Sentinel

by Emerald Dodge

  My best chance was to appeal to the goodness of Elder St. James, and Elder Lloyd, Reid’s elder. Elder St. James knew me and had a history of fairness. Moreover, he was Marco’s uncle. Maybe he’d be kind to us. And Reid had spoken highly of Elder Lloyd. He’d lost his only child, Eleazar, to battle more than twenty years ago, and had apparently assuaged his grief over the years by being a father to trainees instead. Maybe he’d be a father to Reid at the tribunal.

  But I was not comfortable depending on “maybe.”

  The events of the summer had seemed so natural and justified when they’d happened. I’d run off, Patrick had gone berserk and tried to kill everyone, and then I took over the team.

  We’d operated flawlessly since then, overseeing a reduction in crime across the city. Civilians approached us all the time to express gratitude for saving them from this and that. Some well-meaning graffiti artist had spray painted a mural of the five of us on a wall downtown, though it had been painted over a few days later. My official position was that I didn’t approve of graffiti, but I thought the artist had captured Benjamin’s good looks quite well.

  My favorite picture-sharing app had crashed when I’d posted a group photo of us on the beach, laughing with abandon. Apparently, the app couldn’t handle tens of thousands of well-wishes in thirty minutes.

  The elders wouldn’t care. I wasn’t allowed to lead, but I’d assumed leadership. It was as simple as that. Therein lay the dissonance that had chipped away at my happiness for six weeks.

  If I returned to the camp to answer the summons, I was implying that they had the authority to summon me. If they had the authority to summon me, then they had the authority to dictate how my team should operate, and how I should be punished for violating those rules.

  My presence at the tribunal could easily be perceived as a public admission that I was in the wrong… if I could not justify my actions on their terms.

  I respected the elders. They’d taught me how to be a hero. Though I did not agree with their prohibition of female leaders, I would return to the camp to explain myself. I could be reasonable.

  Besides, if I didn’t answer the summons, there would be consequences.

  So what would they do to me? Nobody had ever done what I’d done.

  I gazed up at Benjamin. “I’m scared,” I whispered.

  “You fought lions.” He tweaked my nose.

  “Lions can’t take me away from you and make me serve on another team.”

  “Why do you have to go back? Why not stay here?”

  I covered my eyes with my hand. “They’ll send a strike team to remove me, if they have to. I might know how to fight lions, but I’m not prepared to take on an entire team of trained fighters, half of whom would probably be my relatives. I know for sure that my cousin Kyle is on a strike team.”

  Benjamin leaned down and placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Whatever happens, whatever they decide, remember that we’re all with you to the very end.”

  “Got that right,” Marco murmured.

  I smiled a little. “I’m going to go take a bath,” I said, sitting up. “I suggest you all get to bed early, because we’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  I kissed the top of Benjamin’s head and tugged on Marco’s ear, then made my way upstairs to the bathroom Ember and I shared, closing the door behind me. I turned on the water and let the loud rushing sound fill my ears, blotting out the sadness and worries of the day. Though it was only mid-afternoon, I was drained.

  What is the worst they can do to me? The insidious question wedged itself into my brain.

  I slipped out of my shirt and pants and looked down. I liked what I saw, though my positive feelings were a recent development. I was confident that Benjamin liked what he saw, too, though he’d never seen this much.

  My deep brown hair, which hung a little below my shoulders, was thick and lustrous. I ran a hand over my toned bicep, slightly in awe that only hours before it had been shredded by claws. Thanks to Benjamin, it was as strong and smooth as ever. My lacy undergarments highlighted my feminine curves.

  I removed the undergarments and examined them, my finger tracing the patterns on the intricate lace. Before I moved to Saint Catherine I’d never imagined that such beautiful underwear existed. Beautiful items were few and far between at Chattahoochee camp.

  I’d been led to believe by several people in my life that I did not possess any natural beauty. Though my accomplishments and attentive boyfriend had vastly improved my self-image, I was aware that one part of my body was still quite ugly. I turned and craned my neck to see my back in the mirror.

