The 52nd (The 52nd Saga Book 1)

by Dela

  Although I vividly remembered what they wanted and didn’t need directions on how to build the rope climb or the pyramid of stairs or the hanging bars, I glanced at it out of boredom. I was embarrassed to be putting Zara through this, but the boys were right. Zara needed training to survive. I tucked the paper into my back pocket and got back to work.

  Hours later, I was sweaty, so I took off my shirt, which only made my smooth chest clammy. Any rope burn or slice I endured while working vanished almost the very second it came.

  As I was sawing a wood beam, I heard them return from school. I left the project and zoomed upstairs, covered in sawdust. They were getting out of Dylan’s convertible. It was getting too cold for a topless car now. We’d have to change to something more suitable for winter.

  “How is she?” I asked. They took their time getting out.

  “Upset.” Dylan smirked.

  He brushed past my shoulder. I followed him through the house to the kitchen while Gabriella trailed behind, snickering under her breath.

  “Really upset,” she added, pouring herself a glass of water.

  “I knew she would be. I will explain everything to her on Friday,” I said, remembering that the first rule of women was to never make them upset.

  Dylan laughed, swallowed a piece of chocolate, and surveyed my appearance. He looked amused. “How’s it going down there?”

  “Don’t worry about me, just be ready to do your job. It’ll be done by Friday,” I called, returning to the basement.

  When sunset came, I had only mitered a few more angles of wood, but I called it a day anyways. I was progressing more quickly than I’d expected. I had completed one of the cages and the platform for the rope climb and only needed to add the rope. On my way up to the main floor, I stopped at a thought and turned to survey the new arena. The distance from the floor to the platform was too high. Should Zara fall and hit the concrete floor, she would surely break a bone. Not a good thing if I want her to like me. Tomorrow I would buy a tumbling mat.

  Later that evening, out of nerves, I showered, dressed, and was in my car, on my way to Zara’s, in a short five minutes. When I saw her bedroom light on and the shades open, excitement fluttered in my stomach. I parked a few houses down and sped soundlessly on foot through the shadows. When I reached her house, I glanced around for peeping bystanders and, in one quick leap, jumped up to perch myself in the darkness of the roof.

  Zara was near the window, sitting at her desk. By the way her face leaned toward the bright screen, I gathered she was intrigued with something on her computer. I wasn’t surprised to find she was researching her observations of us. It was only literature off the Internet, so I hardly called it credible. She looked dissatisfied when a herd of unicorns and fairies showed up as results for her search on mythical creatures. She hit delete. Her attention went to my old journal, sitting on the corner of her desk. After tapping her fingers a few times, she hesitantly propped it open and typed demonio de mundo terrenal.

  I was amazed at the extent of information given on personal websites. The translation, “demon of the terrestrial world,” brought up websites that called the executioners “phantoms” and “spirits of the dead.” One website had pictures fairly close to what she had witnessed, noting that it was more common for these “Aztec ghosts” to appear as puffs of black smoke or dark clouds than in human form. She was smart to abort that search after she ran into vampire myths. Aztec ghosts—yeah, right.

  I liked her persistence, though, and she looked back to my burgundy journal. Finding something of interest, she hurriedly typed it in the search engine. She didn’t back down even when it called me “Vanquisher of Evil.” Rather, she went back to the journal, gathered another phrase, and typed “legend of the cosmic balance.” She weeded through the junk quickly, but I stiffened when she stopped on a website with tiny cursive print. I read it, feeling rather paranoid at how I was now being perceived.

  Our world is living on the brink of destruction after Celestial gods descended to Earth out of fear. . . . Underworld gods ambitious for blood. . . . The cosmic family have become immortal warriors to protect us from these ghosts of hell and keep the cosmic balance . . .

  I looked at the bottom left of the screen. The author of this site was just an old man, but it was jolting how accurate he was. He was right to say that the imbalance of heaven and hell began when Cortez overthrew the Aztec empire. That scum. Hell, the writer was good enough to throw out the fact that the damage Cortez caused the New World was so unimaginable that it immediately became a myth. No one would have believed that Celestial gods descended to Earth out of fear of losing their idols and temples.

  Zara’s gasp was audible through the closed window, although she clasped her hand over her mouth.

  Great, based on this website she thinks we are here to save everyone.

  As she went on reading, curiosity about what she really thought of me started killing me. I wondered if she and I would ever be possible—for me, not her. I’d never been into someone as young as she was, or anyone so uneducated, or even anyone considered average financially. Money buys you freedom to not worry about the day-to-day logistics of saving money or paying bills. In my case, it buys privacy. For others, it buys status or fake friends. Zara’s house was decent, and they had enough to get by, but I wondered about it. What made them happy, when they had none of the security I had?

  I continued to observe Zara, turning my back only when she changed for bed. The waves in her blonde strands highlighted the frame of her face when she turned around. She was stunning. In fact, I couldn’t recall if I’d ever met a human as pretty as her. She had a raw beauty; her lips puckered even when they were still, looking plush and full, and her thick eyebrows arched innocently. She looked harmless, but there was a fierceness in the depths of her dark brown eyes that sucked me in, and my eyes stayed on her until I had not a second left.

