“Okay, now I know you’re being dramatic,” Calder cut in, dropping his fork to cross his arms. “Why would Stromer even care?”
“Because Adara Stromer has been hopelessly in love with Seth Stark since the age of six. Even now, a small part of her wishes Seth would return her sentiments. His break up with Kiki Belven reignited that hope, but if he were to fall for—”
“How do you know all of this?” Calder’s roommate’s abilities had never shocked him before, but…this just couldn’t be true. “How can you tell what Stromer feels from this distance?”
“Even if I could not view the Otherworld, I would know of Adara Stromer’s obsession with Seth Stark. It’s common knowledge.”
Settling into a state of bitter chagrin, Calder decided he didn’t want to know what else was considered common knowledge. “So, the Otherworld won’t show you anything about Periculy or Stromer from this distance? But…if you went to the police station…”
“The Otherworld would display all that is worthy,” Colton affirmed with a nod.
Before Calder could inquire further, the cafeteria’s doors opened again, this time for the ginormous girl who’d nearly demolished Nero. Puke-green hair flopped in jagged angles over her forehead, less messy than it had been at the police station last night but still considerably shorter than Calder’s.
“Ah, Cath Clemens, commonly referred to as ‘The Monster.’ A body of steel but a heart as soft as freshly washed linens.”
Calder rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “So, you’re saying she’s definitely not a Wacko?”
“The desire of her heart does not dwell with the Wackos.”
“But whose does? Who here is conspiring with the Wackos? Who gave them Hastings’s room number? You said you could figure it out.”
“I could, yes, if that person were in this room.”
“That’s a start,” Calder mumbled, surveying the cafeteria. Almost all the students were present, with the obvious exception of Adara, but none of the teachers had arrived yet.
“The deceiver draws near now…”
Calder straightened, searching frantically for anyone who could be the Wacko sympathizer. The doors hadn’t opened, though, and no one had moved—except the girl sliding into the empty chair on his right.
“Pixie Prince,” she greeted in a voice that wasn’t quite right. Her hair was burgundy, but her face, though appealing, wasn’t exactly Stromer’s, and her orange cargo pants were a bit too baggy.
“The deceiver.” Sighing, Calder shot Colton a wry glance. “You could have just said it was Dispus. Why are you here?” he added, turning back to Ruse, who grinned complacently. “And why do you have to look like an attractive female? It’s disturbing.”
“Oh, I’m not trying to look like an attractive female; I’m trying to perfect the Adara Stromer look. I have to keep it vague enough that no one actually thinks I’m her, of course—wouldn’t want a repeat of last time. The Reggs still haven’t sniffed me out.”
“I’ll make sure to tell them you’re here if you don’t tell me why you’re here.”
“Tray sent me. He wants an update on your progress.”
“Hm, well, I want to drown him to death, but we can’t all get what we want.” Ruse blinked his reddish eyes, unsure of how to respond. Their hue was far less vibrant than Adara’s, irritating Calder even further. “Tell Stark he needs to chill the hell out. That kid is so anal… No wonder he has no friends.”
Calder glared at Tray, surrounded by the group of laughing primaries. The three new girls sat among them, and he noticed with a start that the small girl, Ashna, had rainbow hair that shimmered like a compact disc in sunlight. Calder was about to ask his roommate what such a unique color could imply, but Colton spoke first.
“Tray Stark actually has quite a few friends. More than you, if you’d like to compare…”
“Shut up,” Calder grumbled, knowing it was true; Stark had a whole group of friends, but all he had was a group of asshole-ish allies he didn’t even like. Calder might have been Colton’s only friend, but Colton was also Calder’s only friend. Shunning his self-pity, his gaze slid toward Ruse. “Tell Stark I’ll find a way to communicate with him that doesn’t involve you as a middleman.”
“I’m actually a woman right now, if you can’t—”
“The sympathizer has entered,” Colton intoned as the glass doors parted and admitted all of the teachers.
Calder swore loudly enough that the other secondaries at the table actually looked up at him. “Which one?” When Colton’s brow furrowed, he urged, “Can you just show me?”
