Nerve

by Kirsten Krueger

  Tray sat upright, eyes bulging. “You found it.”

  “Oh yes, and it’s incriminating,” he confirmed, though his tone sounded far from relieved.

  “It incriminates the Reggs, you mean?” When Calder didn’t respond, he added, “Can I see it?”

  “I don’t have it on me. I’ll give it to you tomorrow once we’re certain you haven’t ended up locked in a basement. If you can’t make it to the courthouse to deliver the evidence, then I will.”

  Ruse was the one to raise his hand this time. When Calder popped the water around his mouth, he didn’t bother to evaporate it, drenching the kid entirely. After hacking up liquid for a few moments, the shapeshifter finally cleared his throat. “Tell me again—why can’t you do this on your own?”

  “Because if this goes south, I don’t want to end up in jail.”

  “But…you don’t care if we do, you’re saying?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Calder affirmed without hesitation. Standing, he scanned the area before locking eyes with Tray again. “Meet me here thirty minutes before the trial tomorrow. If I can’t make it, I’ll have hidden the file in one of these couches. I would advise lying low until—”

  “Where is Tray Stark?” a deep voice bellowed throughout the lounge. All conversation lulled, leaving only Nero’s violent footsteps booming through the room. “I want to fight Tray Stark!”

  “Well, that either means his stepbrother’s dead or has teleported away in fear,” Calder muttered. “It’s probably a good idea if you run, too, Stark. Drunk Nero is arguably worse than sober Nero, and I need you alive until the end of tomorrow.”

  Nodding, Tray pushed off the couch, and he was about to slink over to the spiral staircase when someone shouted, “There he is!”

  Tray’s head shot up in alarm, but no one looked at him; they all looked at the boy who shared his appearance. For a moment, he thought it was Ruse, somehow having crossed the room in a matter of seconds, but the shapeshifter still sat on his green couch, now in an unrecognizable form. That meant the one Nero now prowled toward was Seth.

  Shoving through the crowd, Tray jogged toward the other end of the lounge. His brother leaned against the wall, sipping idly on beer, but when he noticed Nero stalking toward him, he dropped his drink and hunched into a defensive stance, his dumb bravery amplified with his intoxication. “Finally you wanna fight me!”

  Naira, for once, was actually on alert, her drink discarded to assume a similar combative pose. Ashna ushered Ackerly aside, shielding him with her body, while Cath clenched her fists and glowered at Nero with venom in her murky green eyes.

  “Hey!” someone shouted when the brute was only a few paces away from greeting Seth with an unfriendly fist. A jet of water followed, smacking Nero’s back. He whirled around in rage, but as soon as his eyes locked onto the perpetrator, his expression mollified, for his girlfriend waltzed through the crowd, blue eyebrows raised.

  From within the cluster of spectators, Tray watched as Nixie, with her punkish style and horn-like pigtails, stepped before her boyfriend, fishnet covered arms crossed over her chest. “Don’t waste your time on that normie.” She jerked her chin toward Seth, and when Nero squinted at him, he blinked at the realization that he wasn’t Tray. “How about you challenge someone new—like the rainbow beer girl?”

  “M-me?” Ashna cowered beside Ackerly like a meek child. She was one of the smallest people here, and she was definitely the youngest, if only by a few months. Despite this, Tray knew she had mentally surpassed half of this population. He could smell her intelligence.

  “Yeah…” Gradually, Nero’s eyes brightened with the prospect of a new victim. “Let’s see how your little booze powers hold up against my might. Get us two shots, girl, and then let’s get this started.”

  “Ashna,” Ackerly started to protest, but she patted him on the shoulder before walking to the center of the lounge. Nero waited for her near the staircase while his cronies hastily moved couches, tables, and chairs toward the walls to make space. When Nixie handed her two cups, she filled them wordlessly and handed one to her massive opponent.

  “You are useful,” he said, wiggling his thick eyebrows at her before downing the beverage in one swig. For Ashna it took five gulps, but she drank it all and didn’t back down, even when Nero began to crack his knuckles. His hands could have easily wrapped all the way around her thin arms—maybe even all the way around her legs—but she didn’t balk, not even when Nixie whistled, signaling the start of their brawl.

