Inquest (27 page)

I push the
sleeve of my sweater up and brace myself for his rejection. The
ebony colored diktats banding my wrist seem to pulse as I bare
them. Seconds pass in silence. The fear and hatred I expect never
comes. Only confusion does.

“I don’t
understand, Miss Libby. Your mother kicked you out for being the
Destroyer? I already knew about that. I heard about it that same
night. It was all the other servants in the house could talk about
for days. I expected your mother to be upset, but I didn’t think
she would kick you out.”

“Why not?
She’s never been one for compassion or mercy.”

“But, Miss
Libby, you are her daughter. She shouldn’t have turned her back on
you because of some twist of fate. You are her blood,” Manuel
says.

“You should
know by now how little that matters to her,” I say.

“You are your
father’s daughter. I know Mrs. Sparks has many faults, but she did
love your father. It kept her from abandoning you completely after
his death. I thought it would be enough this time as well.”

I shake my
head. “Not this time.”

Manuel takes
my hands and squeezes them as if he could apologize to me for my
mother’s actions. If only he knew the whole of it. Abandoning her
only child was among the least of her sins. At least Manuel doesn’t
seem fazed by my revelation. It is wonderful, and hopeful, to know
that he greeted me so warmly knowing full well who I am. If only
hormone-driven young men and butlers ruled the world.

“Manuel, I
really do need to speak to my mother. Is she here?”

He nods, slow
and unhappy. “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak to her, Miss Libby. Your
mother can be a…”

Several choice
words spring to my mind in the brief second he pauses.

“…She can be a
vengeful woman if the mood suits her. And she has been in varying
types of unpleasant moods lately,” Manuel finishes.

“When isn’t
she in an unpleasant mood? I’ll take my chances. Where is she?”

He hesitates,
but it seems to be against his nature to ignore a question. “I
believe she is still in her quarters, Miss Libby.”

“Well, it
appears you are wrong once again, Manuel.” My mother’s frigid voice
sends an involuntary chill down my spine.

Chapter 22

Tricks

“I would have
thought dropping off your belongings, taking your car, and
cancelling your cell phone would have been a glaringly obvious hint
that I never wanted to see you again, Libby,” my mother says as she
glides gracefully down the grand staircase. Her burgundy chiffon
dress swirls around her knees. The sound of her high heels clicking
on the steps sends a jolt of fury through me with every snap. I
can’t even force myself to respond to her, my jaw is locked so
tight with anger.

I feel Milo
approach before he actually touches my shoulder. Carefully
controlled anger rolls off of him. He’s not even scared. He should
be.

“Who’s this,
Libby, your bodyguard?” Her trifling laugh has an interesting
effect on Milo. His anger is suddenly interrupted by laughter. I
realize why and smile as well.

“No, Mom.
Actually, I’m his. Milo’s just here to remind me not to kill
you.”

I can feel
nothing of my mother’s emotions, but the quick twitch of her head
gives away her worry. Yes, she knows who I am. Best for her if she
doesn’t forget it.

“What are you
doing here, Libby?” she demands.

“We need to
talk.”

“I have
nothing to say to you, now get out,” she says, turning her back on
me as if we’re done.

If she
actually expects me to listen to her she’s sadly mistaken. I reach
the bottom step before she whips around and snarls at me. “I said
get out.”

“No.”

The only time
I ever listened to my mother was when my dad told me to. Her nasty,
vile demeanor weakened my respect for her pretty early on. Like
around three years old. The only reason we survived living together
after my dad died was an unspoken pact of simply ignoring each
other as much as possible. My dear mother has clearly not forgotten
her lack of power over me. She turns so quickly the hem of her
dress snaps as she stamps away from me. My next words shock her
into statue-like stillness.

“I know you
told Dad about the Serqet.”

Her pinky
finger starts twitching like mad. “What?” she whispers.

“You told Dad
how to perform a Serqet, didn’t you?”

“I…I don’t
know what you’re talking about.” She won’t turn around and face
me.

