It was too late to take the Bronco out the day we got it. I spent the whole next week doing my best to ignore the hostilities at school and wishing I could be out in Montessa Park instead. With its completely undeveloped five-hundred-plus acres of land, it’s one of my favorite places to go off-roading. It’s the closest too, which makes heading there on the weekend a lot more feasible for me than driving up to Moab or the canyons in Southern Colorado.
I’m not an adrenaline junkie, not even close. When I go four-wheeling, it isn’t to find the steepest cliffs and scariest routes possible. Searching out places bare of people and their mocking, a place that is remote and calm enough to almost convince me that man and their prophecies have no bearing on me is why I like to four-wheel. It’s an escape from reality.
When I suggested taking the Bronco out to Montessa Park this morning, Milo was pretty easy to convince. As we roll out of the park with the sun setting behind us, I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes. I smile for what feels like the first time in years. This was exactly what I needed. We didn’t see another person all day. No name calling, no accidental shoving or tripping, no glaring, no misery. I had almost forgotten what that felt like. Today brought it all back.
Milo and I spent more time laughing and holding our breath over the more dangerous routes Milo just had to try despite my telling him no, than talking today, but I didn’t mind at all. I don’t mind it now, either. The sound of whirring tires on asphalt and air streaming over the less than aerodynamic car are the only sounds as we drive back toward the city. Even before my Inquest, I can’t remember ever feeling this at peace. There was always the fear and worry about my future looming in my mind. Although everyone knows who I am now, and hates me for it, at least it’s out there. It’s not a secret I have to hide. That’s something.
The buzzing of wind and tires slows to silence as Milo pulls into the parking space in front of my motel room. I pull myself up in my seat and look over at him. “Thanks for coming with me today, Milo. I had a blast.”
“No problem. I had fun too. I’m up for crawling anytime,” he says. “In fact, I’m not doing anything important tomorrow…”
“You should be,” I interrupt.
He stares at me with one eyebrow cocked.
“I know you have a big English paper due Monday, and I have a hundred trig problems I’m still trying to wade through.”
“Why do you care?” Milo asks. “It’s just school. Grades really don’t matter, especially not for you.”
“Why, because I’m not going to live long enough for my GPA to get me into a good college anyway?” I snap. I regret my harsh tone instantly, but that attitude has been thrown in my face all week. None of my teachers will help me because of who I am, but also because they know my grades won’t matter in two years. Everyone is just biding their time until I’m dead.
“That’s not what I meant,” Milo says.
“Then what did you mean?”
Milo looks at me hard, his steely eyes focused on mine. “Just that you’re more powerful than anyone else on this planet. Who’s going to stop you from doing anything? Who cares about your GPA or whether or not you go to college. You could rule the world if you really wanted to.”
“Well, I don’t want to,” I say firmly. “I just want to get through high school and live my life without people trying to kill me.”
Looking away from me, Milo turns off the car. “Well, we both know that’s not going to happen.”
He pushes his door open and steps out. Filled with frustration at him and everyone else I’ve come into contact with lately, I find myself unable to get out of the car for several seconds. Milo could get in his own car and drive off, leave me to wallow in my self-pity, but he doesn’t. He waits at the front of the Bronco for me to get out and join him. Eventually I do. I slide up next to him and lean against the Bronco’s grill.
I’m not mad at him exactly, just annoyed that he put a dent in my good mood. Maybe school shouldn’t matter to me, but it does. It always has. I’ve hated school since the first day of kindergarten. I still dread walking through the doors every morning. That doesn’t change the fact that it has always been the one consistently normal thing in my life. I’ve spent my life hiding my talents, fighting my mom, and running from Guardians. Outside of school, my life has always been a mess. Inside those dreary walls, I’m just one of thousands plugging along. I know that’s not totally true anymore, but it’s still pretty close. There’s that, plus I’m not ready to admit I have no future beyond my eighteenth birthday.
“You want me to come over tomorrow and help you with your trig?” Milo asks.
I’ve yet to see Milo actually do any homework. He’s obviously only offering as a way to apologize. Still, it’s sweet of him to offer. “Sure,” I say, glad the dark night hides the small smile on my lips.
