Keystone (9 page)

“
Unfortunately, we still have no idea who those key people were, since Roger destroyed those Memories. However, oddly enough, Roger did leave the ashes of the ruined Memories in a neat, little heap on the table. He obviously wanted the burnt Memories blessed…which I did, even thought I couldn’t read them.

But, even though the Memories are available since Walter recorded them, we have no idea who they belonged to or what pieces of information they provided that would be of use. When a Memory is burned, the knowledge is accessible after being blessed, but it also scatters. Locating each piece of the Memory is about as fun as finding a four leaf clover in a clover field while blindfolded. We’ll just have to stumble on it somehow and there hasn’t been enough stumbling in the past seventeen years to do us much good.”

My grandfather was Garrett’s connection,
I project back. Addo gives me a grimace of agreement.
Why didn’t he just tell Garrett what was in the Memory?

A connection can’t divulge their Memories, but in Walter’s case, his Memory was written, but not blessed. It’s a whole different ball game. Once the Memory is written, the information transfers and the knowledge temporarily becomes the Alo’s, until an Addo blesses the Memory. Then it becomes accessible knowledge to the world.

Connections are only available to share what is necessary to their individual Contego. They are around for altercations or to help a warrior handle pain or to cross over, if the Contego is mortally wounded. But that’s about it.
Addo ends with a roll of his shoulders.

But Garrett did need to know,
I argue.
Then there wouldn’t be any more battles or pain for Garrett, or any of the Contego, if he knew how to stop the Fury.

Nice try, kiddo,
Addo throws a wry grin in my direction as he bends to itch his ankle.
But Walter’s lips are sealed. Stopping the Fury is big picture stuff and beyond the scope of a Connection. It’s our tough luck that whatever Walter wrote in those Memories is part of a puzzle that only Walter could put together for us while he was still alive. Once Walter’s Memory was written, Roger became the sole owner of the knowledge until it is blessed. Why he hasn’t used whatever he knows is beyond me. But locating the actual Memory is pretty much the key to winning this war.

Wait.
I put up my hand to stop Brandon from ramming me with the corner of a table, but I also mean to interrupt the Addo.
What if Roger burned my grandfather’s Memory with the others?

Nerp,
the Addo answers.
Not a germ of Walter’s information has turned up in all these years and Walter would’ve been able to pass on completely if the Memory had been blessed. He’s hung around, waiting, instead. When Garrett became Contego, Walter stepped up to be his connection, because he was stuck. He couldn’t go on and he wasn’t coming back.

You really think my grandpa’s Memory is the key to stopping The Fury?

I’m not just thinking it, hot shot.
Addo levels his gaze on me from across the room just as Ms. Fisk bumps his arm. He turns to her, his brow spiking with mock interest.

“Do you honestly think we’ll have enough room for everyone, Addo?” she asks.

Addo’s gaze darts down the tables, taking in all the chairs that the Reese’s are lining up on both sides, and his eyes settle back on me, at the opposite end. “I’m saying it for suresies,” he says, flashing me his Jack-o-Lantern smile.

I’ll find it. I’ll find the key.
I project back, just as Garrett steps in front of me and blots out Addo altogether. Garrett grins and slides a chair toward me to sit.

“You’re sitting next to me, Rebel,” he says. “Right where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Concerning that last Memory, Addo,” Ms. Fisk says from the other end of the table. “I think we should revisit it at the Totus. It may have something to do with locating Walter’s Memory.”

“Now, I don’t think you need to concern yourself with it, Charlotte,” the Addo says sweetly. He’s been holding the paper the whole time, folded over once, but now he folds it twice more and slides it into the pocket of his sunshine-colored suit coat.

“Pardon me for saying, Addo, but I am absolutely concerned. If it would get us closer to Walter’s Memory…we all know how important that is.”

“We will not be revisiting any of this at the Totus!” the Addo barks. His voice is so sudden and so loud that I take a step back, even though I’m at least five chairs away. Ms. Fisk watches him, wide eyed. When the Addo finally continues, his tone is mellow, more normal. “You know I dislike stomping on anyone’s hair-do, Charlotte, but let’s not forget that I am the Addo of this Cura. Second, I think it is safe to say that we no longer know who we can trust and more importantly, who we can’t. So, until we have a better grasp, what I discuss with you,” He points to Ms. Fisk and then me and then Sean, “Or with you or you…or any of you…what we discuss, stays between us for now. Comprende everybody?”

He rotates to look at each person individually. We all take turns nodding.

“And as far as the message of this Memory,” he says, tapping his coat pocket, “Until I can decipher the symbols, I don’t need any other cooks mucking around in my kitchen. Everybody clear?”

Ms. Fisk makes a tiny sound in her throat and taps it away with two fingers. Addo reaches over and takes her hand in his.

“Now understand, Madam Fisk, I wouldn’t ask it of you if I didn’t believe it was important. As one of my most trusted Alo, I can tell you that our discretion now may be vital to the outcome of this Cusp.”

“You know I’m nothing, if not dedicated to you,” Ms. Fisk says.

“I know,” he answers her with a mottled smile, but he still doesn’t mention what we saw in my mother’s Memory. He drops her hand and Mrs. Reese stands up.

“Well,” she says. “Everyone should be coming soon for the Totus. Garrett, why don’t you take Nalena up and watch for them so I can have a word with Charlotte and the Addo.”

