The Gathering (7 page)

A New Home

C
ap told everyone to meet in the common room after dinner, but he’s with Link and people have started without him. I sit on one of the couches next to Luka as heated conversation floats around us.

“What are we going to do with Clive?”

“We can’t bring him with us.”

“We can’t let him go. He knows too much.”

“What if we lock him up and leave him here?”

“He’ll starve to death.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

“That’s an awful thing to say.”

“He’s the enemy, isn’t he?”

He’s just a dad who wanted his family back.

The thought comes out of nowhere—an intrusive, uninvited guest I want nothing to do with. I don’t want to sympathize with Clive. I don’t want to understand his motives. I don’t want to understand him, period. All I want is to make sure the people I care about are safe. I glance at Rosie and Jillian and the knot in my stomach pulls tighter.

Voices rise.

Accusations are thrown.

Fear is his weapon of choice. He uses it to sow seeds of division, doubt, mistrust. We can’t let him get a foothold.

Whoever
he
is, I think he already has.

Nobody agrees on anything. Not on Clive or what to do with Gabe’s body or who to trust or where we’ll go or what we’ll do once we get there. It’s all arguments and scowls and passionate objections. Hurt feelings and panic escalate. By the time Cap finally rolls into the room, poor Rosie’s face has turned the color of chalk and judging by his expression, he’s heard the gist of the conversation—probably from all the way down the hall.

“This is not how wars are won.”

Everyone goes silent.

“Emotions cannot steer our decisions. We make them based on fact.”

“Here’s a fact,” Danielle says. While everyone else wears the signs of stress, her eyes have taken on an odd glow. She’s the kind of girl who thrives off of drama. “We’re sleeping with the enemy down here. For all we know Clive could be communicating with the other side right now.”

Declan rolls his eyes. “He’s not a Linker.”

“It doesn’t matter. If he’s opening his mind, they can get to him.”

“They can get to all of us,” Ashley adds.

Declan mutters an exasperated curse under his breath. He seems to be taking Danielle and Ashley’s fear mongering personally. “Only if you’re inviting them in.”

“So you think Claire actively invited them in? She was one of the first people down here. If she wasn’t trustworthy, then who is?”

Cap raises his hand sharply.

Declan—who had opened his mouth to respond—presses his lips together.

“Clive is under control. Right now, we have bigger issues at hand.”

“Like the genocide,” Luka says. It’s the first he’s spoken since the heated conversation began.

Bass narrows his beady eyes. “What genocide?”

Cap pushes out a heavy breath. “Patients in mental rehab facilities are being killed off. Link’s confirmed it. Whole databases are disappearing around the country.”

“What does that mean?” Jillian asks, rubbing Rosie’s shoulder reassuringly.

I glance at Non. She sits in one of the worn-out chairs we’ve pulled into a slapdash circle, squinting at Cap and rubbing her chin. So far, she’s been as quiet as me. “If it’s fact you’re after, you’ll find it in the journals.”

“What journals?” Declan asks.

Jillian scrunches her nose. “You mean those composition notebooks Tess is always looking at?”

Everyone’s attention turns my way.

Yes, those. Non had me study them. She wanted me to find the connections. Genocide was the common theme. They also referenced a prophecy. One I never would have thought had anything to do with me until I overhead Cap and Luka’s early-morning conversation in the cafeteria last week. Those journals are currently tucked beneath my bed.

“The ones in Tess’s possession are only a small subset of the whole collection. The rest are with a Scribe named Cressida Rivard.” Non winds a loose thread from the hem of her shirt around her finger and gives it a yank. When she looks up, she seems surprised that we’re all still staring. “The Rivard family became a safe haven for me many years ago. Cressida’s grandfather was the Scribe before her. Once he fell ill, Cressida was chosen.”

“Chosen for
what
?” Jillian asks.

And by who?
I want to add.

“Preserving the history of The Gifting. The Scribe is charged with studying, recording, and transcribing the accounts of those who came before. These accounts also contain several prophecies.”

Luka shifts beside me, his jaw tightening. If he doesn’t want anyone to know the enemy is after me, specifically, then I’m sure he really doesn’t want anyone to know about a prophecy that may or may not be about me and the demise of our kind.

“Where does Cressida live?” Cap asks.

“In New Orleans, in the family mansion.”

He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to jump up from the couch and insist on going. Like I should want nothing more than to hightail it south so I can learn more about these journals and the prophecy that is no doubt contained within. The prophecy he believes is about me. “You should go,” he finally says.

A week ago, I would have been chomping at the bit to learn more. But now? I’m done taking the lead. I’m done making the decisions. It only seems to put people in danger. “If you think it’s a good idea.”

His eyelids flutter, like my response catches him off guard. He’s not used to me being so docile. “I do think it’s a good idea. I also think you’ll need a team. Luka will obviously be a part of it.”

“So will I.” The eager words belong to Jillian—a Shield with no exceptional strength or power. But she’s my friend and I trust her, which makes her worth more than five hundred Cloaks.

Cap nods, like it’s a good idea. “Anybody else?”

I want to hold up my hands and tell him to stop looking at me. This isn’t my team. I’m not leading it. But I can’t help picturing the boy with the caramel eyes and the shaggy hair and the mischievous dimples. The boy who makes me feel brave and confident. Right now, I could use some of both. “What about Link?”

A muscle in Luka’s leg twitches. He’s never been Link’s biggest fan, mostly because he thinks Link treats my life too casually.

“It’s a good idea. The four of you will go to New Orleans to see what the journals have to say.” Cap looks from me to everyone else. “The rest of us will go to Newport.”

