Earthbound e-1

by Aprilynne Pike

  Benson is tugging lightly on my hand. “We have to go.”

  “Please,” Elizabeth adds in a softer voice—but one I’m obviously meant to hear, “you don’t know how to use your powers well enough to truly protect yourself.”

  I gasp and whirl around to face her. She knows.

  A phrase rises into my mouth and spills off my tongue before I can stop it. “Sum Terrobligatus; declarare fidem.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes grow so wide I can see the whites all around them.

  But she says nothing.

  Anger boils inside me and I stoop to pick up the gun she dropped and turn it around on her. “Declarare fidem!” My hand shakes—a hand that doesn’t feel like mine. What are these words? What am I doing? I choke back a sob as everything I thought I knew about myself blows away.

  I’m a monster.

  “Curatoria,” she gasps.

  “What did you just say?” Benson whispers.

  “I have no clue,” I whisper back.

  And I don’t. But I should! I’m sure I should! The same way I ought to know the meaning of all the words Elizabeth just said. Pushing those thoughts away, I cock the pistol, letting the eerie click fill the office. “You want me to trust you; why were you pointing a gun at me?”

  “Because I didn’t know how much you knew about your powers,” Elizabeth answers instantly, her neck craned awkwardly to look up at me. “How much control you had.”

  I don’t like it, but what can I do? I might have been dangerous. I probably could have killed her. I wonder if she kept that gun in her office too—if she got nervous every time I walked into her waiting room.

  Her empty waiting room.

  It’s always empty.

  I am such an idiot.

  Why is it that I always see everything after it’s too late?

  The waiting room has been empty every single time I have ever come in to see her—except, occasionally, for Secretary Barbie. Every. Time. Even when I drop by unannounced. I guess I figured no one ever stuck around because, seriously, who wants to be caught in a shrink’s office?

  But I should have seen it sooner.

  “I want answers!” I say fervently. “And if you lie, you will never see me again.”

  To my surprise, Elizabeth smiles. Not a mocking, cruel smile, but a gentle, relieved one. I don’t get it and for a moment it knocks me off-kilter.

  But I dig my toes into the ground for better balance—an old yoga trick. “I won’t,” Elizabeth says, holding statue still—probably not an easy task.

  I swallow a lump in my throat. I can’t start feeling guilty now.

  “Do you have any patients other than me?” Begin with one I’ve already figured out.

  “Not at the moment.”

  I rock back a little on my heels, utterly shocked at her honesty. “Are you really a doctor?”

  “A psychiatrist? Yes.” She laughs lightly, then grimaces as her body shifts. “Trust me, med school was no walk in the park.”

  “Then why are you working for Reese? And don’t even try to deny it,” I warn. “I heard you two talking on the phone yesterday.”

  “Perfect. Just perfect,” she grumbles, then turns her attention to me. “I’m not denying that I work with Reese,” she says carefully, “but in the spirit of complete truth here, I don’t work for her. We work for the Curatoria.”

  The unfamiliar word again. I ignore it—pretend I know exactly what it means. “Why the charade?”

  “To give you a chance to heal before—”

  The front door bursts open, cutting off her words. “Don’t shoot!” Jay yells. “Tavia, please, you don’t want to do this!”

  My borrowed gun swings to Jay, then back to Elizabeth. I can feel Benson behind me, silently willing me to be cautious, but there are two of them now and I don’t know who’s the bigger threat.

  Jay, I decide; Elizabeth’s contained—at least for now, though the metal has got to start disappearing soon. I turn to face Jay as he reaches the top of the stairs.

  “Don’t shoot,” he gasps, raising one hand, the other clutching his side. “It’s just me.”

  As if that makes any difference.

  “Mark, she knows,” Elizabeth says.

  Mark?

  “Liz,” he scolds, his eyes wary. And tired. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I probably look the same. He glances between Elizabeth and me and I can tell he’s trying desperately to catch up.

  I don’t intend to give him the opportunity.

