Inquest (35 page)

“There has to
be a way to get them to come to the surface.”

Celia rolls
back over and cocks her head to the side. Her eyebrow rises and her
hands lift in a perfect “duh” kind of expression. “Why don’t you
just try doing another Inquest? The first obviously didn’t work
right, so just do it again.”

“Celia, you
can’t do more than one Inquest. It just doesn’t work that way,”
Milo says.

“But the first
one never even happened.”

I’m about to
jump into the argument when Milo frowns, and says, “No, Celia.
We’re not doing another Inquest. Drop it.”

His blatant
refusal brings out my combative side. “Milo, maybe it’s worth a
try. I mean, maybe the Inquisitor didn’t do it right.”

“He did
everything he was supposed to. The only thing that didn’t go right
was me having no talents.” His angry tone is a little shocking. “I
never want to go through that again. You don’t understand what it
was like.”

My left hand
darts up, right in front of his face so my pure black diktats are
glaring at him. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.
You had a few years to prepare for what was going to happen at your
Inquest. You knew what was coming. It sucked, but at least you knew
what was going to happen.” Milo takes my hand and lowers it to his
leg, where he holds it tightly. “Everything I thought was important
was ripped away from me that night. I was convinced I was going to
become something great, only to find out I was nothing. I’ve
learned to live with what I am. I don’t want false hope for
something I’m never, ever going to have.”

My frustrated
growl surprises both him and Celia. “It’s not false hope, Milo! You
have talents. They’re there. Somewhere! We just have to find them.
Let me do this, please.”

In the face of
my rant he says nothing. Celia, though, is incapable of losing
either her voice or her opinion. “Milo, for crying out loud, just
let her do it. If it doesn’t work, nothing changes. Like you said,
you’ve already made your peace with being talentless. But if it
does work, kudos! You really don’t have anything to lose. Let Libby
try.”

Long moments
of silence stretch between us.

“Fine,” he
says quietly.

My whole being
lights up with excitement. Celia bounces off the bed and lands next
to her brother. “This is going to be awesome.”

Milo glares at
her.

“Okay,” I say,
“give me your hands.”

Milo reaches
out tentatively. “Are you sure you know how to do this?”

“Yes,” I say
drily. “I spent my entire childhood watching my dad practice with
the most talented Inquisitor in the state. I memorized the ritual
years ago. I can do this.”

He nods,
looking less than convinced. He’s seen me do ridiculous things like
sprint faster than a car, knock trees down with a single kick, and
turn concrete into soup. He doubts I can do this? This is the
talent I have spent more time on than any other. Maybe it has more
to do with watching me fail day after day at the one talent I need
the most. I have to shake off the frustration of the week and
remind myself that Spiritualism has nothing to do with an
Inquest.

“Okay,” I say,
“let’s get started. We still have to get ready for the ballet
tonight.”

Milo groans
more about that than going through with the Inquest. I tune him out
and send all my focus into awakening my Perception to its fullest.
Slowly, my consciousness spreads into the whole of my body. Every
molecule of my structure hums with power. The effort to push that
power into Milo is tremendous. I can feel his hands trembling as I
force it away from me and into him. When the last of my awareness
rests in him, I sigh in relief.

“Milo Hanover,
the Inquest to discover your true identity and purpose has begun,”
I say with pleasure. Nothing horrible happens, proving Celia’s
theory about the first one not counting to be true. If it had
counted Milo would probably be writhing on the ground in pain right
now. Milo seems to relax as well—at least as much as anyone in the
middle of their own Inquest can relax, anyway.

“Milo, it is
now time to uncover your talents so you may use them to benefit
those with whom you come in contact.”

With my
Perception firmly planted in Milo, I start examining him. My smile
spreads immediately because I know exactly what to look for. Right
away I recognize the straining elements of both Speed and Strength
locked inside every muscle cell, begging to be released just as my
dad described to me. More subtle is the outward pulse of Milo’s
consciousness, Perception attempting to assert itself and search
those around him for information. In opposition, his Concealment is
focused inward, constantly attempting to hide him from those he has
been running from.

