Inquest (15 page)

“Don’t touch
me,” I warn him.

His face
screws into a mask of disgust. “Don’t touch me,” he mimics in a
high, annoying voice. The idiots behind him snicker. Angus’s gaze
only darkens. “I don’t know if you’re really as pathetic as you
pretend you are in class, or if the stories about you are all just
a bunch of crap, but either way, I’m not scared of you, Libby.”

Oh, if only I
could show him what I can really do, let him choke on my real
power. Strength hums in my muscle cells. My talents are straining
to be released. I had my hands raised defensively in front of me,
and when my fingers start shaking Angus smirks. He clearly thinks
I’m shaking out of fear. That only makes my desire to pound his
face in even more intense. I have to dig deep to find enough
discipline to hold back.

Angus doesn’t
have the same problem. His finger jams against my chest. “I said
get out of my way.”

I should just
move. Play the weak, helpless little girl I want everyone to think
I am.

I’ve never
been very good at weak and helpless.

“Get your
grimy finger off me, and I’ll consider it.”

Fire flashes
in Angus’s eyes. “Oh, you’ll do more than consider it.”

His fingers
slide across my collar bone, making me gag, and continue their way
up my neck. The soft touch makes me panic. I don’t know what he’s
doing. Not until his hand reaches the back of my neck, grabs a
fistful of hair, and yanks. My head jerks back. Even though my
skull is stinging I refuse to let him see it. I have to tap my
Naturalism to keep tears from falling, but I hold it together.

“Destroyer, or
not, there is nothing you can do to stop me.” Angus forces my face
to within inches of his. I’m close enough to bite his nose off. If
he considers that, it’s clear he doesn’t believe I could do it. I
want so badly to prove him wrong. But I don’t. Angus smiles
mockingly. “See, boys, she’s nothing but a freaking bedtime story.
I could get rid of her right now and end this whole overblown mess
if I really wanted to.”

“Then why
don’t you?” I ask. “If you’re so sure I can’t rip you into
kibble-sized pieces, why haven’t you gotten rid of me already?”

“Because I
don’t care to waste my time on you.”

That might be
partly true. He certainly never wasted any time trying to be nice
to me before unless Lance was around for him to impress. That’s
certainly not the only reason, though. If I can’t rearrange his
perfectly Romanesque features, I’m at least going to mess up his
image. I know, stupid, but I can’t resist.

“You don’t
want to waste your time on me? What are you doing right now?” I
ask. I glare at him and exert the tiniest bit of Spiritualism—the
most I can manage—to manipulate his fear and take it up a few
notches. “You can say whatever you want, Angus, but you and I both
know you’re too scared to ever actually do anything. You want to
look macho now, but inside you’re so scared you’re about to piss
your pants. I can feel it.”

Just to
emphasize my point I tap my Naturalism, toss it over to him, and
put a little extra pressure on his bladder. His eyes fly wide, and
he yanks back on my hair, throwing me to the floor. Away from him.
Little pussy. It’s so satisfying seeing him in such a panic that I
laugh before thinking better of it. I can’t use my Speed, but he
can use his. His hand is around my throat half a second after the
sound escapes my lips.

“Keep your
talents away from me you little…”

“Get your
hands off her!” Lance’s voice booms across the gym.

Surprise
flashes through both me and Angus. Lance? Why is he helping me?
Neither of us moves.

“I said let go
of her, Angus!”

Angus’s grip
slackens and I shove his hand the rest of the way off my skin. I
scramble back up to my feet and stare at Lance. What is he doing?
He’s focused on Angus, though, not me, so the only thing his
expression gives away is anger.

“What?” Angus
snaps.

“What the hell
are you doing?”

“Nothing!”

Lance’s eyes
narrow even more. “Then how’d your hand end up around her
neck?”

“She was in my
way,” Angus argues.

“In your
way?”

“She
threatened me! What was I supposed to do?” Angus’s gaze momentarily
leaves Lance to glare at me. Lance follows. His eyes are just as
blue as they’ve ever been, but there’s something darker at their
core now. It makes me shiver.

