The Marked (13 page)

“I got a call from Mr. Judan,” Trevor said. “He wanted to meet with all of us. It isn’t like I had a choice. I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway.”

“She thinks you
like her
,” I said, poking him in the chest with one finger. “She knows you’re watching her, and she thinks it’s for an entirely different reason than the real one.”

Trevor shifted his backpack over his shoulder and shuffled his feet. “I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” I said. “She’s my friend, and you’re hurting her feelings. Either figure out how to be discreet or find someone else to be her Watcher. Got it?”

With that, I turned and marched away, leaving him in stunned, openmouthed silence.

It had been a miserable day, and I had a feeling things were only going to get worse. But for one brief moment, I couldn’t help smiling.

AFTER LUNCH
, I headed for my focus class with Barrett and Mr. Fritz. I hadn’t seen Cam. I figured he was holed up with Mr. Judan, planning nasty things to do to the Irin. It was actually a relief not to have run into him. I was afraid my guilt about contacting Jack would be visible on my face.

Mr. Fritz greeted me at the door. “You can set down your backpack and grab your jacket, Dancia. We’re headed to the woods today.”

I was surprised. After the big fight at Anna’s house, I figured we’d be spending this session processing the event, maybe even debating philosophical questions that would leave my brain aching. I had actually been looking forward to it. I’d been thinking about Ethan Hannigan, Jack, and the Irin all day. I could have used something to distract me.

I grabbed my sweatshirt and followed him down the hall. Though I was still irritated with Barrett for not getting involved at Anna’s house, it was impossible to have too much righteous anger now that I’d talked to Jack. Everything about the Irin seemed hopelessly complicated, and what Barrett had said right before the fight—“they created this”—was strangely in line with what Jack had said about the Watchers killing Ethan Hannigan.

In any case, Barrett was uncharacteristically serious. He walked with more purpose than usual, striding forward impatiently, his long, long legs eating up the distance.

No one spoke until we reached a secluded spot in the woods. Giant Doug firs loomed over our heads, while the bare branches of the maple trees shuddered in the breeze. The ground was soft and springy, littered with broken sticks, fallen leaves, and the decayed remnants of ferns. On one side of the clearing, the earth sloped sharply away, and you could see from the tops of the trees that we were on the edge of a ravine. The woods around Delcroix were like that. Even though you didn’t get much altitude change overall, there were unexpected ridges and slopes around every corner.

I had often wondered if that was due to Program students practicing their talents. Maybe someone had a talent for digging trenches, or moving soil. Or blowing things up.

Mr. Anderson stood at the far side of the clearing, arms resting on top of his belly, his jaw set.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said.

That’s when I started to get nervous. He wasn’t looking at me, in spite of my repeated attempts to catch his eye.

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to keep a smile on my face. “They can still hear me scream from here, you know.” Barrett, Mr. Fritz, and Mr. Anderson formed a rough triangle, with me in the center. I spun around. “Is this some kind of game, Mr. Fritz? One of your little tests, perhaps?”

“More of an activity than a test,” Mr. Fritz said.

Barrett and Mr. Anderson each took a step closer. My heart started to race. I was pinned among the three of them. Surrounded. I tried to back up.

“Sorry, but you aren’t going anywhere,” Barrett said. “Not until we have our lesson.”

“You’re starting to freak me out,” I said, glancing at him. “What’s the lesson?”

“We aren’t quite sure yet,” Mr. Fritz said. “We’ll have to see when we’re done.”

I dropped my sweatshirt on the ground. “Fine. Do I take you on one at a time, or all at once?”

Mr. Anderson raised both hands. “All at once.”

I gaped openmouthed at Mr. Fritz. “Seriously?”

He had barely nodded when Barrett launched the first shot. Heat entered my body through my toes and rippled up my legs. My heart began thumping in an unsteady rhythm. I held out my hands, and, as I watched, my skin flushed a dark pink. Tiny wisps of smoke trailed from my fingers.

It was beautiful but distinctly uncomfortable, like I’d been left to bake in the sun on the hottest day of the year. My face throbbed, and the air that came in through my nose singed my throat and lungs.

