Jamb: (4 page)

“
You’re a master with that hook, brother.  I’m gonna need some frozen peas or something.”

Sean gets up
and retrieves a bag from the freezer.  He tosses the bag to Zane, who catches them with one hand, slapping them straight onto the side of his face.  He opens and closes his mouth a few times, exercising the muscle, before he says, “I keep forgetting that Nal’s your Vieo too.  But I think that hook got the memo to me pretty solid.”

“
You only said the truth,” I tell Zane, before turning on Garrett. I feel the fire rise up in my own eyes and I don’t even care that Garrett still looks like he could level a building.  This boy that I once thought I could never have—and now I’m about to set him straight and let him know he can’t
have me
if he acts like this.

“
You better remember that I’m Contego now, Garrett,” I fume.  “And protecting the Addos is just as much my job as it is yours.  You better start seeing me as an equal and let me do what I’m here to do.”

Garrett’s hooded gaze
remains vicious as he growls, “You aren’t ready for this.  You just started training and you’ve already been thrown into things that were way over your head.”

Sean cracks his knuckles.
It draws all of our attention, but Sean only focuses on Garrett.

“
Nali’s handled everything that’s come at her, little bro.” His voice is hardly louder than a whisper and then he laughs,  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually think Zane-boni’s got it right this time.  You’re never going to believe Nalena’s ready because you want to keep her safe, but you’ve got to let her stand on her own two feet now.  We need her.”

Garrett’s shoulders crumble a little and
turns away from us.  He crosses the room in silence.  He opens the bedroom door and disappears inside.  The door wafts closed and only a moment passes before I hear Garrett’s fist slam into the wall.

“
You guys should go,” I say.  “I better go talk with him.”

“Take these,” Zane says, tossing me the bag of frozen peas.  The two of them
make their way to the door leading into the Courtyard. 

“
I’ll be with the Addo, if you need me,” Sean says.  He doesn’t wait for my answer before closing the door behind himself and Zane.

I
take a breath with every step on my way to the bedroom.  I slip inside the bedroom door and Garrett is leaning with one elbow bent on the wall, his face buried down in the crook of his arm.  There’s a crack in the plaster behind the door.

I’m not sure of
what to do.  I want to wrap my arms around him, but I don’t know how he’ll react to my touch.  He was furious enough with me to punch the wall.  But I try to follow my instinct as I step behind him, sliding my arms around him anyway, melting against his back.  Soft sobs shake him and having him fall apart like this scares me.  All I can do is hang on and press myself even closer.

“It’s okay,” I
whisper.  “Nothing’s going to happen to us.  We’ll take them down together.  I’ll be able to see them coming and we’ll be able to protect the Addos.”

“What if
you can’t?  What if one of them slips past me?” he asks, his voice broken.  His tears choke me up too.  “What if they come at you so hard that I can’t stop them, Nalena?  What if I make a mistake?  What if I have to choose between protecting the Addos or protecting you?”

I swallow.  The answer is obvious.  “Then you would make sure the Addos are safe.”

Garrett hammers the wall with his fist. 

“I don’t know if I would do that.”

“It’s what we have to...”

“I lost my father already!  Both my brothers might be dead!  I can’t lose yo
u, Nalena.  I can’t.  I won’t.”  I try to soothe him as his body quakes against mine.

“
Shhh
...I’m right here.  Brandon and Mark are out there, I know it.  They’re fine,” I say, but there’s not much hope in my voice.  I collapsed the tunnels beneath the hotel myself. Garrett’s two youngest brothers, no matter how well they knew the tunnels, couldn’t have had time to escape.  The collapse probably crushed them, right along with any of The Fury that were trying to hunt them down and that is all my fault. Following protocol and knowing that it was what I was supposed to do, still doesn’t take away one drop of the guilt.  The only thing I can do is push the thought out of my head, so I can keep moving forward.  I have to and so does Garrett. 

“We
are not going to be afraid of this,” I say, as I lay my forehead between his shoulder blades.  I try to force some kind of reassuring calm out of myself and into him, the same way his touch always feels like a soothing color spreading through my mind, but as his sobs shake his back, I know it’s not working.  Instead, the fear and sadness well up inside me too, and my father’s voice pops into the back of my head.

Nalena!
His voice is sharp and takes me back to the most horrible moment of my life, when we stood in Garrett’s kitchen and Roger held a gun to my mother’s temple. It takes me a second to dig myself out of the memory.  

