Inquest (4 page)

“That was
never how the law was supposed to be interpreted!” Lazaro
fumes.

“I am the
president. I can interpret the law however I want.” Howe’s voice
never rises in pitch, but the deadly edge to his tone grows more
frightening with each word.

“But why?” I
ask. He’s a Guardian. He rules the entire not-so-free world. I am
the biggest threat to his power. The only threat, really.

“The law says
to kill her!” Lazaro argues, breaking in before I can get an
answer. “Do it now, Howe. Your one responsibility is to protect the
world from her. Kill her!”

For this first
time, Howe’s expression cracks. “My responsibility?” He turns to
glare at Lazaro. “My only responsibility is to ensure some
conniving, underhanded leech doesn’t try and steal my office from
me.”

Again, he
never yells, just speaks in a way that freezes the marrow in my
bones. He couldn't care less about the world in general, only
keeping his position as an all-powerful demigod. That scares me
almost as much as thinking he is here to kill me. I still don’t
understand what he’s doing, but I’m terrified of finding out.

“How would not
killing me help you?” I dare asking.

Howe turns
back to me, a disturbing smile twisting his mouth. “I have been the
president for twelve years. Some think I’ve held the position long
enough. I rule with regret-free cruelty. It keeps everyone in line.
However, I didn’t get to this point solely by ridding myself of any
competitors. I can see an opportunity when it falls in my lap.”

“An
opportunity?”

“You. Dripping
acid into someone’s eyes impresses Guardians, but the public
doesn’t like hearing about devices like that. They want to believe
I care about their well-being even if deep down they know it’s an
illusion. I can kill anyone who tries to take my position,” he
says. Lazaro’s hands ball into fists even though Howe never even
glances at him. “I cannot force the general population to view me
as anything more than a murderous demon. But feeling like that
about their leader turns too quickly to revolt.”

Howe brushes
an imaginary piece of lint from his suit sleeve. The closest thing
to a nervous tic I’m sure he would ever display, I take a wild
guess that revolt is more likely than he wants to admit. Having had
more than one run-in with the hospitality of Guardians, the
possibility of someone taking their egos down a few notches forces
me to hide my satisfaction.

“So where do I
come in?” I ask, feeling a bit more brave.

“Killing a
sixteen-year-old that has never hurt anyone despite having been
named the Destroyer isn’t going to improve my image. The majority
of the world doesn’t even believe in you, my dear.” He chuckles,
though I can’t imagine why. There is no merriment in his eyes when
he locks gazes with me. “Don’t misinterpret that to think they
won’t spurn and hate you, because they will. I’ll make sure of
that.”

“W-what do you
mean?”

“Just trust
me. I will.” His smile turns vicious, making me sink into my chair.
“If I give the people a new enemy to hate, they’ll be distracted
from their hated of me. Plus, I’ll have earned a step back into
their good graces by appearing merciful in sparing you. At least
until you do something that forces me to end your life.”

Howe stares at
me with an expression of unbridled anticipation. “And I know you
will. You’ll unleash the power you do have and make my killing you
a heroic act, one that will cement my position for good.”

“I won’t hurt
anyone,” I say fiercely.

He laughs.
“You may think that now, but I guarantee you will change your mind
about that soon enough.”

I can
guarantee he’s wrong. I came to my Inquest believing I would be
murdered because I would rather see my life ended than kill, break,
and destroy like the stories about me say I will. Part of me is
curious what he thinks will change my mind. It’s a small part, and
I ignore it for the time being, afraid of the minute chance he
might be right.

“This is
ridiculous!” Lazaro shouts. “Kill her now and be done with it,
Howe.”

“No. Not
yet.”

“You’re only
giving her the chance she needs to end everything. You’re putting
everything at risk!”

Howe moves
slowly, turning to face Lazaro at a pace that sucks every last drop
of color from Lazaro’s face. “The choice is mine,” Howe says
calmly, “and it has been made. Libby will return to school
tomorrow. She will do her homework like a good little girl and
train, live her life as quietly as she can manage, and prove that I
was right to grant her this reprieve.”