  Nero, ever the aggressor, lunged toward Ashna, planning to tackle the poor girl. Wincing, Tray prepared for the blow that would likely break half her bones—but then she lifted a slender finger, and a deluge of amber-colored liquid spewed from her flesh. Nero spluttered and spat and reared back when the alcohol collided with his face, momentarily blinding him with its sting.

  Whispers erupted throughout the room, some giggling or exchanging bets as if there was actually a chance she could win. With her infinite Affinities, Tray was certain she could, but she wanted to keep her true powers a secret. Everyone here thought she only had an alcohol Affinity, and to reveal otherwise might jeopardize her safety.

  Tray recalled her saying alcohol could affect her for ten minutes at a time, though, and it appeared that in her tipsy state of mind, she didn’t care which Affinities she displayed. When Nero finally recovered and charged toward her once more, Ashna extended that same finger, but instead of gushing alcohol, it caused the barbaric boy to cry out in pain before collapsing to the ground, clutching his calf.

  “She activated his nociceptors,” Tray whispered aloud, though none of the students around him seemed to have heard; they were all focused intently on the invisible pain—proof of Ashna’s multiple Affinities.

  Some murmured in confusion, while others cheered her on, so enthralled by the sight of Nero failing that they didn’t care about the details.

  “I’ll—kill you,” he snarled, staggering to his feet even though his left leg was limp. This time, his movements were much less explosive as he stumbled toward her, arms swinging wildly. Before he reached her, Ashna squatted and then launched into the air with more force and agility than Tray had ever seen from anyone. This girl—who was probably only five feet tall—managed to touch the ceiling, which was at least twelve feet high. She remained there, dangling a foot above Nero’s head, her fingers glued to the surface.

  “What the hell!” at least ten people shouted, some in bewilderment and others in awe. Tray, even though he’d known she could do practically anything, hadn’t wrapped his head around it until now, and as he watched her swing in the air, he realized how absolutely doomed they were.

  Grabbing the air where Ashna had been seconds ago, Nero whipped his head around, dazed and disoriented. “Where…?”

  “Sorry,” she called down to him, an apologetic smile on her lips.

  “Sorry?”

  In response, a plush green armchair zipped through the lounge, colliding with Nero’s back and knocking him face-first onto the ground. His nose struck the thin gray carpet, echoing an unpleasant crack throughout the room.

  “Nice one, Ash!” Naira cheered as the chair skidded to a halt before her. Beside her, Seth applauded and Ackerly nearly drooled, but Lavisa glared at Tray, her eyes reflecting the same anxiety he felt.

  Dropping to the floor, Ashna landed with a wobble and then righted herself, gazing down at Nero with a hint of pity. “I’ll relieve your pain, to be fair, but I hope you know now that you’re not invincible.” As she opened her hand toward him, his groans turned into a sigh of relief, and a bundle of pale purple flowers blossomed behind his ear. “Relent in peace.”

  The word relent triggered a new wave of fury in Nero; instantly, he pushed off the ground, springing up to attack Ashna. Her hand snapped into a fist, flourishing the flowers behind his ear at an impossible pace; one second they were tiny buds, and the next they were part of a full grown vine, snaking around Nero’s neck a
nd squeezing.

  “Accept your defeat,” she panted, her eyes protruding with panic at the prospect that she might have to strangle him.

  “Never,” he wheezed, yanking the vine and tearing it to shreds. Before Ashna could muster a counterattack, he grabbed her throat, hoisting her off the ground and displaying her like a flimsy doll. As before, her feet dangled, but there was nothing calm about the way she thrashed and clawed at his muscled arm. “Relent in peace,” he mimicked.

  She opened her mouth but couldn’t produce a sound. He would murder her, and Tray could do something about it—he should do something about it—but if Ashna was a Wacko, sent here to destroy them, wouldn’t it be ideal to let Nero kill her? It would eliminate two of their enemies at once: Ashna would be dead and Nero would return to prison.