What?
The tone I answer with, although I’m only thinking my reply to him, still matches the sharpness and intensity of his.  My father helped me out of a serious jam when Addo Chad attacked me and Iris and Zaneen, and I did agree to have him as my Connection, but it doesn’t mean I can forget everything he’s done.  Or just go and trust him 100%.

What do you mean by ‘what’, baby girl?  Fear’s what.  It’s running through you like a live wire.  You know better than that.  Don’t tell me the Ianua haven’t pounded that into your head.

I don’t reply, but I’m sure he can hear my thoughts as I think of how ironic it is for him to say that I would know better than to do
anything
.  He’s such a black pot, he’s got no room to be pointing out any kettle-ness that he might see in me.

My father’s voice returns in my head, 
You’re right. But I’m here to do what I never did for you in life.  I’m going to help you, honey.  Stop with this fear. Addo Larry always told me: everything is as it should be. I’m sure he’d say that about this too.

Ugh.  I hate that
he’s right.  Addo’s said the same words to me before.  And although I want to speak with my father and grill him about where my mother is, now that he’s the one in my field, this really isn’t the time for that.  Not with both Garrett and I both freaking out at once.  This moment really needs to be between me and Garrett, and the only way I’m going to get rid of my father, is to get rid of the fear that brings him into my field to help.  So I do what I need to do.

I take a breath and tell myself this is going to be okay.  Things are exactly the way they should be.  I inhale and exhale the words in my mind until I relax and my father disappears.

Then I straighten up and lay a hand on Garrett’s bicep.  He’s not crying anymore, but he turns and pulls me into his arms.  His chest is rigid, so I press my body closer, trying to make myself a warm bandage that will relax the tight muscles.  I put my hands on either side of his beautiful face, catching his silky, black hair beneath my fingertips.  A few strands are wet at the ends, from soaking up his tears.  His expression is stoic, but his eyes are on my lips.

And i
nstead of kissing him, I make my voice stern.

“Garrett,
we are not going to be afraid of this, do you hear me?  We are going to take this whole thing one moment at a time, just like you said before, and we’re going to do whatever we need to, in order to protect the Addo.  That’s what we have to do because we are
both
Contego.”

He chuffs, breaking i
nto a grin. 

“We are, are
n’t we,” he says.

“Yes, we are,
” I tell him and his soft lips drop to mine, erasing anything in the world that ever felt like it could be more important than his kiss.

***

The movement in the courtyard catches our attention.  Garrett slides open the door and a wave of noise rolls right over us as we step out.  People are leaning over the edges of most of the thirteen balconies.  Some are shouting down, and some are shouting up, and some are shouting across their own balconies at each other.  It’s a mess.

Garrett weaves us
quickly through the crowd, hanging onto my hand, until we find Sean, standing near a pear tree.  His head is bobbing in every direction, trying to follow the shouting.  I notice too that the Contego from our Cura are hovering around the outskirts of the Courtyard while their families and those of our Alo, whose faces are becoming a little more familiar to me through repetition, are filling up the rest of the space.  I spot Larson and Ms. Neho first, as they stalk around the perimeter, watching the balconies, and then I see Sasu and Carducci, Robin and Zane, Mr. Middleditch and Garrett’s mom.

Mrs. Reese’s hair is sticking out from a messy bun and her eyes are rimmed with dark circles, but her gaze
is still sharp and seems to catch every movement in the courtyard.  She looks like a predator as she circles along the edge—the same kind of fluid movement I see in Garrett.  And the second we approach Sean, she already knows we’re there.  She gives me the slightest nod, but her expression is so deathly serious that I struggle to keep my field from blowing out around me.

That’s all we’d need.

A Contego field blowing up would be about the same as pointing a loaded gun into the crowd and announcing that we are ready to fight.  I  hold my field down, but I immediately start assessing the possible dangers that could pop up in the room.

“Looks like we’re just in time,” Garrett
says to Sean.  His stance is so relaxed that I know he’s just as ready as I am, if any violence starts up.  He mumbles to Sean, “So what’s going on?”

“
Heema, from the third Cura,” Sean says, keeping his gaze tipped up at the dark haired woman, leaning over the edge of the third floor balcony.  The woman is young, maybe only a few years older than me, with light brown skin that seems to glow.  Sean shakes his head slightly.  “She doesn’t have the patience Addo Gita had, that’s for sure.  She’s insisting on seeing the Addo.  Right now.”

Mrs. Neho steps out where Heema can see her.  The little
Oriental woman tips her head back, and drives her fists down, as she shouts up at the balcony, “Hey!”

Her voice echoes and the entire courtyard drops into silence.  Heads turn.  Mrs. Neho jabs one finger up in Heema’s direction and the dark haired beauty on th
e third floor narrows her eyes in response.  Mrs. Neho doesn’t back down an inch.

