The 52nd (The 52nd Saga Book 1) (29 page)

“Lucas, it’s not what you think. I wasn’t crying because I want to be rid of you. I cried because I wanted you to act on how you
felt.”

“I can’t.”

His anguished face was unbearable, and it was my turn to look away, ashamed to be putting him through this torture. “I
know.”

“I have always been able to do whatever I’ve set myself to do, except with you. You are the hardest thing I’ve ever
done.”

“Do I take that as cruel irony or flattery?”

He smiled a little and then fell silent, lifting his hand to touch my hair gently. The warm tingle made me lean into him. “You are the only person I would do this
for.”

“I know,” I repeated in a whisper.

Then his hand cupped my cheek softly, and I grabbed his wrist for strength. “What do you want me to
do?”

“Never leave me,” I
said.

“I promise.”

The car was a furnace, forcing me to move away from his warm touch. As I was turning down the heat his phone rang, if only for half a beat before he answered it. A moment passed, and he became distraught. His fingers combed distractingly through his dewy
hair.

“What is it?” I
asked.

“It’s Andrés. He says to go home. If the executioners came while we were driving in these conditions, we wouldn’t be fast
enough.”

A minute later Lucas was shifting gears and driving away. “Are your parents
home?”

“They are both at the
shop.”

“Then I will wait with you until Valentina can come for the night
watch.”

He looked at his watch as he wheeled onto our barely visible driveway a few minutes later. “She should be here
soon.”

“Why do you call your parents by their first names?” I
asked.

“I’ve spent enough time away from them that it became natural.”

A loud boom of thunder overhead made me jerk. Lucas slowly rolled his eyes to the
sky.

“The Milky Way’s dark rift is aligning with the sun. There’s only two weeks left until Solstice. If the weather stays like this, you will come straight home after class,” he
said.

I nodded as the pushing wind whistled inside the
car.

“Have you had more problems with blacking out?” he
asked.

“No.”

“Good.” He sat up and looked behind him. “She’s pulling into the neighborhood.”

I followed his eyes to the back windows but could only see the inside of his clean car. The wall of whiteness outside blocked my view of the street. I grabbed my bag and shuffled my hand through the junk in search of the house key. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

His smile was a wide beam spread from cheek to cheek.
“Claro.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, opening the
door.

“Of
course.”

“Oh, right.” I grinned, though it felt funny, and then hurriedly closed the
door.

Inside, I went straight to the window of my room and looked out. Valentina’s red Mercedes was at the curb across the street, polka-dotted by the storm’s swelling bluster. I grabbed my phone to send Lucas a
text.

For what it’s worth, I wish it were you outside my window tonight.

I’m here, no matter where my body
is.

Oh . . .

Does that bother you? I can switch with Valentina if it helps you feel
better.

Not bothered, I’m just working through some things. It’s just that . . .

Just
what?

Never mind, have a good
night.

Now you’ve got me thinking real hard, not possible to rest . . .

I turned for the bathroom and cleaned my makeup off. I hadn’t planned to reply, but my phone beeped
again.

Don’t be shy . . .I need to know . . .

It’s embarrassing.

I’m coming
over.

NO!! I’ll tell . . .

Time passed as I waited for the courage to say how I now felt about him. It scared me that he didn’t scare me anymore. It scared me how
in
I was. I rolled onto my back and stretched, smiling as the embarrassment got the best of me. I pictured him distracting himself while he waited for me. There wouldn’t be any rug left if he kept picking at it like he had when I was there. Another beep sounded from the edge of the
bed.

Really?? Is it really that
bad?

We need to work on your patience.

You’re killing
me.

I’m not into you for your body. I mean, I like your body, but I like your brain too, as stupid as it is sometimes . . . oh gosh, can’t believe I just said that. This is so bad, isn’t it? What I’m trying to say is . . . I feel calm when you’re near. And you never judge me for something that I feel might upset you. Sorry, I know this sounds
stupid.

I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same. Only difference . . . I’m infatuated with your brain . . . you’re perfect, Zara
Moss.

So
truce?