  “Why are you here?” I ask in a deadly whisper, taking half a step toward him, gun extended.

  “Because you broke into Reese’s office,” Jay says, his hands raised in front of him.

  “How do you know that?”

  “There’s an alarm on everything in this house, Tave. That’s why both of us are here.”

  I grit my teeth, hating that I didn’t think of that. “Why the hell is everything so safeguarded?”

  “Well, consider—”

  “Tavia?” Benson’s voice interrupts me, filled with panic. My eyes dart away from Jay for a second and I see the bands holding Elizabeth beginning to dissolve.

  I close my eyes and new bands form, prompting a quiet squeal of pain from Elizabeth.

  “Tave, Jay!”

  My gun swings back around to Jay, who apparently attempted to take advantage of my back being turned. His arm is raised, but as soon as the barrel of the gun points his way again, he mutters a curse and lets his hands fall.

  Shackles form around his ankles, wrapping around the banister and pinning his feet into place.

  “Come on, Tavia, this is ridiculous,” Jay says, looking more annoyed than threatened by his bonds.

  I set my jaw and point the gun again, hating myself for it even as I know there’s nothing else to do. “Don’t follow us or I’ll use this … or worse,” I add, feeling really stupid, but they seemed truly afraid of my abilities. “Come on, Benson,” I say, shouldering my backpack. “We have to go now.”

  “Don’t go with him,” Elizabeth shouts. “You know who you need to find and it is not Benson!”

  “I’m not listening to you anymore,” I hiss at her.

  “Please, Tavia, don’t let him confuse you. You’re meant for another. I know you can feel it.”

  I clap my hands over my ears and start down the stairs.

  “Tavia, wait, don’t leave,” Jay says, and I almost turn at the panic in his voice. “My work, we’ve found connections between the Reduciata and the virus, and if you walk away, I’m not sure I—”

  “I can’t—I can’t listen to either you anymore,” I yell, cutting him off. “I can’t believe anything you say.” And if I don’t leave now, who else will arrive? How many people can I really hold off with my ephemeral magic tricks?

  I glance around the living room and kitchen as Benson and I pass through to the garage door. So many memories. Good ones. The awkward but strangely motherly moments with Reese, hilarious times with Jay when, for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a brother.

  All lies.

  Before anger can suffocate me, I turn my back on everything and head out to the garage, slamming the door on my old life.

  As soon as I’m out of the house, I let Elizabeth’s gun clatter to the cement.

  Benson opens his mouth—he probably thinks we should take it with us—but I silence him with a look. I can’t. I just can’t. I hate being dangerous just by being me; I won’t carry a weapon on top of that.

  Acknowledging my refusal, he instead pulls the huge bundle of keys out of his pocket. “We’ve already broken and entered; how do you feel about grand theft auto?”

  “You think we should take Reese’s Beemer?” I ask, recognizing how ridiculous my words sound, as though this were the most awful thing that’s happened today.

  Benson swallows. “Not really. But my car’s at the library, and I don’t want to expose you to whatever’s out there. I guess you could try to make one, but …”

 
“It’ll disappear in five minutes,” I say, cutting off his answer before I have to consider actually doing it.

  “Right,” he agrees. “Besides, it’s black; it’s not flashy. It’ll work.”

  I stare at the sleek, shiny vehicle. “She’s going to call the cops.”

  “She won’t.”

  “It’s an eighty-thousand-dollar car, Benson. Trust me—she’s going to call the cops.”

  He turns to face me. “No. She’ll chase you down on her own. And now she’ll have to find a car to do it. No cops; she won’t risk exposure.”

  “That’s one hell of a gamble,” I say softly.

  “Let’s chance the odds.”

  I hesitate, not wanting to hurt Reese and Jay more than I already have.

  “Tavia,” Benson urges, “they may have been complicit in the murder of your parents.”