“We not
being loud!” Mrs. Neho shouts.

“
Let the Addo quiet me!” Heema shouts back.  “We were told there would be a Totus, but no Totus is happening and we have not seen the Addo.  If you have an Addo, let him be seen.  We have waited patiently.  Now we want proof.”

“
I want pony for Christmases!”  Mrs. Neho shrugs. “Loud not make Addo see you fast.”

Heema throws
back her shoulders. “You need to watch your mouth, old woman, when you are speaking to one of your community’s Procella.”

“
Yah, Heema,” Mrs. Neho dismisses the girl with an air-slap.  “You Procella, I know, I know...but Procella not get respect because they loud.  You a young Procella and I too old for big talking. I know Addo Gita pick you for good reason, but loud?  That not it.”

“How dare you!” Heema shrieks.  F
rom across the Courtyard, an Alo man says, “Can we stop shouting at each other?  What good does all of this shouting do?”

A
stringy man, from two balconies above Heema, calls down, “We are all tired of waiting!  Can someone from the 13
th
Cura at least tell us what is happening?  All this standing around and hush hush...can somebody give us a straight answer?”

The answer comes
more quickly than I expect, from one of the courtyard benches, beneath a thick canopy of woven trees.

“
Answers are generally more twisty, if you actually want to understand them, but if you want the short version, I can try to straighten things out for all of you.”

It’s like the whole place pauses or exhales like they’ve been kicked in the stomach. 
And in that split second, the other Contego from our Cura rush out from the shadows and surround our seated Addo.

CHAPTER THREE

The magnetism, to protect Sean, holds me in place.  Even though he is only in the training stage, my Contego instincts insist that I stand by to protect him, since our Addo is already surrounded across the room.  Garrett’s instincts seem to be commanding him to do the same, since he is rooted on the opposite side of his brother.

Zane and Robin are on either side of Mrs. Reese; Carducci and Sasu are beside them.  Ash Middleditch, Zane’s dad, stands on one side of Mrs. Neho and Larson is on the other.
It feels like we are a stronger presence with Mr. Middleditch here, even though he’s the same short, sinewy man that I see in Zane. At five-foot-nothing, he still seems like the tallest man in the room.

The Middleditch family is known for being some of the Contego’s most highly skilled fighters, and seeing Ash, Zane
, and Robin’s faces now, it only underlines the point even more. They are all scanning the room with meticulous glares.  They look ready to kill.  Even when their gazes pass over me, a quiver radiates in my spine.

Mrs. Reese is perched
right behind the Addo, hovering, as her eyes also scan the room.  When she comes to Garrett and I, standing beside Sean, she grimaces, but gives us a miniscule nod that tells us to stay where we are at.  It’s then that I realize we’ve made a mistake.  It’s a dead giveaway, with Garrett and I flanking Sean, that he is our Mox, but there is nothing any of us can do about it now.  We have to hope that all the Curas present are faithful to the Ianua, or hope that we are enough to protect Sean if they aren’t.

The entire courtyard goes silent
, heads turning and people leaning from the balconies, trying to see the Addo, entrenched behind the moving rings of our Contego. Mrs. Neho, standing to his right, tells him over her shoulder, “Don’t we agree you not do this, crazy man?”

The Addo answers
her with a soft shrug.  “I was craving cookies, Ruka, and you know that makes me just as cranky as Heema.”  He leans forward off the bench, grinning up at the 3
rd
Cura’s Procella.  “Heema, why don’t you bring some cookies down and we’ll have ourselves a Totus?” 

Then,
hopping up on his sandal-and-white-knee-sock-clad feet, the Addo seems to stagger a little before he smoothes down his gray sweatshirt and makes sure the elastic cuffs of his sweatpants are hiked up just under his knee caps.  When he’s straightened, he booms to the crowd, “In fact, whoever wants in on this whiz-banger of a Totus, bring down some cookies from your pantries and I’ll make sure your admission is free.”

The courtyard and above
balconies burst into murmurs and squirms of bodies.

“Where’s the Totus going to be?” the
stringy man from the fifth balcony calls down.

“Right h
ere, Angus!” the Addo says, motioning to the courtyard.

Mrs. Reese finally steps forward and
her voice crests up, over the top of the noise, “Lead Procella are welcome in the courtyard and the rest of your Curas are welcome to listen from their balconies!  We ask only to keep a fair distance from the Addo, to ensure his safety.”

Mr. Middleditch adds, “Anyone approaching him will be considered an enemy.”

