Jamb: (2 page)

“We’re stuffed in here like lemmings
,” Zane grumbles.

“
Does that mean everything went good with the other Curas?” The last time I saw Zane, almost all of our Cura’s top Contego were leaving to meet up with the other 12 Curas, in order to stop them from attacking us. We were the only Cura whose leader hadn’t been slaughtered in what seemed like an inside job, so it was a no-brainer that we had to keep the Addo under tight wraps until we knew who we could trust.  But the other 12 Curas accused us of isolating and manipulating the Addo, in order to take control of the entire community.

“
Turns out, the Curas weren’t banding together after all,” Zane says.  “The first Cura sent a few decoys out to stir things up. When we got there, the other Curas had already figured out what was what and were trying to beat the tar out of the traitors that went AWOL to The Fury.”

“But the joke was on us,”
Garrett says.  “Most of the first Cura was back here, recruiting the Simple and kicking up the riot.  That’s who was trying to beat in the hotel doors.  Addo Chad was supposed to get them in here, so they could get at the Addo.”

“
But they didn’t get in,” I say.  I close my eyes for a second, remembering Addo Chad and how he came at Iris, at Zaneen, at me.  My fingertips tingle with the memory of how I sank them into the weak spot in Chad’s field, his weakest, and therefore, his most lethal Cavis.  The Cavis was mucky and soft, caving in like rotted drywall beneath the force of my fingers, as I ended his life.  I shiver and Garrett rubs his palm along my arm.  I open my eyes again and Garrett’s smile is waiting.

“
It’s over,” he whispers.

“
Yeah,” Zane adds, although I know he’s not answering to the same conversation Garrett and I just shared.  “It takes way more than that to get into the Celare. Once The Fury got a load of all the Procella we brought back with us, the riot cleared out pretty quick.  More of them ran than tried to fight.  Typical.”

“
This was all because of the first Cura?  Is
all
of Milo’s Cura gone?” I ask.

“Yep, yep,” Zane nods.
  “That little weasel’s the only representative of his gang left in the entire hotel, and he’s only here because he unloaded all his insider info to the Addo.”

“
He’s not a weasel,” Deeta says.  She’s mixing something.  “He left his Cura because he knew things were getting bad.  He gave away all of his Cura’s plans just to help us.”

“So
what?”  Zane shoots back.

“So we
can trust him,” Deeta says, but her tone is light and less confident.

Garrett
shakes his head.

“
You’re going to trust him just because his goose was about to be cooked?  He’s still from the Cura that jumped ship like a boatload of rats,” Zane says.  “Totally not trust material.  And I’m gonna stop trusting
you
too Deets, if you keep goobing all over that guy.”

“I’m not goobing!”

Zaneen laughs.  “Oh yeah you are.”

“
So is Milo on lock down now?” I ask.  

“
No, because the Addo
trusts
him,” Deeta chirps and even without turning my head, I can hear the rebellious smile on her lips.  I can’t help but be a little proud of her, even when Zane snorts.

“
Like that means anything.  The Addo trusts everybody!” he says.  “That’s why he never locked his doors, remember?  And that’s how he got the scooze kicked out of him too!”

“The Addo didn’t lock his doors because he
trusts fate,” Deeta says.  Her tone, rather than my eyesight, makes me envision her in the kitchen with her chin tipped up and her eyes narrowed a little at Zane.  “Besides, Milo’s done nothing to...”

“You got that right. 
That guy hasn’t done one dang thing but hang around.  Even the Addo is at the end of his rope with him.  Milo’s been on a revolving door, going to see the Addo to get chewed out again for blowing off his duties to the Alo.  How many times has the Addo had to talk to him?  It’s got to be at least two dozen times since we’ve been here.”

“
The Addo is a little annoyed with him,” Sean chimes in from the end of the couch.  “But every time Milo comes in, Addo seems to get through to him a little more.  Milo will straighten out eventually.”