  Still, watching the poor girl struggle was unnerving. It pulled at that righteous part of Tray, the part that, despite logic, hated violence and injustice. Ashna deserved a trial, not death.

  Weaving through the worthless bystanders, Tray prepared to give Nero the fight he’d initially wanted, but then Ashna worked up the courage to kick her opponent in the groin.

  Even while losing oxygen, she delivered a powerful blow, one that instantly made him release her and stumble back in agony. Succumbing wasn’t an option for Nero, so he shot back toward her, this time aiming for a punch. Right before his fist could smash her face, Ashna threw her hand up—and she stopped his fist.

  The entire room went stagnant, not a word uttered or a muscle moved.

  “What the…” Nero breathed after a moment of paralysis. He stared at her hand, her small fingers barely spanning his knuckles, until that tiny hand twisted his, spinning him around and thrusting his arm behind his back in an unnatural, uncomfortable position. Biting his lip, Nero withheld a moan of rage and pain.

  With one hand maintaining this debilitating stance, Ashna telekinetically summoned an end table and jumped on it, pulling Nero’s arm up even farther as she did. He grunted and attempted to unwind himself, but then his body went completely rigid when Ashna brought her lips toward his ear and muttered something so soft even Tray, only a few feet away, couldn’t hear.

  “Surrender,” she said at a volume that boomed through the lounge.

  After a few ragged breaths and the twitch of his nose, Nero hung his head. “Fine.”

  Weariness, not triumph, consumed Ashna’s expression as she released his fist, freeing him. Grimacing, she touched her bicep on the arm that had exerted so much force, confusion in her eyes. Her examination ended the moment Nero rolled his strained shoulder and then rammed through her, flinging her off the table and cracking the plastic. Without even glancing toward the fallen girl, he marched across the lounge to where Ackerly quivered beside Seth, green eyes wide behind his glasses.

  “You.” Clutching his collar, Nero dragged the boy back toward the demolished table and planted him at the center of the room for all to see. “Your little girlfriend needs to learn a lesson. Nixie, get him a drink.”

  “I, uh, don’t drink,” Ackerly stammered, cringing when Nixie forced a cup into his hands.

  Tray was now fully willing to intervene, but then he remembered Calder’s advice to lay low. If Nero injured him now, who would stand up for Angor and Adara in court? Calder was capable, but…Tray still didn’t trust his motives.

  “C’mon, Ashna, do something,” he mumbled under his breath, watching helplessly as the girl struggled to untangle herself from a pile of couches and chairs.

  “Ackerly,” she gasped as if she were feeling pain—as if her Affinities weren’t working. Surely, if she’d been able to outmatch Nero, she should have been able to stand, unless she was truly so disoriented that she couldn’t summon any of her Affinities. “Don’t… Don’t do it…”

  “Pick on someone your own size, Nero!” Naira said as she and Cath swaggered to the center. Lavisa snuck through the crowd, picking a perfect angle to strike the brute from behind.

  “I-I can do it, guys,” Ackerly insisted, the cup trembling in his hands. “I can…” But his words were lost as he peeked up at Nero, who grinned at him like he was a meal. Despite this, he brought the cup to his lips and chugged the beverage. His face was contorted with reluctance and dismay the entire time, but he swallowed it—just as the glass doors to the lounge burst open.

  32

  Cloudy Morals

  Without windows, it was impossible to tell the time, but Naretha guessed it must have been the middle of the night, because she’d been in a deep sleep when Danny awoke beside her. In the groggy haze, she barely registered his movements, but when he slithered over, the heat of his skin nearly burning her, she felt as if she’d drifted into a nightmare.

  “I told you her tracking device would reactivate,” he breathed into Naretha’s ear, the words chilling her core despite his scorching presence. “Open your eyes, my love. Carnage awaits us. It appears we’ll visit Periculand after all.”

  Maddy had been staring at the ceiling when Naretha burst into Zach’s bedroom.

  The tiny window to her right was dark, but Maddy hadn’t slept much in the four days since Jamad had been released and Avner had not. Every night she mulled over the same unfathomable question: What had happened during their journey here that had split her two friends in such an irreparable way?

