Uprising (7 page)

As hard as it was to be in my old house, she did have a point. Maybe we would be safe here. I
felt
safe.

“I guess you’re right,” I accepted, pulling the chair out to sit with them. I pushed the ache away again, trying not to let the sight of my father’s hand carved furniture affect me. “Did you find anything else of use while you were digging around in my memories?”

Kara and I smiled at each other. Me forgiving, her apologetic.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked.

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “Mac’s in charge.”

They all stared at each other like they knew something I didn’t.

“I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but this is your call.”

“
My
call?” I asked. Since when did I know anything about how to rescue people, especially from The Council? Sure, this whole mission was to help
my
friends, but Mac had been orchestrating this from the beginning. Now suddenly I was in charge?

“I don’t remember my name being in no prophecy,” Mac added.

My eyes shifted from face to face, getting a sense that they were all in agreement. “But I don’t know anything about The Council,” I said, pushing my chair away and rising to my feet. “I don’t even know where they live.” My voice was too high. Panicked. Frustrated.

“They live in Beverly Hills,” Dr. Nickel answered.

His response surprised me. Beverly Hills? The name alone was intimidating, and it didn’t help that they were all looking at me, expecting me to come up with the whole thing. I wasn’t qualified. I had no idea where to start.

“I need a minute,” I said, heading for my parents’ bedroom.

I shut the door behind me, and wiped my clammy hands on my jeans. My parents’ room was exactly how I’d left it, only now it was a ghost’s room. All the color deadened by dust and decay. I went to the wooden chair in front of my mother’s vanity and stared at the gray image of myself in the dust-covered mirror. We had been so focused on training I hadn’t even thought about a plan, simply because it never occurred to me that I’d have to come up with one. But this was my problem, not anybody else’s. In fact, none of them were required to take any part in Anna and Chloe’s rescue. This was my responsibility, and I needed to get it together. I combed my fingers through my hair, brushing it out of my face, and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” I said, coming out of my parents’ room with newfound confidence. I’d avoided their room for so many years, and now I wondered why. My parents had been gone for decades, but maybe it was them who gave me the strength. “I don’t think we should use numbers or force.”

Mac laughed. “Good, because we don’t have numbers.”

“Stealth is the way to go. I want to get in and out of the house quickly and quietly if possible.”

“So, the house in Beverly Hills, are we sure that is our target?” Mac asked.

I had only assumed. It seemed the most logical. If Anna and Chloe really were bait, why not lead me right to them? We only had one shot, one night that the oracle had said would work. My only reassurance was that if we did go on that night, we would succeed in rescuing them, which meant wherever we ended up would have to be the right place.

“It has to be,” I decided, moving to sit back in my seat across from William. “It was the first thing I thought of, and the oracle said, ‘they’ll be where you’ll expect them to be.’ I remember that.”

“They’ve kept others there in the past. It’s as good a theory as any,” Kara added.

“If that’s the case, the place will be heavily guarded. I think I should go in first, ahead of you,” William said decidedly.

“No,” I reacted on impulse. I didn’t like the idea of him being the front line. What if he got hurt or worse? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” We stared at each other.

“Elyse, that’s what Mac has been training me for, to get in unseen so I can clear the way for you. You know it should be me.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. He could use his ability to persuade those he encountered in our favor. Everything in me was fighting it, but I knew he was the key to slipping past security.

“Mac has to go with you,” I added.

William glanced briefly at his uncle. “Yeah. I’m sure I’ll have no problem sneaking a six foot three man-beast past everyone.”

“Hey. Who taught you all the tricks?” Mac defended himself.

I ignored them, determined to keep focused. “Dr. Nickel, if it’s okay, I think I’d like you to stay behind. I’m sure everything will go smoothly, but if it doesn’t, I’ll need someone to take my place.” Mac had taught me to be prepared for every scenario, even if I was sure of the outcome.

“I’m sure that isn’t—”

“Dad,” William interrupted, his eyes drifting toward me. “She calls the shots.”

Dr. Nickel stayed quiet.

“I want to keep this small,” I continued. “Besides, we need you home, keeping an eye on everyone.”

