“Damn, I hate this guy. He’s such a p—a wussy, as Fraco would say.”
“I-I never—no—never—” the vice principal stammered, but the president-elect had no care for him.
Ventura’s lips curled with equal distaste as he realized the boy who’d squirted water at him sat on the other side of the screen. Calder could at least find satisfaction in that he’d managed to make this asshole feel so much chagrin.
“This—this boy cannot be the leader I prompted you to find,” the man insisted, struggling to maintain poise. His office gave him the illusion of professionalism with awards covering most of the wall behind him. Sun shone through a window to his right, lighting his brown eyes to gold while his hair remained purely black. To Calder, it was not the Regg features that signified his cowardliness but the recollection of the man’s terrified face when he’d been splashed two months ago.
“No,” William replied from behind the monitor as he tilted it to face Nero, “this is the leader we found.”
When Ventura appraised him, Nero’s eyebrows inched even higher. “Leader?”
“This is Nero Corvis,” Artemis informed the president-elect. “He is a well-respected student here at Periculand Training Sch—”
“Because other students fear him too much to oppose him!” Fraco scampered to get in the camera’s view but halted when Nero eyed him with the promise of violence. “I-I… What I mean to say is that Mr. Corvis has many enemies here.”
“As far as I know, all my enemies have either fled this town or are rotting away in prison,” the brute countered coolly.
Artemis continued as though the outburst hadn’t happened. “Nero is practiced in leading students. He has formed his own version of training for students that allows them to express their Affinities in a more impressive way than Angor ever consented to.”
“Nero’s Dominion, I call it,” he added. Calder was tempted to make a comment about JAMZ, but it didn’t seem in his best interest.
Fraco, apparently, had forgotten himself entirely. “Mr. Corvis will not be a positively influential leader! He spent many years in a juvenile detention facility and has been deemed—”
“Juvie?” Ventura repeated, not appalled but intrigued. “For what?”
Nero straightened, unashamed. “Domestic violence. Severe domestic violence.”
The Rosses both remained silent, harrowed by this awkward information, of which they’d clearly had no prior knowledge.
Instead of dismissing him immediately, though, Ventura asked, “What is your Affinity?”
“Strength.”
Dipping his chin, the man contemplated a moment. “No other student would challenge your authority?”
“Not unless they want to be pulverized,” the boy said with a menacing jump of his eyebrows.
Though it was true that his main opposition, the Stromers, were out of the picture, Tray Stark still existed, and it took all of Calder’s self-control not to remind his leader of this fact.
Folding his hands atop his desk, Ventura met Nero’s eyes through the camera. “I will become president in two months. My predecessor has done a lousy job of containing the Wackos, and I want my legacy to be one of eradication—of the Wackos, I mean. I want you, Nero, to be the fist that squashes them. With your history, I believe you would be an excellent commander in my army of Affinities. You will lead ruthlessly, and you will destroy the Wackos without remorse. Does this appeal to you?”
“Nero,” Calder hissed, watching in horror as a grin spread across his ally’s face. “You can’t work for this douchebag—”
William cleared his throat, interrupting Calder and prompting the gray-eyed boy, who stroked his wide chin, reveling in the suspense.
“I think, Mr. President, that there isn’t anyone else fit for the job.”
Ventura slapped his hand on his desk in enthusiasm. “Excellent! Mr. and Mrs. Ross, you will instruct Nero on his task, yes? And Fraco, as you are frequently involved in student affairs, you will ensure that all heed Nero’s commands. And you”—his gaze settled on Calder again with growing hostility—“what is your purpose here?”
“Mardurus is my strongest ally,” Nero answered before Calder could contrive a snarky remark. “He could drown fifty Wackos in a matter of minutes.”
Ventura hummed in skepticism. “He is obedient to you?”
“Mardurus is like a dog. I keep him on a tight leash,” Nero assured, triggering a deluge of rage that Calder had to hinder by forcing a smirk.