The balconies grumble and growl as the Addo crosses his sandaled feet and says,  “Enemy is a little harsh, don’t you think?”  Then he shouts up to the balconies,  “No one’s going to bother me.  Am I right, up there?”

No one answers from the balconies.  I doubt anyone even heard him.

Garrett and I drift through the crowd with Sean between us, but we even stop at the outskirts of the Contego cloud around the Addo.

“
You’re staying on that bench,” Mr. Middleditch growls to the Addo.

“Brilliant!” Addo claps
his hands together once and Mrs. Reese shoots him a sour glance that only makes him smile more brightly at her.  “It has to be done, Miranda.  I’m starving and I’d much rather have cookies than another riot, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, crazy man!” Mrs. Neho shakes her head, but she
actually laughs. I don’t feel like laughing.  I want to brain the Addo for doing what he always does—assuming the best in people.  He’s out here in the open, acting like no one’s going to kill him, although the other twelve Addos have all been slaughtered and some were by our own community’s hands.  Being so trusting is how The Fury almost got him last time and his assumptions don’t take away our responsibility, if something goes wrong.

“I gotta say,” Larson grumbles beside
Mrs. Neho, “this sure ain’t the brightest plan you’ve ever hatched, Addo.  Can’t imagine what we’re gonna do if they all come at us at once.”

***

Mrs. Reese insists that the Addo stay put while the other Cura’s Procella ride the elevator down to the courtyard. Mrs. Reese asks our Alo to stay tucked away inside their apartments, although they are welcome to listen from their doors.  When one Alo questions Mrs. Reese, Zane puts it a lot more bluntly, “We don’t need everybody in the way if we’ve got to go hammer-time for the Addo.”

Ash
moves Sean into an alcove beside the Addo.  This spot is the most concealed we have in the courtyard, although it’s a little dark, from the shade of the trees.  There is a huge rock behind the Addo’s bench that also hides the Addo’s exit door.  We can also use the rock as a shield if it comes down to it.

All of the Conteg
o are staggered in rings, spreading out from the Addo.  I’m off to the right, in one of the farthest layers, while Garrett, Robin and Zane are in a little closer, and then Larson, Mrs. Neho, Mr. Middleditch and Mrs. Reese are closest.  Zane’s dad instructed us to pace, moving back and forth a small distance, in order to create a jagged line of moving targets in front of the Addo. It will only work if one of the Outer Cura Procella is an armed traitor, but we still try to prepare for everything.  I pace, thinking of how we all look like a carnival hunting game.

It should be easier, it should be second nature now
to push the fear out of my head, but it’s not.  I repeat my purpose over and over: I’m here to protect. I’m here to help with the same work that my mother and my grandfather dedicated themselves to doing.  I try to look like I’m made of steel, even though my body wants to shiver from head to toe like a wet dog.

Sean
doesn’t look any better than I feel, but the Addo doesn’t seem bothered at all.  He’s still sitting there on his bench, contentedly wiggling his fingers that are clasped over his round stomach, as if none of these people would ever even think of killing him.  His face even suddenly lights up, appearing to flicker in the shade of the trees, when the first Procella comes in with a small platter of cookies.  He’s a stout man with a stout face and a head full of spiked hair, the color of sun-burnt bricks.  The Addo pokes his head up to eye the platter.

“Lestyn
?” he says. “Ah, good to see you!  What have you brought down?”

“I know how you love the b
iscuits, Addo Larry.” Lestyn raises the platter with a stout hand.  “Where shall I put them?”

“Pass them!” the Addo says.  “Let’s get this Totus started
, shall we?”

“I will pass mine as well,” a
n Asian man says as he approaches. His voice is flat and he glares at Sean.  He has a huge basket filled with things that look like donut holes covered in tiny seeds. When the man walks into my ring, Garrett steps forward, to either stop the man or take his basket, it’s hard to tell which.  Either way, it’s obvious that Garrett doesn’t want this man any closer and on instinct, I pace in front of Sean, who is in direct line of the Procella’s glare.  The man’s eyes flick away from Sean to me.  He gives me a tight grin.

“Banh Cam,” he says.

“Oh!  Vietnamese Orange Cake!” the Addo booms.  “Just as good as cookies!  Excellent choice, Dai.” The Addo reaches around Mr. Middleditch, toward the basket, but Ash sways slightly and the Addo’s hand disappears.

“No samples
,” Mr. Middleditch says, and the Addo sighs, but drops his hands back to his sides with a shrug. Besides our Cura, eleven other Procella join us, each with a small basket or plate or tray of cookies, but Ash won’t let Addo sample anything, besides the Oreos that have mysteriously appeared on the bench beside him.  Leave it to Addo.  He probably had them stuffed up his sweatshirt.