  The heavy clouds overhead began to drop light patters of rain on the rooftop, just as Mother had said they would. I peeked through Zara’s window one last time. She had lain down in bed; her eyelids were closed, and she breathed smoothly as she started to fall asleep. It was peculiar, this feeling inside me, that I thought I’d like to wake up next to her—if I slept like I used to. I stared back with envy, bothered with that thought, and left her to sleep in peace.

  On my way home I imagined for the briefest second what horrific things Zara must think of me—a monster, a demon, or even a ghost—but I executed that train of thought quickly and focused on the training facility. After all, I would see Zara on Friday, when I would make everything perfectly clear.

  But I couldn’t overcome my curiosity and went to her window every night after that. I had to go. I passed several sunsets watching her fall asleep. A mortal life was simple. Wake, eat, and dream. I had never cared about losing that cycle when I changed, but I did now. Watching Zara made me miss its simplicity. She was a pretty sleeper, and the desire for there to be an us worsened a deep-rooted fear. I could get lost in her, and I would lose sight of the consequence of what I was doing . . . and I, or she—or both of us—could get killed. I would have to break with tradition first, without any blood; otherwise I feared she would never forgive me for what I’d done to be free of it. War and killing came easy for me because of my past, not so much for her. She was too fragile, too clean to be involved in or even equipped with a way to cope with the ugliness. I had to protect her from that, or I feared the hurt would be unfixable.

  Mother protected her throughout the night while I worked on the basement—wondering what she was dreaming—and then I returned in the dewy sunrise to see her wake up. As I watched, I tried to separate myself from her, reminding myself that I was nothing like her anymore: physically, mentally, or financially. But the more I watched her, the more I wanted a new life. The more my money didn’t matter. The more my years of education—which, combined, added up to her mother’s age—
didn’t matter. The more I didn’t want my old life anymore, but rather a new one, complete with aging and a job and a relationship.

  I finished Tez’s project in the middle of the day on Friday, leaving more than enough time to shower, polish my already shiny car, and show up at Zara’s house before she left for the evening. The gloomy clouds Mother had brought in remained, shedding a heavier rain as I pulled up to Zara’s curb. I stayed in my car, listening to the fabric of Zara’s shirt rustle as she slid it over her head. I was confused. My body was pulsing in places dormant since I had turned immortal as I wondered what she was wearing—or, rather, what color her bra was.

  When I heard the crushed fibers of the carpet as she walked downstairs, I suppressed my personal feelings and brought my focus to the task of swaying her to our cause. As her hand twisted the doorknob, I flew across the lawn in a millisecond, stood up straight, and put on a smile. The door swung open, and she jumped.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cosmos

  “How do you keep popping up like that?” Zara asked, startled.

  She wore a green cardigan underneath a small peacoat. From the way she looked me up and down, I gathered that my summer attire was unacceptable.

  “Where’s your coat?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Never mind that.” I handed her my cell phone. “Here, call Bri and tell her I will be escorting you to school from now on.”

  I was preparing a reason, but she grabbed my phone and began dialing. “How do you—” She stopped, covered the earpiece as the other line buzzed, and snarled, “Is that why you showed up uninvited, to arrange my traveling arrangements for school?”

  “Would it matter either way? Do you want me to play the good guy or the bad guy?”

  Bri’s answer cut off Zara’s rebuttal. Bri sounded confused about why her caller ID read Private, but Zara made up a lie that left out any details about me. I was surprised when Bri didn’t put up a fight, but then her questions turned to my and Zara’s relationship. I held back laughter as a pretty, rosy color surfaced on Zara’s cheeks. That was when Zara ended the call.

  She handed back the phone, her other hand playing with her hair. “Here.”

  “Zara, who’s there?” When her mother stepped into the doorway, her hand rose to her chest and a large smile appeared on her face. “Oh. You’ve got company.”

  Zara rolled her eyes as her mother made herself comfortable against the weathered doorjamb.

  “Hey, are you Valentina’s boy?” she asked.

  If she could see the resemblance, Mother’s gambit was clearly paying off. The plan was panning out perfectly. Don’t mess it up, I thought, and I smiled more widely.

  “Yes, I am. My name is Lucas. Nice to meet you, ma’am.” I leaned in to give her a small kiss on the cheek, which is what we do whenever we greet someone. It wasn’t anything special, but she suppressed a giggle.

  “Oh, I’m Lori, nice to meet you too. I just adore your mother.”

  Zara finally unfroze, shifting her weight to acknowledge her mom. “Wait, how do you know Lucas’s mom?”

  “She joined the club where we play tennis. She is so sweet,” Lori said, flapping her hand at me.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I came here uninvited, but I was just about to ask your daughter out to dinner,” I said.

  Lori’s mouth struggled to stay closed as she held back a chuckle. “Not a problem at all. Zara has no plans. She was going to join her dad and me for dinner in town, but I’m okay if she goes out with you.”

  “Perfect!” I beamed. Zara looked embarrassed, irritated, and shy all at once as her mother practically threw her at me.