“Make it tighter,” was the president-elect’s last comment before dismissing the boys and Fraco from the office. Eliana wasn’t in the hallway, but Calder didn’t need her mind reading to hear Ventura say, “Tell me what you’ve learned from Angor Periculy’s file,” before the doors slammed behind them.
10
Parental Love
After numerous arguments, Zeela, Avner, Jamad, and Naretha finally came to the conclusion that they would have to spend the weekend with the Solbergs. It was less than a three-hour drive to Wacko Headquarters, Naretha claimed, so if they left with Elias’s car early in the morning, they would be able to return that same evening. Unfortunately, Jamad’s father worked on weekends, which meant they would be unable to borrow the car until Monday morning. Zeela just hoped that, when the time came for them to drive again, Avner wouldn’t be the one behind the wheel.
Surprisingly, Jamad seemed the most chagrinned by the delay. Avner was too worried about Zeela’s temporary blindness to rush the departure, and Zeela was too enthralled by Jade to care about leaving. She spent the majority of the three days playing with the toddler, while Jamad spent it avoiding all interaction with her. Naretha, who had been initially opposed to the postponement, had become so engrossed in watching the Solbergs’ ancient television that she might not have been bothered if they waited an extra week to leave. In the end, Jamad’s restlessness, along with his friends’ desire to retrieve Maddy, propelled them to set Monday morning as their departure.
Late Sunday night, after the Solbergs had gone to bed, Zeela lay in a sleeping bag on the living room floor among the other Affinities, unable to sleep. Her jumbled brain still pounded, but she had to feign painlessness to stop Avner from fretting. He’d taken an injury to the head as well, and though it had ceased bleeding, she knew he would neglect his own wounds to tend to hers. So, in everyone else’s minds, her eyes were improving; in her mind, however, she’d begun to worry her Affinity was broken.
Between Avner’s deep breathing on her left and Jamad’s ridiculous snores beyond him, Zeela knew they’d fallen asleep. With Naretha’s silence, she’d assumed the Wacko had, too, until a quiet voice filled her ear, soothing her jarred senses.
“I haven’t watched TV since I was eight. Ephraim never allowed them at Headquarters. I should tell you he hated them because he didn’t want to promote Regg actors or something, but…he just hated technology—never even had a cell phone. He was livid when one girl with a tech Affinity revamped the entire compound to include electronically-coded doors and computer systems. Everyone else was pleased, at least.”
This was the most the Wacko had said to any of them. Carefully, Zeela asked, “Who’s Ephraim?”
“The leader of the Wackos—or former leader, I should say. He was murdered in September by a cop. That’s why his son took over, Danny.”
“Your boyfriend.”
“Yes,” she ground out. Zeela could tell the agitation wasn’t aimed at her.
“What kind of Affinity did Ephraim have?”
“That’s a secret.” Naretha sighed, shifting in her sleeping bag. “But now that he’s dead, I guess it doesn’t matter. He had…a fruit Affinity.”
“A-a what?”
“He could grow fruit—and vegetables, when he really concentrated. And that was it; there was nothing deadly about it. He didn’t even start the Wackos, which used to be called Affinities for Freedom, with any intention of violence. But he was skilled with guns; I’ll give him that.”
/> Zeela’s head spun with even more intensity than before. “Affinities for Freedom? That’s what…you call it?”
“Not anymore.” Bitterness laced through Naretha’s inflection. “Danny officially declared that we’re the Wackos when he took charge. It’s…fine. Our goal is still the same: to be recognized as people by the government. If we have to be aggressive to get to that point, we will.”
Though Zeela didn’t agree with the ethics, she didn’t bother to argue. “How long have you been with the Wackos?”
“My parents handed me over to Ephraim when I was eight. They were Reggs.”
“They didn’t like that you had an Affinity?”
“No, they didn’t like what the government would do with me if they found out I had an Affinity. They knew I’d be safer with Ephraim. They gave me up because they loved me.” Naretha’s voice broke slightly at the end, and she cleared her throat, playing it off as nothing more than a voice crack.