  Dozens of white, pinched scars crisscrossed my pale flesh, mementos of December twenty-seventh two years ago. I reached a hand over my shoulder and touched one of the scars, then shuddered and pulled my hand away.

  Gregory had been dead for two years. I’d been nineteen, Marco had been sixteen, and we’d been convinced that we could find the Westerners and avenge my brother’s death. I never discovered who found out about our plan, but our fathers were waiting for us at the gate, their faces furious.

  Marco’s parents yelled at him for twenty minutes, denied him dinner for a week, and made him personally apologize to Elder St. James.

  My father dragged me to the middle of the camp at noon the next day, ripped off my shirt and bra, and caned me in front of everyone, yelling that I was a horrible excuse for a daughter while I screamed in terror and pain.

  Elder St. James finally had to step in and tell him enough was enough. Marco had run up and given me his shirt, then helped me to my feet and led me away.

  I’d sobbed for hours while he dabbed at my bleeding back. Because the wounds had healed long before I met Benjamin, his power could do nothing to remove the scars that remained.

  I stepped into the steaming bathtub, but the usual contentment found in bathing eluded me. I was going back to a place without indoor plumbing, without thick walls to keep out the December winds, without a kitchen for Reid to fill with delicious smells.

  What’s the worst they can do to me?

  I didn’t know the answer.

  All I knew was that I was going home, and I was scared.

  3

  “Can I drive?” Marco put on his seatbelt and leaned forward, gazing in open longing at the driver’s seat. Reid sat behind me. Ember was squished in between them.

  “Do you have a driver’s license?” Benjamin didn’t look up from the dashboard gauge he was checking.

  “No.”

  “Then you can’t drive.”

  The camp allies had given us a pickup truck for the trip and assured us it was roadworthy, but Benjamin had insisted on checking everything himself. He’d explained the various parts and their purposes to me, and I’d made a mental note to check out a book on auto mechanics from the library when I returned. If I return.

  Marco sat back and stared out the window, already lost in clearly-troubled thoughts. Inspiration struck, and I opened my door and dashed back into our house. I grabbed his knitting needles and blue yarn from the brown wicker basket next to the couch.

  After one last check that all was well, I slammed the door shut and locked it, then typed in the security code. If anyone broke in, the police would be alerted.

  When I was back in the passenger seat, I turned around and handed Marco the needles and yarn. “How about you knit me a new bracelet? I lost the old one at the zoo, and I’d like to have another one to wear at the tribunal.”

  Marco sighed dramatically but took the knitting supplies from me and hooked the yarn onto the ends.

  Benjamin started the truck and entered an address into the GPS. Neither Marco nor I could recall the way to our childhood home, having left it only once, in the middle of the night.

  I reviewed our packing list and mentally checked off that we’d put everything in the bed: a duffel with our food, clothes, toiletries, and blankets, as well as cardboard boxes of canned foods, toys, clothes, fresh groceries, camping supplies, toiletries, a
nd first aid kits for the rest of the people at the camp. Our backpacks lay at our feet, filled with spare uniforms and personal items. I wasn’t sure what was in Marco’s faded green backpack, but I suspected it was handmade gifts for his little sisters.

  We pulled out of the driveway at exactly zero six. Captain Nguyen had known for two weeks that we’d be out of town. Father Kokoski from the church next door had agreed to collect our mail. We’d mailed witness statements and articles about Patrick’s crimes to the camp, via the allies, and I couldn’t think of anything more to do before we left.

  Resting my head against the window, I watched the early morning activities of our beautiful coastal Georgia city as we drove by.

  The signs of Hurricane Ben’s damage were subtle, but present. Faint water lines marked many buildings, eight feet high in some places. Old neighborhoods, many with homes on the National Historic Register, were dotted with new structures, bright and bold against the softer lines of antebellum architecture.