“I know you aren’t ready for this,” Mr. Fritz said regretfully. “But we didn’t have a choice. We had to move forward.”

I wanted to ask why, what had changed, but the heat in my blood made it impossible to think. I inhaled more deeply, trying to ignore the sensations running through my body. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Fight back. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

I tried to make sense of what was happening. Why had they all turned against me?

Mr. Fritz seemed to understand. “You’re struggling; I thought you might. I’ll be honest with you: this isn’t going to be easy.”

“Thanks for the encouraging words,” I panted.

With every breath, I was getting hotter. Barrett wasn’t letting up. I forced myself to squint in his direction. I had to locate the strings around him to pluck the one that would send him crashing to the ground. A smoky haze ran through the clearing, obscuring my vision, but I finally made out the dim image of the dark lines that were my only hope of survival.

I forced the information into my clouded brain. Prickles of fire sent my fingers twitching. I lashed out frantically, tugging the cord that held Barrett to the earth. He fell backward and landed on the ground, flat-backed and limp.

I thought I might have seriously hurt him, because he stayed still and the heat began to fade. I started to take a step toward him, terrified to look at what I’d done, when I felt a tug at the front of my foot and almost lost my balance. I looked down and realized that a thin length of ivy had wrapped itself around my shoe. I shook it off, thinking I’d somehow stepped into it, when another one started to crawl toward me from the edge of the clearing.

I whipped around to face Mr. Anderson and saw that he was muttering to himself, pacing and running his fingers through the ring of hair that encircled the crown of his head. All around me, plants were stirring, reaching, and growing. Vines, like tiny fingers, stretched and moved along the grass. The ivy I had shaken off rose up like the periscope of a submarine, surveyed the clearing until it found me, then began moving in my direction.

I gasped. “Mr. Fritz, call it off! Whatever point you’re making, I give up. You’re right.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Dancia. I can’t do that. You fight until the end.”

The end? As in, the end of my life? Barrett still wasn’t moving, but the heat had resumed, so I figured he must be okay. The ivy crawled up and over the top of my shoe. A blackberry bramble scraped the back of my calf, its thorns digging into my ankle. Why, oh, why had I worn a skirt today? I moved a few feet away, but they kept coming, wrapping themselves around my legs and holding me fast.

Barrett lifted himself up onto his elbows. I breathed a sigh of relief even as I felt a wave of anger. He was smiling. Or rather, smirking. “Giving up so soon? I thought you’d at least make us work for it.”

“This isn’t fair,” I said. “You haven’t told me the rules. I don’t know what we’re fighting for. I don’t know how to win!”

“There are no rules,” Mr. Fritz said.

“I don’t know how you can win, but I know how you’re going to lose,” Barrett said.

“Stop being so mean!” I cried.

Pain stabbed my ankle. While I’d been watching Barrett, a bramble had tightened around it. I didn’t know how to unwind it without the thorns digging in deeper, so I focused on stopping Mr. Anderson himself. He was bigger than Barrett, his tie to the earth stronger. Throwing Barrett to the ground hadn’t made much of a difference, so I decided to go the opposite route with Mr. Anderson, and make him fly. I’d never tried it before, but I didn’t have a choice.

I took a deep breath and visualized myself brushing piles of debris and clutter from my mind, leaving behind a clean and empty slate. The irony of that moment was breathtaking; I was using techniques Barrett had taught me only a few weeks before, in order to prepare my mind to fight. I raised my hands, momentarily distracted by the white smoke curling around my fingertips. My skin was a darker red now, as if I’d had a bad sunburn. The heat made it difficult to concentrate, but I clung to the image of my empty mind. When my control felt strong enough, I poured all my attention into the black cords that surrounded Mr. Anderson, from ground to sky. Gently, I pulled on the top one and held it there, straining to keep my energy focused.

He let out an exclamation when first one foot, then the other lost contact with the ground. I moved the cord gently up and down, and Mr. Anderson did the same, jerking it like a yo-yo. Triumph swelled within me when I felt the bramble around my ankle relax. Carefully, I bent over to unwrap the now-still vine, but as I looked down, the steady heat in my body pulsed with a startling intensity. The pain was so strong I staggered back, losing my grip on Mr. Anderson’s cord. He swore violently as he dropped to the ground.

