Inquest (2 page)

“Whatever,”
she says, “I’ll be at your house at five to help you get ready, if
you’re still sure it’s okay Lance and I come.”

“I’m sure,
Jen. I got permission from Inquisitor Moore months ago. All the
paperwork saying you and Lance are allowed to attend are safely
stowed in his safe. The Guardians aren’t going to arrest you for
trying to crash my Inquest. I promise.”

Jen grimaces.
I have to stop myself from doing the same. Just thinking about the
Guardians putting their hands on me again makes me shudder. With
all the times I’ve snuck out or tried to escape my mom, I’ve been
dragged back way too many times by those cretins.

“You’re sure?”
Jen asks again.

“I’m
positive.”

“Okay,” she
says. “I’ll be by tonight, then. Maybe we can actually do something
with that blah hair of yours.”

“Good luck
with that,” I say. My dark chestnut hair is staying exactly as it
is.

Jen smiles
optimistically—foolish girl—and hurries away from us. I can’t focus
on her for very long, though, not with Lance pulling me against his
chest more tightly now that she’s gone. He drops a kiss on my
forehead, and I lift my chin hoping he will move down to my lips.
Kissing Lance is about the only thing that will take my mind off
tonight. To my satisfaction, Lance does bring his mouth to meet
mine, but the brief touch does nothing to soothe me.

“What’s wrong
with your hair?” Lance asks.

Hair, I can
talk about hair. Maybe.

“It’s not
curled and hairsprayed and poofed a mile off my head like
hers.”

Lance twists a
lock of my long hair around his finger and smiles. “Don’t get me
wrong, I love your hair how it is, but would curls really be such a
bad thing? It’s been a long time.”

“Don’t,” I
warn him, my tone making it perfectly clear that we are done
talking about hair. Lance sighs and lets the strand fall. There’s
still a gentle pressure in his eyes, like there always is when this
topic comes up, but this is not an argument I’m willing to have.
Seeing that, Lance switches topics.

He reaches
into his jeans pocket for something hidden there, and says, “By the
way, happy sixteenth birthday, Libby.”

“I suppose it
was too much to hope for that you’d forget,” I say.

Lance shakes
his head with the mischievous smile I adore. I wish I could skip
this day entirely, but my eyes wander down to his hand as he slides
it from his pocket. The hint of something sparkly sets my insides
fluttering wildly. I can barely suppress the excited giggle rising
in my chest. He always knows just how to make me smile. He has
since we were little.

The silver
chain pulls free and dangles in front of me. I watch the pendant
dance. Its two blades of wheat, single butterfly, and a sinuous
snake that wraps around the other two glitter in the muted light.
The sign for Naturalism. Like Jen, he believes my assertion that it
is my talent, my only talent. A faint flash of guilt runs through
me before I can smother it and put on an enthusiastic smile that
isn’t totally false. Lance grins at my reaction and fastens the
necklace around my neck. His hands stay there and pull me closer
for a kiss. The heat of his lips on mine burns away my fear and
anxiety, replacing it with warmth and comfort.

I want more. I
want to stay locked in this sphere of imagined perfection for the
rest of my life. The need to breathe pulls Lance back too soon. I
slump against my locker in disappointment despite how wonderful his
kisses make me feel. Lingering with his head touched lightly
against mine, his hands stay behind my neck as well. My eyes stray
to the blade strapped to his left wrist. The only weapons allowed
on campus, the sign that he is a member of the Guardian class
always makes me shiver.

Not wanting to
dwell on what that knife is meant to do, I turn my head and find
myself staring at the perfectly even and symmetrical row of scarred
flesh on his right wrist. The diktats look like scars, but scars
would never be so perfect. And no one would survive having their
wrist sliced vertically so many times. Without meaning to, my
fingers stray to the diktats and gently brush across the seven
marks. Two for his talents, Speed and Strength. Two for being given
a Warrior name. And three for belonging to the Guardian class.

“I was just
teasing about the pain. You know that, right?” Lance asks softly,
his bright blue eyes filled with concern. He is intimately aware of
my feelings on the subject. Friends since childhood, Lance has seen
almost every one of my dozen broken bones firsthand. He was even
involved in a few of the unfortunate exploits.