  It was Lori who moved first, taking a step back into the house. “Well, you two have fun. Curfew is twelve, young lady.”

  “Mom, it’s just dinner,” Zara muttered. “And I’m not in high school anymore.”

  “Oh, okay. It’s one.”

  After Lori closed the door, Zara stood still, eyeing me. She looked scared—debating whether she should get into my car. I pressed my hand gently to the hollow of her back.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  She jumped subtly away from my touch and folded her arms across her chest as she crossed the lawn. When I opened her door, she stopped abruptly and held on to the door for support.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  I suddenly realized the toll my abandonment had taken on her this week. She needed me. It pierced my conscience, a task not easily done. I didn’t understand how she could make me feel so wrong, but in a nice way. I felt sick for creating a training arena designed for strong men, not petite girls. And then I suddenly felt guilty for having to involve her in this dangerous plot.

  My connection to her was a weakness, a thorn in my side that needed to be removed, but I was very much intrigued by her—and I didn’t want to resist it or ignore it. I wanted to act on it and see where the tenderness would take me. It was then that I knew for certain I wouldn’t need to beguile her; it would come naturally over time. So I tossed out Tez’s rules.

  As she stared at me, I dazzled her with a grin. She muttered under her breath and got into the car. I would give her the answers she desired sooner rather than later, but I took my time closing her door and walking around the car. I breathed deeply and smiled, enjoying the simplicity of the moment. I would open the door for her a million times more.

  As I slid into my seat, pretending nothing else mattered except for this moment, her stomach grumbled.

  “Is takeout okay with you?” I asked. “I know it’s nothing fancy, but I’ve got somewhere I want to take you when the sun sets.” I watched her breathe in and out through her nose. A small smile parted her mouth, but I grew self-conscious. Do I smell? “I will tell you what you want to know there,” I added, casually pretending I was scratching my leg but really sniffing my armpit.

  She looked sick, but she said only, “That sounds great.”

  “Any recommendations?”

  “Chinese?”

  I shifted gears and accelerated down the sleek blacktop. The glare from the late sun blossoming through the clouds made her blushing cheeks more golden.

  “I’ve got a question,” I said.

  “Funny, I was thinking the same thing,” she said. The edge of anger in her tone exposed her frustration, and I felt that thorn wedge itself deeper into my side. Don’t let it control you.

  I gripped the wheel tighter. “Do you believe that two enemies could ever work together to fight off a bigger cause?”

  She laughed. “What?”

  “I’m being serious. Can two people who hate each other be civil enough to join forces and be stronger for something that’s bigger than them?”

  She shrugged and looked out the front window. “I guess.” She didn’t look back, but calmness spread over her face. “I think my brothers are like that. One minute they hate each other, the next minute they love each other.”

  Love? Hah! The Mayans and Aztecs will never love each other. “I wouldn’t say love, but a mutual understanding that they want the same thing.”

  “Oh, I get ya. Yes, I suppose so.”

  “You suppose?”

  “Yeah, you know. Like you and me.”

  I laughed. She was a feisty one. “Like you and me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who’s the hater and who’s the lover?”

  “Oh.” She looked down at her knees with an embarrassed grin. “Why are you talking about us like this? I don’t hate you.”

  “So you love me?” I chuckled.

  “No!”

  “Don’t worry, I wasn’t talking about us . . .” I leaned closer to her shoulder. “And I don’t hate you.”

  The tension in her upper body relaxed, and she leaned back in the chair.

  “I’m asking you this because the answers you want go de
ep. I’m talking centuries of human history, and explaining the nuances would take days.”

  “So?”

  “In short,” I said, pleased with her eagerness, “two groups of people that I knew a long time ago joined forces to fight off a bigger threat. Sometimes I think I still don’t understand it, and I wonder when they’re going to explode.”

  “Still? I thought you said you knew them.”

  “Knew, know, it’s not relative,” I said.

  The skin on her powdered cheeks tightened when her eyebrows lifted. “Lucas, who are you talking about?”

  “Aztecs and Mayans.” I studied her face, watching for her fear, but there was none. Only silence. “An elite group with members from each tribe was formed to ward off a greater evil.”

  “And you’re one of them?”

  “No . . . thank goodness.” She didn’t reply, but she stared at me like I was suddenly an open book. “So, how long have you known Jett?” I asked to take her attention off me.

  She suddenly looked uncomfortable and made a temple with her fingers as she stared out the windows into the grayness. “Since I was twelve.”

  “And you two never tried the dating thing?”

  “No.”

  “He’s an idiot,” I said.

  “Jett . . .” She finally looked at me, tongue-tied as she searched for words. “He’s not an idiot. He’s just . . . comfortable. So comfortable with having me as just a friend that I guess he never thought about us being together. At least, not until a few months ago.”

  “Why the change?”

  “He said it was graduation that got him thinking. I don’t know, is this what you want to be talking about?” She shrugged.

  “No. I’ve just always wondered about that.”

  She pressed the palms of her hands together and tucked them between her knees. Her thighs distracted me from the road; I had to look upward to the steeples of the fir trees to distract myself. Now more than ever, because we were alone, I needed to focus. No risks.