Turning back
to me, Howe says, “I really would appreciate it if you could hold
off trying to destroy the world until your eighteenth birthday so I
can kill you legally in full view of the entire world. Painting me
as a hero probably doesn’t sit well with you, but it is the only
way you will earn two years you were never meant to have. Do we
have an understanding?”

The temptation
to kill him right now hums under my skin. I could do it. Probably.
I have more power now than I used to, but that is more worrisome
than reassuring. I saw Lance try to use his Speed and Strength
moments after they were unlocked. He is the picture of grace now,
but until he got a hold of his power, he stumbled and flailed more
than anything. I wouldn’t be facing just another couple of
Guardians, either. I would be going against the two most powerful,
most deadly Guardians on the planet. Destroyer or not, I don’t like
my odds. Accepting Howe’s tainted gift is really my only
option.

“We have an
understanding,” I say, the venom behind my words not hidden in the
least.

“Wonderful,”
Howe says.

Having gotten
what he wanted, Howe makes a military-style turn and walks out of
the room. Lazaro, however, is not as quick stepping. Instead of
following his leader, he glares at me. “Howe may be idiotic enough
to let you live, but trust me when I say that if the opportunity
presents itself, I will kill you.”

Then he too
leaves the room, storming out in a flourish of fury pouring off his
body. Their absence leaves the room muted and hollow. I feel as if
they sucked out every drop of life and hope out of my soul in the
few minutes they were present. I thought I knew exactly what this
night would bring when I walked through the Inquisitor’s doors
tonight. A two year extension and a visit from Howe and Lazaro had
never once entered my mind as a possibility. I am scared to death
of both of them, but they are a distant threat I do not want to
think about right now. I have two years to worry about what they
might do. In spite of the bizarreness of what just happened, one
fact dominates my mind.

“Two years,” I
whisper. My life will be over in two years. To some that might seem
like a short span of time, but to me, a person who realized as a
small child who I was, living to age eighteen is two years longer
than I ever thought I would have.

Inquisitor
Moore stands, heaving out a great sigh of relief. “Thank goodness
they’re gone.”

He shudders.
Jen looks as if she is about to shake herself to death. A calming
hand on her shoulder offered by Inquisitor Moore helps to calm her
down somewhat. When he seems convinced Jen isn’t going to go into
shock, he faces me.

“As long as
you stay out of the Guardians’ way you’ll be safe until you turn
eighteen. I wish I could offer you more, but you have a little hope
for now. Despite what Lazaro said, Howe will keep the Guardians in
line.”

I don’t share
his confidence, but I don’t care to argue about it right now.

“That means
Lance can’t come after you again either,” Jen says softly.

Her comment
hits me just as hard as the relief did a few minutes ago. I have
two years to convince the world I don’t plan on destroying
anything, two years to convince both the Guardians and my boyfriend
not to murder me. Ex-boyfriend, I tell myself bitterly. His
betrayal sinks into me like a burning machete. He abandoned me like
almost everyone else in my life has. I could almost forgive him for
anything else, but not for that. Even if I wanted to try and fix
things with him—which I don’t—the quick way he jumped up to end my
life and then bolted when he failed is a pretty clear indication of
how he feels about the possibility. I will never feel his lips
against mine again, never lay in his arms as we watched movies
together, never again call him when I need help and
understanding.

Stinging tears
roll down my cheeks as the familiar, deep-set ache of loss settles
into me. I never actually thought he would turn against me. At the
most, I thought he might be scared of what I might do, worried
about me changing, but never did I think he would try to kill me.
He was so fast. Not even a breath of hesitation before he was
trying to gut me. I used to enjoy watching him play football. Even
without his full power he could dart or barrel past anyone on the
field, but tonight was no game. I will never see his abilities as
anything more than weapons now. My sense of loss deepens to a
crippling level.

Trembling from
head to toe as I cry, I can’t feel anything but my pain. Jen
wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into a comforting
embrace is the only thing able to break through my agony. “I’m so
sorry,” she whispers.