  We slowed to a stop at an intersection downtown, next to a street sign that had flowers and teddy bears strewn around the base. I’d learned that while my team and I were holed up in the storm shelter, an entire family had drowned near here.

  I closed my eyes, hoping for sleep and relief from the feeling that I should’ve saved them.

  Several minutes later, the sound of the wheels on the road changed from low to high, and I opened my eyes. We were on the bridge that spanned Blackbeard Creek’s largest branch, uniting Saint Catherine to the rest of the United States. The last time I’d been here I’d climbed over the safety rail, intent on ending my life. I could still remember the sweat dripping down my face, mingling with my tears.

  I’d just found out that my new friend Benjamin was a supervillain. I’d decided that since my life was forfeit, I might as well end it all. Now that I thought about it, I probably could’ve just saved myself the jog to the bridge and stabbed myself in the heart, but I’d subconsciously chosen to die as Gregory had.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Ember said from the back seat.

  “Didn’t what?” Marco asked.

  “Thank you,” I grumbled. Can’t you just talk to me like this?

  “Oh, I think we should all talk about this. In case the tribunal doesn’t go our way—”

  “But it will, so we’re not worried,” Marco cut in.

  “—I want everyone to promise that we’ll respond like the level-headed people we are, and not do something dramatic.”

  Benjamin laughed. “What on earth brought this on?”

  “Jill can tell you.”

  I pictured hitting her with a dictionary.

  “Nice try. Start talking.”

  Apprehension rose in me at the thought of my teammates knowing about my weakest moment. I considered lying, but with Ember in the truck, that was pointless. “Um, in June, after I found out that Benjamin was a criminal, I almost killed myself. I was going to jump off the bridge.”

  There was a long silence.

  We were back on the highway, the bridge disappearing in the distance behind us. Instead of saying something, or even looking at me, Benjamin pulled over to the side of the highway and put the truck in park.

  He turned to me. “You were going to kill yourself?” His hazel eyes, normally friendly, were hard from worry.

  Heat crept up my cheeks. “Yes. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind that night. I told you about the pills, remember? But I decided against suicide and went home, and then all that stuff with Patrick happened. I haven’t thought about killing myself since.”

  December twenty-seventh of every year was the worst day of my life, but that warm summer night six months ago was a close runner up.

  Marco shook his head. “You are the most overdramatic person in the world, I swear. Oh, my boyfriend is a supervillain so I’m going to jump off a bridge,” he said in falsetto. “Damn, Jill.”

  Benjamin gave him an icy glare.

  “I was scared of Patrick, you idiot! Remember him? Tall, terrifying, enjoyed beating the crap out of us?”

  Marco stopped knitting and looked up at me, then away, shame faced. “Yeah, I remember,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

  “But Patrick’s dead now,” Ember said. “And that’s the point, isn’t it? You thought your life was over, but Patrick turned out to be a temporary problem. If you’d killed yourself, you wouldn’t have ever defeated him, and we’d all be stuck with Patrick.”

  “Or he would’ve killed us,” Marco muttered. “Or we would’ve killed ourselves.”

  “Stop,” Benjamin growled.

  “Let’s just all agree that suicide is not the answer to any of the elders’ decisions over the next few days,” Reid said. “If the worst happens, we’ll find a way to deal with it. We always do.”

  I let out a long-suffering sigh. “I promise not to kill myself.”

  “Me too,” Marco said.

  “Or us,” Ember said, taking Reid’s hand. He beamed at her.

  Benjamin continued to look at me, his eyebrows knit together. “You were going to kill yourself because of me?”

  I rubbed my eyes. “I’ve told you how superheroes feel about the forbidden six families.”

  Benjamin rested his arm on the wheel and pinched the bridge of his nose. “First of all, there are way more than six supervillain families, but that’s beside the point. I just… I knew you guys hated supervillains, but… you were going to kill yourself?”

  “Well, yeah. You were bad, Patrick was scary, and I was hopeless.”

