ARC: Cracked (11 page)

And am instantly pelted by a half-dozen chalk-filled socks.

Crap. Forgot about all my pretend enemies.

The chalk dust burns my eyes and makes me cough, and I stumble, losing my footing and land hard on my back in the brush, the breath knocked out of me.

Twice. In. Two. Days.

I must be losing my edge.

I blink the dust out of my eyes in time to see a face pop over the edge of the boulder. Inky black curls, blue eyes and eyebrows up near his hairline. I guess I’m not who he was expecting.

“It’s that girl!”

“Who?” another voice calls.

“The traitor!”

Maybe these enemies aren’t so pretend.

“She’s out here?” The body belonging to that voice comes around the corner, answering his own question. He stops when he sees me. Shadows play across his face, and not only the ones from the trees overhead. Dark thoughts. Revulsion, hate, anger.

He’s taller than me, but thin, and has the look of someone who’s been sick for a while. Greasy blond hair, gaunt cheeks, dark circles under his narrowed eyes. He white-knuckles the toy knife in his hand.

Definitely not a pretend enemy.

There’s a rustling of dead leaves as the black-haired boy scrambles around the boulders. “Hey, Isaiah.” He casts a look over his shoulder. “Come on, man, she’s dead.” He takes a couple steps away, but Isaiah doesn’t move. “Before her team gets here.”

This wakes the blond up a little and he casts around. “Where are your bodyguards?” he asks me.

“On their way.” I climb to my feet.

“Really? You just wandered off?” His tone is filled with disbelief. I nod. “That’s pretty stupid.”

In hindsight, I have to agree with him.

He shakes his head, the greasy curls swinging. “I don’t believe it.”

Ha, the one time I’ve told the truth in days.

“I bet they decided you weren’t worth guarding.” He pauses, then adds with a sneer, “
Traitor
.”

“Isaiah.” The other boy shifts back and forth, the leaves rustling under his feet. “Come on.” His voice cracks a little.

But instead of leaving, Isaiah takes a step closer to me. “I know why you’re here.”

Unlikely
.

“I know how you got that cut on your face.”

I highly doubt that, too
.

“It’s because everyone back home hates you. Well, we hate you too and you’re not welcome here. You filthy, selfish coward.”

And he spits on me.

Spits. On. Me.

I start to shake and force myself to take a deep breath. He’s not even talking to me, not really. It’s Emma he hates. But that doesn’t stop me from being pissed. Emma, the scum of the earth because what? She doesn’t want to spend her life hunting monsters?

As a monster, I can only support her position.

But it’s more than that. It’s the way he’s trying to scare me because he thinks he can. Because he thinks no one will stop him. That Emma can’t fight back. A familiar surge of giddiness threatens to stretch my mouth into a smirk. Thanks to Samson, I won’t need to eat again for weeks, but what can I say?

Mistaken bully is my favorite.

My mind slips into that red-and-black place where I can see it happening. I punch Isaiah. No, I backhand him – it’s more humiliating. Then I imagine spinning to kick the other one. Maybe in the head, so he sinks under while my bully and I have a little heart-to-heart. Or fist-to-face, whatever’s appropriate. Then…

Isaiah’s still talking. “You thought you’d come here? And then what? Then what, Emma?”

Then what, Emma?
The question cuts through the red haze. Then what indeed? Emma can’t kick the shit out of two Templar boys. How on earth would I explain that?

The red bites back. Not unless I don’t leave any witnesses.

Isaiah shoves me.

“Isaiah!” the other one protests.

“Shut up, James.”

“Come on, man.”

Isaiah whips around, turning on his friend like a mad dog. “I said shut up.” There’s a hysterical edge to his voice. “Or do you think she belongs here? Do you think she can just do what she did and get away with it?” His eyes are wild when he turns back to me and, as his hands fist, I realize the problem is bigger than I first anticipated. He isn’t going to stop at scaring me.

I flick a look at James. He won’t meet my eyes. No help there.

Come on, Chi. Where the hell are you?
Only the birds answer, and they don’t know shit.

It’s not that I can’t take the beating. I’m no expert or anything, but I took a few at the asylum. I’m worried what the beating will reveal. At the asylum, they beat me bad-cop style – careful not to leave marks.

Isaiah doesn’t look capable of that control.