  “Fine,” I say, swallowing the pain that comes with his reminder. “But I drive.” Because if someone’s got to steal a car, it’s going to be me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  My thoughts and I are silent for the first few minutes as we drive along. I stick to quiet neighborhood streets, avoiding anywhere people might be looking for us. For me.

  Benson is texting someone. “My mom,” he explains.

  I’m already too full of guilt to feel any more.

  I don’t know where we’re going—I decided against my earlier plan of staying at Benson’s pretty quickly. All that matters now is that I’m putting some distance between us and Reese and Jay’s house. Mark and Samantha’s house, I guess. Enough distance to think, to plan. To figure out some way to keep from getting killed.

  Or killing someone.

  We’re passing through an older neighborhood with no sign of Jay, Elizabeth, or Sunglasses Guy on our tail. I’m glad I’m busy driving; otherwise I’d be obsessively scrutinizing every house for a glowing triangle. Just as I have this thought, the street sign catches my eyes and I realize I’m about to pass Fifth. Impulsively, I stomp on the brake and swerve to the right, nearly dumping Benson into my lap.

  “Jeez, a little warning next time,” Benson grumbles, rubbing his side where it hit the gearshift.

  “Sorry,” I say, and though I really am, I’m so focused I know I don’t sound genuine. I suspect the time for subtlety is long past, so I just pull up right in front of the old house and point. “Do you see that?” I ask, suppressing my nervous tension as I swing my pointer finger to the house’s door.

  If I didn’t look like a creeper before, I do now.

  “See what?” Benson asks warily.

  “The triangle.” It’s light, but it’s definitely there. “Do you see it?”

  “Where?” Benson asks, squinting.

  “Above the door. It’s kinda gray.”

  He peers across my lap, then leans a little closer, pressing against me. I hold my breath.

  “I …” He pauses, and in that second I allow myself to dream that maybe he too can make out the mysterious shape. “I don’t see anything, Tave.”

  I swallow a lump of disappointment and silently start to pull away from the curb, but I only make it one block before I pull over again.

  “You okay?” Benson asks, his fingers brushing my hand.

  Tears start to sting, but I refuse to let them fall. “No … I’m—I’m not.”

  “What’s the matter?” he asks gently.

  My chin quivers and I clench my teeth down to make it stop. “You—you need to get out. You can walk home from here.”

  Benson sits back against the seat, his arms crossed over his chest, and raises one eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

  “Benson, seriously, I—I have to go and you’re not coming with me.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, almost icily.

  “I’m running away from some kind of supernatural mob. You saw what I did to Elizabeth and Jay—hell, what I almost did to your roommate. I’m crazy dangerous and you shouldn’t be around me, much less the people who want to kill me.”

  He’s quiet for a long time, then he turns his face toward me and reaches out tentatively with his hands, wrapping his long fingers around my thigh. “Look at me.”

  I don’t want to. Don’t want to feel that slow, easy comfort that’s spreading from his hand on my leg. Don’t want to face what it means.

  Or what it might not mean.

  But he’s silent, waiting.

  I lift my chin, trying to look tough and strong. Like I’ll kick his ass if he tries to follow me. But I suspect my trembling lip ruins the effect.

  “I’m not leaving you,” Benson whispers. “I—I’ve only just come to understand what you really mean to me. I know this is dangerous.” He pauses, pressing his lips together. “Probably even more dangerous than you think. But I’m coming with you.”

  His other hand is on my face now, cradling my cheek and forcing me to look up. I resist; keep my eyes closed. But soon I can’t bear it. His blue eyes stare down at me, so steady and sure it makes the butterflies take flight in my stomach again.

  “If you kick me out of this car and drive away, I will walk to the library—which is several miles away at this point, I might add—get my car, and drive around all day looking for you.” He cracks a half smile. “Save us both the trouble, will you?”

  “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” I protest.

  “I know exactly what I’m getting into.”

  He kisses me so softly, so briefly, it would be easy to deny that it happened at all except that my mouth feels like it’s on fire.