  The boys had been practically inseparable from the moment of their meeting; for Jamad to be completely content with allowing Avner to rot ripped the fabric of everything Maddy knew. Perhaps the Regg research facility had altered their brains in a way that ruined their relationship. Being trapped in that little torture chamber had broken parts of Maddy that she didn’t care to dwell on, and she imagined her friends had endured much, much worse.

  Her bubble of rumination shattered the moment Naretha stalked to her bedside. Through the light of the open elevator, Maddy saw Naretha wasn’t in her pajamas. Tight, black, leathery material encased her entire body, leaving only her head and hands uncovered.

  “Well, this is reassuring.” The woman’s eyes trailed between the two beds. “I was convinced you two had to be sleeping together.”

  “What do you want, Naretha?” Zach groaned, gradually pushing upright to glare across the room at their unexpected visitor.

  “Relax, Zachary. I don’t plan to enter your precious side of the room,” Naretha said as she grabbed Maddy’s blankets and yanked them off, exposing her limbs to the chilly air. “We are preparing for an attack, though.”

  Zach scrambled out of his bed. “Someone’s attacking the complex?”

  “No, we’re attacking someone else—Periculand, if you really need me to be specific. If you don’t want Danny to attack you, I would suggest getting up.”

  “Wh-why are you attacking Periculand?” Maddy questioned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  Naretha’s normally sardonic demeanor mollified as she stared blankly ahead. “Because they have Ashna.”

  Zach swore vigorously before fumbling through his dressers in search of proper clothing. Recalling his old roommate’s clothes, Maddy also rummaged through the messy drawers on her side of the room until she found a leather outfit similar to the one Naretha wore. It would definitely be snug, but disregarding propriety, she stripped down and then squeezed into it.

  Instead of taking the elevator, Naretha led them through the door, into the corridor beyond. When they stopped at room 208, she didn’t bother to knock; she simply jabbed her forearm with her finger until the door clicked open. Then she barged in.

  “Whoa—what the—” Jamad jumped out of bed and threw shards of ice at them, but his aim was poor. The icicles impaled the wall beside the door instead of Naretha, who would have been unfazed either way, or Maddy, who had instinctively hunched over to protect herself.

  Blinking profusely, Jamad’s vision finally settled on them as Naretha strolled into the room, Maddy straightened in the doorway, and Zach snorted at her reaction from out in the hall. She threw him a playful glare be
fore turning back to her friend, who now leaned against his nightstand for support.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  “We’re going to war, Snowman,” Naretha said as she chucked folded leather garments at him. Maddy hadn’t noticed her holding them before, but they were the same fabric as hers and Naretha’s—and Zach’s. The brightness of the corridor gave Maddy a better view of how the tough fighting attire outlined his thin form with much more precision than his typical preppy clothes. It was difficult not to stare, and thinking about it brought a blush to her cheeks.

  “Cool,” Jamad said, pulling his new pants over his blue underwear, the only article of clothing he wore. The pale beams flowing in from the open doorway illuminated his dark skin, gracing his pale blue tattoos with a glowing quality. Maddy had watched Josh etch the intricate rings of icicles that now wrapped around Jamad’s upper arms, the symbol of his commitment to the Wackos. His initiation had certainly been more jubilant than hers, during which she’d cried quietly for two hours as Josh wove Danny’s chosen design into her skin. It hadn’t been the pain of the tattooing, but the permanence of her decision, the irrevocability of this fate.

  “Who’s our opposition?” Jamad asked eagerly as he slid his tattooed arms into the leather sleeves.

  Naretha clucked her tongue. “Periculand.”

  His enthusiasm withered slightly as his eyes cut toward Maddy. Her lips remained tight, knowing he must have recalled their fond memories of the place—the people they’d befriended, whom they would now slaughter.

  “Are we…killing them?”

  Naretha shrugged as she admired the punk rock posters on the walls. “If we have to.”

  Swallowing, Jamad shot Maddy a weak smile. “Well, at least we finally have a decent reason to hurt Orla Belven, right?”

  “We’ve always had a decent reason to hurt Orla Belven; you’ve just never been capable.”