The Marked Girl

by Lindsey Klingele

  “Only us,” Cedric said, then looked abruptly away, toward the window.

  “Cedric, are you . . . are you living down there? In the tunnels?”

  Cedric’s eyes flashed over to Liv. “You cannot tell anyone where we are. If they found out . . .”

  “Who? The people at the museum?”

  “Yes. And others.”

  Liv’s voice dropped low. “So what kind of trouble are you in?”

  Cedric looked away, and Liv sighed. He wasn’t going to make this easy on her.

  “We only want to get home.”

  “Okay. Where’s home?”

  Cedric knitted his eyebrows together, as if he was trying to solve a complex problem.

  “Caelum.”

  Liv brought the cup of coffee to her lips, running the name over in her mind. “Is that in Canada?”

  Cedric shook his head. “It is difficult to explain. . . .”

  “Well, the night is young, and Rita doesn’t exactly give me a curfew, so . . . take your time.”

  “Caelum is another place . . . that is not this place. Another world. I came to this world through a portal.”

  “Oh, a portal. Well, that makes sense.”

  Cedric’s jaw tightened. “You are mocking me.”

  Liv felt a tug of guilt. “No, sorry, it’s just . . . a portal, you say?”

  It didn’t seem like Cedric was intentionally messing with her, and anyway, why would he do that? Why make up such an elaborate lie for a complete stranger?

  Maybe he didn’t think it was a lie at all. Liv had seen kids with mental illnesses before. Schizophrenia, delusions, even just drug-induced craziness. She remembered a boy named Ryan who’d lived with her in the same group home for a while. Ryan’s story was tragic—his mother had died right after he was born, and his father had been abusive—and Ryan had a tendency to retreat into a fantasy world in his mind to survive. The social worker who ran the home had explained to Liv that whenever Ryan talked about being afraid of “the dragon,” he was really referring to his father. Ryan had never frightened Liv, and he really was a generally sweet kid to be around, so long as you didn’t touch his Fruit Roll-Ups.

  Whatever his situation, Cedric, too, seemed more sad than dangerous to Liv as he stared down at a plastic carton of sugar packets. She definitely wasn’t afraid of him.

  “That thing that attacked you tonight . . . it is called a wrath,” Cedric continued. “And I was born to fight them.”

  Cedric reached for Liv’s torn-up packet of creamer across the table. He spoke quickly, and he kept his eyes focused on his hands, which ripped the creamer packet into tinier and tinier pieces.

  “In my world, the wraths are more easily recognizable. Big, ugly things with horns and teeth and claws . . . they’ve plagued our lands for centuries, for as long as anyone can remember. We have never been able to defeat them completely, but we are—or were—able to keep them away from our cities and rule the realm in relative peace. I do not know if they followed us here or were in this world all along, but . . . they are different here. They walk around looking like men, and most people cannot even tell that they are different at all. . . .” Cedric looked up. “But you could. You saw its eyes? Its face?”

  Liv recalled the all-black eyes of the man in the alley. Something had felt wrong about his face, deep-down, in-the-gut wrong.

  “He looked . . . like there was something the matter with him,” she finally conceded. “But you’re saying he was some sort of . . . monster? Like an actual monster, of the horror-movie variety?” It was hard to keep the skepticism from her voice.

  “The wraths started hunting us shortly after we came through the portal. We did not know who they were at first, because they look so different here. But they are the same evil creatures from our realm. At least, they smell the same. What I do not understand is what they are doing here, or why they are tracking us.”

  Cedric stopped talking when the waitress came back and set down two plates, each heaped with food. Liv pushed the waffles toward Cedric and pulled the plate of hash browns to herself. She moved the potatoes around on the plate with her fork, but she wasn’t as hungry as she had been a few minutes ago. Cedric, on the other hand, had no such problem. He took one bite of the waffles and closed his eyes, as if savoring the taste. When he opened them again, he dove back into the food with a fury, cutting through it so hard that his knife made a screeching noise against the plate.

  “Why do you think he attacked me?”