The tender
concern in his voice is endearing, but not in the least bit
reassuring. Regardless, I still nod and try to smile. Lance isn’t
convinced.

“Really,
Libby, it’s not that bad. It stings more than anything. You’ll be
fine.” He holds his right wrist next to mine and rubs his thumb
across my skin. “Everything will be okay. You’ll forget the pain as
soon as it’s over, and in a few hours we’ll match.”

That’s what he
thinks. I tuck my left arm behind my back, not wanting to think
about it.

“What did your
mom give you for your birthday, anyway?” Lance asks, changing the
subject.

Taking my new
keys out of my pocket, I dangle them with a scowl. “Not the one I
wanted, of course.”

He laughs.
“Did you really expect your mom to buy you a twenty-year-old Ford
Bronco? She would never allow you to be seen driving something like
that. Which one did she get you, the Audi or the Lexus?”

“The Audi.”
The venom in my voice doesn’t keep Lance from grinning. He’d been
hoping for the Audi. It is much faster than the Lexus. And Lance
loves to go fast.

“Maybe we can
take it out after your Inquest,” he suggests. The eager shine in
his eyes is very nearly catching. The last word of his sentence
sours any hope of my reciprocating his enthusiasm.

I offer him
the best smile I can manage, which isn’t much, and say, “Yeah,
maybe. Let’s go to lunch. I’ve got some homework to finish.”

Lance’s arm
wraps around my waist and guides me down the hall. I try to focus
on the feel of his touch, but all I can think of is how stupid it
is that I’m worrying about my homework. My chances of not being
murdered after my Inquest are pretty slim, which means this
assignment is the last one I will ever turn in. At least there’s
one upside to dying.

Chapter 2

Death
Sentence

My mother
glares at me as soon as I step out of my car. The fact that Jen and
Lance are right behind me doesn’t faze her at all. Her slim hips
twitch back and forth angrily, and she stamps over to me. She is
the model of upper-echelon sophistication in her two piece silk
suit and gauzy white blouse peeking out from under the neckline of
her jacket. Her eyes flick over my own clothing, a pair of dark
denim skinny jeans and a turquoise t-shirt I hand painted in my
clothing design class last week. I thought the sparkly silver paint
I used looked great in its swirling, abstract pattern.

“That was the
best you could come up with, Libby?” my mom sneers. “You would
think you lived downtown instead of in a gated community by the way
you’re dressed. If your father were here…”

“He’s not,” I
snap.

“This is
supposed to be an important occasion. Your place in this society,
the rest of your life, is about to be determined! You could have at
least attempted to treat it with some respect. You wouldn’t have
dressed like an urchin if your father were the one doing your
Inquest the way it should have been.” She never talks about my dad
except to throw his death in my face. She has never made a secret
about who she blames for his not being here anymore. Her fingers
snatch up a strand of my dark hair. “Would it have killed you to do
something with your hair besides let it hang like limp
spaghetti?”

I yank my hair
out of her grip, and say, “Who knows? Maybe it would. You could
always hope, right?”

Furious, she
turns her back on me—big surprise—and marches up the staircase to
the front door of Inquisitor Moore’s expansive mansion. She swings
the door open and marches inside. Lance thinks he’s helping when he
reaches up and touches my shoulder softly. His kiss on my head
follows, sweet and wonderful, but I want to shake him off. He’s
trying to calm me down, but I don’t need calm. Anger is the only
thing keeping the terror at bay for the moment.

When I don’t
respond to him, Lance sighs and pulls me toward the doors of
Inquisitor Moore’s home. “Just forget her,” Lance says. He pauses
before opening the door and kisses my forehead gently. He pulls me
up the staircase to follow after my mom. I can’t help but drag
against him. He feels it and looks back at me with an encouraging
smile. “I think you look great, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I
mutter as he pulls the door open and pushes me inside.