What’s going to happen when Emma’s skin won’t break? When the bruises don’t appear? I can’t run. They’ll just catch me, unless I run too fast, but then they’ll still know. My cover will be blown. They’ll tell.

Unless they can’t
.

The wicked thought licks out my arms and down my spine, making me shiver. My eyes slide sideways, taking in the empty forest, the dense brush cover, the rotten boy puffed up with a bully’s pride. His cowardly friend who stands by and allows it. What’s the world without them? Monsters don’t appear grown; every vicious man grew from a vicious boy. Why should youth protect them?

Meda, no!
My memory mom weeps. Her tears drip on my anger, cooling it slightly so I can think. Even if I do kill them, I’ll still have to run. I’ll have longer to escape if they can’t tattle, but that’s all.

It means I will never know the truth.

Regardless what I do now, I’ve failed. It’s over. That loss floors me hard enough that, when Isaiah shoves me again, it knocks me to the ground.

They’ve ruined everything. Rage bubbles and my fingers sink into the loamy forest floor, shoving through the frozen dirt and gravel as if it were as dense as soap bubbles. I meet his eyes.

He sees my rising anger, the way my hands fist. “What? Never say the coward wants to fight?”

Oh, yes. Yes, she does
.

He jerks back his leg, but something makes him pause. His eyes flick away, away from me, away from the woods and, for a brief second, I think he’s changed his mind. Then he shakes himself and the foot flies forward.

It’s all I need. As if that leg were a lever, it pulls me flying to my feet.

Chalk clouds explode against Isaiah’s shirt, blinding us both.

“Enough!” screeches a high-pitched voice somewhere from the rocks above.

I back out of the dust cloud, coughing, and blinking. Taking back control of the situation. Of my emotions. As it clears I see Isaiah doing the same. My/their rescuer comes climbing over the edge of the jutting cliff above us, scaling it like a monkey. It’s a small girl splattered with freckles and topped with a mess of red hair. It had to be her brother I saw in the cafeteria. No two kids could be so similarly unfortunate-looking without being kin. At least, I hope there’s not more than one set of genes responsible for this particular look.

“What the hell, Mags?” Isaiah says around coughs.

“What do you mean, what the hell? You guys are dead, now get out of here.”

“But–” Isaiah starts.

“Get out of here before I think too hard about what I think I almost just saw.” Her hands rest on her non-existent hips, just above a belt dangling with blue-chalked socks. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“I–” Isaiah starts, then shakes himself, as if he’s waking from a dream. “I wasn’t going to…” But he doesn’t finish the lie.

Mags glares.

Isaiah flushes and looks vaguely ill, while James is still not looking anyone in the eye. Both of them are heavily coated in blue chalk and shame.

“Get out of here.” Mags just sounds kind of tired this time. James tugs on the sleeve of Isaiah’s hoodie, pulling him away. Neither one looks at me before they jog off through the woods, leaving me alone with my pint-sized savior.

She turns to face me and her eyes are a startling, brilliant blue. Maybe all her genes don’t suck. “I don’t think they’ll bother you again.” She pauses. “Isaiah’s… He’s not really bad.”

She must have read the blatant disagreement on my face. She makes a face. “He lost his sister a few months ago.”

I recognize the crazy look in his eye now. I remember a hundred of them staring at me from a shattered bathroom mirror. Grief. My breath catches. I almost killed him for it.

But then, I’ve done worse.

The girl’s still talking, and I come back. “It’s hard for him, seeing someone who opted out, when someone he loved sacrificed everything.” There’s an edge to her voice. She might have saved me, but we aren’t friends.

I wonder why she bothered. “You agree with them.” It’s not a question. “That I’m a selfish coward.”

She shrugs. “It
is
selfish to turn your back on the Templars, especially given how badly the demons outnumber us.” She scuffs the ground with a ratty pink sneaker, then cocks her head and studies me. I guess she decides that Emma the quitter is in no position to throw stones, because she adds, “But it’s a little brave, too.” A little breath escapes her. Wistful.

Oh. I wonder what it’s like to be born a soldier with your future all planned out. Probably a short future, and most definitely a violent one. For Chi, it’s perfect. He’s a born hero. The idea of him working a regular nine-to-five office job is laughable. And Jo’s so violent and angry, if she had any other career, it could only be at the DMV. Uri is Chi’s mini-me, and Zebedee is wildly athletic. But Mags? Small, freckled, scrawny and apparently tender-hearted enough to rescue someone she doesn’t even like? It doesn’t seem like such a great fit.