“But you didn’t love them?” Even without the ability to see auras—or anything, for that matter—Zeela could feel the resentment in the air…and the sorrow. “Is that why you stayed with the Wackos? Is that why you want to fight against the Reggs? Because your parents—”
“I loved my parents,” she growled. “When the Regg government found out they were helping Ephraim, they kidnapped, tortured, and killed them.”
Zeela’s eyes flew open in shock. “Wh-when?”
“Shortly after the Wackos became public, ten years ago. I’d already been living at Headquarters for seven years, but I was…close with my family still. My older brother was the one who gave me my Affinity. We were toddlers and he poured salt in my eyes, that little bastard… We were always friends, though, and when they took my parents, they took him, too. When I found the names of those involved… They didn’t enjoy their deaths.”
This outright admission to murder took Zeela a moment to process. An adequate response didn’t enter her mind before Naretha asked, “Were you born blind?”
“I…was. My Affinity developed so young, though—I don’t know exactly what it’s like. If this is anything like blindness, what’s happening to me now—it’s not pleasant.”
“I can’t even fathom an Affinity like yours.” Zeela assumed the ensuing rustling was Naretha shaking her head against her pillow. “What’s most impressive is that I couldn’t even tell you saw differently, before now.”
“My Affinity compensates well enough that I can piece together the shapes of the world. Heat, X-rays, auras…and I can focus my eyes on distant objects, like those cop cars a few days ago.”
A snort escaped the Wacko, and Zeela heard her head turn again, likely in her direction. Was Naretha looking into her eyes, the pure whiteness that so many found disturbing? She tried to discern just one shape, but everything was a pulsing array of blinding colors and grotesque figures.
“I see color, but it’s not like yours. When I first began seeing auras, I didn’t know what they meant or how to label them. I began experimenting, deciding which auras correlated with which moods, and I labeled them according to which colors seeing people associate with each. Jamad always said red meant angry, so now the color I see when people are angry is red, to me.”
“Trippy.” There was a bit of wonder to that comment.
“Getting a feel for how people’s faces are structured was tricky. I know what Avner and Jamad look like—and Maddy, too—maybe almost to the same degree an average person would. I didn’t have enough time to study your face before my mind blew up.” Rubbing her temples, Zeela closed her eyes again and sighed. “You have short hair, don’t you? And a thin, long nose?”
“I don’t think I wanna know how I look in your mind, Blindie.”
Whether it had been a joke, Zeela smirked anyway. “Your hair is pinkish, I know, and Avner always says pink is a sweet color, but to me—well, maybe it is best I don’t tell you how you look in my mind. What does Avner look like to you? Is he aesthetically pleasing?”
Naretha’s normal sarcastic voice resurfaced. “You’re asking me if a tan kid with neon-yellow hair and eyes is aesthetically pleasing?”
“Um, yeah? I don’t really know if those traits clash in everyone else’s eyes or not.”
“They do clash. His hair should definitely not be neon-yellow, nor should his eyes…but it’s that way with most Affinities. I’ve never seen someone with pure white hair who isn’t elderly.”
Zeela’s eyebrows shot up, even though her eyes remained sealed. “I look elderly?”
“You have white hair and you’re blind—of course you look elderly.”
Rolling her eyes behind their lids, Zeela asked, “Well, what does your boyfriend look like, the Wacko leader? Is he aesthetically pleasing?”
“Danny is the most attractive person I’ve ever met, physically and personally,” Naretha stated, her inflection dry and unfeeling. “He’s also the most dangerous person I’ve ever met. Maybe that’s what makes him attractive. He’s ruthless, but he’s not. He’s passionate, but he’s not. He just…doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, I don’t think you make sense,” Zeela countered, voicing her next words tentatively. “I still can’t decide why you saved me in the river instead of running back to the hideout on your own.”
Tension wafted off the Wacko, and she was immediately guarded. They hadn’t spoken this much or revealed details so intimate, and if Naretha planned to spill the truth, it would be now—
A sudden bang jolted the small house, interrupting Jamad’s snores and intensifying Zeela’s headache.