“
Except that we don’t have
eventually
,”  Garrett says and Zane jumps right in.

“That useless bag of skin
hasn’t been recording any memories even though he knows the Alo need everybody working right now.  You heard how Nali’s mom used to write?  Alo Evangeline was a
saint
.  He should be writing like
that
, just to prove he’s at least
trying
to salvage his Cura.”

Zane didn’t
know my mom personally, but from what I understand, the Ianua considers what my mom did as legendary.  She left the Ianua because my father had killed my grandfather and threatened my mom’s life, but she never gave up on what she’d promised to do for the community.  In fact, she did the exact opposite.  She recorded Memories obsessively for as long as I’ve been alive, because she was trying to make up for the shame my father had brought on her.

At Simon Valley High, my classmates had see
n what my mother did—her writing produced so much paper that it filled our house—and she was pinned as a hoarder.  Which meant I was too. I was the crazy hoarder’s daughter and they nicknamed me ‘The Waste’.

It looked like
hoarding to everyone, including me, until I understood why my mother was doing it.  The stacks of paper had overrun our house, so we had to move into an apartment.  And even then, we had to rent multiple storage sheds to hold the overflow that could no longer fit in our bedrooms, dining room, living room, and spare bathroom. 

But
I found out, only a week before my mom died, that she wasn’t a hoarder at all.

She
was entirely dedicated to helping the human race in ways that nobody around her could appreciate or understand.  To hear her called a saint now sends a tear sliding out of the corner of my eye, since she was only called names and told to stop writing, while she was alive.

“
Milo hasn’t been able to write because he’s been traumatized!” Deeta thunks a metallic bowl down on the counter.  Unimpressed, Zane yawns.

“
Whatever you say,” he tells her.

I feel my strength returning
and really get a good look around.  Zane’s, parked on the arm of the living room chair.  We’re in Garrett and Sean’s suite.

“
How did you guys get back into the hotel anyway?”  I ask.  “We were on lockdown.”

“Still are,” Zane says.  “But when you have the original dungeon master with you, it means you’ve also got the skeleton key.”

“Freddie.”  Freddie Marcourt is not just one of the Contego that Garrett’s mom trusts to have in her inner circle, but he also designed the Hotel Celare.

“You got it.  But hey, t
hat riot we came back to—that was a lot of fun.”

“Is
your mom okay, Garrett?” I ask.  I think it’s my nerves that finally pull me up, until I’m sitting beside him. I don’t know if I can stand to hear the answer.  We’ve already lost my mom and Garrett’s dad and we don’t know where Garrett and Sean’s two younger brothers are.  I think of Garrett’s little sister, Iris, and how messed up she was by the death of her father and of my mother too, and I don’t think she can handle losing anyone else.  I know I can’t.  I look into Garrett’s eyes, searching for the answer, before I ask, “Is everyone alright?”

“
My mom is okay,” Garrett’s voice becomes dark and deep.  “But not everybody made it back.  Freddie’s okay, but a group jumped him and beat him pretty badly with a pipe.  Van and Trig are still missing.  They might have been taken hostage or they might’ve been killed, we don’t know yet.”

“
The Fury’s taking bodies and calling them hostages, so we don’t know who’s alive and who’s not, until they’re returned,”  Zane says.  “They’re targeting our Simple families too.  They killed Shred’s wife, Lynette. We got her back yesterday and haven’t seen Shred since.”

“Shred’s wife?
” I gasp.  Shred’s Simple; he’s Switzerland.  He’s not part of any of this mess; he opted out of the Ianua years ago.  He’s just Freddie’s son, working for the extra money to support his new wife and new baby.