I yanked on Barrett, trying to send him back to the ground, but he barely moved before sending another flash of heat through my body. Through swollen eyes, I watched Mr. Anderson rise to his feet; the blackberry vine I still held in my fingers squirmed and wriggled, its thorns digging into the burned skin of my palm.

It was like Whac-A-Mole at the county fair. Each time I knocked one of the men down, the other popped up to assault me anew.

I felt a rush of fury. They were destroying me, and I was holding back, out of some childish fear of hurting them. I glared at Barrett and abandoned any attempt at moderation. With all the energy I had left, I jerked on his cord. This time, I think I did hurt him, because he grunted and the heat abruptly disappeared. The relief was overwhelming.

“Ready to give up?” I yelled.

“We’re just getting started,” came the hoarse reply from the limp form on the ground.

I jumped; the soles of my feet burned as if they’d caught on fire. I danced back and forth to lessen the sting.

“This is worse than I thought,” Mr. Fritz said sadly. “Don’t you realize they’re just toying with you? You’ll have to think of something much better if you expect to win.”

I continued to hop from foot to foot. “Would you please shut up?”

“Perhaps if you beg them to go easy on you, it will help.”

The suggestion shocked me. If Mr. Fritz thought I had no chance, why was I bothering to fight?

“You want me to give up?” I asked. Leaves rustled behind me. I figured Mr. Anderson was back at work, but I couldn’t screw up the courage to turn around.

He shrugged. “If you’re certain to lose, perhaps that would be the best course.”

My shoulders sagged. My feet were on fire, the cuts on my legs were screaming for relief, and my skin throbbed with heat. Mr. Fritz was right. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fight them both. Suddenly, I could barely summon the strength to keep standing, let alone keep fighting.

I lowered my eyes, ashamed of what I was about to do. I pictured myself falling to my knees, surrendering. As I studied the ground, I saw my sweatshirt next to me, a limp gray mass balled up next to my feet. I recalled the defiant way I’d dropped it, my brief moment of confidence before this had all begun.

Confidence.

It’s all mental…

A voice reverberated in my head. I clung to it, closing my eyes so I could focus on the low echo it left behind. It’s all mental—what did that mean? Where had I heard that before? The heat and the stinging in my legs brought a fresh wave of dizziness. My thoughts blurred and faded in and out. Then it came to me. The pen. I pictured the pen I’d dropped on my first day in class with Mr. Fritz, and fury slowly replaced the despair that had almost sent me to my knees.

Mr. Fritz had used that pen to trick me into believing I couldn’t use my talents.

He’d used my mind against me.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” I stared at him, wide-eyed. “Making me believe I can’t win.”

A small army of brambles hit my feet and snaked up my calf. Sharp needles poked my bare skin in hundreds of places. They were moving fast, coiling around my shin and starting up my knee. Mr. Anderson had taken advantage of my distraction to throw everything he had at me.

Mr. Fritz held a hand over his chest in an expression of pseudosincerity. “I’m looking out for you, Dancia. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“The hell you don’t!” I spat, anger burning my throat as surely as the fire that Barrett had sent licking through my body. I’d been fooled by Mr. Fritz before. I was
not
going to let him take advantage of me again.

What I wanted was to pick Mr. Anderson and Barrett up like rag dolls and throw them on the ground, but I didn’t actually want them to
die
. It was clear, though, that I needed to try something new. I focused my attention on the plants Mr. Anderson was using against me and, my whole body shaking with the effort, compressed the soil with the force of gravity that reached up from below. I spun in a slow circle, holding in my mind all that I saw and focusing on the things I couldn’t see—the darkness and energy pulsing below the surface of the earth.

As I watched, the ground actually sank—first six inches, then eight, then a foot. Mr. Anderson stumbled back as I rose above him. The earth fell away, the plants and soil becoming compacted in a thick black stripe. The vines around my leg tightened, then slackened, becoming limp and flat in my hand. I reached down and ripped a handful off, ignoring the bloody scrapes they left behind. All around the clearing, the plants shuddered and fell flat.