  Cedric tilted his head, swallowing before speaking again. “It must have thought you were one of us. I do not know why, but I am sorry for it.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Liv said, touching the strip of paper towel still wrapped around her hand. Whether or not Cedric truly believed in his weird delusion, the man in the alley had certainly meant business. He’d wanted to hurt Liv for real. She remembered the gleaming blade that Cedric had wielded with such skill. She swallowed, trying to sound casual. “And your . . . knife thing?”

  “I . . . acquired it,” Cedric said. “After losing the only sword we had. Getting it back will be helpful for fighting the wraths off, though it will not kill them. Only silver can do that. I used to have a whole arsenal of my own back in Caelum; you should see it, beautiful things—”

  Cedric stopped when he saw Liv’s expression. “But here, we could not find anything like that. We have only managed to find a few knives in the museum, and paltry ones at that, old and made of steel.” Cedric stuck a giant forkful of food in his mouth and chewed, then swallowed it down in a giant lump. “What did you say this was called again?”

  “Waffles?”

  “Waffles,” he repeated, savoring the word. “Amazing.”

  “Yeah,” Liv responded, thrown. She felt a dizziness overtake her again, and realized she was having a hard time keeping track of Cedric’s tale. She nodded to his plate.

  “You should put syrup on them.”

  Liv grabbed the syrup carafe and poured some onto his waffles in a long string. Cedric watched her carefully before shoving a syrupy forkful in his mouth. When his lips closed around the bite, he actually closed his eyes and let out a light mmmm noise.

  When he opened his eyes, he looked directly at Liv and gave a small smile. “You do not believe me, do you?”

  Liv averted her eyes. “Well . . .”

  “I expected as much,” Cedric said, his voice kind of smug. “This is such a strange place, filled with so many things I can neither understand nor explain, and yet we learned very quickly that people here are unable to believe us. It is odd, though . . . they can speak to each other through devices smaller than this—” Cedric picked up the saltshaker on the table. “And yet the notion of a portal is unthinkable!”

  “Well, cell phones are possible through science. Portals are . . . fantasy.”

  “They both seem like magic to me. But I suppose I understand your reluctance. Sometimes I try to imagine going home and telling my sister, Emme, about some of the things I have seen here, and I know she would never believe me.”

  Cedric shoveled the last bit of waffles into his mouth. Liv pushed the plate of hash browns over to him and smiled. He licked a bit of syrup off of his fork and dug into the new food.

  “So why the museum? What would make you stay there, of all places?”

  Cedric contemplated while chewing. Then he told Liv a story, about a man named Mal-something who had led a group of the creatures—wraths—into his home in the middle of the night. “A small group of us managed to escape our guards, but there was no way out of the castle. So we left through the only means we could think of—the portal.”

  Now Cedric looked up, eyes blazing. But it wasn’t Liv he was looking at. It seemed as though he was focused on something behind her, though there was nothing there but the vinyl booth. “We had to run in the moment, but I will not run forever. I will find my way back home. Create a portal back to Caelum, and once there, I will raise my father’s army. Malquin will not see us comin
g, and we will defeat him and the wraths.”

  The silence that followed Cedric’s tirade was heavy, and Liv felt that she should say something. “Well that sounds like . . . quite the challenge. So why haven’t you gone back yet?”

  Cedric looked away, the anger draining from his eyes. “We are looking for a set of scrolls, very old ones, that will open the way for us to get home.”

  “You can’t just go back the way you came?”

  Cedric shook his head. “We tried. It does not work like that. The portal is closed from this side, and we need to reopen it. And the only way we can is with the scrolls.” He paused to swallow another bite of waffle.

  “The scrolls. Right.” Liv once again put a hand up to her temple. One glance at Cedric’s face revealed his complete earnestness. He truly believed all of the crazy things he was saying.

  “So you thought these . . . scrolls . . . would be at the museum?”