“All right,” he nodded.

“Kara, you and I will follow behind William and Mac,” I continued. “How well do you know the place?”

“Better than most,” she answered. “I’ll follow their thoughts once we get in close. I’m sure I can get us to where we need to be. I’ve seen most of the hidden passageways in the minds of others who work there. I know more than Christoph realizes.”

“If I’m not going to be involved, the less I know the better,” Dr. Nickel interrupted as he pushed his chair back and stood to leave. He looked at William for a long moment. “Be safe, son.” Then he addressed the rest of us. “Good luck.”

5.

THE NEXT MORNING I WOKE before everyone else. I hadn’t slept well in my parents’ room. The house made me tense, but thankfully the creek settled my nerves. I sat on the cold dirt as the sky grew brighter. The water at my feet trickled past stone making music with the mockingbirds as they sang proudly for the dawn. Four weeks until the end of February. I breathed in the cold sweet smell of nature and closed my eyes. It seemed like an eternity and nothing at the same time. At least here I could escape, pretend like war wasn’t somewhere in my future.

“But it is,” Kara said, sitting down beside me.

“I know,” I answered, staring into the creek. “Can’t I just pretend like it’s not?”

“No.” She looked at me, and I looked back. “You run, Elyse. You always want to run. How do you expect to beat Christoph or win a war when you’re always trying to look the other way?”

“I don’t expect to beat him,” I answered honestly.

She ignored me and kept on. “You have to be ready for anything, anytime. Your mind should always be thinking of your next move, not acting like there isn’t one.”

“My mind doesn’t work like that. I’m not . . . I don’t know what to do first, let alone what I’m supposed to do next.”

“First, you should know your enemy,” she said, throwing a pebble into the rippling water at our feet, “what makes him tick. Christoph is very closed off. Not many people know much about him. I can’t get inside his head, but I’ve been inside others, Council aides who’ve seen things.” She offered her hand to me. “You could start there.”

I stared down at her palm. It wouldn’t hurt to know more about the man I was supposed to destroy. I nodded my head and turned to face her as she pressed her fingers to my temple. This might be the most valuable weapon she had against him—a secret.

The memory was distant, and I could tell as I looked through a young girl’s eyes that it didn’t belong to her. The details were washed and muted, the sensations dull and forgotten with age, but I watched secretly from another room as a young Christoph spoke to his father.

“You’ll come to understand in time, Christoph.” The man’s stare was intimidating. He looked almost ghostly with his thick white sideburns and cheeks that sunk into shadows on his long face. “I used to be naïve as you are, but I’ve seen things. They’re not a race worth saving.”

The boy’s blond hair was combed to the side and fell forward slightly as he bowed his head. “Yes, sir. I only thought . . .”

“They’re all the same, son.” His voice was cold and unyielding as he busied himself with papers behind an oak desk. “I had to watch my mother burn at the stake for being taken as a witch. They’ll never accept us. Look at them now. My mother was killed in 1692. It’s nearly 170 years later, and they’re still persecuting others because they’re different. Their own kind, no less. Enslaving them because of the color of their skin.”

“Nettie is one of us,” the boy whispered. He stood some distance away, seemingly afraid to come closer.

“You know I’ve tried to help her. The railroad has aided many of our kind. She knows I’m a shepherd. I can’t make her leave if she is not willing.”

“But it’s your job to find them, Father.” His voice spiked as he stepped forward, the bravery shining through his still innocent blue eyes. His face was sad but hopeful, with a sweet naivety that I knew he’d lose with age. “Why can’t you make her go?”

“It’s her choice. She chooses to stay. For you.”

The memory shifted in time, but not by much. I peered through different eyes, an older man as he watched Christoph run from afar.

“Nettie!” he screamed. His feet beat the dirt as he ran into town. His frantic face glistened with tears. The man hurt for him. I hurt for him.

In the town square, people were gathered around making a commotion over something. Men and women towered over him as he forced himself through the mob of angry protests and jeering voices. The man only stood and watched in horror. He was a Descendant. It could easily have been him in place of this poor girl.

“She’s a monster!”