“If you touch
her one more time, I will personally make sure you never do it
again,” Lance threatens.

Angus stares
at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously trying to protect her?”

Maybe I just
imagine it, but I swear Lance pauses for a moment before answering.
Could I have possibly been right? I don’t understand that, but a
small part of my anger at him chips away. Lance flicks his gaze
away from me and back to Angus.

“I’m not
protecting her, you idiot, I’m protecting
you
,” Lance
snarls. “If Clement finds out about this, he’ll put you on
probation and then you’ll never get the chance to really stop her.
Now get out of here before I tell Clement myself.”

Angus
hesitates for a minute but eventually nods. He and his pack of
morons trail off to the locker room. I don’t pay them any more
attention. My mind is completely focused on Lance. “I…” I begin,
not even sure what to say, but before I can figure it out, Lance
turns and storms away from me without saying a word.

I’m left
standing there, more confused than ever. First, I find him outside
my motel room, watching…protecting? Now he stops Angus from
attacking me. It would appear that he didn’t tell anyone that he
figured out where I’m staying, given that no one tried to kill me
over the weekend. Despite the perfectly logical reasons he gave
Angus for stepping in, part of me doubts his words. I’m not really
sure what that means, though. Is he actually trying to help me, or
just making sure no one kills me before he gets the chance to do it
himself?

Chapter 13

Nothing

In the weeks
since my run-in with Angus, I’ve only caught Lance spying on me
twice. I think he’s been there more often than that, but he’s
gotten better at hiding. There are times when I feel the brush of
his familiar presence somewhere near me, but I don’t see him
anywhere. I could find him if I tried, but to be honest, I don’t
want to. I don’t want to think about him watching me or his reasons
for doing so.

We’ve spent so
much of our lives together, my Perception can feel it when he gets
too close to me. If he tries to kill me again, I know I’ll be able
to stop him. If he’s really trying to protect me, I don’t want to
be faced with that either. The more I think about it, the harder it
is to hate him. It scares me that when I think about him sneaking
around, I feel safer knowing he’s there. He has always protected
me, but I can’t let myself believe he always will.

Another
concern about Lance’s spying is that Milo’s pretty much always by
my side lately. His intentions aren’t any clearer than Lance’s, but
I know for sure that if he sees Lance, or Lance tries anything,
Milo will be more than willing to beat him into a pulp. I tell
myself I would like to see Lance punished, but I don’t think I
could ever really hurt him or let anyone else hurt him. He’s too
much a part of me. So I stick close to Milo and do my best to
pretend Lance doesn’t exist.

I wish Milo
were here now. Not because of Lance, but because having Milo next
to me right now is about the only thing that will make my
Spiritualism class even mildly interesting. Not that I don’t think
having a talent for Spiritualism is important, but I just don’t see
how it’s going to help me stay alive. Going into the spirit world
has absolutely zero benefit for me. Being able to connect with
people’s souls in order to comfort or guide them doesn’t have a lot
of offensive possibilities, either. Comforting President Howe out
of wanting to kill me doesn’t seem very likely.

At least the
rest of the school seems to be slowly getting used to me. It’s been
nearly a week since anyone tried to injure me. Most of the world
didn’t believe in me before my Inquest. They only believed after
because the Guardians made such a big deal about it. People still
avoid me, but in general that’s them doing what they usually did
before. I’ve never been everyone’s favorite person.

Even the other
Guardians-in-training seem to have given up trying to find a way
around the law that will let them kill me and have settled for
pretending I don’t exist. But again, that’s what they did before
they knew who I was, so things actually seem like they’re getting
back to normal. When the bell finally rings for the end of
Spiritualism, I’m actually anxious to get through my next couple of
classes so I can head to Mr. Walters’ class. At least his class
will be interesting.

I don’t
realize how much more interesting until I walk into the normally
empty classroom and find Milo sitting next to the seat I usually
occupy. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Milo has
decided to audit my class. I hope you don’t mind having a
companion, Libby,” Mr. Walters says.

“No, not at
all.”

“Give me a
moment to gather my notes and we’ll get started.”