It takes
several more supernaturally long minutes for me to be able to pull
back and face her. “Th-thanks for staying, Jen,” I stammer. The
hiccups that always plague me after a bad fit of crying break up my
words, but my honest appreciation still comes through.

“Of course,”
she says. Jen takes my hands. Her fingers brush across my wrist,
making me flinch with pain. Her eyes snap down to my diktats and
her face pales.

I don’t want
anything to do with them, but my gaze slides down regardless. I
expect to see brilliant red from the trauma of the diktats taking
shape, but my eyes widen at the unexpected sight I’m faced with.
Standing out against my flesh are jet black, half-inch long raised
vertical scars that completely encircle my wrist, their unnatural
perfection a ring of judgment that feels like a noose tightening by
the second. It takes me a second to really process the color.
They’re black. They aren’t supposed to be black.

“What
happened?” I ask, my voice quavering.

“They turned
black a few minutes after you passed out, when the initial swelling
went down,” Inquisitor Moore explains. “I have never seen that
happen before. It must be a mark of who you are.”

A quick rise
in my heart rate propels me toward panic. I look up to find
Inquisitor Moore staring at them as well, his face filled with
amazement, confusion, and remorse. When his eyes peel away from me
they go to his own wrist, the right one instead of the left where
my diktats lay. He is the most powerful man I know, yet his flesh
colored diktats only spread across the underside of his wrist.
Anyone who sees my wrist will instantly know what I am.

“You’ll want
to keep those covered as much as possible, Libby. I know it won’t
keep people from finding out—it sounded like Howe would take care
of that—but there’s no point in reminding them if you don’t have
to,” he says. He’s talking about the diktats, of course, but the
gentle urging in his expression conveys more than his actual words.
The diktats aren’t the only thing he wants me to hide. My talents
need to be as nonexistent as possible. I nod in response to both
warnings. Hiding isn’t anything new for me.

Coming down
from the shock of a few moments ago brings on a throbbing headache.
I don’t want to think about any of this anymore. Tomorrow will be
horrible enough without making it worse by dwelling on it now. For
whatever is left of tonight, I just want to crawl into bed and be
happy I’m still alive. By tomorrow I might be wishing Lance had
finished what he started.

“Jen, can you
drive me home? I don’t think I’m up for driving right now.”

Jen and
Inquisitor Moore both freeze before dropping their gazes down to
the Oriental rug covering the hardwood floor.

“What?” I ask
wearily.

“Your mom had
your bags dropped off about an hour ago,” Jen says quietly.

I suppose that
should send me into another crying jag. My mother has kicked me
out. Blood wasn’t enough to make her stick by me. My body stiffens
in anger instead.

“Do you think
your parents would let me stay the night?” I ask Jen. “Just for
tonight. I’ll figure something else out tomorrow.”

Shaking her
head so slightly I almost miss it, Jen tries to blink away her
tears. “I already called. They won’t let you stay. I tried to tell
them you weren’t going to hurt anything, but they wouldn’t listen.
I’m sorry, Libby.”

I look over at
Inquisitor Moore. His head dips in shame. “President Howe already
forbade me from taking you in, Libby. They’ll go after my daughter
and her family if I try to help you.”

I nod and try
to keep more tears from falling. I would never ask him to risk his
daughter for me.

“I did call my
uncle, though,” Jen says quickly, “the one that owns that motel
downtown. He said that as long as you stay out of the way of the
other guests, you can stay in one of his rooms…for a while at
least. I didn’t want to tell him about tonight, but he wouldn’t
agree to let you stay if I didn’t explain.”

A one room
hotel room in the middle of historic downtown Albuquerque, an area
filled with tourists, vagrants, and probably a smattering of
criminals. And my being a young, single, and attractive white girl.
It sounds heavenly.

I sulk for a
moment before perking up. It sounds like exactly what I need,
actually. I’ll be one more person in a throng of ever changing
faces. Cover up my diktats, keep my head down, and nobody will ever
notice me. Outside of school, that is. I still have to go to school
thanks to Howe. I have enough trouble coming my way without
Concealment Officers breaking down my door for ditching. So much
for never having to do homework again.