Ms. Fisk’s grin drops into a frown.

“C’mon.” Garrett stretches out his hand to me. “I’ll give you the tour.”

I am happy to take his hand and get away.

We climb the staircase and Garrett stoops to unlock the metal door at the top that has three deadbolts. He flips the latches one at a time and waits while a gritty hum emanates from within the door.

“What is that?” I ask.

“That’s what you call a Veritas door. They have bolts that run all the way through and deep into the walls, so if you want to break down this door, you have to take the whole wall with it.” He has his hand on the doorknob and the other laced in mine, so he feels the tug when I hold back a step.

“Wait,” I whisper. “We can’t just pop out of one of the library’s storage closets dressed like we’re going to the prom. People are going to notice.”

“It’s past midnight, Nali,” Garrett says, swinging open the door. “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”

Stepping into a dimly lit room, with a boy who should be on posters, should be a lot more fun. But being in the library in the middle of the night is eerie. The return cart looks ghostly, stacked and wheeled out in the middle of an aisle. A deserted book lies open on one of the tables. We walk through the aisles like uninvited ghosts. Garrett notices when the shiver jerks down my spine.

“Are your feet cold?” he asks, looking down at the hem of my dress.

“Not really,” I say. He grins.

“It’s only creepy up here until you get used to it. Then, it’s just...private.”

I glance up at his profile. He’s doused in the soothing bluish tint from the emergency lights overhead. As he pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, I want to forget everything, except Garrett. The heat of his mouth on my skin makes it pretty easy, since it’s like blowing on smoldering coals. But then we pass beneath what looks to be a big white box with flood lights attached to it and reality seeps back in.

“Aren’t we going to set off the alarms?” My voice sounds hoarse as I whisper. Even though Garrett answers in a slightly quieter version of his regular voice, he doesn’t seem worried about disturbing the shadows like I do.

“Only if we open the doors without keying in the code first,” he says. Then, like an afterthought, he adds, “Just stay away from the windows, in case anyone is looking in.”

I shiver again. Garrett squeezes my hand and the spark that runs through me overrides everything else.

“How about our usual table?” he asks.

I make an agreeable sound, still afraid to talk loud enough to attract even non-existent attention. Garrett guides me into the dark catacombs of the aisles. The dim security lights don’t reach this far and in less than four steps, I can’t even see Garrett walking in front of me. I stumble along behind him, running into his back. But even in the pitch black, my field doesn’t blow out around me. Garrett’s touch keeps me feeling too safe for that.

“You okay?” His voice warms the darkness. “You’re really quiet. You want to go back?”

“I’m fine.” I tell him. And I am, until he lets go of my hand. I wait a minute, expecting his touch to find me again, but as the seconds tick by, I get nervous. My smile slides away, weighted at the corners. “Garrett?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Garrett!” I whisper it a little louder this time. Still, with no answer, I reach out, scooping at the black air, but he’s gone. The panic takes over and the whirring in my chest explodes. I’m suddenly outside my body, watching myself claw at the dark for him. And then I see him, off to the right, leaning against the edge of the table where we first met. He’s just out of my reach, and he’s smiling at me. Not at my
body,
but at
me
, or whatever I am when I’m outside of my skin. It’s like he can see me. I wave to him and he lifts two fingers, giving me a little wave back. I’m shocked, but also so reassured that I’m sucked back into myself and everything goes black again.

I laugh this time and focus, trying really hard to hear any movement that would give him away. My field doesn’t deploy, but the sound of his breathing suddenly pours into my ears. It is so clear, it’s hard to believe my ear is not against his chest. If he’s that close, I figure I can steal a breath of him too. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, searching for the scent of him. And his cologne fills my nose. I smile, reaching through the dark like I know he’ll be there. My ears and my nose say he will. And sure enough, I touch his arm.

“You got me.” His voice is thick. It turns my legs to garden hose. His skin is a whole poem. I feel around for the tabletop and sink down beside him. “That’s how you work your field in the dark,” he says. “You don’t have to deploy it, you just have to focus.”

“I did that. I could hear you breathe and...” I stop, coughing into my hand before I blurt out that I was
smelling
around for him. I’m about to look like the biggest loser ever. I cough one more time to change the subject.

“You got it,” he says. “Your senses only go supersonic when you focus them. You panicked because you couldn’t
see
me at first and that deployed your field, but then, the second time, you just focused on
hearing
me and even without your field, you were able to pinpoint my breathing.”

“I did.”

“And then you focused on smelling me.” I swear there’s a smirk in his voice. I blush hard in the dark. His fingers, from nowhere, slide across my cheek and disappear like a phantom. Violent butterflies fill up my stomach.

“I like it when you close your eyes like that, when you think I’m not watching.” His voice melts around me in the dark. “Let’s try it again. Focus on seeing me this time.”

I turn my head to where I think he is and I strain my eyes, but all I see is the dark. I blink and tiny white fireworks pop up in my peripheral and disappear when I turn my head to see them. My eyes ache a little. It came so easy before, but I can’t remember how I did it now. I try again, glaring into the shadows. Nothing.

“C’mon. You can do it.” His voice seems caught in my hair and then it’s gone, resurfacing on my other side. “I’m right here.”