Lance sitting next to Celia is out of the question. Lance sitting by me is absurd. Milo and Lance sitting next to each other is a recipe for disaster. But since I refuse to make Lance sit away from us, just in case we need him, Milo takes the least offensive of the three options and sits between me and Lance with Celia all the way on my right, as far away from Lance as possible. Celia frowns at the seating arrangement and peeks glances at Lance every few seconds. Milo wasn’t kidding about how boy-crazy she is.
Even so, between her and her brother, Celia is by far the better behaved. Outwardly both Lance and Milo are the picture of perfect manners. Inwardly, there is a battle between the two of them that I am the only one aware of. Milo is radiating frustration at being near Lance and having to depend on him for any kind of help. Lance bounces between feeling superior at being needed despite Milo’s blatant unhappiness about it and a mixture of jealousy and depression every time Milo touches me.
My blocks are up against them both, but they aren’t working as well as I would hope. I’m too close, physically and emotionally, to both of them. I love the ballet because it’s beautiful and peaceful and captivating. I seriously doubt I’m going to get much peace tonight. It’s going to be a long night.
I’ve never been so happy to be left in darkness as when the lights finally go out. Maybe if I go to sleep no one will notice, and then I won’t have to be inundated with their emotional overload. I almost give in. The audience falls silent in preparation. I honestly expect both Milo’s and Lance’s eyes to close as soon as the curtain rises given how little either of them enjoy the ballet, but they both shock me by focusing their attention on the patrons surrounding us in the dim room.
The ballet opens with a flare of music and light and closes the same way.
My head comes up off Milo’s shoulder two hours after the first curtain rose, and I applaud along with Celia. Milo takes my hand when I stop clapping and leans over to me. His lips touch mine briefly, and he asks, “Did you enjoy the ballet?”
“I did. Thank you for bringing me.”
“Thank Celia. I never would have thought to come on my own,” he admits. “It was kind of cool, though.”
I had actually been afraid I would miss seeing “The Nutcracker” for the first time in my life. I’d thought about suggesting it myself, but with everything else going on it seemed silly to ask for something so trivial. I turn toward Celia to thank her, but she breaks in before I can.
“Ooh, Milo!” Celia gushes. “Look, look! Isabelle Sanders is back on stage. I think she’s signing autographs!”
“Who?” Milo asks.
Celia rolls her eyes at him. “The Prima Ballerina! I’ve got to meet her. Please take me down to the stage. Please?”
“Celia…” Milo glances around at the hundreds of people milling about.
“Please, please, please?”
She is impossible for Milo to resist. His deep sigh admits his defeat. “Do you want to come down with us?” he asks me.
The long ramp leading down to the stage makes me shake my head. My foot throbs even thinking of trying to wade through the crowded slope without tripping. “Go ahead without me. I’ll wait here.”
Celia bounces up and grabs Milo’s hand away from me. He doesn’t stand right away, clearly not keen on the idea of leaving me alone. But of course, I’m not alone. Lance nudges Milo. Amazingly, his face shows no sign of anything but seriousness. “Go ahead, I’ll keep watch,” he says.
The businesslike expression on Lance’s face is likely the only reason Milo stands up. “We’ll be right back,” he promises me. And to Lance, he says, “Keep an eye out for anyone even remotely suspicious.”
Lance nods and crosses his arms over his chest. Milo watches him for as long as possible until the crowd swallows them. Only then does he relax. His elbows come back up on the armrests and one hand lazily gestures toward me. “You look really nice tonight, by the way. If I remember right, when we came last year you wore black slacks and that green sweater. You looked nice then, too, but your dress tonight is even better.”
An intense desire to smooth my dress and make sure the knee length skirt hasn’t ridden up anywhere makes my fingers itch. I can see that the dress is fine already and refuse to let Lance know his attention affects me. Maybe it shouldn’t, but what he thinks still matters to me. His reminder that he was my date to this very event reminds me of how difficult it must have been for him to sit through the performance. Guilt I can’t fully explain urges me to speak.