His spirit…My
attention momentarily wavers as I realize I’ve found his spirit. I
take a moment to memorize the feel of it, hoping it will help me
later when I try to access my own spirit. The slightly rough edges
of his spirit wind around a core as warm and comforting as one of
my dad’s hugs. The feeling draws me in, but I sigh as I remind
myself that I’m here for another purpose. I file the sensation away
for later and notice the bits of his spirit questing out in search
of other realms. Spiritualism, just like I said.

Then I realize
that a more significant portion of his self is flowing out and down
into the floor, into the natural elements of this world. My
amazement grows as I realize Milo also has a talent for Naturalism.
Six, one more than I expected. In my eagerness to find even more, I
leap up to his mind and search for the mental energy spiraling out
in an attempt to make contact with segments of time kept hidden by
the future. I’m disappointed when I don’t find the telltale sign of
Vision, but the six I already found are incredible!

Six. I can’t
contain it any longer. Gone is the composure I always saw in my dad
and Inquisitor Moore as they worked. I search out the rest of the
information I need to complete the Inquest and nearly explode in my
rush to deliver it.

“Milo,” I say,
my voice sounding giddy and high. I can’t even bear to waste time
naming what each talent does. I simply spit them out one after
another. “Your talents are Naturalism, Spiritualism, Concealment,
Perception, Speed, and Strength. Your true name is from the Warrior
line. You are Gideon, a member of the Guardian class!”

Milo cries out
and his hands crush mine. I struggle to bear the pain as I quickly
withdraw my Perception from his body. It sweeps back into me in a
welcome rush. As the connection between us breaks, Milo releases me
and my eyes snap open. He’s doubled over with his hands hidden
beneath his chest. I hate seeing him in pain, but my breath is
quivering. The pain is good. It means it worked. Not shoving his
chest up so I can get a look at his wrist is unbearable. Celia is
ducking and twisting, trying to see her brother as well. I count
the seconds.

An eternity
later his chest starts to rise up slowly. As soon as I can see his
right hand I grab it and stretch it out so both Celia and I can
see. My body, mind, breath, everything freezes in confusion. All I
see are the same jagged, botched scars of his first Inquest.

“What
happened?” Celia demands.

I want to know
the same thing. My eyes turn and meet Milo’s. He looks up at me
with a startled expression. “What happened?” I repeat.

“I don’t
know,” he says. “It worked, but I think something went wrong.” He’s
cradling his left arm against his body…as if it’s in pain. My mind
starts whirring. His shirt is covering his arm, but when I look up
at Milo I can see my own thoughts confirmed in his expression.
Slowly my fingers reach for his left arm. He doesn’t resist as I
gently pull it forward so we can all see the almost complete ring
of diktats encircling his left wrist. For once, Celia is completely
speechless. Left. I don’t understand. Left is reserved for the
Destroyer class, but I named Milo as a Guardian. I look at him in
confusion.

“I don’t
understand,” I say. “Why are your diktats on your left hand?”

“Because
you’re the one who unlocked them?” Celia ventures. I’m glad to see
she’s found her voice again, but that doesn’t make sense.

“That
shouldn’t matter. Inquisitors never leave any kind of personal mark
on their clients. They can’t affect the person at all, just unlock
their talents. I shouldn’t have done anything to change Milo.” None
of this makes sense.

“But…but
nobody else could unlock my talents,” Milo says, “only you.”

“We don’t know
that for sure. Only one other Inquisitor tried. He may have messed
up.”

Milo shakes
his head. “He didn’t mess up, Libby. He couldn’t find my talents
anywhere. He tried, and tried, and tried. Something about me made
it so he couldn’t access my talents like you could.”

“Why me?” I
ask, but even as the words are leaving my mouth a memory surfaces.
There were a lot of things my dad told me about his training, but
there were some things he couldn’t. After he found out who I was he
told me Inquisitor Moore had told him something that he wanted to
tell me, but couldn’t. The most he could share was that when my
destiny was revealed there would be someone there to help me,
someone only I could find. It sounded like some kind of riddle, or
some game of pretend at the time. I didn’t know what he was talking
about so I tucked it away for later.

Apparently,
later has just arrived.

I hold my own
wrist up to Milo’s. Left to match left. If Milo is right, I was the
only person in this world who could have unlocked his talents. I
found him, the real him that was hiding behind forgeries, and up
until recently, ugly clothes.