“Grandpa
Martin is part of the Veil, and he’s as malicious about getting to
the top as you are. He told you about stealing people’s talents.
Anything to get ahead, right? Did you ever try it yourself?” I ask,
my voice dripping with hostility.

“No, no, I
never tried it.”

“Of course
not,” I say, “or you’d already be dead.”

She doesn’t
respond.

“But you knew
about the Serqet. You weren’t strong enough to make any use of it,
but you thought Dad was. You wouldn’t risk your own life, but you
risked mine and his. You risked it, and you lost. Dad wasn’t strong
enough. It’s your fault he’s dead.”

“No!” she
screams as she spins to face me. “He
was
strong enough! He
could have done it. I know he could have! Andrew was the most
powerful Concealer I had ever met. My father despised Inquisitor
Moore for snatching him up before he could. Andrew would have ruled
the Veil if it wasn’t for you.”

“If he’d been
strong enough, he wouldn’t be dead!” I scream at her. Five years of
guilt and self-loathing pour into my voice. “It’s your fault I
don’t have a father anymore!”

Shaking with
her own fury, my mother closes in on me. Milo’s other hand presses
into my side, ready to pull me back at the first sign of her
attacking me. Like he would ever be quicker than me. But I love the
thought. His presence is enough to ratchet down my anger to a more
manageable level. I face my mother without flinching. Not even when
her lethal-looking nails grab my chin.

“Your father
is dead because you woke up. If you had just stayed asleep like you
were supposed to everything would be fine now.”

“Except I’d be
dead instead of him. But maybe that’s what you mean,” I sneer.

Her nails grip
me harder, but this time it’s because she’s trying to control her
shaking rather than hurt me. “No, Libby. You’d both be alive. He
could have done it, taken your talents, and you would have woken up
the next morning feeling no different than before. We would still
be a family.” A broken sob interrupts her train of thought. “You…If
you had just stayed asleep none of this would have happened. I
don’t know why he wanted your talents, but when he asked, I told
him what to do. Yes, it would have meant more power, but I would
have given him anything. He was my entire world. And you took him
from me, Libby.”

“I…” Her
emotions come flooding over me. She must have released them
purposely, because her own immense Perception wouldn’t falter just
because she was upset. The raw honesty of them feel so alien coming
from her. Deep, rending regret, grief wide and unending,
loneliness, pain, longing, all so blatant and powerful. One after
another, they bash into me until I can barely stand, let alone
respond. She has suffered like I have. Five years of guilt and
aching. For a brief second I feel closer to her than I have in my
entire life.

But like
anything good coming from my mother, it doesn’t last. Realization
of the heartache we have shared quickly turns into anger that she
made me suffer alone. We both lost that night, but instead of
trying to comfort her daughter, she blamed me and locked me out of
her heart and life. At the same moment the emotions pouring out of
my mother change as well, from pain of loss to unabashed jealousy
and hatred.

“I knew the
risks when Andrew asked me how to steal your talents, but I knew he
could be the first one to do it. He was stronger than you can even
understand, Libby. I never wanted you to be hurt,” she says, and I
find myself actually believing her. “But given the choice, I would
rather have seen you die than him. Yes, I gave him the tool that
took him into your room that night, but your selfish refusal to
stay out of things that didn’t concern you is what killed him. And
I will never forgive you for that.”

“Things that
didn’t concern me?” I laugh in morbid disbelief. “Are you kidding
me? How is someone trying to steal my talents not something that
would have concerned me? They were my talents!”

“You wouldn’t
have even missed them. You hadn’t shown any signs of developing at
the time. We had no idea what you would become. And Andrew would
have left you something, some talent that would have suited you. He
wouldn’t have left you with nothing,” she argues.

The idiocy of
what she’s saying makes me laugh in her face. Her perfectly smooth
forehead crinkles at the sound.

“He knew,” I
say mirthlessly. “Dad knew I was the Destroyer, and so did I. I
knew before he did. I started manifesting talents the day I was
born. When he tried to steal them, it was agony. I felt him trying
to rip them out of me. Your
tool
was what woke me up.”