“What was that?” she asked, but her question wasn’t answered verbally. The only sounds that responded were that of bodies scrambling from sleeping bags, Naretha’s bare feet padding across the wood floor by Zeela’s head, and then a second bang, originating from where she assumed the front door to be.
With no context as to what caused the banging or if it had inflicted damage to the house, Zeela was subjected to lying there motionlessly, listening as Naretha and one of the boys tiptoed across the room. When someone placed a gentle hand on her arm, she burst upright.
“Hey, it’s okay,” came Avner’s voice, confirming it was Jamad who had joined Naretha. “I think someone’s at the door. You… Can you see at all?”
“A little,” she lied, straining to piece together the images before her. Directing her eyes toward where she hoped the front door resided, she added, “I think someone is at the door…”
“Z…you’re looking at the dining room table.”
Whipping her head in the opposite direction, where she now knew the door must be, she found that everything still looked as incoherent and sighed. “Am I looking at the door now?”
“That you have to ask makes me think you’re not.” His wry smile was clear in his tone.
“Av, throw me my sweatshirt,” Jamad called from a few paces ahead. Avner shifted away from Zeela, and a moment later she heard the whoosh of the sweatshirt flying across the room, followed by Jamad’s grunts as he shrugged it over his head. “Whoa, Wacko,” he said, as if seeing Naretha for the first time. “You look like a boy in my old pajamas.”
Zeela touched the soft flannel pants Jamad had given her for sleeping. “Do I look like a boy, J?”
“Nah, you’re actually pretty.” He paused and then added, “Oh, right, you can’t see. I’m winking at you and Av. And now I’m giving the Wacko a shit-eating grin.”
Another violent knock split the air before Naretha could retort.
Jamad spoke quieter than before. “I see…a vehicle outside, and there’s—there are a few people on the porch. At least three.”
“Wackos?” Avner’s dread was palpable.
Naretha’s gruff response overpowered her light footsteps. “We’ll be lucky if they are.”
“Did you tell the Wackos to come to my house?” Jamad hissed in outrage. “You have no right to put my family in—”
“Open the door!” a voice shouted, accompanied by another obno
xious bang.
“What will you do if we don’t, asshole?” Naretha yelled.
“Mom, Dad, get back in your room!” Jamad whispered frantically. Apparently, the Solbergs had heard the commotion and slipped out to investigate. “Wacko, got your salt crystals ready?”
“Yes—” The word had barely left her mouth before a cataclysmic explosion boomed through the air.
Zeela knew it must have been the old wooden front door flying off its hinges and erupting, because a few stray splinters managed to graze her skin before Avner jumped over her in a human shield. Colette’s screams were muffled from afar, and Zeela imagined her burying her head in Elias’s chest. Grunts emitted from Jamad and Naretha, both likely pelted by the door’s shards.
“Are you okay?” Zeela breathed to Avner as he uncurled from the shell he’d formed around her.
“Yeah, fine,” he panted, still gripping her hand. “J threw up a wall of ice to protect us.”
“Is he okay?”
The stomp of heavy boots drowned out her inquiry. “I was almost done breaking the lock,” an unfamiliar feminine voice griped. It sounded like she spoke though some kind of device.
“I was provoked,” a man replied—probably the one who’d destroyed the door.
Hastily, Avner whispered, “There are three of them. They’re wearing these black suits with helmets—I can’t see their faces at all. They—they have weapons, Z. You need to stay back—”
“Avner!” Jamad called in panic. “They’ve got electric guns over here!”
“Don’t move.” He squeezed Zeela’s hand before scrambling up and disappearing from her awareness. Without his body beside hers, she felt stranded and disconnected from the chaos unfolding just a few feet away.
Crawling forward, she quickly found the wall of ice Jamad had constructed. It must have been inches thick and feet tall—a solid defense for defenseless Zeela. Pressing her back against the cool, melting surface, she closed her eyes to block out the jumble of nonsense and pictured what was happening based on sound.
Nerve Page 14