My frustration boils over and I lose my focus completely. The trance I have been holding for an hour slips away. I hear Milo sigh along with me. He claims he has no talent for Spiritualism at all, but somehow he’s able to tell the moment I gain or lose my trance. That’s five. It’s the only good thing that has come out of these practice sessions during the past week. I still can’t manage to reach my own spirit let alone the spirits in the spirit world who could tell me what on earth I’m supposed to be doing with my life right now.
The rest of my body wakes back up, and I lean against the bed in defeat. “I just can’t do it, Milo. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I thought confronting my mom would help, but it hasn’t. Not as much as I hoped it would anyway. I need to take a break.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Milo says. “I’m going to get a soda. You want one?”
I nod. “Something with caffeine, please.”
Celia rolls over onto her back, her head hanging off the edge of the bed so she can turn and look at me. “It’s too bad we can’t tell my mom about you, Libby. Mom’s a great Spiritualist. I bet she could tell you what you’re doing wrong.”
“I would love to meet your mom, Celia, but we’re lucky enough they never saw Milo on TV. Telling them about me would make them pick up and leave faster than anything.”
Actually, I’d love to meet Milo’s family for several reasons. The biggest one being that I don’t like being anybody’s secret. I’ve had enough secrets to last a lifetime. Milo hands me a can of soda and sits back down on the floor across from me.
“Celia’s right about me needing a teacher, though. I’m not getting this. We’ve got to find somebody willing to help,” I say.
“Maybe Mr. Walters will know of someone. People are getting used to you at school, but there’s still no way either of the Spiritualism teachers are going to volunteer,” Milo says. “I’ll try calling Mr. Walters tomorrow, but for now we just have to keep trying.”
I shake my head and groan. “No more. I’m done for tonight. I want to work on figuring you out now. I feel like we’re getting close. We’ve already confirmed you have five talents. I just have to figure out how to unlock them now.”
“Four,” he says grumpily. “We know there are four.”
Well, at least he’s admitting the first four now. Why he’s still arguing with me about Spiritualism despite it being blatantly obvious makes no sense, but I ignore him for now.
“There has to be a way to get them to come to the surface.”
Celia rolls back over and cocks her head to the side. Her eyebrow rises and her hands lift in a perfect “duh” kind of expression. “Why don’t you just try doing another Inquest? The first obviously didn’t work right, so just do it again.”
“Celia, you can’t do more than one Inquest. It just doesn’t work that way,” Milo says.
“But the first one never even happened.”
I’m about to jump into the argument when Milo frowns, and says, “No, Celia. We’re not doing another Inquest. Drop it.”
His blatant refusal brings out my combative side. “Milo, maybe it’s worth a try. I mean, maybe the Inquisitor didn’t do it right.”
“He did everything he was supposed to. The only thing that didn’t go right was me having no talents.” His angry tone is a little shocking. “I never want to go through that again. You don’t understand what it was like.”
My left hand darts up, right in front of his face so my pure black diktats are glaring at him. “Oh really?”
“Yeah, really. You had a few years to prepare for what was going to happen at your Inquest. You knew what was coming. It sucked, but at least you knew what was going to happen.” Milo takes my hand and lowers it to his leg, where he holds it tightly. “Everything I thought was important was ripped away from me that night. I was convinced I was going to become something great, only to find out I was nothing. I’ve learned to live with what I am. I don’t want false hope for something I’m never, ever going to have.”
My frustrated growl surprises both him and Celia. “It’s not false hope, Milo! You have talents. They’re there. Somewhere! We just have to find them. Let me do this, please.”
In the face of my rant he says nothing. Celia, though, is incapable of losing either her voice or her opinion. “Milo, for crying out loud, just let her do it. If it doesn’t work, nothing changes. Like you said, you’ve already made your peace with being talentless. But if it does work, kudos! You really don’t have anything to lose. Let Libby try.”
Long moments of silence stretch between us.
“Fine,” he says quietly.
My whole being lights up with excitement. Celia bounces off the bed and lands next to her brother. “This is going to be awesome.”
Milo glares at her.
“Okay,” I say, “give me your hands.”
Milo reaches out tentatively. “Are you sure you know how to do this?”
“Yes,” I say drily. “I spent my entire childhood watching my dad practice with the most talented Inquisitor in the state. I memorized the ritual years ago. I can do this.”
