by Jus Accardo
Grip like a vice around my forearm, he gave a brutal squeeze. With a nod over his shoulder toward the boys, he said, “You’ve met the twins before, correct?”
Goose bumps skittered along my skin, but I played it cool. Brandt’s words, pay attention, echoed in my ears. I peered around him and fixed my best badass glare at the twins. “Tall, annoying goth boys with a tragic sense of style?”
One of them—Able, I think it was—flipped me off, while the other blew me an exaggerated kiss.
“A pathetic replacement for 98, I’ll admit, but handy nonetheless. Tell me, Deznee. How have you been feeling lately?”
The temperature dropped. Screw that. It plummeted. Suddenly I felt like a ham hock hanging on a meat rack. I became acutely aware of the throbbing ache in my left shoulder and how it sent tiny prickles across my skin, causing the muscles in my fingers to twitch every now and then.
Don’t say it, my brain begged. Don’t tell me. If I didn’t know, I could continue to ignore it.
He smiled. My expression had given me away. “Aubrey and Able are interesting specimens. Not as interesting as 98 but still very handy. One’s touch can poison you. Slow and painful, the venom creeps through the bloodstream and effectively liquefies you from the inside out. I’ve seen it. It’s quite nasty.”
“Sounds charming.” Score one for me. I managed to say it without my voice shaking, but I had to tighten my grip on the package. Trembling fingers probably would have made it obvious.
“As simply as one can poison you, the other can heal you. All it takes is a single touch.”
“And you’re telling me this why?”
Before I could stop him, he yanked back the neck of my T-shirt with his free hand, exposing my shoulder. “Because your clock is officially ticking. Think it over.”
He released me and stepped back, straightening his jacket. The twin who had blown me a kiss waved.
“One cure when you return to Denazen with me, and the other when we have 98 back in custody.”
And then they were gone.
12
After I forced myself to move, I’d mailed Ginger’s package and then proceeded to drive around for a while in a daze. I had to get back to the hotel, but the thought of facing everyone—of facing Kale—now that I knew the truth was like a string of bricks around my neck, dragging me under. Soon to be six feet under, if what Dad said was true. I needed to think for a minute. Decide what to do.
I pulled into the coffee shop a block from the hotel and made a beeline for the bathroom. With a deep breath, I angled myself in front of the mirror and brushed aside my shirt.
One of the things I was best known for was my iron-coated stomach. Even in school, when they showed those films about drunk drivers—mangled cars tangled with decapitated corpses and gore—I’d held it together. Pig dissection? No problem. I even survived Sloppy Joe Day. Now, though, seeing the angry red patch and its new additions—spindly black lines that snaked out in all directions—I was about to lose my lunch. And last night’s dinner.
Maybe everything I’d eaten for the entire week.
The irritated red, bruise-like patch I’d woken up with a few days ago was now inflamed and deep purplish. The center was darker—not quite black—but close, and the tiny tendrils that crept out seemed to throb with a life of their own. Twice I had to blink because I was sure they’d twitched and squirmed underneath my skin.
Suddenly I was having a hard time catching my breath. I fixed my shirt. Don’t look. Out of sight, out of mind. Another deep breath, and I turned to the door. I needed to get back to the hotel before they started to wonder. The most important thing was to not make a big deal out of this. Keep it hidden. Stay chill.
Game face. Out the door and past the counter, I left without ordering coffee. Hands in my pockets as I walked to the car, hiding all evidence of a freak-out. Having everyone spaz over this wouldn’t help. They were already freaking about the Supremacy thing. Adding something else to the pile might topple everything like a bad game of Jenga. I’d been prepared to tell Kale everything. The plan had changed.
Turn the key. Start the engine. Foot on the gas. Pull the car onto the road. Nice and easy.
Think. I just needed some time to think. I could figure this out on my own. I was a resourceful chick. This was not a death sentence. Dad was lying. He was a liar—it’s what he did. That whole show at the post office was a scare tactic. An attempt to bully me into walking right through his front door. It wouldn’t work.