  Cedric sighed. “I do not know, truthfully. When we first arrived, our only goal was to stay alive. But the people we met were . . . not always helpful. None of them knew anything about the scrolls, or our world, or even wraths. I knew the scrolls were very old, and that I should look for them in a place where very old things might be stored. The museum is so large and has so many artifacts, I thought I would be bound to find them eventually. But I have so far only found old parchment, rocks, and monster bones.”

  Liv tried to stifle a smile.

  “But how did you get a job there, at the museum?”

  Cedric looked sheepish. “I did not, exactly. I took this uniform. So long as I keep my head down and move quickly, only coming up from the tunnels at night or when we really need to acquire food, no one has stopped me.”

  “Acquire food? Is that, like, a fancy way to say stealing?”

  Cedric leaned back against the booth with a heavy sigh. “We were so hungry . . . I have never known hunger like that, not in my life. But food was everywhere. Everywhere we looked—in stalls, in buildings, safe behind glass. We did not have the ability to pay for it, so . . . we took it.”

  Cedric swallowed, looking down at the two now-empty plates before him.

  “I get it,” Liv said. And she really did. Though secretly, she wondered whether Cedric’s stealing habit had led him into more trouble than he was admitting. Was that why the black-eyed man was really after him and his friends? Had Cedric stolen from the wrong people?

  “We are good at it,” Cedric continued, “because of our speed. You asked me earlier how I could move so fast . . .”

  “Crazy fast.”

  “It is because of who I am,” Cedric continued. “All Guardians are naturally strong, but we are also well trained to move quickly—it is how we can fight the wraths.”

  “Well . . . sure,” Liv said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “That makes sense. . . .”

  Cedric smiled. “You sound like Merek.”

  “Who?”

  “My . . . friend, I suppose. Although he would die before admitting it. He does not think it a good plan to stay in the museum. Neither does Kat.”

  “They may be right. Regardless of whether or not there are portals and wraths and other worlds and whatever, it sounds like you’re a little over your head here.”

  The second the words were out of Liv’s mouth, she regretted it. Cedric leaned back in the booth, and it was like a wall had gone up suddenly between them. Liv felt a small pang of knowing that it was partially her fault, for not playing along anymore.

  “I know I cannot convince you I am telling the truth. But thank you, for the waffles,” Cedric said, his voice stiff. He started to rise.

  “Wait,” Liv said, her voice just barely above a whisper. “All I meant was that the museum basement’s probably not the safest place for you to stay. It seemed really dank down there, and it didn’t look like there were any lights. Probably hard for you to sneak food in and out on a daily basis. And plus, if you get caught by the museum, they’ll call social services . . .”

  Liv trailed off, wondering if maybe that wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. . . . But no—ratting out another street kid was out of the question, even if he was just a touch delusional. She had no idea what he was really running from, but it had to be pretty awful for his brain to make up such a far-fetched scenario. And calling social services might get him sent right back into whatever situation he was working so hard to flee.

  Liv opened up her satchel purse and took out her notebook, tearing out a piece of paper. On it, she wrote down her phone number, then slid the paper over to Cedric.

  “I may know of a few places where you could stay. They’re out of the way, but they have beds and sunlight, at least. Will you call me if you need help?”

  Cedric looked down at the paper, his eyebrows knitting.

  “I do not have one of those . . . things. You know, a . . .” He put his hand up to his ear.

  “A phone?”

  “Yes, that.”

  “Right,” Liv said, deadpan. She pulled the paper back. “Do you know how to get around the city?”

  Cedric nodded. “I have acquired a map, although I do not travel around much during the day.”

  “If I give you my address, will you promise not to come rob me?”

  Cedric started at her words, genuinely taken aback.

  “Well, you did just admit to being a thief,” Liv said, trying to keep her voice light. “Though it’s not like we even have much to steal. I own next to nothing, and Rita likes to spend all her tips the second she gets them, so unless you’re looking to score a bottle of Jack, there won’t be much to take.”

  Cedric looked down again, as if trying to hide an emotion on his face. This time, she was sure it was shame. “I would not steal from your foster mother’s home, or from this Jack fellow. I would never take anything from you, Liv.”