Though he was hesitant, he dipped his chin and then closed his eyes, transferring his sight to Calder’s as they’d practiced for the past year. At first, Colton had been unable to show anyone the Otherworld, but now, for a few seconds, Calder could see what his friend saw.
Words and colors and creatures appeared throughout the cafeteria. “Ruse Dispus” was written above the shapeshifter’s head, followed by a string of other titles and descriptions people had given him. A physical strain of green lingered between the Stark twins, even though their demeanors seemed otherwise affable. Above Nero floated a horde of grotesque winged creatures, their maws so close to Nixie that Calder would have jumped up to protect her if this weren’t an illusion—a physical metaphor for the intangible secrets that drifted through reality.
When Calder finally composed himself, he honed in on the teachers now strolling to their usual table. He almost snickered when he saw the words “Mr. Grease” hovering above Fraco. Behind the vice principal, Aethelred chatted with Floretta, and Than walked between them. It was when Calder’s vision locked onto the history teacher that something altered, jolting him out of the Otherworld.
Rearing back in his chair, he blinked and looked to Colton, who slowly pried his eyes open.
“Than,” Calder breathed in disbelief.
His roommate nodded reluctantly, face contorted in a wince. “Than Floros, it appears, is an ally of the Wackos.”
21
Doom
The sun rose as they arrived at the Wacko hideout, a small, ordinary house in the suburbs. Adults left for work, children hopped onto the school bus, and people jogged along the sidewalk, all completely unaware that a horde of Wackos dwelled in their neighborhood. Kevin, Vishal, and the other two, apparently named Devika and Nate, were skilled at keeping their identity a secret. They only exited the van once it was safely concealed within the garage and kept their blinds open enough not to draw suspicion but closed enough to hide their lives within. Danny would have approved.
What they were not so skilled at was efficiency, particularly in the area of packing their belongings under the pressure of possible compromise. An hour had passed since they’d pulled into the garage and they had yet to leave. Clearly, these four Wackos had a ton of shit to collect.
Naretha heard them banging things around in the upper level of the house, occasionally yelling obscenities at each other. None of that bothered her; what bothered her, as she slouched on one of the ratty old couches in the living room, was that Jamad wouldn’t stop staring at her.
The kid had been gifted a hideous sweater of Kevin’s, and Meredith wore some of Devika’s clothing, so they weren’t half-naked anymore, but Naretha would have rather endured Jamad’s completely naked body than his cold, intrusive gaze for such a lengthy period of time.
“Our doom” hadn’t been enough of an answer for the kid, unfortunately, but Naretha refused to divulge any details about Ashna beyond that. Jamad seemed enthusiastic about joining the Wackos, but he hadn’t been initiated yet—he hadn’t formally committed. Until then, he couldn’t know the importance of that wretched girl.
The entire affair was still unfathomable to Naretha. Ashna had escaped. For Danny to let her out of his grasp—with all that she could do and all that she knew—something must have gone terribly wrong. It made sense that he would have dispatched every available Wacko to search for her, but Naretha k
new it was futile. Ashna was too cunning to fall into his clutches now that she’d wiggled free.
Jamad couldn’t know this, though—neither could Avner or creepy little Meredith, who was curled on the couch, dozing, as though they weren’t on the brink of their demise. If Jamad knew the severity of this situation, he would never side with the Wackos—or Naretha. With Avner’s incessant antagonism, she needed his best friend on her side.
That was why she’d remained silent over the last hour, enduring Jamad’s relentless gaze from across the living room. Avner sat next to her, carefully positioned so he wouldn’t come close to accidentally touching her. The kid rubbed his temples raw, likely thinking about Zeela. Naretha might have been concerned, as well, if they didn’t have more pressing issues. She’d done her best to protect the girl, but now her own life was on the line, and her focus needed to be fixed on returning to Headquarters in one piece.
“If we’re just going to sit here,” Avner finally said, his voice barely a whisper, “can’t we take the van and find Z?”