A collective gasp tumbles through the room.

“Newport
?” The glow in Danielle’s eyes goes dark. Her face turns the color of the oatmeal we eat most mornings.

I can understand why. There’s nothing left of Newport. It ceased to exist fifteen years ago, after a group of terrorists targeted the naval base and decimated the entire city along with it. The survivors were evacuated and nobody returned. From all accounts, it’s a wasteland.

“What could possibly be in
Newport
?” Ashley asks.

“Headquarters for The Gifting. It’s where everyone is gathering.” Cap spins his chair around and starts rolling away, as though the meeting is adjourned.

*

I set my bag of toiletries beside the journals stacked on my dresser. After the meeting, I pulled them from beneath my mattress and flipped through the pages. I rub my thumb over the strange swirly symbol on the cover of the one on top. It’s on all five of them, in the same place—upper right corner. I don’t know what it means.

There’s a soft
knock-knock
behind me.

I turn around.

Luka stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He wears a pair of sweatpants and a white undershirt, his hair damp from a shower, his face clean-shaven. “Can I come in?”

I lift my arm in invitation.

He walks to my bed, snagging my hand and pulling me with him as he goes. My heart accelerates as we sit facing each other on the mattress.

“You were quiet during the meeting,” he says, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. “I wanted to come check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

His feather-light touch has goose bumps racing up my arms. “I should be asking
you
that question.”

When he looks up, there are traces of shadow beneath his eyes. “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“I think that goes both ways.”

Luka smiles a little, then holds up his fist, showing off the hemp bracelet I tied to his wrist earlier. “How’d this get here?”

“I thought you could use it more than me.”

He starts to untie it, but I place my hand over his. My fingers are shaking. My eyes start to sting. And the knot of fear in my chest tightens. “I want you to keep it.”

“Hey.” Luka dips his chin, his face filled with compassion. With calm. “You know it’s just a bracelet, right?”

The stinging in my eyes turns to burning. No amount of blinking will chase away the embarrassing tears. I look down, twisting each of the beads inside the hemp. “I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t.”

Why then, can I not stop thinking about
transurgence
? The harder I try to push it away, bury it deep, the more it demands my attention. I want to make Luka promise that he will never—under any circumstances—do what Gabe did in that chamber. But I’m afraid of bringing it up, because there’s a chance Luka doesn’t know about it.

He rubs his thumb along my jaw and draws me closer. As soon as his lips touch mine, I ignite. All my fear, all my anxiety, all my relief—it gathers like the perfect storm. I curl my fingers into Luka’s damp hair and pull him closer. Only this time, we’re not out in the hallway. We’re in my room.

On my bed.

My back slowly lowers onto the mattress. Luka leans his body over mine. I press a kiss against his neck. But suddenly, he stops. He puts his hand on the mattress, his smoldering eyes moving from me to the opened door. Cap would skin us alive if we closed it. I can almost see the same thought running through Luka’s mind. He moves to the edge of my bed and pushes his fingers through his hair, giving us space so we can catch our breath.

“I, uh, should probably go,” he says.

I don’t want him to go, so I take his hand.

He glances at the door again. Cap made the rules clear. No purpling allowed. Luka is nothing if not respectful. But I also know he lives to make me happy.

Call me manipulative, I hold his hand tighter. “Stay.”

“Tess, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Please. Just stay.”

It works.

With a sigh, he runs his hand down his face and shuts off the light. Leaving my door wide open, he climbs into my bed and opens his arms. I lay my head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat while he plays with my hair.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to your grandma in time,” he finally says.

“She probably thought I abandoned her.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“She lived such a tragic life.” Tormented for years. Committed to a mental institute by her own son. Locked up since I was two. The hope of rescue dangled in her face only to have her life snatched away. I wanted to give her something better. I wanted to take her away from that place, get to know her, and maybe find out why she tried kidnapping me all those years ago. In her journal, she wrote that I had the power to save her. Was she talking about the prophecy? And if so, what did she know about it?

My gut tightens into a cold fist. “I’m scared.”

“I know.”

“What if something bad happens to my mom and Pete? Or my dad? Or what about
your
parents? You never talk about them.”

“That’s because I don’t think about them.”

I lift my head off his chest. “They’re your parents. Of course you do.”

Luka shakes his head and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I stopped thinking about them the second two government officials dragged you out of Lotsam’s class.”

I bite my lip, unsure how to respond to that one.

“Tess, I know you’re scared. I know your mind is going in a million different directions. There are a lot of people you care about. It’s one of the things that makes you so strong. And amazing. And beautiful.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks. I’m hardly beautiful.

“But I also know that the what-if game will drive you crazy. All we can do is focus on one step at a time. Right now, that step is figuring out what’s going on. And the only way we can do that is by getting to New Orleans.”

“And if someone recognizes us on our way to the Rivards?”

“Let me worry about that, okay?”

I let out a long breath. I don’t want to be on the run again. I don’t want to leave this place that has become an odd sort of home. I don’t want to deal with prophecies and genocides and whatever evil lurks up above. It’s all too much.

Exhaustion drags at my eyelids. I’ve barely slept in the last seventy-two hours. And Luka’s fingers are playing with my hair again. My mind wanders to my best friend, Leela. She’s probably waiting to hear from me. Last we talked, I told her about the plan and she followed through with Clive. I hate that he was in her car. I hate that he knows her face and her name. My thoughts grow fuzzier. Less cognizant as I tiptoe to the edge of sleep.