Inquest (14 page)

I turn to say
something to Bryan. He and Milo are shaking hands. Like they’ve
just completed some business. Bryan says something about keys and
starts walking back toward his house. Bryan’s comments start
clicking into place. He said Milo thought I’d want to buy it before
I even saw it. He thought we were boyfriend and girlfriend. And he
handed over the title like everything else was already taken care
of. I jump out of the car and jam my finger against Milo’s
chest.

“You didn’t,”
I seethe. “Please tell me you didn’t, Milo.”

“Didn’t
what?”

I push against
him a little harder. “Tell me you didn’t already buy the
Bronco.”

He frowns and
taps his finger against his lips. “I’m guessing you’ll know if I’m
lying to you, right?”

I nod
slowly.

“Sorry,
then.”

Fury, anger,
delight, desire, they all crash around inside me for a few seconds
before I can get a handle on myself. “You bought the Bronco?” I
ask.

“Yeah. For
you.”

My accusing
finger starts to tremble and I have to press it against Milo to
hide it. I can’t believe he did this. Not only would I never have
expected something like this from him, but some part of me is a
little frightened by this gesture. We’ve known each other for less
than a week. I don’t get it. “Why?” I ask. “And if you shrug, I’ll
slap you.”

Midway through
a shrug, Milo freezes and lowers his shoulders. His voice holds
almost zero emotion as he explains himself. “I didn’t know if you
could afford it. I knew I could, so I bought it last night. You
needed a car. Now you have one.”

This is by far
the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a long time. I shove him
back a step anyway. “You’re such an idiot, Milo.”

His eyebrows
rise in surprise. “Excuse me?”

I shake my
head at him. “I have half a million dollars in an account that only
my dad and I have access to. He set it up for me before he died. My
mom can’t touch it. I have more than enough money to live off,
especially since I probably only have two years left to live
anyway.”

Milo’s
expression doesn’t change. “Well, that’s good to know for future
reference. It doesn’t change anything now, though. The Bronco’s
yours.”

“Milo…”

“It’s
done.”

“But…”

His fingers on
my lips…hmm, cut off the rest of my sentence. After letting myself
indulge for a few brief seconds in his touch, I gently pull his
fingers away from my mouth. He eyes me speculatively.

“Milo,” I say
quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Thank
you.”

The corner of
his mouth tugs up into a half smile, and what does he say? “No
problem.”

At least he
didn’t shrug at me again. He leans forward and my breath catches in
my chest, until he turns aside and brings his mouth next to my ear.
“You want to know the real reason I bought the Bronco for you?” he
asks.

“Why?” I ask,
sounding ridiculously breathy.

“Because now
you’ll feel so indebted to me you can’t help but save my life when
Lance comes after me. With all your shopping done, and a car to
take you wherever you want, what was going to keep you from
sticking to our deal?” he says. “Now I’ve got you for sure.”

His last
sentence sends prickles up my spine. My concerns of a few moments
ago resurface suddenly. Is that really why? His words are teasing,
but as usual, there is a serious edge to what he says. I feel
frozen until a slight smile works its way onto Milo’s lips. He’s
just teasing, I tell myself with a sigh. I push him away roughly
and laugh. “You’re such a jerk.”

“But a jerk
who just bought you a car.”

“Yeah, yeah,”
I say. “You’re so putting the furniture together by yourself.”

Chapter 12

Perfectly Logical
Reasons

It was too
late to take the Bronco out the day we got it. I spent the whole
next week doing my best to ignore the hostilities at school and
wishing I could be out in Montessa Park instead. With its
completely undeveloped five-hundred-plus acres of land, it’s one of
my favorite places to go off-roading. It’s the closest too, which
makes heading there on the weekend a lot more feasible for me than
driving up to Moab or the canyons in Southern Colorado.

I’m not an
adrenaline junkie, not even close. When I go four-wheeling, it
isn’t to find the steepest cliffs and scariest routes possible.
Searching out places bare of people and their mocking, a place that
is remote and calm enough to almost convince me that man and their
prophecies have no bearing on me is why I like to four-wheel. It’s
an escape from reality.