“You’re into stealing cars now, are you?” Naretha mused. There was no humor left in the boy, though; his expression didn’t change. “I was actually thinking the same—except I was thinking we take the van and boogie up to Cleveland instead of backtracking.”
“And what—leave Zeela?” he snarled, inclining aggressively.
“A few hours ago, you were the one who didn’t want her going to Headquarters.”
“I didn’t want any of us to go, but now, if we have to, we can at least go back for—”
“If we’re going anywhere, I think we should go to a hospital,” Jamad said, nodding toward the sleeping girl. “Her stomach is janked up.”
“I would shoot salt up your nose if I wasn’t aware that you don’t realize how stupid you sound,” Naretha said. “A hospital is the last place we should go. I suggested you treat the wound as soon as we got here.”
“I don’t know how to do that!”
“I’m not convinced there’s anything you know how to do. When we arrive at Headquarters, a healer will fix her up. She’s alive for now, so let it be.”
“Fine…then we should go back and get Zeela,” he concluded, and Naretha instinctively rolled her eyes.
“We don’t even know where she is anymore. She could be halfway to Periculand by now—and we’re not going anywhere near there. That place is a death trap. You heard what they said.”
Avner sighed, this reminder certainly heightening his anxiety. The computer nerd, Kevin, had updated them about Periculand on the drive here: Hastings Lanio had been murdered by Angor Periculy; Periculy was in jail and the Regg ambassadors had taken over; Regg guards had infested the place; and Avner’s little sister was a prisoner alongside Periculy for attacking people with her fire Affinity. If the kid weren’t in such a rotten mood, Naretha would have given him an “I told you so.”
“The fact that Periculand’s a shithole only gives us more of a reason to retrieve Z.” Jamad propped his legs up on the lopsided coffee table between the two couches. “If she goes in there, she’s gonna end up in jail beside Angor and Adara.”
Naretha jumped her eyebrows at Avner. “What a fun bonding experience that’ll be for your girlfriend and your sister.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“You don’t have the right to tell Naretha what is and isn’t funny,” Kevin defended as he bumbled down the staircase against the left wall. Two backpacks were slung over his shoulders, and he clutched a heap of electronics in his arms. Naretha wasn’t sure if they were gaming systems or equipment of actual use to the cause.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, evoking an expression from him that crossed bewilderment and hopeless optimism. “Now I can threaten your life to get your companions to hurry the hell up.”
“Uh…guys!” Kevin called up the stairwell as terror consumed his face. “Naretha’s gonna kill me if you don’t come down here!”
“Shut up, Kevin.” Though the voice was muffled, Naretha was fairly sure it was sandy-haired Vishal—the one who was even more self-righteously pissy than Avner and acted like he owned the Wackos.
“They said they’re on the way,” Kevin lied, smiling like he was holding in a turd. Naretha scowled at the peeling ceiling to prevent herself from assaulting him. “I’m—uh, gonna go put my stuff in the van…”
“Smart,” was all she grunted before he scurried across the living room. Once he’d disappeared into the garage, Naretha nodded toward Meredith and said, “You should put her in the van, too.”
“What are you gonna do?” Jamad asked when she stood from the couch and stretched her limbs. The numbness from the tranquilizer dart had worn off, and after so many weeks of motionlessness, she had a lot of energy to burn.
“I can’t decide if I want to murder those fools upstairs or steal their van,” Naretha contemplated as she lifted her hands above her head. Her nose scrunched as her own stench caught in her nostrils. “If I’d known those bastards were gonna take so freakin’ long, I would have taken a shower.”
“Yeah, I could really use a long, long bath,” Jamad agreed, grimacing at his own armpits. Even though he was clothed, he hardly looked any less disheveled now than he had over the past few weeks. Stubble crusted his jaw as thick as the hair atop his head, and his blue eyes were drained. Arguably, Avner looked worse, given his yellow facial hair was pathetically patchy, but no one could beat Meredith with her grotesque wound that had already oozed blood onto her newly acquired garments.
“You could all use baths,” the woman, Devika, chimed in as she sauntered down the stairs. Three bags were draped over her back, and she wielded a basket of files in her arms. “Why didn’t you shower while you were waiting?”