  Benjamin reached out and cupped my cheek, his thumb rubbing under my eye. Then he pulled me closer to him and kissed me softly. He rested his forehead against mine. “You have to stay alive,” he whispered. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “I promise,” I breathed. My heart swelled with an emotion I refused to name.

  Marco cleared his throat. “Since we’ve got that out of the way, can we get back on the road now? We’ve got six hours to talk about our feelings.”

  Unlike Marco, Ember and Reid were peering out the window, politely pretending that the people in the front seat weren’t having a moment.

  Benjamin gave his head a little shake and checked the rearview mirror. “Can do.” When there was a break in cars, Benjamin pulled back onto the road and we accelerated up to highway speed. “So, who can I expect to meet today?”

  “My family!” Marco burst out. “Mom, Dad, and my sisters Isabel, Caroline, Adora, and Melissa. I haven’t seen them in a year.”

  He put down his knitting needles and grinned, lost in his memories of my favorite cousins. I was sure they were fiercely proud of their heroic big brother.

  “And my family,” I said with a sigh. “Fun.”

  “Mason and Allison, right?” Reid asked. “I believe Mason visited my camp two years ago during a courting swap and hit it off with my friend Emily Begay, but it didn’t work out.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, her dad didn’t like my dad. Big surprise.”

  “Is there anyone you’re looking forward to seeing again?” Reid asked, exasperated.

  “Stephen,” Marco teased in a sing-song voice. “Did you ever tell Benjamin about him?”

  I twisted around in my seat and swatted Marco. Stephen Monroe had merely been my first girlhood crush—hardly someone to make a big deal out of.

  “Actually, yes, she did,” Benjamin said calmly. “And since he’s a combatives instructor, I did some soul-searching and decided that I won’t challenge him to a fight for breaking young Jillian’s heart.”

  “Broken heart? What?” Reid asked in good-natured confusion.

  I smiled and shook my head. “It’s nothing. I was twelve. He was the nineteen-year-old assistant combatives teacher. When he got married, a whole bunch of the girls took it really hard. Someone in this car might have cried about it.”

  The four of them cracked up.

  I patted Benjamin’s knee. “What I really wanna see is Matthew’s face when he meets you. You still going to fig
ht him if my dad makes me marry him?”

  I pictured Matthew’s horror at hearing that he’d been paired up with the “most unsubmissive, brazen, foul-mouthed hussy” he’d ever met. I should put that on a business card.

  Benjamin nodded, solemn. “I’ll pound his face in. Reid, Marco, you can be my backup.”

  “You’re not going to need backup against Matthew, believe me,” Marco said. “He’s a beanpole. You might suck at sparring, but you’re better than him, I guarantee it.”

  The conversation immediately devolved into a front seat, back seat argument about Benjamin’s sparring skills.

  I leaned against the window again, relieved that my shameful episode on the bridge was no longer under discussion.

  4

  When we were deep in the Georgia countryside, we stopped for an early lunch at a tiny barbecue restaurant nestled in between endless, rolling horse pastures. Far in the distance, the mountains of northern Georgia jutted out of the horizon.

  The restaurant was really more of a shack, but the food was delicious. We sat at a picnic table beneath a leafless tree and enjoyed the sweet tea, pulled pork sandwiches, coleslaw, and cornbread. Ember refused the meat and only accepted slaw and cornbread.

  Benjamin rubbed my shin with his foot under the table, but we kept our faces straight.

  An old truck with two farmers pulled up and they climbed out, chatting about a football game the night before. Beneath their truck, a small stream of black liquid dripped onto the gravel.

  I waved toward them to get their attention. “Hey! Y’all got an oil leak.” I was proud that I’d paid enough attention during Benjamin’s explanation of car mechanics to know what the problem might be.

  One of the men peered under the truck and scratched his head. “Now when did that happen? Thanks, darlin’.”

  Benjamin bit his lip, obviously trying to stifle a laugh.

  “What? His truck’s leaking.”

  “What kind of leak does he have again?”