“They won’t actually make you fight demons, will they?”

“Hey.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m more dangerous than I look.”

Which brings her up to what? Angry-kitten status? But she just saved my bacon, so I’m willing to be generous. “I mean, if you don’t want to.”

“Never really thought about it,” she admits. “Better to fight the demons than wait around to see who doesn’t come back.”

Which she’s spent her whole life doing. The grass is always greener, I guess.

“Anyway,” she says briskly. “I’m just saying I understand why you chose what you did, even if I don’t agree with it.” Then, under her breath, “You’d have to be kind of crazy to want this life.” She wanders around scooping up her chalk socks and tucking them back into her belt.

“Are you crazy, Mags?”

Her smile is too bright when she answers. “Most of the time.”

The sound of a wild rhino charging through the underbrush pulls our attention. Chi bursts from the bushes, his eyes a little insane. His breath comes out with a whoosh when he finds me in one piece.

“Me–” he spots my companion, tries to say “Emma” instead and winds up with “Memma.” Then jumps to “Mags!”

Chi. Captain Obvious. He grabs for a chalk ball in his pocket. She’s on another team, after all.

Mags doesn’t move. “Hey,” she says, blasé. “You should keep a better eye on your friend here. Isaiah wasn’t too happy to see her. I took care of it, but he’s not really the only one, you know.”

“Oh.” Chi relaxes, his hand leaving his chalk ball. “Thanks, Mags.”

“No problem. Catch you two later.” She takes a few steps into the bushes, then calls, “Oh, and Chi?” He turns and a cloud of blue explodes in his face. He stumbles backwards, holding his nose where it was hit by the chalk sock. “You’re dead.”

She grins and disappears as Chi coughs and gags on chalk, his big body bent double, completely laid low by her perfectly aimed missile.

Maybe I didn’t give Mags enough credit.

“You OK?” he asks when he can catch a breath. His sweat turned the pale blue chalk royal, and it stains his hairline and streaks in lines from his watering eyes.

Am I OK? I guess I’m better than OK, because, while I’m not sure I can claim my last plan was a complete success, I have managed to get Chi alone. Once again I find my eyes sliding sideways, looking for witnesses as another nefarious plot unfolds. All’s quiet but the birds.

He lost his hoodie at some point and his faded grey T-shirt is stuck to him with sweat. I wrap a hand around his big bicep and give him my “Help me” eyes.

“I’m so glad you found me!”

“Um, well.” He slants me a look. “It would have been easier if you hadn’t run away.”

I study him for sarcasm. It’s unclear, but unlikely.

“I was so scared–” I widen my eyes. “–with all the fighting.”

He studies me for sarcasm. Misses it entirely.

“Well, you’re safe now. And–” He looks at my chalk-covered shirt, then his own; we’re two dead smurfs. “–it looks like we’re out of the game.” He sighs. “No more fighting for us.”

I try to look sorry.

Chi checks his watch (plastic, digital). “There’s still ten minutes left in the game. Let’s let the others know we’re out, then we can head back in.”

I let him lead the way and follow, but slowly. I plan to take advantage of the full ten. I let my clothing, hair and feet get caught on every branch, briar and twig, bringing our pace down to a crawl. Then I bust out my verbal pry bar and get to work. “So, you told me about demons. But you said something about halflings?”

He grunts an affirmative as he tries to unlatch some briars from my jeans.

“So, are they hunting me too?”

He doesn’t look up. “I guess.” He jerks on the briars and they come loose. He straightens and we start again. I stumble clumsily among the branches.

“So, can you tell me about them? So I know what to watch out for?”

“Don’t worry; my brother will be watching out for you.”

I blow some hair out of my face. “But I want to know.”

My tone says I’m serious, so he shrugs and answers. “Well, we actually don’t know much about them. They have some human traits, some demon traits, but you never know quite how much. I’ve heard one was shot before. Like with a regular gun.”

Hmmm, I don’t like that.

“But they only shot him because the holy water had no effect.” He shakes his head like it’s too crazy to believe. “They had to try something. Others though, they’re just like demons, except not dead.” He hops over a log and holds out a hand to help me over. I take it and step over, then release it. He starts forward again. “Not dead,
yet,
I should say. They almost always become demons when they die. Sell their soul just like the rest of them.”