Standing in
the foyer of the Inquisitor’s office is too much for me.
Self-control leaves me as soon as I step into the richly appointed
house. The centuries-old tapestry hanging on the wall, antique
chaise, and solid gold candelabra should be welcoming. Instead, the
layers of texture and finery only press in on me. I feel
claustrophobic right away. I know my nails are digging into Jen’s
hand, but I can’t force myself to ease my grip on her. Not even to
elbow the “I knew you were scared” look off her face. In all
reality, she looks scared, too. Nowhere near as terrified as I
feel, but definitely worried. Lance standing behind me with his
hands on my shoulders can’t calm me down either. He shifts and the
edge of his Guardian blade brushes across my shoulder. Hot,
frightened tears spring to my eyes, but I summon up enough control
to keep them from falling.

Please don’t
let it be his blade that ends my life, I beg.

“It will just
be a few more minutes, Mrs. Sparks,” the Inquisitor’s page says to
my mother. “Inquisitor Moore and the resident Guardian are just
confirming all the paperwork for your guests. They shouldn’t be
much longer.”

My mother nods
the barest acknowledgement and goes back to ignoring everyone in
the room. Jen squirms at the mention of guests. I want to reassure
her again, but I can’t.

“I think I’m
going to throw up,” I whisper to Jen.

She looks over
at me with alarm. “Well, if you do, just make sure to aim it away
from me. I will not be happy if I end up with barf all over my new
Manolo Blahnik shoes. These babies are precious.”

“Just for
that,” I say with a scowl, “I’ll make sure it gets on your dress,
too.”

Horror springs
onto her face for a second before she loses her calm and starts
snickering. “You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“It’s no big
deal,” Lance says as he hugs me. “We’ll be out of here in half an
hour, tearing up the road in the Audi.”

Neither of
them have any idea just how wrong they are. I’m not about to point
it out, though. I’m happy to let them, and me, bask in the fantasy
while we can.

Our basking
only lasts about thirty seconds.

“Ladies and
gentlemen, the Inquisitor is ready for you. Please follow me,” the
page says.

Everyone—which
is basically my mom, Jen, and Lance—moves to follow him but me.
It’s a small group, even with my guests. I have cousins, aunts, and
uncles that could have come, but my mom has no desire to parade the
daughter she despises in front of anyone. Even with so few, the
room feels crowded. A sudden desire to bolt for the door and never
look back grabs hold of me. I might have given in if not for Jen
and Lance holding onto me, waiting for me. If I run, I will never
see them again. They are the two most important people in my life,
the only ones who really care about me. And for some reason I can’t
stomach the thought of dying alone.

Alone is what
I will be if I run. I will be hunted down and murdered by
strangers. If I die tonight, at least I’ll have them with me. Maybe
I’ll even get to see my dad again. My heart clenches inside my
chest. What will he say to me when he sees me again? Will he spurn
me because of what happened, or will he open his arms to me like he
used to? The image of his warm, compassionate smile fills my mind
and comforts me. He’ll understand. I know he’ll be happy to see me
again. That thought gives me the strength to take a step
forward.

It’s not that
I want to die, I would rather avoid that happening at all costs,
but knowing that if my life ends tonight I will be back in my dad’s
arms gives me a certain measure of peace. Before I know it I am
walking into the ritual chamber, standing across from the
Inquisitor. His wizened form trembles in front of me, a low-level
shiver that constantly runs through his body. His eyes, though, are
soft and gentle. Honest welcome plays on his features as he holds
his hands out to me. I take them carefully and return the feeble
squeeze he gives me.

“How nice to
see you again, Libby,” Inquisitor Moore warbles.

“It’s nice to
see you again too, sir,” I reply. The calmness in my voice is
surprising. I still feel like I might empty my stomach at any
second, but thinking of my dad has given me back just enough
control to fake being calm.

Inquisitor
Moore places one of his hands on top of both of mine. His eyes fill
with glassy tears as he stares at me. “If your father were still
alive, he would be the one standing here now. I’m sorry it couldn’t
be that way.”

He knows
nothing of what happened to my dad, but I feel the sting of
accusation regardless. My dad was supposed to be the next
Inquisitor. I’m not sure whether it would have been better or worse
having him be the one to tell everyone what I truly am, to
pronounce my fate. It would hurt to hear the words coming from his
lips, but that would have meant I’d have had five more years with
him. It would have been worth it.