“What…?” Milo
starts to ask.

I shush him
immediately. I have to be sure. I was unconscious, so I don’t know
how long it took with me, but I keep my eyes glued to Milo’s
diktats. A traumatic red after being raised, I watch as they slowly
begin to darken. It’s barely noticeable at first. As the seconds
pass it starts to pick up speed. It looks like the red color is
darkening, at first, but then it reaches it tipping point and his
diktats turn a sudden and violent black.

Confirmation
hits me hard. Milo isn’t a Guardian for the people. He’s
my
Guardian, a Guardian to the Destroyer. He is the help my dad
promised me I would find. When my face splits into a grin Milo and
Celia look at me expectantly. I repeat everything I just figured
out and Milo surprises me by laughing.

“What are you
laughing about?”

He laughs
again and grins. “I can’t believe it. I have talents, and all along
I was meant to find you. I was meant to help you. Libby,” he says
with fire in his eyes, “Now I can protect you for real. We don’t
need Lance, we don’t need anybody else.”

“Oh,” I say,
my excitement falling down a few notches. We don’t need anybody
else for what? Is he still thinking about going after the
Guardians? I push that thought aside as I realize he’s probably
just talking about Lance and his Oath.

Celia grabs
her brother’s wrist away from me and inspects it thoroughly.
“Guardian to the Destroyer. Well, that’s a surprise.”

“Definitely,”
I agree. I still can’t stop staring at his wrist. This is
incredible. Celia gets up and plops back on the bed, drawing my
attention. “Thanks for the brilliant idea, Celia. I hadn’t even
thought to try a second Inquest. I can’t believe it worked.”

“I didn’t know
if it would work either, but that was awesome!” Celia gushes.

Milo’s not
listening to either of us. He sandwiches my face between his hands
and kisses me fiercely. Celia giggles at the display. It’s a far
cry from the usual chaste pecks and handholding she gets to see.
Milo pulls back but does not let go of my face. “Thank you. Thank
you, Libby.” He kisses me again. And again. His passion and
enthusiasm drunken me in an instant.

Only a knock
at the door curbs him.

“Oh, shoot,
what time is it?” I ask. I scramble awkwardly to my feet, my casted
foot trying to topple me more than once. The Inquest must have
taken longer than I realized.

Celia and Milo
both look at me questioningly. Oh, this is not going to be
pleasant.

“It’s seven
o’clock,” Celia offers, and is then completely distracted. “Libby,
the ballet starts at eight-thirty! We need to get ready.”

Milo however
is still focused on the door. “Are you expecting someone?”

Very, very not
pleasant. Especially after Milo’s
we don’t need anybody else
comment.

I offer an
apologetic shrug and stumble forward to reach my crutches. My
crutches are pinned under my arms before he figures it out.

“You have got
to be kidding me! Isn’t it bad enough that I have to live with the
knowledge that he’s creeping around watching us constantly? He’s
not coming, Libby. He is
not
coming!”

“Milo, you’ve
been worried all week about us going where there will be so many
people around who might recognize us. I’m not going to be much help
with this cast. We need an extra hand tonight,” I say.

Milo thrusts
his wrist into the air, making sure I can see his diktats. “We
don’t need Lance. I’m perfectly capable…”

“Of protecting
both me and Celia?” I ask. “Look at my leg. I can’t help you
tonight. I understand what you’re saying, but with me in a cast we
still need help right now.”

“Not him.”

“Then who?” I
ask as I pull the door open to a grinning Lance. He’s obviously
heard Milo’s rant and is thoroughly enjoying it. I roll my eyes at
him, which only makes him smile again. “Come in, Lance.”

“Thanks, it’s
freezing out here.” He slips past me, but not without briefly
touching my waist as if he fears he might bump into me. I slap his
hand away, but Milo’s possessive growl only serves to brighten
Lance’s smile. “Good evening, Milo. Nice to see you too. And you
must be Celia,” he says. She smiles back at him winningly,
completely unaware of anything else. A big “I don’t think so”
flashes in my mind. Celia’s boy-crazy train is going nowhere near
Lance, for her own good. And I’m big enough to admit it, because
thinking of Lance with someone else makes my own jealousy
surge.