  The sound of her name on Cedric’s lips rang in Liv’s ears for an extra beat, and she made an effort to push it aside. “Okay. I didn’t mean . . . anyway, come find me if you want to check out one of those places. . . .” Liv trailed off, awkwardly. As she slipped her notebook back into her purse, she caught a glimpse of her phone lying against the bottom of the bag. She picked it up and turned it over. Four missed calls and nine texts. All from Shannon.

  “Crap,” she said. “I really have to go. My friend Shannon’s probably having a heart attack.”

  Cedric looked up in alarm, until Liv quickly clarified. “Not literally, it’s just an expression . . . never mind.” She smiled and stood up. “Take care, Cedric.”

  He nodded, and Liv went to go pay the check at the counter. Before she left, she turned around one more time to find Cedric still in the booth, pouring syrup directly onto a spoon and then sticking it into his mouth. She shook her head and then pushed through the door, escorted out into the night by the sound of the diner’s ringing bell.

  Liv’s eyelids grew heavy as the bus moved ever nearer to the small house she shared with Rita in Los Feliz. She leaned her head up against the glass window of the bus, letting her eyes unfocus as the cars and lights sped up and slowed down outside.

  She’d just hung up the phone with Shannon, who’d spent half the call yelling at Liv for not returning her calls sooner. Liv had lied and said her phone was accidentally turned off, not wanting to explain that she’d actually forgotten all about Shannon during her time with Cedric. When Shannon asked why she’d been at the museum so long, she lied again and said she’d lost track of time.

  “You’ve never lost track of time in the history of, like, ever. It’s one of your most annoying traits.”

  Liv had sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Tell me the truth. You decided to keep that sword, didn’t you? Don’t pull the good-girl act on me, Liv Phillips. You may have all our teachers and parental figures fooled, but I know you. I know where you keep your fake ID. I know about that back tat you keep covered up—”

  “Okay, okay. You caught me. I’ve decided t
o become a really authentic Lord of the Rings cosplayer.”

  Shannon had scoffed and offered to pick Liv up, but she said she’d take the bus instead. Really, she didn’t want to answer any more questions—she just wanted to sit and think about her ridiculous night in silence. She didn’t entirely know why she wanted to keep Cedric’s story to herself. It wasn’t that she thought Shannon would rat him out to the cops. Shannon might not have grown up in the foster system, but she still had a pretty healthy distrust of authority figures in general, and she would never turn Cedric over if Liv asked her not to.

  Still, she didn’t want to imagine what Shannon would say if she knew the whole story. That Liv was attacked by a stranger in an alley and saved by a mysterious boy who dresses as a security guard and thinks demon creatures are chasing him. . . . She wouldn’t even know how to begin that conversation.

  Liv could feel a headache building up in her left temple. A part of her wanted to turn back and take a different bus to her favorite spot along the LA riverbed, just so she could be alone and think in peace for a few hours, but she knew she should go home first and put actual disinfectant and bandages on her cuts.

  The bus was mostly empty. An elderly woman sat with her eyes closed a few benches up. In the back, a large man sat with his back straight against the seat. Liv glanced over and gave a small start when she realized he was looking directly at her.

  The man’s face was craggy and lined, his shaggy hair a light gray that bordered on white. His hands were folded neatly in his lap. But it was his eyes that rattled Liv—they were dark, too dark, and still, and they didn’t break contact with hers. The faint lines around the edge of the man’s mouth deepened a bit, revealing the tiniest of smiles.

  Liv looked away and tried to calm her heartbeat. Just a creep on the bus. Happens all the time. After a few moments, she risked a look back at the man. He was still staring at her.

  Paranoid or not, she wasn’t taking any chances. The events of the night had left her too on edge. The bus came to another stop, and Liv jumped up at the last minute and ran toward the front door as it opened. She looked behind and saw that the man had also risen from his seat and was standing at the opened door in the back of the bus. She took a deep breath and started down the stairs to the street.