Pull the car around back. Get out—keeping hands in pockets. One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. In the front door and past the lobby. Act normal.
I stepped through the conference room door. The three of them had their heads in a book, and Ginger was nowhere to be seen.
Jade looked up, grinning. Was it my imagination, or was her chair even closer to Kale’s than when I left? “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
And with those words, it was like the universe slapped me upside the head with a cosmic bat. I froze, shoulder momentarily forgotten. OhmyGod. I knew something was off about her. Dad somehow knew about Kale and me, and he didn’t show up at that post office by chance. Someone told him where I’d be.
Jade told him where I’d be.
The timing would be tight but doable. All she’d have had to do was slip away, make a quick call, and boom. A visit from Dad.
I leaned forward on the table. “Expecting me not to come back at all, maybe?”
She tried for a casual shrug but failed. Our eyes met, and she grinned.
“Where did you go to mail my package, Deznee? Chinatown?” Ginger hobbled in and thumped another book down, sliding it across the table. It landed in front of me.
“Lunchtime,” I said, still watching Jade. This was going to take finesse. I could out her now, but there was no real proof. More than likely they’d write it off as jealousy. No. I needed cold, hard facts. Something to prove it was more than a case of love triangle blues. Plus if I said something now, they’d find out about my shoulder. That was a bad plan. I took a step back and turned to Ginger. “Line was out the door.”
Sinking down into the seat across from Jade, I opened the book. It all made sense. Dad knew he needed someone to keep tabs. He wanted to get his hands on me, and he wanted Kale back. He also wanted Ginger and the rest of the underground out of the picture. I couldn’t figure out how, but somehow he’d managed to throw Jade in Ginger’s path.
“Enough chatter,” Ginger snapped. “Read through chapters two, three, and four, and write up a four-page summary.” She paused for a moment at the door, almost like she was waiting for me to object. When no one protested, she disappeared around the corner and into the hallway.
I let my head thump against the cool surface of the table and ignored the open book. Dad was lying. I was sure of it, but a small voice in my head said consider all the options just in case. My options were sadly limited. Really, there were only three. Taking Dad up on his offer—out of the question. Even on the off chance he was telling the truth, it wasn’t something I was willing to do. I didn’t know half the things Denazen did to Kale over the years, but the little bit he had told me, coupled with what I’d seen up close and personal, was enough to make me seriously consider digging my own grave before handing myself over.
I could tell Kale like originally planned—which would lead to Mom, Ginger, and the rest of the underground finding out and would just cause everyone’s stress level to skyrocket. Plus what would Kale do if I told him Dad could fix this? I’d bet all my fingers and toes—hell, I’d throw in a lung—that he’d march himself into Denazen and demand a trade. Himself for the cure. Dad asked me to come back first, but something told me he wouldn’t refuse if Kale offered. In fact, knowing Dad, he was probably counting on it.
The last option, the one that looked the best, was to just leave it be. I’d seen the intricate lies Dad could spin to get what he wanted—hell, look at my entire life—this was exactly that. Anoth
er fabrication to get what he wanted. I’d keep an eye on it. If by some chance it got much worse, I’d have to consider telling someone.
For now, one hour at a time.
There was a dull pounding in my head, and the throb in my shoulder had progressed to a moderate stabbing pain. I closed my eyes and did my best to block it out. When I opened them after what seemed like hours to peek at my cell again, only five minutes had passed. Around the room, everyone else was lost in their own method of passing time—none of which included the reading Ginger had left us. Jade had a bottle of glaring-pink nail polish out and was touching up her tips. Alex stared at the ceiling while picking at the loose rubber sole on his right boot.
When I twisted toward Kale, he was looking right at me.
“Something’s wrong,” he said.
I held my breath and picked my head off the table. “Didn’t sleep last night. Just tired. Plus reading about the French Revolution?” I tapped the book in front of me. “Serious snoozefest.”