When I
suggested taking the Bronco out to Montessa Park this morning, Milo
was pretty easy to convince. As we roll out of the park with the
sun setting behind us, I lean my head against the headrest and
close my eyes. I smile for what feels like the first time in years.
This was exactly what I needed. We didn’t see another person all
day. No name calling, no accidental shoving or tripping, no
glaring, no misery. I had almost forgotten what that felt like.
Today brought it all back.

Milo and I
spent more time laughing and holding our breath over the more
dangerous routes Milo just had to try despite my telling him no,
than talking today, but I didn’t mind at all. I don’t mind it now,
either. The sound of whirring tires on asphalt and air streaming
over the less than aerodynamic car are the only sounds as we drive
back toward the city. Even before my Inquest, I can’t remember ever
feeling this at peace. There was always the fear and worry about my
future looming in my mind. Although everyone knows who I am now,
and hates me for it, at least it’s out there. It’s not a secret I
have to hide. That’s something.

The buzzing of
wind and tires slows to silence as Milo pulls into the parking
space in front of my motel room. I pull myself up in my seat and
look over at him. “Thanks for coming with me today, Milo. I had a
blast.”

“No problem. I
had fun too. I’m up for crawling anytime,” he says. “In fact, I’m
not doing anything important tomorrow…”

“You should
be,” I interrupt.

He stares at
me with one eyebrow cocked.

“I know you
have a big English paper due Monday, and I have a hundred trig
problems I’m still trying to wade through.”

“Why do you
care?” Milo asks. “It’s just school. Grades really don’t matter,
especially not for you.”

“Why, because
I’m not going to live long enough for my GPA to get me into a good
college anyway?” I snap. I regret my harsh tone instantly, but that
attitude has been thrown in my face all week. None of my teachers
will help me because of who I am, but also because they know my
grades won’t matter in two years. Everyone is just biding their
time until I’m dead.

“That’s not
what I meant,” Milo says.

“Then what did
you mean?”

Milo looks at
me hard, his steely eyes focused on mine. “Just that you’re more
powerful than anyone else on this planet. Who’s going to stop you
from doing anything? Who cares about your GPA or whether or not you
go to college. You could rule the world if you really wanted
to.”

“Well, I don’t
want to,” I say firmly. “I just want to get through high school and
live my life without people trying to kill me.”

Looking away
from me, Milo turns off the car. “Well, we both know that’s not
going to happen.”

He pushes his
door open and steps out. Filled with frustration at him and
everyone else I’ve come into contact with lately, I find myself
unable to get out of the car for several seconds. Milo could get in
his own car and drive off, leave me to wallow in my self-pity, but
he doesn’t. He waits at the front of the Bronco for me to get out
and join him. Eventually I do. I slide up next to him and lean
against the Bronco’s grill.

I’m not mad at
him exactly, just annoyed that he put a dent in my good mood. Maybe
school shouldn’t matter to me, but it does. It always has. I’ve
hated school since the first day of kindergarten. I still dread
walking through the doors every morning. That doesn’t change the
fact that it has always been the one consistently normal thing in
my life. I’ve spent my life hiding my talents, fighting my mom, and
running from Guardians. Outside of school, my life has always been
a mess. Inside those dreary walls, I’m just one of thousands
plugging along. I know that’s not totally true anymore, but it’s
still pretty close. There’s that, plus I’m not ready to admit I
have no future beyond my eighteenth birthday.

“You want me
to come over tomorrow and help you with your trig?” Milo asks.

I’ve yet to
see Milo actually do any homework. He’s obviously only offering as
a way to apologize. Still, it’s sweet of him to offer. “Sure,” I
say, glad the dark night hides the small smile on my lips.

“Alright
then,” Milo says as he pushes away from the Bronco, “I guess I’ll
see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds
good.”