He nods, looking less than convinced. He’s seen me do ridiculous things like sprint faster than a car, knock trees down with a single kick, and turn concrete into soup. He doubts I can do this? This is the talent I have spent more time on than any other. Maybe it has more to do with watching me fail day after day at the one talent I need the most. I have to shake off the frustration of the week and remind myself that Spiritualism has nothing to do with an Inquest.
“Okay,” I say, “let’s get started. We still have to get ready for the ballet tonight.”
Milo groans more about that than going through with the Inquest. I tune him out and send all my focus into awakening my Perception to its fullest. Slowly, my consciousness spreads into the whole of my body. Every molecule of my structure hums with power. The effort to push that power into Milo is tremendous. I can feel his hands trembling as I force it away from me and into him. When the last of my awareness rests in him, I sigh in relief.
“Milo Hanover, the Inquest to discover your true identity and purpose has begun,” I say with pleasure. Nothing horrible happens, proving Celia’s theory about the first one not counting to be true. If it had counted Milo would probably be writhing on the ground in pain right now. Milo seems to relax as well—at least as much as anyone in the middle of their own Inquest can relax, anyway.
“Milo, it is now time to uncover your talents so you may use them to benefit those with whom you come in contact.”
With my Perception firmly planted in Milo, I start examining him. My smile spreads immediately because I know exactly what to look for. Right away I recognize the straining elements of both Speed and Strength locked inside every muscle cell, begging to be released just as my dad described to me. More subtle is the outward pulse of Milo’s consciousness, Perception attempting to assert itself and search those around him for information. In opposition, his Concealment is focused inward, constantly attempting to hide him from those he has been running from.
His spirit…My attention momentarily wavers as I realize I’ve found his spirit. I take a moment to memorize the feel of it, hoping it will help me later when I try to access my own spirit. The slightly rough edges of his spirit wind around a core as warm and comforting as one of my dad’s hugs. The feeling draws me in, but I sigh as I remind myself that I’m here for another purpose. I file the sensation away for later and notice the bits of his spirit questing out in search of other realms. Spiritualism, just like I said.
Then I realize that a more significant portion of his self is flowing out and down into the floor, into the natural elements of this world. My amazement grows as I realize Milo also has a talent for Naturalism. Six, one more than I expected. In my eagerness to find even more, I leap up to his mind and search for the mental energy spiraling out in an attempt to make contact with segments of time kept hidden by the future. I’m disappointed wh
en I don’t find the telltale sign of Vision, but the six I already found are incredible!
Six. I can’t contain it any longer. Gone is the composure I always saw in my dad and Inquisitor Moore as they worked. I search out the rest of the information I need to complete the Inquest and nearly explode in my rush to deliver it.
“Milo,” I say, my voice sounding giddy and high. I can’t even bear to waste time naming what each talent does. I simply spit them out one after another. “Your talents are Naturalism, Spiritualism, Concealment, Perception, Speed, and Strength. Your true name is from the Warrior line. You are Gideon, a member of the Guardian class!”
Milo cries out and his hands crush mine. I struggle to bear the pain as I quickly withdraw my Perception from his body. It sweeps back into me in a welcome rush. As the connection between us breaks, Milo releases me and my eyes snap open. He’s doubled over with his hands hidden beneath his chest. I hate seeing him in pain, but my breath is quivering. The pain is good. It means it worked. Not shoving his chest up so I can get a look at his wrist is unbearable. Celia is ducking and twisting, trying to see her brother as well. I count the seconds.
An eternity later his chest starts to rise up slowly. As soon as I can see his right hand I grab it and stretch it out so both Celia and I can see. My body, mind, breath, everything freezes in confusion. All I see are the same jagged, botched scars of his first Inquest.
“What happened?” Celia demands.
I want to know the same thing. My eyes turn and meet Milo’s. He looks up at me with a startled expression. “What happened?” I repeat.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It worked, but I think something went wrong.” He’s cradling his left arm against his body…as if it’s in pain. My mind starts whirring. His shirt is covering his arm, but when I look up at Milo I can see my own thoughts confirmed in his expression. Slowly my fingers reach for his left arm. He doesn’t resist as I gently pull it forward so we can all see the almost complete ring of diktats encircling his left wrist. For once, Celia is completely speechless. Left. I don’t understand. Left is reserved for the Destroyer class, but I named Milo as a Guardian. I look at him in confusion.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Why are your diktats on your left hand?”
“Because you’re the one who unlocked them?” Celia ventures. I’m glad to see she’s found her voice again, but that doesn’t make sense.
“That shouldn’t matter. Inquisitors never leave any kind of personal mark on their clients. They can’t affect the person at all, just unlock their talents. I shouldn’t have done anything to change Milo.” None of this makes sense.
“But…but nobody else could unlock my talents,” Milo says, “only you.”
“We don’t know that for sure. Only one other Inquisitor tried. He may have messed up.”
Milo shakes his head. “He didn’t mess up, Libby. He couldn’t find my talents anywhere. He tried, and tried, and tried. Something about me made it so he couldn’t access my talents like you could.”
“Why me?” I ask, but even as the words are leaving my mouth a memory surfaces. There were a lot of things my dad told me about his training, but there were some things he couldn’t. After he found out who I was he told me Inquisitor Moore had told him something that he wanted to tell me, but couldn’t. The most he could share was that when my destiny was revealed there would be someone there to help me, someone only I could find. It sounded like some kind of riddle, or some game of pretend at the time. I didn’t know what he was talking about so I tucked it away for later.
Apparently, later has just arrived.
I hold my own wrist up to Milo’s. Left to match left. If Milo is right, I was the only person in this world who could have unlocked his talents. I found him, the real him that was hiding behind forgeries, and up until recently, ugly clothes.
“What…?” Milo starts to ask.
I shush him immediately. I have to be sure. I was unconscious, so I don’t know how long it took with me, but I keep my eyes glued to Milo’s diktats. A traumatic red after being raised, I watch as they slowly begin to darken. It’s barely noticeable at first. As the seconds pass it starts to pick up speed. It looks like the red color is darkening, at first, but then it reaches it tipping point and his diktats turn a sudden and violent black.
Confirmation hits me hard. Milo isn’t a Guardian for the people. He’s my Guardian, a Guardian to the Destroyer. He is the help my dad promised me I would find. When my face splits into a grin Milo and Celia look at me expectantly. I repeat everything I just figured out and Milo surprises me by laughing.
“What are you laughing about?”
He laughs again and grins. “I can’t believe it. I have talents, and all along I was meant to find you. I was meant to help you. Libby,” he says with fire in his eyes, “Now I can protect you for real. We don’t need Lance, we don’t need anybody else.”
“Oh,” I say, my excitement falling down a few notches. We don’t need anybody else for what? Is he still thinking about going after the Guardians? I push that thought aside as I realize he’s probably just talking about Lance and his Oath.
Celia grabs her brother’s wrist away from me and inspects it thoroughly. “Guardian to the Destroyer. Well, that’s a surprise.”
“Definitely,” I agree. I still can’t stop staring at his wrist. This is incredible. Celia gets up and plops back on the bed, drawing my attention. “Thanks for the brilliant idea, Celia. I hadn’t even thought to try a second Inquest. I can’t believe it worked.”
“I didn’t know if it would work either, but that was awesome!” Celia gushes.
Milo’s not listening to either of us. He sandwiches my face between his hands and kisses me fiercely. Celia giggles at the display. It’s a far cry from the usual chaste pecks and handholding she gets to see. Milo pulls back but does not let go of my face. “Thank you. Thank you, Libby.” He kisses me again. And again. His passion and enthusiasm drunken me in an instant.
Only a knock at the door curbs him.
“Oh, shoot, what time is it?” I ask. I scramble awkwardly to my feet, my casted foot trying to topple me more than once. The Inquest must have taken longer than I realized.
Celia and Milo both look at me questioningly. Oh, this is not going to be pleasant.
“It’s seven o’clock,” Celia offers, and is then completely distracted. “Libby, the ballet starts at eight-thirty! We need to get ready.”
Milo however is still focused on the door. “Are you expecting someone?”
Very, very not pleasant. Especially after Milo’s we don’t need anybody else comment.
I offer an apologetic shrug and stumble forward to reach my crutches. My crutches are pinned under my arms before he figures it out.
“You have got to be kidding me! Isn’t it bad enough that I have to live with the knowledge that he’s creeping around watching us constantly? He’s not coming, Libby. He is not coming!”
“Milo, you’ve been worried all week about us going where there will be so many people around who might recognize us. I’m not going to be much help with this cast. We need an extra hand tonight,” I say.
Milo thrusts his wrist into the air, making sure I can see his diktats. “We don’t need Lance. I’m perfectly capable…”
“Of protecting both me and Celia?” I ask. “Look at my leg. I can’t help you tonight. I understand what you’re saying, but with me in a cast we still need help right now.”
“Not him.”
“Then who?” I ask as I pull the door open to a grinning Lance. He’s obviously heard Milo’s rant and is thoroughly enjoying it. I roll my eyes at him, which only makes him smile again. “Come in, Lance.”
“Thanks, it’s freezing out here.” He slips past me, but not without briefly touching my waist as if he fears he might bump into me. I slap his hand away, but Milo’s possessive growl only serves to brighten Lance’s smile. “Good evening, Milo. Nice to see you too. And you
must be Celia,” he says. She smiles back at him winningly, completely unaware of anything else. A big “I don’t think so” flashes in my mind. Celia’s boy-crazy train is going nowhere near Lance, for her own good. And I’m big enough to admit it, because thinking of Lance with someone else makes my own jealousy surge.
Milo appears to feel the same way about the prospect of Celia and Lance. He steps closer to his sister, and says, “Celia, go get dressed.”
She nods without taking her eyes off Lance and saunters to the bathroom.
“Oh, good,” Lance says, glancing at each of our clothes, “I was beginning to worry that I was seriously overdressed. We don’t have that much time, though. Parking is going to be a nightmare if we don’t get there early enough. Libby, you better go get dressed too.”
I roll my eyes at his attempt to take control. Typical Lance, irritate everyone in the room and still expect them to take orders. Too bad it usually works for him. It most definitely will not work tonight. Especially not with Milo around. As Milo’s incensed grimace turns up into a pleased smile I know this is going to be bad. Close to the bathroom, he only has to lean to the side in order to knock lightly on the hollow door.
“Make it quick, Celia, Libby still has to change.” She calls out that she will in her happy sing-song voice and Milo turns back toward Lance. “The only reason you’re coming is because Libby’s right. I don’t want her risking herself when she’s already hurt. But me needing your help isn’t going to last long.”
I watch in horrified fascination as his fingers start undoing the buttons of his shirt. I should stop him, explain everything to Lance first, but I can’t take my eyes off Milo’s chest as it is slowly revealed. Defined muscle every bit as impressive as Lance’s—which I have seen many times thanks to his incurable need to go shirtless during Speed and Strength training—locks me into inaction. Whatever Lance’s reaction is, it’s lost on me. Milo’s right arm slides out of his shirt first. Then his left begins to slide out as well.
My heart stutters as fear of what Lance’s reaction might be grabs a hold of me. What if Lance sees this as some kind of confirmation about Milo being a danger to me? He won’t have any clue what’s going on before he sees his diktats.
“Milo…” I begin, but then his arm is out, revealing his newly raised diktats where Lance can certainly see them. The midnight black standing out against his light colored skin makes them pretty hard to miss. Silence deadens the air for a brief second.
“What the hell?” Lance asks in confusion.
“Like I said,” Milo drawls, “I won’t be needing your help much longer. Once Libby’s leg is better we won’t need you anymore.” He walks over to the muddled Lance. My warning glance does nothing to hinder him. “But since you’re here, there is one thing I need from you.”
Milo grabs Lance’s left arm and snatches out his Guardian blade before he can respond.
To Lance’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch. His eyes are level with Milo’s and as hard as steel. Milo surprises him by turning away and walking toward me. Now Lance grows concerned. Moron. He is obviously still stuck on the idea that Milo is dangerous. The predatory glint in his eye shows that he has no inclination of what Milo is about to do. I knew as soon as he asked for the knife. Elation fills my mind.
Sure enough, Milo drops his first two fingers to the emblem on the hilt of Lance’s Guardian blade. Lance’s eyes narrow while my lips curl into a scowling smile. Milo’s fingers move to his forehead then to his heart. I know to expect the scarlet flare of Milo’s diktats, but it startles me regardless. Milo’s presence seems to press over me. I am free to relish it while Lance turns an angry shade of red.
“You…you’re a Guardian?” he asks. “How is that even possible?”
“My first Inquest didn’t get things quite right,” Milo says. “Libby was kind enough to remedy that. I’m a Guardian every bit as much as you are, Lance. Just not for the same team.” He holds up his left wrist again. The diktats fading back to black makes Lance flinch.
I know he has no idea what’s going on, but Lance has the deplorable ability to ignore things like not understanding, and take action anyway. “I don’t know what the hell this is,” he says gesturing at Milo’s wrist, “but we’re on the same team whether you like it or not, Milo. I’m bound to Libby just like you are. Now go put a shirt on.”
Chapter 29
Cipher