One of the Alo brings out about a dozen
boxes of Oreos from our own Cura’s stores and I watch as they are passed, from door to door, within our own Cura.  Our cookies are offered to the other Procella, but they all turn down a taste, just as their cookies are turned down by our Cura.

Since I can’t ask the Addo openly, I think my question and aim it at his forehead. 
It seems to take him longer that usual to receive it.  He’s probably fielding questions from all over the place.  He seems to quiver a little before his eyes seek me out.  I smile a tiny apology.  I’m still not great at sending thoughts without bashing them into him.

Ok, w
e’re not eating the cookies because somebody could’ve messed with them, I get that, but why bother with bringing them at all?
…is the question I send him.

He replies,
If ever there was a time for comfort food, a Totus is always it. It doesn’t hurt to have a cookie to help swallow down all the troubles, and you can tell a lot about a Cura by their cookies.

Huh,
I reply back, as I scope out the cookies and sweets that the other Procella have brought with them.  It’s like their Curas have been baking in preparation for this Totus and these are their best, sacrificial sweets.  The last ones I look at are ours, a half dozen peeled-open boxes of Oreos, being shuffled around the perimeter. Addo’s still got his own box that he keeps dipping his hands into, when he thinks no one is watching. 
Our cookies say our Cura is too lazy to bake.

Is that what it says to you?
Without looking directly at me this time, Addo’s brow lifts and he tips his head to one side, as if he’s considering my stupidity.

Yeah. W
hat does it say to you?

It says, our Cura
isn’t busy baking cookies. And it also says that whoever was in charge of stocking our Cura’s pantry doesn’t do anything half way.  These are Double-Stuffs, kiddo! 
He smiles as he bites into the cookie and chocolate crumbs scatter down the neck of his sweatshirt.

Once all twelve of the other Procella arrive, Addo finally asks, from inside his Contego cocoon,
“Is everyone here?  Are we ready to get this Totus going?”

Faces line the layers of balconies, nearly all the way to the top, with only two exceptions. 
I notice Milo drifting around the edges of the courtyard, the lone face of the first Cura that seems out of place.  Mrs. Reese quickly shoos him into a doorway near her, as the Addo begins to speak.

“Let’s have our L
ead Procella introduce themselves, shall we?  Don’t be shy, now; we’re all family here.  I’ll go first.  Hi everybody!  I’m Addo Larry of the 13
th
Cura, and I’m still standing.”

Then,
Addo does a fancy wrist curl, extending a platter-up palm in the direction of the Asian man with the orange cake.

“Dai,” the man
introduces himself with a short, curt burst.  “Second Cura, Lead Procella under the late Addo Kamol.”

“Heema,” the dark beauty
across the room says, stepping forward.  “Third Cura, Lead Procella, it was my honor to serve the late Addo Gita.”

Addo bows his head to her, honoring the late Addo whom he had fooled around with at an Indicium or two. 
A man with a bristly, dark goatee, raises a hand. 

“Wojtek,” the man
says, his dark eyes flashing as he surveys the others around the courtyard.  “Of the fourth Cura, led by the late Addo Kasia, may she rest in peace.”

Immediately, the stringy man from one of the high balconies says,
“I am Angus.  Fifth Cura, under the late Addo Lachlan. May he rest in peace too.”

A
tall man with a long face is next.  “Imad,” he says.  “Sixth Cura, Lead Procella to the late Addo Fadil.”

“Kaya. I was Addo Anuun’s.  May he also rest in peace.”
A woman says.  She looks like an adorable little eskimo girl, but she’s got a shockingly deep, no-screwing-around voice.

“No cookies, Kaya?” Addo asks with a grin.

“You do not need more garbage food,” the woman replies and Addo winks at her, amused.  A young man with white-blond hair steps forward.  He might be the youngest Procella present.

“Rolan, of the eighth Cura, Addo Pavla.  Peace be to her body.”

“Looking good, Rolan,” Addo says and the Procella shuffles, suddenly off guard.  He pulls himself back together, straightening his spine, before he replies.

“Thank you, Addo.”

“I am Tuco,” another man interjects.  He’s got an oddly shaped head, as if he’s been beaten and crumpled.  One of his eyes are bigger than the other and his long nose looks like it’s been flattened a few times. He’s frightening to look at, but as he speaks, his eyes gloss over with tears.  “I represent the ninth Cura and the honorable Addo Ferdinand.  May his spirit be blessed.”