“Alright then,” Milo says as he pushes away from the Bronco, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
Milo waits until I am safely inside my room before driving away. He tries to pretend he has absolutely no concern for anything, but every once in a while he lets a little hint of his gentleman side slip out. Despite the frustration of our conversation outside, it’s been a good day. Across the room lie my drawing pad and charcoals. Nothing makes me want to draw more than being happy. It’s such a rare feeling, I usually pounce on it right away. I’m about to do just that when I spot my tiny little motel-sized trashcan overflowing with food wrappers and scrap paper. Part of me wants to just leave it there, but I know it’s going to bug me all night and screw up my focus when I’m trying to draw.
My charcoals stay put for a little while longer as I gather up the trash and tie the bag off. I’ve yet to witness anything even remotely creepy or scary around the hotel, but I still sweep the parking lot for anything dangerous looking before I step out. Whatever made President Howe let me go back to school has kept the Guardians away from me so far, but I have no idea how long that will last. My attention is so focused on spotting lurking killers that I don’t notice the silver Mercedes until I turn away from the dumpster.
Our eyes lock on one another and I can’t move. I don’t know how I missed his car. I rode to school in it every day for almost an entire year, not to mention trips to the movies, dinner, or sneaking out at night. Lance stares at me from the dark interior, his blue eyes narrow and his hands clenched on the steering wheel.
The only complete thought I can manage is, he knows where I live. Pure, freezing fear drips down my spine. He’ll tell his dad! He’ll tell the Guardians and Lazaro might find out. I seriously doubt Howe can control Lazaro half as well as he thinks he can.
I don’t have anywhere else to go. Slowly, my feet start moving independent of my brain. They carry me away from the dumpster and away from Lance. His eyes follow me every step, never moving or faltering.
I slip back inside my room. My charcoals are abandoned for a blade. The long hunting knife stays in my hand as I wait at my window for any sign of the attack I know must be coming. Lance’s car doesn’t move. Hour after hour I sit there, crouched and ready. I can’t see his face from where I sit, but it hovers in my mind regardless. Lance’s eyes stay with me all night, long after I fall asleep during my vigil, into my dreams, and they are still there when I wake. Not literally—Lance must have left sometime during the night—but I can still feel him watching all day.
If Milo notices my preoccupation when he comes over, he doesn’t say anything about it. Focusing on my math homework is even more impossible than usual, and eventually we just give up and watch a movie. When Milo picks me up for school Monday morning, I can’t help searching the parking lot again for Lance’s car. It isn’t there. That doesn’t mean he isn’t watching, though.
Since seeing his car I have wondered non-stop why he chose such a blatant spot. Lance will one day make a superb Guardian. He knows tactics better than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s the fastest and strongest in class, and
he’s smarter than parking his car in the middle of the parking lot when he’s trying to spy on someone. Clearly he wanted me to see him, to know he’s watching me. But why?
Lance has spent every second at school doing everything he can to get people to hate me. A lot of them don’t believe in me as much as they should, but his efforts do enough to make sure everyone skirts around me like they’re afraid I’m contagious. Is this just another form of his torture? It doesn’t make sense.
I have spent plenty of mental power this week hating Lance’s guts, but as I think about why he would want me to know he’s watching me, a traitorous part of my heart comes up with an alternate reason. Could Lance still be trying to watch over me? The idea of him trying to protect me is more disturbing than him doing recon for his father, but the idea lodges in my head and makes me wonder about everything Lance has done since my Inquest.
The fact that no Guardians tried to kill me over the weekend is reassuring, but as I walk to the gym for Speed and Strength training I realize Lance doesn’t have any need to send Guardians after me. I’m coming to them. My stomach lurches and almost dislodges my breakfast when my foot hits the hardwood floor of the gym. I can’t go in. I’m stuck in the doorway unable to force any of my muscles to move. Something crashes into me from behind, throwing my body forward. My fear disappears completely, and I stumble back to my feet and into a fighting crouch.
“Get out of the doorway,” Angus growls. He steps forward aggressively, and the goons behind him do the same.
“Don’t touch me,” I warn him.
His face screws into a mask of disgust. “Don’t touch me,” he mimics in a high, annoying voice. The idiots behind him snicker. Angus’s gaze only darkens. “I don’t know if you’re really as pathetic as you pretend you are in class, or if the stories about you are all just a bunch of crap, but either way, I’m not scared of you, Libby.”
Oh, if only I could show him what I can really do, let him choke on my real power. Strength hums in my muscle cells. My talents are straining to be released. I had my hands raised defensively in front of me, and when my fingers start shaking Angus smirks. He clearly thinks I’m shaking out of fear. That only makes my desire to pound his face in even more intense. I have to dig deep to find enough discipline to hold back.