Milo waits
until I am safely inside my room before driving away. He tries to
pretend he has absolutely no concern for anything, but every once
in a while he lets a little hint of his gentleman side slip out.
Despite the frustration of our conversation outside, it’s been a
good day. Across the room lie my drawing pad and charcoals. Nothing
makes me want to draw more than being happy. It’s such a rare
feeling, I usually pounce on it right away. I’m about to do just
that when I spot my tiny little motel-sized trashcan overflowing
with food wrappers and scrap paper. Part of me wants to just leave
it there, but I know it’s going to bug me all night and screw up my
focus when I’m trying to draw.

My charcoals
stay put for a little while longer as I gather up the trash and tie
the bag off. I’ve yet to witness anything even remotely creepy or
scary around the hotel, but I still sweep the parking lot for
anything dangerous looking before I step out. Whatever made
President Howe let me go back to school has kept the Guardians away
from me so far, but I have no idea how long that will last. My
attention is so focused on spotting lurking killers that I don’t
notice the silver Mercedes until I turn away from the dumpster.

Our eyes lock
on one another and I can’t move. I don’t know how I missed his car.
I rode to school in it every day for almost an entire year, not to
mention trips to the movies, dinner, or sneaking out at night.
Lance stares at me from the dark interior, his blue eyes narrow and
his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

The only
complete thought I can manage is,
h
e knows where I
live
. Pure, freezing fear drips down my spine. He’ll tell his
dad! He’ll tell the Guardians and Lazaro might find out. I
seriously doubt Howe can control Lazaro half as well as he thinks
he can.

I don’t have
anywhere else to go. Slowly, my feet start moving independent of my
brain. They carry me away from the dumpster and away from Lance.
His eyes follow me every step, never moving or faltering.

I slip back
inside my room. My charcoals are abandoned for a blade. The long
hunting knife stays in my hand as I wait at my window for any sign
of the attack I know must be coming. Lance’s car doesn’t move. Hour
after hour I sit there, crouched and ready. I can’t see his face
from where I sit, but it hovers in my mind regardless. Lance’s eyes
stay with me all night, long after I fall asleep during my vigil,
into my dreams, and they are still there when I wake. Not
literally—Lance must have left sometime during the night—but I can
still feel him watching all day.

If Milo
notices my preoccupation when he comes over, he doesn’t say
anything about it. Focusing on my math homework is even more
impossible than usual, and eventually we just give up and watch a
movie. When Milo picks me up for school Monday morning, I can’t
help searching the parking lot again for Lance’s car. It isn’t
there. That doesn’t mean he isn’t watching, though.

Since seeing
his car I have wondered non-stop why he chose such a blatant spot.
Lance will one day make a superb Guardian. He knows tactics better
than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s the fastest and strongest in class,
and he’s smarter than parking his car in the middle of the parking
lot when he’s trying to spy on someone. Clearly he wanted me to see
him, to know he’s watching me. But why?

Lance has
spent every second at school doing everything he can to get people
to hate me. A lot of them don’t believe in me as much as they
should, but his efforts do enough to make sure everyone skirts
around me like they’re afraid I’m contagious. Is this just another
form of his torture? It doesn’t make sense.

I have spent
plenty of mental power this week hating Lance’s guts, but as I
think about why he would want me to know he’s watching me, a
traitorous part of my heart comes up with an alternate reason.
Could Lance still be trying to watch over me? The idea of him
trying to protect me is more disturbing than him doing recon for
his father, but the idea lodges in my head and makes me wonder
about everything Lance has done since my Inquest.

The fact that
no Guardians tried to kill me over the weekend is reassuring, but
as I walk to the gym for Speed and Strength training I realize
Lance doesn’t have any need to send Guardians after me. I’m coming
to them. My stomach lurches and almost dislodges my breakfast when
my foot hits the hardwood floor of the gym. I can’t go in. I’m
stuck in the doorway unable to force any of my muscles to move.
Something crashes into me from behind, throwing my body forward. My
fear disappears completely, and I stumble back to my feet and into
a fighting crouch.

“Get out of
the doorway,” Angus growls. He steps forward aggressively, and the
goons behind him do the same.