sheets. “I killed people,” she said quietly. “Well, I killed Santos for sure.” Her head shook. I understood the overwhelming feelings that came with taking a life. It would require time to process this, to move past it. If I were being honest, most people never did. Killing…stayed with a person. And in this war, I suspected there would be many casualties before the end.
She lifted her face to mine. “I’m sorry I killed him. I didn’t want to hurt him. I really…I don’t want to be vengeful.” Her face dropped to the bed again. “How could I end a life? That’s…”
“Hey,” I said, pulling her chin up. “Don’t you dare apologize. You were protecting yourself against someone who intended to harm you. Besides, he wasn’t my friend—it was an act.”
I needed to get her mind off Santos’s death and, thankfully, I had something that might do just that.
I dug in my pocket, held my hand out to Josie, and she automatically opened her hand under mine. “This was left for you.” I let the tiny memory card fall into her hand. “By your mom.
“Here.” I pulled out my phone. “You can use it in here.” She silently offered the rectangle back to me and watched as I inserted the memory card and accessed the storage. “There’s only one thing on here. A video.” I got it set to play, then handed Josie my phone.
This message was personal—I didn’t need to hear it. “I’ll step outside the door and give you—”
“No!” Her hand clasped around my forearm. “Don’t. Don’t leave,” she pleaded, the fear in her voice thick.
“’Kay.”
Her finger hit the triangle, and her mother came onto the screen. It appeared as if she’d videoed herself with a phone.
Mrs. Harper cleared her throat and began. “Josie, we received intel that the mission had been compromised. Your brother was sent to a safe place, and I left town as a decoy. We’d hoped the operatives would advance on me.”
A deep crease formed between Josie’s brows.
“As of right now,” the video continued, “I don’t know how this will turn out, but you must know that I asked you to do this not because I wanted to put you in danger, but because you are the only person in this world I trust. You are a good person—so good and bright and caring. I knew you could complete the mission. I had every faith in you.” A tear rolled down Mrs. Harper’s cheek and dropped off her face.
“You are one of my best accomplishments in life, alongside your brothers. I know I don’t always show it and I’m sorry for that. Just know…I love you more than any serum or cause. I love you more than life. I’m so proud of you.”
Rivers of emotion fell from Josie’s eyes. She cried, yet the corners of her lips turned upward in the smallest smile. I gently rubbed her shoulder. I didn’t know what kind of comfort or support to give in this situation. I shot off the bed to retrieve the box of tissues and stuffed one in Josie’s free hand.
Mrs. Harper continued on the video. “The Hub is expecting you, but they do not know that you’ll be trying to identify the leak, that you’ll be on your own mission. If you decide not to do this, I understand. It is asking a lot of you. Either way, I’ll be in touch with you soon.” Mrs. Harper wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I love you, Josie.” Her mom ended with a smile.
Josie grinned at the video through pools of tears. I’d never realized how much someone else’s hurt and healing could affect my own—until now.
Josie set the phone on the nightstand next to the lamp, and I shoved more tissues into her hands. “You wanna talk?” I asked.
Her head shook. “About Mom? Eventually, but not yet. Thank you. Will…will you hold me again?”
I smiled. “As long as you want me to.” Josie’s head rested on my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. I Pushed the lamp off and we laid together in the dark.
“This is so screwed up,” she said after a couple of minutes. “Do you think we’ll survive?”
“It is. Everything happens for a reason, though. We have to believe that or there is no hope. But you don’t have to go to the Hub. You have a choice. You can go into the Hub with me or you can go into hiding. Or do whatever you want. With or without me.” I’d never willingly leave her, but I didn’t have to be next to her at all times to keep her safe.
Did I want her to tell me to leave her? Did I want her to choose to do something without me? If I was honest with myself, no. I was a selfish bastard. I wanted to be with her, no matter what she wanted to do. But the choice was hers, not mine.
Silence filled the
air. “Josie?”
“I’m going to the Hub. With you. That’s my choice.”
I pulled her tighter.
“Reid?”
“Yeah?”
“This is just the beginning, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Santos isn’t the only Oculi who wants the serum. Now that it’s out in the world, in the VP’s hands, there are going to be others dying for it. This is war.”