Angus doesn’t have the same problem. His finger jams against my chest. “I said get out of my way.”
I should just move. Play the weak, helpless little girl I want everyone to think I am.
I’ve never been very good at weak and helpless.
“Get your grimy finger off me, and I’ll consider it.”
Fire flashes in Angus’s eyes. “Oh, you’ll do more than consider it.”
His fingers slide across my collar bone, making me gag, and continue their way up my neck. The soft touch makes me panic. I don’t know what he’s doing. Not until his hand reaches the back of my neck, grabs a fistful of hair, and yanks. My head jerks back. Even though my skull is stinging I refuse to let him see it. I have to tap my Naturalism to keep tears from falling, but I hold it together.
“Destroyer, or not, there is nothing you can do to stop me.” Angus forces my face to within inches of his. I’m close enough to bite his nose off. If he considers that, it’s clear he doesn’t believe I could do it. I want so badly to prove him wrong. But I don’t. Angus smiles mockingly. “See, boys, she’s nothing but a freaking bedtime story. I could get rid of her right now and end this whole overblown mess if I really wanted to.”
“Then why don’t you?” I ask. “If you’re so sure I can’t rip you into kibble-sized pieces, why haven’t you gotten rid of me already?”
“Because I don’t care to waste my time on you.”
That might be partly true. He certainly never wasted any time trying to be nice to me before unless Lance was around for him to impress. That’s certainly not the only reason, though. If I can’t rearrange his perfectly Romanesque features, I’m at least going to mess up his image. I know, stupid, but I can’t resist.
“You don’t want to waste your time on me? What are you doing right now?” I ask. I glare at him and exert the tiniest bit of Spiritualism—the most I can manage—to manipulate his fear and take it up a few notches. “You can say whatever you want, Angus, but you and I both know you’re too scared to ever actually do anything. You want to look macho now, but inside you’re so scared you’re about to piss your pants. I can feel it.”
Just to emphasize my point I tap my Naturalism, toss it over to him, and put a little extra pressure on his bladder. His eyes fly wide, and he yanks back on my hair, throwing me to the floor. Away from him. Little pussy. It’s so satisfying seeing him in such a panic that I laugh before thinking better of it. I can’t use my Speed, but he can use his. His hand is around my throat half a second after the sound escapes my lips.
“Keep your talents away from me you little…”
“Get your hands off her!” Lance’s voice booms across the gym.
Surprise flashes through both me and Angus. Lance? Why is he helping me? Neither of us moves.
“I said let go of her, Angus!”
Angus’s grip slackens and I shove his hand the rest of the way off my skin. I scramble back up to my feet and stare at Lance. What is he doing? He’s focused on Angus, though, not me, so the only thing his expression gives away is anger.
“What?” Angus snaps.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing!”
Lance’s eyes narrow even more. “Then how’d your hand end up around her neck?”
“She was in my way,” Angus argues.
“In your way?”
“She threatened me! What was I supposed to do?” Angus’s gaze momentarily leaves Lance to glare at me. Lance follows. His eyes are just as blue as they’ve ever been, but there’s something darker at their core now. It makes me shiver.
“If you touch her one more time, I will personally make sure you never do it again,” Lance threatens.
Angus stares at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously trying to protect her?”
Maybe I just imagine it, but I swear Lance pauses for a moment before answering. Could I have possibly been right? I don’t understand that, but a small part of my anger at him chips away. Lance flicks his gaze away from me and back to Angus.
“I’m not protecting her, you idiot, I’m protecting you,” Lance snarls. “If Clement finds out about this, he’ll put you on probation and then you’ll never get the chance to really stop her. Now get out of here before I tell Clement myself.”
Angus hesitates for a minute but eventually nods. He and his pack of morons trail off to the locker room. I don’t pay them any more attention. My mind is completely focused on Lance. “I…” I begin, not even sure what to say, but before I can figure it out, Lance turns and storms away from me without saying a word.
I’m left standing there, more confused than ever. First, I find him outside my motel room, watching…protecting? Now he stops Angus from attacking me. It would appear that he didn’t tell anyone that he figured out where I’m staying, given that no one tried to kill me over the weekend. Despite the perfectly logical reasons he gave Angus for stepping in, part of me doubts his words. I’m not really sure what that means, though. Is he actually trying to help me, or just making sure no one kills me before he gets the chance to do it himself?
Chapter 13
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