“Kill her!”

The gunshots fired before Christoph had made it through the crowd, and as he finally reached the front, he saw her chained and wounded.

“I love you, Nettie,” he spoke through the riotous mob. His words were lost to yells and cheers, but the man heard.

“I love you too,” she mouthed as her eyes closed.

Images blurred and yet again the boy sat facing his father, the same desk sitting between them. For a while they said nothing. Christoph’s hair was tousled, his cheeks red from tears, but his eyes had changed. They were heavier, full of shame and anger as he stared across the room.

“She exposed her ability, and they shot her.” He yelled the words, like he’d found power in his rage.

“I’m sorry, son,” his father said without feeling.

“What are you planning?” Christoph demanded, wiping his wet cheeks with his coat sleeve. His voice was hoarse as more angry tears came. “I want to help you. I want to kill them. All of them.”

Maybe it was me, but I thought I saw a glimmer of a smile in his father’s face.

“Keep your wits about you, Christoph. Don’t involve our kind. Soon there will be a civil war.” He leaned back in his high back chair. “Let them kill themselves.”

“Wow,” I said, pulling out of the memories. I didn’t want to admit it, but I sympathized with the boy I’d seen running with tears in his eyes. Was that wrong, when he was such a villain now? To see his perspective, to understand how his hate had been born? When love is plucked from your heart, little is left to keep you sane. But understanding his hate didn’t change who he was to me—the enemy.

“It’s okay that you understand him that way. It might help you,” Kara continued. “That’s all I can give you in terms of memories, mental preparation.” She stood and paced with her hands in her pockets. “You seem to be pretty good with your dart gun, but has Mac taught you hand-to-hand?”

“Yeah. We’ve gone over the basics. Technique and things.”

She smiled. “All right. Let’s see it.”

I rose to my feet, a little shy in front of Kara, and took a boxing stance. I threw a few punches at the air, the way Mac had instructed. Nimble feet, guard the face, turn with the jab.

“That’s not what I meant,” she laughed. “Nice form though. I meant, try and hit me.”

“Fight you?” I asked. “Yeah right. You’d kill me.”

She nodded. “I know, but you’re not going to get any better swinging at nothing.”

I stood there staring at her until I realized she was serious.

“Fine,” I said. “Just . . . be easy on me.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said with a grin.

I dug my fingernails into my palms making tight fists and bounced on my toes. Kara watched me, more with amusement than with concern. I swung, but she dodged the hit, and I pulled back. She shook her head slightly, waiting for the next one. I sighed and swung again. This time she grabbed my wrist, twisting my arm around my back and locking my neck in a chokehold with the other.

“If you can avoid throwing a punch, you should. Unless you feel confident you’ll make the right point of contact.”

“Okay,” I breathed as she released me.

“It makes you vulnerable,” she said. “If you want to hit someone, and you’re not sure how they fight . . .” She grabbed my hand and bent my wrist back, patting the lower part of my palm. “Use the heel of your hand, make a fist and use it like a hammer, or use your elbow. Try not to use your knuckles. You break those, it’s over. Most people drop their head instinctively when they see a punch. You won’t be able to do much more damage if you break your knuckles on someone’s skull.”

I nodded, taking her words seriously.

“Again.”

I tried using my fist like a hammer, but she still caught it, swinging my arm around my back and locking me in the chokehold.

“To get out of this, turn your body and throw your leg behind me. This will give you leverage and throw me off balance.”

I smiled when I was free. “It worked.”

“When you throw the first blow, you have to lean into me. Don’t be a timid fighter. You’ll lose. You have to move your body forward, throw me off balance as you’re swinging, so I can’t grab you or hit back.”

“Show me,” I said, taking up a defensive stance.

“You want me to hit you?”

“Yes,” I said, more determined.

Without much of a warning, she stepped forward, shoving both heels of her hands under my chin and knocking me off my feet. She moved so quickly I didn’t have time to react.

“Hey,” William’s voice called from a distance. “What the hell’s going on?”

“It’s okay,” I said, dusting the dirt off of my pants and rubbing my jaw. “We’re training.”