Naretha had to remind herself that, technically, she didn’t have the authority to harm other Wackos, otherwise these four would have received severe consequences. “We weren’t aware we’d be sitting here for an hour. What the hell have you been doing? We need to go.”
“My brother’s being a prick up there. Vishal,” she clarified as she strode through the living room. Naretha definitely believed they were siblings—the same brown skin tone, same athletic structure, and same place on her list of people she wished she could kill but couldn’t.
“Well, he’d better get his act together before I rip his prick off. Snowman, take the girl out to the van,” Naretha commanded before the Wacko could attempt to defend her brother. Wisely, Devika chose to escort Jamad to the garage as he hauled Meredith’s frail form in his arms. Naretha spun toward Avner, who continuously massaged his temples. “Will you feel better if I let you electrocute that Vishal punk?”
“I’ll feel better if you order these Wackos to help us find Zeela.” His eyes lifted, the spark in them dead. He always tried to exude the maturity of an adult—and he was eighteen—but to Naretha he was still a kid, still naïve, and still under the impression that this world had something to offer him.
“I’ll…see what I can do,” she acquiesced. Avner’s smile of relief had barely materialized when a bang reverberated from the front door.
The sound clearly dredged up the same memories for Avner that it did for Naretha, because the boy hopped up from the couch, primed for an attack. Although the door didn’t fly off the hinges this time, the Reggs’ entrance was as dramatic as it had been at Jamad’s house with four soldiers stomping in, each wearing one of those goddamned suits. The moment the impenetrable obsidian material entered Naretha’s sight, she knew they were screwed.
Without exchanging a word, she and Avner darted in the opposite direction, aimed for the garage. Bullets tore through the living room—real bullets that shredded the walls, exploded the couch’s cushions, and ruptured the books on the shelves. By pure luck, neither Naretha’s nor Avner’s flesh ended up splattered among the ruins, and they rushed into the garage with only old wounds.
Naretha punched the button to open the garage door as soon as they entered. Jamad was nestled in the rea
r of the van with Meredith, and Devika hauled her belongings in beside them. There was no time to rearrange anyone’s position.
“Start the car!” Naretha shouted as she slammed the door on Kevin, who was fiddling with something in the driver’s seat. His jump of surprise was so delayed that she and Avner were already in the back of the van with the door shut when it happened.
“Wh-what?”
Patience abated, Naretha flopped over the seat to twist the key in the ignition. As she did, two guards bounded into the garage, guns spewing bullets at the van. Ephraim’s preferred bulletproof design saved their asses.
“Oh-oh-oh!” Kevin spluttered, sounding like an averagely terrible pop song.
Knowing he would be useless, Naretha launched into the front seat and forced the car into reverse. The government vehicles parked in the short driveway, obstructing their path, should have deterred her, but they only heightened her zeal.
“RAM THEM!”
Without Kevin’s foot on the brake or gas, the van crept out of the garage at a snail’s pace, certainly not fast enough to inflict any damage. “I-I—don’t know—They’ve never let me drive this thing before!”
“Really? Really? This bullshit again?”
Kevin could only gape, especially when she shimmied over him, squeezing between his legs and the steering wheel, and then shoved him aside. Sprawled on the passenger’s side, he slammed into the dashboard when she slammed on the gas pedal.
“Oh—oh my God—Naretha Salone was just in my lap…” Kevin was so close to swooning that he couldn’t sit upright.
“What about Nate?” Devika demanded from the back. Naretha faced her direction but didn’t acknowledge the other Wacko’s expression of consternation as the van zoomed out of the garage, crashing into one of the government’s cars. All six of them jolted with the impact, but Naretha plowed on, undeterred by the horde of soldiers falling into formation around them. “What about my brother? Are they—are they—”
“Shut up!” Naretha commanded, spinning the wheel to back around the cars blocking them. She smirked when a soldier’s body thudded against the back door. And then she cursed when a few soldiers hopped onto the roof. “Is there anything any of you can do right now to improve our situation?”
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