Tuning out the
rustling noise of his preparations, I make my way to my seat. Right
away, my thoughts center on Lance and Milo continually antagonizing
each other. Milo doesn’t know anything about Lance following me,
but he can’t stop himself from mouthing off at Lance every time he
sees him, and Lance’s jealousy goads him into responding every
time. Lance has come dangerously close to getting suspended several
times already. I cringe every time I think of him getting tossed
out of school and losing his dream. Usually when I hear him talking
about me, doing his best to make sure everyone remembers who I am
so they stay properly scared of me, I find it much easier to put
him out of my mind, but lately that’s been harder knowing he might
be watching over me. Still, Milo would rather be doing just about
anything than taking on extra classes. Something must have
happened.

I lean over to
Milo, and whisper, “What are you really doing here? Is there a
problem with Lance?”

“Yes. So I
came running in here to protect myself like a scared child. You
give me no credit at all, do you?” Milo says drily.

I just frown
and wait for a real answer.

“Amazingly
enough, I didn’t end up getting detention from anyone today. What
else was I supposed to do while I waited for you?”

“Read a book?
Do your homework? Something productive.”

“This is
productive.”

I cock an
eyebrow at him.

“Class is
starting,” he says.

I have a
feeling there’s some other reason he’s here, but whatever it is,
I’m not going to find it out until after class. I turn in my seat
and face Mr. Walters, who has made his way back to the front of the
room.

“This is
wonderful,” Mr. Walters says. “Milo tells me that he is very
interested in learning more about the Destroyer class. I thoroughly
applaud his initiative. Perhaps if others had followed in my path,
we would have had some warning of your coming.”

I was only
half listening, but his last sentence slips into my mind clearly.
“Wait, what was that? What do you mean there wasn’t any warning?
Who was supposed to warn people?”

“Becoming a
Guardian typically only requires one to have Speed and Strength,
but occasionally certain individuals are gifted with Speed,
Strength, and Vision. Once trained, these people are often
recruited into an elite rank of Guardians known as Seekers. Their
Vision commonly allows them to anticipate attacks from enemies
during a battle, which allows them to avoid injury. Even more
importantly, though, is that they can sometimes foretell the
possibility of conflict days, months, even years in the future. It
had long been believed among the Seekers that they would be able to
predict the coming of the Destroyer and prepare for her
arrival.”

“Guess they
were wrong,” Milo says.

Mr. Walters
pauses. “Quite.”

“I’ve never
heard of these Seekers,” I say.

“They are a
closely guarded secret,” Mr. Walters says. “You only learn of them
when you are inducted into their ranks.”

“So…you’re one
of them?” Milo asks.

“Formerly.”

“Huh, you
would think something like that would be pretty hard to get out
of.”

“Incredibly
difficult,” Mr. Walters says.

Milo’s eyes
narrow with incredulity. “Then how did you get out?”

“The hard
way,” he replies.

In the time
that I’ve known Mr. Walters, I have never seen him wear a
short-sleeved shirt. I thought it was merely due to the cool, fall
weather outside. As he unbuttons his cuffs and pushes back his
sleeves, I realize there is another reason entirely. The gasp that
escapes my throat is completely involuntary, but utterly
appropriate. Scars crisscross his forearms to the point of there
being no unmarred flesh left. The horrible knowledge that his arms
are likely not the only part of his body that looks this way
blankets me. Even Milo looks disturbed by the display.

“Why did you
leave?” I ask.

“Because I
disagreed with the way they operated. They believed that they could
simply wait around in their lair for one of them to glimpse your
presence, then march out to kill you when they did. It was a
ridiculous notion, of course. How were they supposed to see
something they knew nothing about? Vision is erratic at best. Other
Visionaries have told people for centuries that their talents work
best when they are familiar with the subject they’re trying to
glimpse.

“It’s the
precise reason that Visionaries who are not particularly talented
usually only receive glimpses of members of their own family or
close friends,” he says. “I tried to explain this to the other
Seekers, but they were so sure of their own tactics that they
didn’t bother to listen. So I left to continue my work on my
own.”