  I pull away before I can lose my wits completely. It’s not fair. “But … doesn’t it bother you that I spend half my time thinking about Quinn? You know,” I add in a mumble, “whenever I’m not thinking about you.”

  His face is close to mine and I know I should turn away—let him go—but after the stress of the day I crave contact. I crave him. His mouth closes over mine and a tiny sound escapes my throat as I curl my fingers behind his neck, pulling him closer.

  “Think I’m afraid of a little competition?” he taunts playfully, pulling back ever so slightly.

  “I …” My thoughts are a jumble of Benson and Quinn, but I close my eyes and kiss him, hold him, surrendering to the taste of him on my tongue.

  A deafening noise throws us apart as something shatters through the back window, striking just behind my shoulder with a thud that reverberates through my seat.

  “Go!” Benson yells, and as I peel away from the sidewalk I hear more shots ping into the body of the car, making the frame shudder as I try to keep control and stay on the correct side of the road.

  Benson is on his knees, his face shielded behind the headrest, poking out to get a better look as I crazily whirl around the corner. “It’s the guy from the library!” Benson yells.

  “How did he find us?” I ask as I squeal the tires around another corner. “We’re miles away!”

  “I don’t know. He must have … I don’t know, tracked me to your house?” He sits back in his seat, buckling in. I don’t blame him.

  I take the first two turns I see—one right, one left—and hope for no dead ends.

  “He may be on foot, but he’s cutting through all the yards. We gotta get out of this neighborhood.”

  I nod and look for a good outlet.

  “This guy needs to run a marathon or something. He is fast.”

  “I’m faster,” I say, finally pulling onto a busy street and flooring the gas.

  A minute later, Benson casts one more look over his shoulder. “He’s totally out of sight now,” he says, buckling his seatbelt again. “I’m pretty sure he got a damn good look at the car, though.”

  “So spilling coffee on him wasn’t as effective as we’d hoped?” I joke, tossing one more mock-condescending look at him. Something—maybe the adrenaline—has given me both my nerve and my sense of humor back. Or maybe it’s just what happens when you’re behind the wheel of such a nice car.

  “Guess not.” Benson giv
es me a hint of a smirk, but he’s the one who looks nervous now.

  I’ve figured out where I am and take one more right, heading toward the interstate. “Last chance,” I say as I pull to a stop at a red light less than half a mile from the freeway entrance. “This is real, Benson. And if you come with me, there’s no turning back.”

  “There’s already no turning back,” he says, staring studiously out the front windshield.

  “Benson?” I ask as we approach the 95. “Do you know where Camden is?” Tiny detail.

  “Camden, Maine?”

  “Is there another Camden?”

  “Not that I know of. Not around here anyway.”

  “Then yes, that one.”

  “Yeah, it’s this cool old town … probably five or six hours from here. East. Well, northeast. Along the coastline.”

  Perfect. “Let’s start there,” I say, clicking on the right-turn signal.

  “How come?”

  Tell no one. The words sound in my head as if Quinn was sitting in the backseat screaming them. “Just a hunch.”

  “They headed east,” he says, standing in front of my desk. The one I despise.

  I look up into my own reflection, fish-eyed in the dark glass. “Take those off; I hate when I can’t see your eyes,” I say sharply. As sharply as I can in a whisper.

  He removes his sunglasses sheepishly. A sheep, I think acerbically. That’s exactly what he is. It’s what most of these humans are. Not that it’s really their fault. It’s what we always wanted them to be.

  “Did you get a couple shots in?” I ask once his eyes are visible.

  “Any more and I might have actually hit her.”

  I smile, just a little. “Perfect,” I say. “Scared and on the run. Just the way I like her.”

  “Should I move my guys in?”

  “Not yet,” I say, picturing her in my mind. Panicking. Doing everything wrong. Acting like the human she still thinks she is. “Stay close—watch her.” I lift one eyebrow. “Don’t you want to see what happens next?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE