Inquest (13 page)

I’ve never
seen this man before, but the telltale signs of a Guardian are hard
to miss. Big, muscular, evil, drone-like capacity for following
orders. The blade strapped to his forearm is a pretty good clue
too. He pulls me away from the crowd to a corner I’m sure isn’t
within sight of any security cameras.

“Can I help
you?” I ask through a forced smile.

“What’s in the
bags, Cassia?”

“Afraid I’m
buying
Destroy the World
supplies at the mall?” His mouth
curls into a snarl at my sarcasm. I roll my eyes and hold my bags
out to him. “You’re welcome to check them. All but the
Victoria’s Secret
bag. I don’t relish the idea of some creep
fondling my bras.”

He clearly
doesn’t appreciate my mocking. But he grabs my bags anyway. After
searching them in record time he thrusts them back into my hands
with a grunt.

“Disappointed?” I ask sweetly.

“You’re not
fooling us.”

“I don’t have
to fool you. I just have to not destroy the world and you have to
keep your grubby hands off me. Unless you’re on Lazaro’s side,” I
add.

“There are no
sides in the Guardians,” he snaps. “That’s a lie.”

He seriously
can’t be that delusional. “I was there. Howe said leave me alone.
Lazaro said he’d kill me if he got the chance regardless of orders.
There are definitely sides in the Guardians.”

Can’t hurt to
sow a few seeds of division among these psychos. Chaos in their
ranks can only help me. The Guardian slaps a hand against the back
of my neck and yanks me right up next to his face. My bags scatter
on the ground around me. Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a good
idea.

“I don’t care
who kills you, so long as someone does. Howe or Lazaro…it will be
equally thrilling to watch. For me. For you it will be the worst
kind of pain you can imagine. I’ve seen both men take down rivals.”
He smiles, sending a chill through my body. “Early in Howe’s
crusade to the top, he faced a man from Japan. This man loved
sushi, and Howe loves to make each death as personal and memorable
as possible, so after beating this man in combat, he cut the flesh
from his body one strip at a time. Turned him into his favorite
meal. It took hours.”

Watching every
expression that flashes on my features, the Guardian relishes the
disgusted look on my face. “Lazaro is even worse,” he says. “I
don’t care which one of them ends up on top after this. I just want
to be sure I’m there when they get their hands on you.”

“I don’t plan
on letting them
get their hands on me
any time soon. But if
you
ever touch me again…”

My hand whips
his own blade out of its sheath to press against his neck. He makes
a move as if to struggle, but my other hand pressing to his
forehead and unleashing a dose of Naturalism stops him cold. He
blinks his eyes rapidly as my power enters his body and disrupts
its ability to process sight. There’s nothing physically wrong with
him. It’s just a trick my family’s butler, Manuel, taught me when
we would play our own version of hide and seek. It made sure the
seeker wasn’t cheating. It isn’t permanent and only lasts as long
as the person doing it stays focused on maintaining the trick. The
Guardian doesn’t know that, though.

“Stay away
from me, or next time I’ll make this permanent. You won’t see
anyone kill me, and you certainly won’t see me coming either.” I
drop the blade and withdraw my power, but not before sending a
tendril of Concealment into his mind. I need to make sure this
little incident doesn’t become a headline on tonight’s news.

Regaining his
sight, the Guardian takes a menacing step forward.

“I wouldn’t,
Douglas Rudolph, who lives with his wife and three children at 2378
Harvest Place.” Doug’s eyes swell into saucers. Concealment
searched out the most basic information of his life so quickly I
doubt he even knew I did it.

“Are you
threatening me?” he barks.

“No, I’m
protecting myself.”

I didn’t wait
for him to respond. My words, which were indeed a threat—though not
one I could ever force myself to carry out—keep him from following
me. I gather my dropped bags in trembling hands and push my way
through the crowd to the electronics store. Milo sees me as soon as
I cross the threshold. He waves me over and into a discussion about
DVDs and Bluerays. I nod and make a general comment, but I have no
clue what is said. In the end, I choose one that looks decent
enough and pass it off to Milo. I just want to get out of this
place.

“Please tell
me we’re done now, Libby. I don’t think I can take much more of
this,” Milo says as we step out into the heat.

“You’re the
one who stood there arguing with the electronics guy for forever. I
didn’t care which one we got as long as it could play a movie.”

“I still think
we should have gotten the PS3. It plays Bluerays.” His pout is both
earnest and laughable at the same time. It begins to distract me
from thinking about the encounter with the Guardian.

“You just
wanted to play video games on it,” I argue.

He shakes his
head at me. “Well, what else are we going to do in the room? You
can only watch so much reality TV before your brain melts. And both
the DVDs we got are chick movies.”

The
room, instead of
your
room. The DVDs
we
got.
Everything he says pushes my dark thoughts further into the back of
my mind. When did we stop shopping for
me
and started
shopping for
us
? It is ridiculous, of course. We hardly even
know each other, but it makes me smile to know that he just expects
we will be together after school. Maybe it’s purely a survival
instinct for him, maybe it’s something else entirely, but for now
I’m glad of the company even if he is a little strange. He fell
asleep yesterday for two hours, and then he took off after dinner
without an explanation.

“Just open the
trunk please, so I can get rid of these bags,” I say when we reach
his car.

“I’m not sure
all of that is even going to fit in there.”

“Milo, would
you please quit whining? I feel like I’m hanging out with a
two-year-old.”

In response to
that, he actually sticks his tongue out at me. It’s so unexpected
that I lose my stern expression and laugh. Pleased with himself, he
closes the trunk on my purchases, barely, and leans against the
car. “Are we done or not?” he asks.

I narrow my
eyes at him and seriously consider thinking up at least two more
stores that I absolutely
have
to go to today. My aching feet
and back protest as vehemently as Milo would at the idea of more
shopping. Plus, I do not want a repeat of what happened by the
bathrooms.

“Yes,” I say,
“we’re done.”

“Sweet. Get in
the car.” Milo bounds around to his own side so quickly I once
again have serious doubts about whether or not his diktats are
accurate about his talents. “Come on, come on,” he demands. It’s
time to find a car and he knows it.

Just to be a
snot, I take my time walking over to the passenger’s door, pulling
it open, and sliding into my seat. I plan to do the same with my
seatbelt, but the way Milo lurches out of the parking space before
I can even touch it forces me to scramble to get it clicked into
place. He’s out of the parking lot faster than I can even form a
coherent thought.

“Where are we
going? I didn’t even tell you where I want to look.”

“So? I already
found what you’re looking for,” he says. There’s excitement in his
voice, but he somehow manages to keep it from his face. He looks
terribly serious. It’s an odd look for him.

“What do you
mean you already found it?” I ask.

“Just what I
said.”

“But I didn’t
even tell you what I wanted to look at.”

He huffs at
me. “What does that matter? You said I get to pick.”

“Oh no, I
didn’t. I said you could
help
me pick out a new car.”

His calm
expression finally cracks. He grins at me shamelessly. “Close
enough,” he says. “Stop whining.”

I stick my
tongue out at him this time and settle in for the ride. He’s going
to pay for this later. See if I help him set up any of the new
stuff we got today. We. Ha, I’m doing it too. The mini-fridge and
hotplate won’t take much, but the bookshelf and little dresser are
going to take some time. Maybe I’ll watch one of my chick movies
while he works. Or play around with my new cell phone or
laptop.

Before I can
fully enjoy my vengeful thoughts, Milo is pulling off the main road
and meandering through a middle class neighborhood. I look over at
him to question his choice of routes since there aren’t any
dealerships within miles of here, but his stoic focus on the road
doesn’t waver. Several short minutes later he pulls up to the curb
and turns off the car.

“Where are
we?” I ask. Maybe this is his house? My interest piques. I know
virtually nothing about him. Is he actually going to give me some
hint of who he is under the grunge and blasé attitude?

“Um, I believe
we are just off Central at a house that belongs to a guy named
Bryan,” Milo responds.

Okay, it’s not
Milo’s house. I’m surprisingly disappointed. “Why are we here?”

“To pick up
your new car, obviously. Come on.” He jumps out before I can
respond. I’m left either sitting in the car like a petulant child
or following him and possibly regretting it very deeply. Well, it
wouldn’t be the first thing I regretted doing.

I push the
door open and meet Milo as he comes around the car. He is
so
enjoying himself. I’m definitely watching my movie tonight. I hope
he has fun trying to figure out the ridiculously vague instructions
that always come with unassembled furniture. I bet he’ll have even
more fun if I hide the English instructions and make him try to use
the Spanish ones. I know I will.

Milo rings the
doorbell and steps back. A husky man, slowly going bald, opens the
door and offers his hand. “Milo, nice to see you again, and you
must be Libby,” he says turning to me. He tries not to flinch when
I extend my hand. It’s more effort than anyone else has made today.
I wonder if Milo tried to prepare him. “I’m Bryan.”

“Nice to meet
you, Bryan,” I say, genuinely appreciating his even letting me look
at his car.

He turns back
to Milo, looking relieved not to have to face me anymore, and says,
“Your girlfriend’s a little thing. You think she can handle
Betsy?”

Betsy? Did he
seriously name his car Betsy? Girlfriend? Did Bryan just call me
Milo’s girlfriend? I glance over at Milo to see him shove his hands
in his pockets and duck his head down to hide his expression from
me. How exactly did Bryan get the impression that I was Milo’s
girlfriend? Does Milo’s embarrassment come from being caught, or
from being caught off guard? But more importantly, why don’t I mind
Bryan’s mistake? I should. I should mind a lot, actually.

“Can we see
Betsy?” Milo asks without looking up.

“Sure, sure.
She’s behind the fence there.” Bryan leads us over to a wooden
fence next to his garage. He unlocks a latch and swings the big
double gates open.

My jaw drops.
I can’t believe it. My hand flies up to my mouth to smother the
giggles bubbling out of it. Everything I manage to bottle up sinks
down into my feet and I start hopping up and down in place,
completely unable to contain myself. When I can tear my gaze away
from it I look over at Milo, who is laughing at me. I don’t even
care.

“Go. Take a
look at it. Make sure it’s what you want,” Milo says.

I bound away
from him. Bryan’s voice follows me.

“Never seen a
girl get so excited about a twenty-year-old Bronco. She must be a
big fan of the model, for some reason.”

Milo’s voice
is laced with amusement when he says, “You could say that.”

I grin even
bigger and run my hands along the body. It’s perfect. It’s blue
instead of the red one I had tried to get the first time around,
but everything else is the same. It even has a winch on the front.
Finding the door unlocked, I pull it open and climb inside. As I
do, I realize the reason behind Bryan’s comment about my size. I
have to step quite a bit higher to get into this Bronco than I did
on the last one. I peek down at the tires before I understand.
There must be a lift on this to fit the massive things. They’ll be
perfect for rock crawling, though. I bounce into the driver’s seat,
close my eyes, and inhale the scent of cleaner and air
freshener.

“You like it?”
he asks as he comes up next to me. My reaction should have been
answer enough, but there is a subtle hint of uncertainty in his
voice. I can’t feel it from him at all, but it’s there.

Without
opening my eyes I reach for his hand. “I love it. Thank you,
Milo.”

I can feel his
shrug in the way his hand bobs up and down. “No big deal. I’m glad
you like it.”

I know this
wasn’t a casual find, though. It was something more. And I’m not
going to forget it. Crap, there go my movie watching plans. I guess
I’ll have to help put furniture together after all. I open my eyes
and meet Milo’s gaze. My hand tightens around his. Under the force
of his completely unguarded expression, one of honest pleasure,
it’s hard to keep from doing even more.

Bryan claps a
hand on Milo’s shoulder, startling him into dropping my hand. The
urge to smack Bryan has to be channeled into a tight smile. “So
what do you think?” he asks, still keeping a careful distance from
me.

“I’ll take
it,” I say quickly.

“Milo thought
you’d say that,” Bryan chuckles.

He slips a
blue piece of paper out of his back pocket and hands it to me. I
have to unfold it to realize it’s the title for the Bronco. I’m
locked in a momentary bout of confusion. I’ve never bought a used
car before, but I thought you generally don’t hand over the title
until after you get paid for the vehicle. Why is he giving it to me
now? I’m not even sure how much he’s asking, but I’m guessing I’ll
have to head to the bank first.