Short, raspy
breaths pulse in and out of her chest as my words sink in. The
strength in her legs fails, and she slides down to the steps.

“I was just a
child, Mom. Eleven years old. It hurt so badly. I didn’t know what
was going on. What else could I do but try to stop him. You put him
there. You were the one who told him what to do. You killed him,” I
say, “not me.”

Tears are
pouring down her alabaster cheeks. “He never told me,” she
whimpers. “I didn’t know. I never would have let him do it if I’d
known.”

I can’t keep
the acidic edge from my voice. “And you being the daughter of the
leader of the Veil, and a Concealer yourself. Your own daughter was
the Destroyer, and you didn’t even see it.”

She looks so
broken.

That’s why her
sudden attack catches me off guard.

Springing off
the stairs, she flies at me, knocking Milo back in surprise. My
mother has no Strength, but her psychotic, adrenaline-fueled lunge
is powerful enough. My scrambled wits and lack of real sleep make
it a struggle to react. Her fingers close around my neck before I
can finally get my own hands up to force her away from me. I throw
her back and call on my Speed to get me away.

In the seconds
I have before she gets back to her feet, I close off my emotions so
she can’t track me or anticipate my moves. I try to blur my focus
into seeing what she will do next but her own Concealment strangles
my attempt. A brief thought that I need to learn how to do that
myself for when the Seekers come after me lodges itself onto my
list of things to do should I survive my mother trying to kill me,
and disappears from my mind.

This is going
to come down to Speed and Strength. The real trouble is going to be
beating her without killing her. Although the positively murderous
look in her eyes is quickly making that less of a concern. Milo,
please don’t fail me. As horrible as she is, I can’t handle being
responsible for both of my parents’ deaths.

She’s back on
her feet, and I tense for her next attack, but she just stands
there. She’s not giving up. I know her too well for that. She’s
planning something. Stepping back slowly, I move further away from
Milo just in case hurting him is part of her plan. Manuel is
standing slack-jawed in the corner, but I doubt my mother will hurt
him. It would be too much trouble trying to train someone new.
She’s still just standing there. Forget this.

I break into a
run meant to get me to her side before she can react, but the first
step I take sinks into the marble floor. My heart stutters. I look
down and am shocked to find the marble I was standing on has turned
to slush, its swirling pattern ruined by my foot sinking into
it.

How could I
forget her Naturalism? Her talent for manipulating natural elements
was what inspired me to try and convince everyone I was following
in her footsteps. I just never saw it as a weapon. Leave it to my
mom to turn the beauty of speaking to the elements of this world
into something she could hurt people with. The gelatinous soup
pulls me in up to mid-calf, cutting off my musing and sending me
back into panic mode.

Desperately I
try to pull my foot back out by shifting my weight to my back foot.
That foot sinks as well, and I gasp in shock and fear. I shift
again and yank my back foot out of the mess. My mom rushing toward
me only intensifies my panic. A venomous curse slips out of my
mouth as I drop to one side just enough to avoid my mom’s slap.
With one knee on solid ground, I drag my leg out. Almost out.

My ankle is
still trapped when my mother launches her next attack. The marble
sucks itself back into shape, trapping my foot in its razor sharp
grip. One tiny movement to the side sends the sharp edge of the
rock into my skin. Pinned to the floor, my mother seizes her
chance. Her hand slams into my face, and my vision pitches wildly.
Only the cool green blob of Milo’s shirt bobbing up and down in the
haze alerts me that he’s moving toward us.

“Milo, stay
back!” I scream. The green blur stops moving.

“How are you
going to protect him now, Little Libby,” she asks. Her vicious
tone, and her use of the nickname my dad used to call me, clears my
vision in a red-tinged wave of hatred.

“Leave him
alone.”

“Why should I?
It only seems fair that since you took the man I loved, I should
take yours in return.”

She’s
bluffing. Milo may not have the talents of a Guardian, but he is
still a pretty big guy. Her talents aren’t going to protect her
against brute force. As long as he can get to her before she wraps
him in marble or simply convinces his heart to stop beating. She
won’t. Will she?