“I’m sorry I had to ask you to come to this, Lance.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I meant what I said about protecting you. It’s hard to see you with Milo, but if you need me I won’t let you down again.”
The lack of jealousy pouring off of him when he says Milo’s name, combined with the sincerity of his promise settles over me like a blanket. “Lance, do you really understand what that means for you? Your dad…”
“My dad will never approve of my choice,” he says. “I told him as soon as I got home after giving you my Oath. He hasn’t spoken to me since, and at this point I don’t know if he ever will, but that hasn’t changed my mind.”
“It’s a lot to give up. I believe everything you told me,” I admit. “I believe that you didn’t mean to hurt me that night, and that you tried to protect me in the only way you thought you could, but…”
His face falls. Lance isn’t a Perceptive, but he doesn’t need talents to know what I’m thinking about right now. He knows me so well he sees it in the way I face him and hears the hurt in my voice. “But all the other stuff,” he says, “the things I said about you, the way I turned everyone against you…believe me, I know what you must think of me for that. I hate myself for what I did to you. I know I don’t deserve it, but I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me, Libby.”
“I want to,” I tell him honestly, “but it may take me some time.”
It breaks my heart that I can’t say the words he wants to hear right now, because for sixteen years Lance was my best friend, but the pain he caused me is still too close. Lance nods, a sliver of hope filling him at my words.
“Libby,” Lance begins. He hesitates, and I worry I won’t like what he’s about to say. “I want you back. I miss you like crazy…”
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything Lance cuts me off.
“But I understand that it’s not my choice. I left you. It was a mistake, but it’s one I have to live with. You’re with Milo now. I promise I won’t try to force you into taking me back again.” Lance smiles. “If you willing change your mind, well, I hope you know I won’t hesitate.”
His sudden grin makes me smile. Forgiving Lance, given enough time I think it’s a possibility. Me leaving Milo for him? That may be asking too much. I can still appreciate his honesty and his promise to back off. When Lance’s smile darkens and disappears, mine does too, though I’m not sure why until Lance speaks again.
“I won’t interfere with your relationship with Milo. He obviously loves you, and you love him. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about him.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I told you I thought he was dangerous, and I still think that’s true. That’s why despite what Milo says about him not needing me to protect you, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t trust him.”
Just when I thought having Lance around wasn’t going to be so bad. “Why? What has Milo ever done that makes you think he’s going to hurt me?”
Lance shakes his head. “It’s not anything he’s done, although I do want an explanation about whatever you did with his diktats tonight. It’s just something about him. He puts on this big act like nothing matters and he couldn’t care less about what anyone else thinks, but there’s something hiding behind that.”
Turning to face me directly, Lance holds my gaze with his seriousness. “I’ve grown up around Guardians. I can recognize dangerous when I see it, and something about Milo makes me want to
stick as close to you as I can.”
“Milo isn’t going to hurt me,” I say.
Lance shrugs. “Maybe you’re right, but just in case you aren’t, I’ll be here.”
Just like when Lance first brought up his concerns about Milo, my immediate reaction is too dismiss them completely. I trust Milo. I don’t believe for a second that he would ever purposely hurt me. I want to chock Lance’s fears up to jealousy or some other mundane reason, but Lance has good instincts. A more sensible part of me tucks his comments away for later and changes the subject.
“I am sorry I missed your birthday.” He turned seventeen last week. I thought about him that day, sad and frustrated that I couldn’t wish him happy birthday for the first time ever.
Lance seems to understand the mixture of emotions. “Hey, not your fault. We’ll do something fun next year.”
“Maybe that…” I begin, but I never finish the thought. My vision ripples as a paralyzing effect sweeps through my entire body. The people moving lazily out of the theater suddenly spring forward as time moves them at an unnatural pace. My focus narrows in on Milo and Celia speaking with the dancer. Even in a vision I can sense them before they arrive. Guardians, not here for me this time, attack Milo in a coordinated effort. The glimpse dissipates and the slow moving patrons return.
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 stage 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 surprises me 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 buc
kles 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