Si, muñeca. Truce.

I set the phone down and rolled over. I wanted to know what things he’d done that I wouldn’t judge him for. I knew we were an unlikely pair, but pieces of me thrived on our togetherness, our witty remarks, and our flirty texts. I felt I had a pretty good idea of who Lucas was, but—not now, but sooner rather than later—he’d have to tell me everything about himself. That wall needed to be broken
down.

As the gale weeks passed, training stopped, winter break came, and I spent every waking hour at home with Lucas. I didn’t understand it, but I felt dingy. It was a sort of darkness that webbed within, making the bright wintry weather seem dreary. Dylan saw it as a blessing because it seemed to have replaced my blackouts, but I didn’t feel
myself.

I knew I really wasn’t right when I woke up on December twenty-first, the day before Solstice, ran to the toilet first thing, and heaved. Nothing came out, but I was pale in the mirror, and I felt dehydrated. My lips were chapped. I rubbed my arms and went back to my room, where the air felt stagnant and cold. I shivered again and thought about packing for Mexico, but instead I put my phone on silent and fell back
asleep.

It was dark outside when I woke, and a rainbow of colors from the Christmas lights on the roof lit my room. I heard Mom return from the mall, and though I curled into a tighter ball on my bed, there came a knock on my
door.

“Zara, Lucas is downstairs,” she
called.

I checked my cell on the pillow. There were eight missed calls from
him.

“Coming,” I
moaned.

Mom was waiting at my door. “You look horrible. What happened to
you?”

“Nothing did. I just woke
up.”

“Well, you look
it.”

I ignored her and made my shaky way downstairs, wrapping my sweater around my waist. Lucas was sitting in the high-back chair in the living room but stood as I approached.

He gave me a funny look. “Are you
okay?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me
that?”

He took a step closer. “Have you
packed?”

“Not exactly.”

I could tell he was waiting for Mom to leave. He leaned in and whispered, “Andrés will be out front tonight. I just needed to see how you were
doing.”

“I feel funny,” I responded.

I stared at his blue shoes while the roiling in my stomach
surged.

“Nausea?”

I crossed my arms over my queasy belly. “I feel like I’ve been poisoned.”

He lifted my chin gently. “Just try and get some rest tonight.”

“You should too,” I
said.

He chuckled. “That’s not going to
happen.”

When Mom moved to the family room and gave us some privacy, I started panicking. “I’m confused about tomorrow. How can we leave for Mexico if the executioners haven’t come
yet?”

“They will come. Trust
me.”

“But . . .”

“Zara. Enough. Let it go. Have faith, please, because this is completely out of your control,” he pleaded.

I looked down, unsure if I should say it, but sure enough to speak. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you and your family. If things get badly . . .”

“Never.”

“Lucas, you have to think clearly
here.”

He grabbed my shoulders and squeezed gently. “I’m not sure I’m the one not thinking clearly. Listen to yourself . . . leave you . . . let you
go?”

My stomach tightened. I bent over it and winced. “Yes, I want you to promise me you’ll let me go if any of you are at risk of
dying.”

“We don’t
die.”

“You know what I mean.” I snapped.

He lifted my chin again to meet my gaze. A soft tickle formed where our skin met. His soft eyes understood, comforting me enough to relax my muscles and stand straight.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered. “We have taken extra measures to make sure you are protected.”

“Like
what?”

He looked at his watch and took a step toward the door. “I have to go. I will come get you when it is
time.”

“When?” My voice quivered as I followed
him.

“Whenever the executioners decide to come.” He shrugged carelessly and pivoted to the door. “But pack, please.”

I shook my head again, scared that he was leaving.

“I will see you soon.” There was a silent pause, and then he slanted his head down to kiss my cheek and slid outside before I could recover.

Packing was impossible. When I realized I had debated on which pair of shorts to bring for ten minutes, I gave up and slid into the chilled bed. What would it matter if I wasn’t alive? Underneath the peacock-colored flannel, I prayed for the slightest bit of sleep, but it was impossible on my deathbed.

At midnight the fear subsided, and I finally fell into unconsciousness. In my dream, there were no visions of chestnuts roasting or sugarplums dancing. There was a bitter blackness that consumed me until I found myself staring at a face I’d only seen once before: the handsome, dark-haired man with the chiseled face from my blackouts. The one who brought the dagger down into those girls’ chests. He seemed to be looking at me as his mouth creased in an evil grin.
You’re mine
, he mouthed as my body swayed back and
forth.

“Zara! Zara wake up!” a voice whispered in the
dark.

“Zara, you have to wake up!” It whispered again as my body shook violently.

When the blackness lightened to the gray darkness of my room, I awoke, groggy and disappointed to see two thirty on my clock. I rolled onto my side to go back to sleep, but the shaking started again and rolled me back over. My eyes focused slowly in the dark until I saw Lucas’s face. It was obscured by the black hood pulled over his head, but his eyes glistened in the glare of light through the open
window.

“Zara . . . it’s time,” he whispered impatiently. “You have to get up; we don’t have much
time.”

“Already? It’s not even morning yet,” I mumbled, trying to roll back over, but his warm fingers held me
firmly.

“Yes. Now.”

“Fine,” I groaned.

My sweater and pants sailed at my face as I plodded out of bed. Lucas’s back was already turned so that I could change. As I stumbled in the dark, missing each pant leg, Lucas obsessively checked the watch on his
wrist.

“I’m ready,” I said, tugging my sweater
down.

Within the space of a breath, the window was thrust open noiselessly and he sat on the sill, silently beckoning me to come. As white flurries flew inside, I walked to the ledge nervously and looked down at the twilit snow beneath. Knots formed in my stomach, and I shook my head. I hated heights.

“Don’t you trust me?” Lucas now looked concerned.

“Yes.”

I looked once more at the drop, shaking in terror, and he motioned me over to sit on his lap. “Then come here and hold
on.”

As I slowly sat, his arms snapped around me, and he jumped without warning. My stomach dropped instantly as I fought the urge to scream. When my mouth flew open anyway, his hand clasped tightly over it. We landed softly in the powdery snow, and he carried me to his car without a word and set me down on the heated
seat.

“You okay?” he asked. I hadn’t even seen him open his door, but the headlights were already on, and we were speeding toward Fallen Leaf
Lake.

“I’m fine.” I shivered.

My hand collided with his as I reached for the heater vent. It was he who backed away, though, smiling.

“What are my parents going to think when I’m not in my bed in the morning?” I felt like I was about to hyperventilate.

“You’ll be back in bed before they even get
up.”

His voice was calm, but he looked at his watch again and accelerated onto the icy two-lane freeway. I was beginning to worry about speeding over black ice when a smoky black corpse appeared at my
window.

“Lucas!” I screeched.

I leaned into Lucas just as the bony hand reached through the window, shattering the glass into thousands of tiny shards. Lucas reached over, clenched the deadly hand, and squeezed. There was a crunching sound, then a high-pitched screech. The demon’s mouth, which was inches from mine, gaped long and hollow as it shrieked. I slapped hands over my ears as Lucas released the dead creature, which shot away into the
night.

The car fishtailed as Lucas swerved away from another executioner. It flew at my window, but the Rover surged as Lucas gained control and turned sharply on the exit. The engine revved loudly as another wave of executioners came. I knew their bones, ropy like veins, but this time I clearly saw the dark silver bands that adorned their legs and arms as they followed us into the dense trees at the hidden turnoff.

The road was untouched by the moonlight, a black, tree-lined tunnel lit only by the beam of headlights. Lucas barreled over the potholes as the executioners swarmed around us. But then I could see the black scrolls of the gate ahead, glimmering like gunmetal in the moon’s silver light—still
closed.

“Lucas, gates!” I screamed.

“ANDRÉS!” Lucas yelled as the gates stood, unmoving.

The gates moved, but slowly. The opening didn’t look wide enough for our car, and the passing black trees weren’t slowing. I screamed when Lucas floored it and we barreled through the gates, centimeters away from
impact.