Garrett reaches for my hand.  His touch is a very real thing
, when suddenly nothing seems like it can be real at all.  I know that this is the Cusp we’ve been expecting; it’s supposed to be the start of some war that will change the course of the world, but I assumed the rules of war between these ancient, hidden communities would be different somehow.  More regal, more honorable, less out in the open or something.  Not full of real bloodshed and real heartbreak and real fear. Not real war that drags the whole innocent world into the brawl.  I feel my skin losing its color and Garrett gives my fingers a tug.  I look into his eyes again, grateful to fall into their calming blue.

“I think I need a shower,” I say.

“Sure,” Garrett says.  He helps me get to my feet, his touch soft and strong at the same time.  I’m all spaghetti in the legs, but nothing as bad as after I’d re-Impressioned.  He hobbles me to the bathroom without another word to any of our friends.  Once he’s deposited me against the counter, and asked twice if I’m sure I won’t fall over, he finally turns to go, but I touch his sleeve.

“Garrett,” I say, and he turns back to me quickly, as if
he needs to save me from taking a nose-dive onto the floor.  His eyes are filled with concern as he leans closer to me, to hear what I need.  His hair brushes my cheek as I whisper shamefully to him, “I don’t know how not to be afraid of this.”

“The
shower?” he whispers back, and a tight giggle flutters out of me.  He grins.  He knows what I mean. The first thing I ever learned about being a Contego warrior was what I learned from Garrett.  Never bring fear to a fight.  The fear can be paralyzing and blot out your instincts.  I should know this; I fought Chad and even ended his life when I thought he would kill Iris and Zaneen.

B
ut this isn’t just one fight.  This is the real war.

I sway beside the counter and Garrett wraps his arms around me.  His lips are warm against my ear as he whispers back,
  “Don’t look at the big picture.  Don’t.  Just look at the next minute.  We only have to get through the next minute, Nalena.  That’s all.”

I melt against him and feel
the calming energy rush between us.  Garrett kisses my forehead.  He holds me and we sway together for a moment, as if we’re dancing, before he leans in and turns on the shower for me.

“All you have to
do is get through this shower,” he says. “And then, Deeta’s cooking.”

“
You’re scaring me again,” I tell him, but my grin is stronger.  After he leaves the bathroom, I undress and step beneath the shower stream.  I hang onto the towel rack, so I don’t fall, and I get through this moment.

***

“You don’t have to eat it,” Zane says, as Deeta puts a plate of this pile of stuff she cooked on the table in front of me.  It looks like a volcano.  A bubble, at the very center of the red glop of food, pops open and steam rushes out.

“It looks...great,” I force up a s
mile and Deeta beams.

“See?  I told you she’d love it,” Deeta
sticks her tongue out at Zane.  “Now that Nali’s alright, I think I’m going to go and try to get Milo writing today!”

“I’ll go with you,” Zaneen
is a little too enthusiastic and Deeta smiles tightly.

“Great,”
Deeta says.

“Alright, see you
two later,” I tell them with a wave.  My food burps again. 

Deeta lets herself out and for the first time, I not only see the commotion outside, but I hear it.  The Courtyard is a swarm of people, like a mall jammed with holiday shoppers.  A child darts by the glass door
as Zaneen closes it and I look back at the three faces around my table.

Another bubble burst
s open on my plate.  Zane, Garrett and Sean stare at the plate too, watching the eruptions going on in front of me.

“I’ll kill
every one of you, if anybody tells her that I didn’t eat this,” I say.

“I’ll take my chances
on slipping up,” Sean says.  “But I think you’ll die if you eat it.”

“You’re not eating this.” 
Garrett gets up and takes the plate into the kitchen.  He dumps the food down the garbage disposal and comes back with apple slices, a bag of almonds, and a bottle of water.

“Try this,” he says, putting the food in front of me. 
I take a few almonds and a bite of the apple too.  I glimpse the strangers walking past the sliding glass door.  There is a group huddled around one of the benches, talking.  A woman goes past the door a few times, pumping her arms, and I realize she’s doing laps, for exercise.  A couple stroll by and peek in, but when they see me looking out at them, they look away, embarrassed.