Josie
W
e rumbled down the road, the sun not above the rooftops yet, the sky painted pink.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever sleep again after personally taking someone’s life. Visions of a figure bound in chains, falling into the ocean, haunted my slumber. The same dream played on repeat but in the last one, the dream before I woke, I could see the person thrashing underwater. Then, like the camera zoomed in, I saw the person’s face. And it wasn’t Santos. It was me.
I wanted to talk to Reid about it, but I couldn’t yet.
“Can we swing by the school on our way out of town?” I yelled into his ear.
He laughed. “Only you would want to blow kisses good-bye to your school.” I pulled my hand off my thigh and put it in his peripheral, then gave him the backward Vulcan salute. “You’re not supposed to distract the driver,” he shouted over the engine.
We pulled up to the main entrance of the school, Stingy the Sting Ray statue greeting us. Reid gave me his cocky half smile. “I’ll give you two a moment alone.”
I rolled my eyes at his smartass comment and left him on the idling bike.
I slid my hand over what had become my usual lunch table. All I’d wanted was my own life when I thought everything was going against me. But it was in me all along. The ability to create my own reality.
I slapped the concrete table.
Reid watched me quietly and didn’t make any wisecracks when I jogged back to him. We took off on the bike again, and I glanced over my shoulder to watch my school shrink to a dot on the horizon. Good-bye, Planck life.
Ten minutes later, Reid and I were one stoplight away from the onramp for the interstate highway.
Leaving everything I knew behind me, I traveled in the direction of uncertainty. Though I didn’t know what the future held, I knew I’d have more choices presented to me. And it was what I did with those choices that would make all the difference.
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Acknowledgments
First, I thank God for a world full of possibilities. Then I must thank you, readers, for taking a chance and picking up this book.
A heartfelt thank-you to Liz Pelletier, my editor and publisher, for giving me the opportunity to turn my dreams into reality. Mountains of gratitude and rivers of gold wouldn’t be enough to express my appreciation and love for my friend and agent, Nicole Resciniti. Thank you, Nic. Stacy Abrams (who is made of pure awesome), Meredith Johnson, Robin Haseltine, and Tiffany Inman, thank you for being editing ninjas. Debbie Suzuki, Heather Riccio, and Deb Shapiro, thank you for your guidance and publicity work.
Thank you to: Marisa Cleveland, you got this party started and I wouldn’t be where I am without you; Eliza Tilton, Laura Stanford, Lisa Burstein, for your crits over the years; amazing authors who’ve provided writer love and friendship—Cecy Robson, Kate SeRine, Jessica Lemmon, Elizabeth Eulberg, Dawn Chartier, Lydia Kang, Danielle Young, Mary Weber, Brenna Ehrlich, and Cole Gibsen; Kate Brauning and Lynne Matson (my personal Yodas) for taking “crit partner” to a different level. Love you, ladies. To my local Starbucks baristas, you guys rock.
To my dear friends, Courtney Suarez, Claudia Lokamas, and Debi Auch Moedy, who’ve cheered me on since day one, you have no idea what that means to me. Your friendship is priceless. Thanks to the Kuper family for your ongoing support—I’m so fortunate to have the cool in-laws. Mom (Mary Youngblood), Dad (Dean Youngblood), and Deanna Trout (my rad sister), along with her fam, Brian, Toby, and Cheyenne, your enthusiasm and encouragement has filled my heart—thank you. Fletcher and Sullivan, thank you for sharing me with my characters and being the best part of my reality. Your compassion and silliness is what inspires me. Chaz, this book wouldn’t exist without you. You’ve made sacrifices and given more than you had, just to see my goals realized. You believed in me even when I didn’t. I’ll never be able to thank you enough, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying. My three boys, you are my everything—I love you.
About the Author
Tonya Kuper fell for young adult literature while she earned her MS in Reading Education and her love for it continued as a stay-at-home-mom. Tonya is a scifi dork and alt music freak. She lives in Omaha, Nebraska with her husband and two awesome boys. ANOMALY is Tonya’s debut novel. To connect with Tonya, find her lots of places online or at www.tonyakuper.com.
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Looking for another kickass heroine?
Don’t miss Amy Engel’s thrilling and romantic
THE BOOK OF IVY
Available now
Read on for a sneak peek!
What would you kill for?
After a brutal nuclear war, the United States was left decimated. A small group of survivors eventually banded together, but only after more conflict over which family would govern the new nation. The Westfalls lost. Fifty years later, peace and control are maintained by marrying the daughters of the losing side to the sons of the winning group in a yearly ritual.
This year, it is my turn.
My name is Ivy Westfall, and my mission is simple: to kill the president’s son—my soon-to-be husband—and return the Westfall family to power.
But Bishop Lattimer is either a very skilled actor or he’s not the cruel, heartless boy my family warned me to expect. He might even be the one person in this world who truly understands me. But there is no escape from my fate. I am the only one who can restore the Westfall legacy.
Because Bishop must die. And I must be the one to kill him…
From Chapter 1
“And today, for the first time, we have a marriage between a Lattimer and a Westfall,” President Lattimer says with a smile. It looks genuine to me, and maybe it is. But I also know what this marriage means to him. It’s another way to cement his power, which is what he is really happy about. After my father, there will be no more Westfalls. It’s not enough for President Lattimer that the Westfall line has run out—he has to turn my children into Lattimers, too.
“Up until now, neither one of our families has been very good at producing girls,” President Lattimer continues. There is a rumble of laughter from the crowd, but I can’t bring myself to join in, even though I know I should. When the chuckles die down, President Lattimer holds up the envelope for everyone to see. “The president’s son and the founder’s daughter,” he calls.
My father was not the founder, of course. It was his father who founded this town and was then usurped by Alexander Lattimer and his followers. But it was established early on that the original founder’s descendant would take on the title of founder, the same way Alexander Lattimer’s descendant is called president. It’s a meaningless title. The founder has no say in how the nation is run. He’s only a ceremonial figurehead, trotted out to prove how peaceful we are. How well our system of government works. The title of founder is like giving a beautifully wrapped present with nothing inside. They hope we’ll be so distracted by the shiny outside, we won’t notice the box is empty.
“Bishop Lattimer,” the president calls out in a clear, ringing voice. The sound of the envelope, the paper
tearing, seems as loud as a scream to my ears. I can feel hundreds of eyes on me and I hold my head high. President Lattimer draws the paper out with a flourish and smiles in my direction. He mouths my name, Ivy Westfall, but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears and the pounding of my heart.
I take a final deep breath, trying to draw courage into my lungs like air. Trying to stomp down the anger that buzzes through my veins like poison. I stand, my legs steadier than I thought they would be. My heels click on the tile floor as I make my way to the stairs. Behind me, the crowd claps and shouts, a few irreverent whistles punctuating the chaos. As I start up the stairs, President Lattimer reaches down and takes my elbow.
“Ivy,” he says. “We’re glad you’re joining our family.” His eyes are warm. I feel betrayed by them. They should be icy and indifferent, to match the rest of him.
“Thank you,” I say, with a steady voice that doesn’t sound like my own. “I’m glad, too.”
Once I’m onstage, the other couples move even closer to the edge so that I can make my way to the center, where Bishop Lattimer waits for me. I hold his unwavering gaze. He is even taller than I thought, but I am tall, too, and for once my height is a blessing. I would not want this boy to dwarf me. I feel powerless enough already.
He has dark hair, like his father. Although up close, I can see lighter streaks in among the coffee brown strands, as if he’s spent a lot of time outdoors, under the sun. That makes sense given the rumors I’ve heard about him over the years: that he prefers to be outdoors rather than in, that his father has to force him to attend council meetings, and that he’s more often found rafting on the river than inside City Hall.
His eyes are a cool, clear green, and they study me with an intensity that makes my stomach cramp. His gaze is neither hostile nor welcoming but appraising, like I am a problem he is figuring out how to solve. He doesn’t come toward me, but when I get close enough to hold out a hand, as I’ve been coached to do, he takes it in his. His fingers are warm and strong when they close over mine. He squeezes my hand briefly, which startles the breath in my throat. Was he trying to be kind? Reassure me? I don’t know, because when I glance at him, his eyes are on the minister waiting in the wings.