After a moment, he said, “Okay…” And a smile slipped across his face. “Will you go to the homecoming dance with me?”
“You’re asking me out on a date?” I wasn’t sure how he knew what homecoming was, but he got bonus points for doing it in front of Jade and Alex.
“How the hell is that even going to work?” Alex snapped. He winged his pen across the room. It crashed into the wall behind me and bounced to the floor. “One touch and he’ll vaporize you. Even you can’t possibly get off on that.”
Jade tried to hide her smile—and failed. “I have to agree with Metal Face. It’s not like you can dance with each other or anything.”
“Not like it matters.” I turned to Kale. “Technically this isn’t a school. There won’t be a homecoming dance.” To Jade, I snapped. “And really? Could you be more of a bitch?”
“Not my fault you can’t deal with reality,” she said, standing. “Face it. He’s toxic to you. Get over it.”
“Yeah. See, that’s the second time you’ve said that.” I said, standing as well. “One more time, and I’ll lay you out.”
“What are you gonna do? Copy my outfit?” She flipped me off. “Go ahead. It’ll still look better on me.”
“Oh, chickie. I hope you’re not implying I need a gift to kick your ass. I prefer the old-fashioned way.”
Hands on hips, Jade snickered. “I’m invincible. Go ahead and give it your best shot.”
“I wonder how invincible you’d be if I shoved an M-80 up your ass?”
From across the table, Alex coughed to cover up a laugh.
“Dez, please,” Kale said. “I need her help. To fix things.”
I looked at him. His expression made my breath catch. It was the same Kale as always. Intense and hot as hell. But there was something else. Something I’d only seen once before.
Fear.
“Whatever,” I spat, sinking back into the seat. “I don’t trust her, though.”
Jade flashed me her sweetest smile. “You don’t have to. Kale does.”
…
After Ginger dismissed us for the day—which was fairly early due to another almost death-match between Alex and Kale about looking at me—I pulled her on the side to ask about Jade.
“You’re going to have to deal with her for the time being. She’s here to help Kale.”
I snorted. “I keep hearing that, yet I’m not seeing any progress.”
She sank into the chair. I’d followed her to the common room. Someone had cleaned it up and replaced the television. Every afternoon, Ginger liked to watch reruns of some weird show called Jake and a Fat Person or something. She wasn’t happy I was cutting into TV time. Any second she was liable to start swinging her cane.
“It’s only been a few days.” She glared at me. “I know this is a foreign concept to you, but have some patience.”
“Fine. Then just tell me how you found her.”
“Found her?”
“Yeah. Did you, like, know her family? Her parents? Did she take out an ad in the paper? How did you find her?”
“She was referred to me.”
I blinked. “Referred? By who?”
“By someone I trust. By someone you trust.” She leaned sideways, trying to see the TV.
“Okay.” I folded my arms and moved an inch to the left. “Who?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Why are we even having this conversation? I mean, seriously, you know why I’m asking. You know what I’m asking. Why not cut the crap, and give it to me straight? I don’t like leaving her alone with Kale. I don’t trust her.”
She gave up on the TV and sighed. “I know you think I’m being cruel. But it’s not that simple. Yes. I know things. I know the answer to the question you’re asking. But as I’ve told you before, I have learned from Miranda Kale’s—”
This again? “Oh, please! You learned from her mistakes? The chick’s been dead for over a hundred years. Her only mistake was trusting the wrong guy. Believe me, it happens all the time.” I pointed to the door. “Even happens with girls. Perfect example—Jade. Trusting her is a bad idea. I can feel it, Ginger. She’s not here to help.”
Ginger shook her head. “I understand why it looks that way to you, but that’s not so. To interfere in someone’s path causes an unnecessary ripple. I refuse to be responsible for that. Look what happened when Miranda interfered.”
According to Ginger, her ancestor Miranda Kale—the one she’d named Kale for—was the first visionary. She interfered in her husband’s path and prevented his death, which brought about the chain of events that created Denazen—supposedly. Ginger used this knowledge to create a set of unbreakable rules. Rules she lived by no matter what. It was those rules that allowed her to step aside, letting her own daughter die and her only grandson be imprisoned and treated like an animal for the first part of his life.
I’d asked Kale once if he had any hard feelings. He’d looked at me like I was crazy, stating Ginger did what she believed was best. And it was true, she did truly believe it.
But that didn’t make it right.
“And how do you know that’s not what was meant to happen? Maybe she was meant to save his life. Maybe Denazen was meant to be. And you interfere with people every damn day!”
I was getting louder and louder, but Ginger didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t,” she said calmly. “Everything happens exactly as it should,”
“You do,” I insisted. “By simply housing Sixes, or giving us orders to do this and that, you’re interfering.”
“Everyone who comes to the Sanctuary was meant to be here. It is a stop along their own personal path, as the very creation of the sanctuary was a stop along my own personal path. The detention you earned yourself—the chores—they are part of your personal path.”
She placed a hand on my shoulder, and I had to bite my tongue from calling bullshit. There was no way she was getting me to believe clearing out the dryer vents for detention was part of my path.
“When I look at you, I can see the key events in your life, from birth to death. I know this is nearly impossible for you or others to understand, but had you not been meant to be here, I would have refused you solace. I don’t interfere. I simply work with the plans that I’m given. The things I see.”
I shook her hand off and stepped away. She was right. I didn’t understand. “It sounds like a really long-winded excuse to me.”
“I’m sorry, Deznee.” She stood, placing a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. “Interfering in someone’s path is not an option. The key events shape us into the people we were destined to be. Changing them changes the person.”
Without another word, she turned and left the room—and her stupid show.
The rest of the afternoon dragged by painfully slow. Kale and Jade were shuffled off to a private corner of the hotel while I was instructed—twice—to let them be. Of course, knowing they were down there, and I wasn’t even allowed to sneak a peek, played serious havoc on my brain. Somethin
g was up with that girl. I could feel it with every fiber of my being. I imagined every scenario from her tranqing him and dragging his unconscious body out to a waiting Denazen van, to him ripping her clothes off with his teeth.
By the time ten p.m. rolled around, I was tired but too keyed up to sleep. I didn’t feel like roaming the halls and didn’t want coffee. Rolling over, I held my hand out to examine the rush job I’d done on my nails a few nights ago. It was a coppery gold that looked ridiculous against my pale skin. Now was as good a time as any to get rid of it.
It wasn’t long ago that the idea of spending a Friday night alone, doing my nails, would have been unheard of. There was always a party, always a thing. Now look at me. Holed up for safekeeping. There was a good chance I’d suffocate long before the Supremacy crazies set in.
I sat up and pulled open the nightstand drawer. The only things normally in there were a brush, some Silly Bandz I’d hidden from Mom, and the nail polish remover—the latter of which was nowhere to be seen.
“Crap.” Now that I’d looked at it again, I really wanted the stupid polish off. I’d scrape the damn stuff off if I had to. Ugly flake by ugly flake.
Then I got an idea.
In the corner of the room was a small pile of Mom’s clothes. Think the country music was bad? Try sharing a small room with an adult slob. At least if I left my crap lying around, there was an excuse. I was seventeen.
Sitting at the top of the pile was one of Mom’s T-shirts. Moss green. I closed my eyes and pictured the shirt, then focused on my nails. After several moments passed, I opened my eyes. The putrid coppery color had been replaced—perfectly—by moss green. There was a slight twinge at the base of my neck and a tiny wave of vertigo but other than that, no pain.
My mouth was dry. Maybe under different circumstances, this would have been the coolest thing in the world. Not only had I just mimicked something by simply looking at it, but I’d consciously changed a part of myself. Without any pain! The possibilities were pretty much endless. But with Supremacy hanging over my head? My elation didn’t last. When a pounding sound filled my ears a few minutes later, I was sure it was my heart. Cardiac arrest. I’d subbed the blinding headaches for heart trouble. Par for the course lately.