Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  A servant opened the door. As Jennie placed her shoes on the rack, she heard a very deliberate sniff. Even the servant was sneering at her. Jennie was debating whether explaining would make her look better or worse when the mayor walked in.

  It was clearly not Jennie’s day. Mayor Wolfe was always elegant, without a hair of her chignon out of place, but as if she’d set out to create the worst possible contrast between their appearances, she wore her single most intimidating outfit. Mia called it the Button Dress. It was a close-fitting, severely cut gown with about fifty polished jet-black buttons in two lines down the front, making her glitter as if she wore shining armor. Jennie supposed it was armor, of a sort.

  “Please excuse my—” Jennie choked off a gulp of laughter as she thought, smell. “—appearance. The brewery is giving out free beer, and a guy with a mug spilled his all over me.”

  “I expect that a certain element in town is positively swimming in it. And I am quite aware that you are not among them. A least, not voluntarily.” The mayor smiled in an apparent attempt to put Jennie at ease, but no one could relax in the presence of the Button Dress. “Please come into the parlor.”

  Jennie was relieved that at least the mayor understood about the beer. Then she took in the meaning of the parlor invitation. If her summons had been purely business, she would have been invited into the office. The parlor meant it was at least partly personal. Jennie couldn’t imagine what personal matter could involve her and the mayor, but it couldn’t be anything good.

  Jennie gingerly sat on the parlor’s least fancy chair, which was still embroidered satin, and reminded herself not to lean back. She remembered Mia’s account of her disastrous visit to Wolfe House, when she’d demonstrated her collapsible cudgel and accidentally knocked a candy dish flying. The bowl was now atop a mantelpiece, well out of reach of the guest chairs.

  They’ve Mia-proofed the parlor, Jennie thought, stifling a grin. If that was even possible. If Mia ever returned, it would probably be with a long-distance weapon.

  The mayor smiled graciously. “As you know, Felicité’s eighteenth birthday is coming up. She would like to celebrate it with her graduation. I brought you here to ask for your honest opinion. Do you think she’s ready?”

  At that, everything became clear. If the mayor needed to know this far in advance, she must be planning a party that involved the entire town.

  Jennie glanced at the half-circle of scars on her hand. Months after she’d been bitten, they were still pink, extremely noticeable against her dark skin. She might bear the marks of Felicité’s teeth till the day she died.

  Jennie longed to say, “No, she needs at least another year. Poor thing, she’s just not very bright.”

  She took a deep breath to keep her voice calm and businesslike. “Yes, I think she’s ready. I know Grandma Wolfe wanted her to read all the histories and town records in our library. She hasn’t finished with them, but she could read the rest on her own.” Let Felicité’s laziness be someone else’s problem.

  “Are there any other areas of concern?” Mayor Wolfe asked.

  If Felicité found a subject boring, she put in the minimum of effort, then stopped. But her mother undoubtedly knew that, so Jennie could phrase it delicately without worrying that she’d be misunderstood.

  “She’s shaky on science and math, but I’ve taken her as far as she can go with those. In terms of physical training, she’s competent with a crossbow. But when it comes to hand-to-hand combat . . .” Jennie was at a loss for delicate phrasing there. Felicité refused to even put in the minimum of effort. She’d go through the motions, but at half-speed. Jennie had literally never seen her exert herself enough to sweat.

  “She’s not ready to fight,” Jennie said bluntly. “And I don’t think she ever will be. She should never be given a battle position where she could end up facing an enemy at close quarters. But academically, she’s ready to graduate.”

  “Thank you for being so honest,” Mayor Wolfe replied. “I was primarily concerned about her academics. There are many people who can’t or don’t fight, but they serve in other ways.”

  Jennie had certainly never seen Mayor Wolfe train. She couldn’t even imagine it.

  “Thank you, dear.” Buttons flashed as the mayor rose.

  Dismissed.

  Jennie jumped to her feet, a waft of drying beer rising with her. She couldn’t get out the door fast enough. As it closed behind her, she grinned, imagining the mayor ordering the sniffing servant to clean her chair and light scented candles. The interview had been a success after all: Jennie would finally get Felicité out of the schoolhouse. As far as Jennie was concerned, they could then avoid each other for the rest of their lives.

  She walked down the hedge-lined path, alone in the dimming light. Everyone in town who wasn’t at Wolfe House must be out campaigning.

  Or almost everyone. Someone stood on a ladder leaning against a lamp post, working on the electrical cable. A very familiar someone, a wiry figure with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Of course he wouldn’t be campaigning.

  “Ross?”

  A curtain of black hair swung aside as Ross peered over his shoulder. “Jennie? Hang on. Almost done.”

  He connected two cables, working deftly with his right hand. The lamp flickered to life, bathing him in golden light.

  She remembered the first time she’d seen him, in outgrown jeans and a baggy shirt, his collarbones and wrist bones and cheekbones far too prominent. Some boys his age were thin because they’d grown so fast that their weight hadn’t caught up with their height, but it had been obvious that Ross wasn’t getting enough to eat. Or enough human contact. He’d spoken so softly that she could barely hear him and looked her in the eye maybe twice in half an hour, for about a second per glance.

  She was thinking that his life had to have been so rough. But when he glanced up, her thoughts changed: he had such beautiful eyes.

  He’d lost weight during his time as a prisoner at Gold Point, but had put some muscle back on since he’d returned. And he’d finally acquired some clothes that fit. He wore a simple work shirt, but his shoulders and arms filled it out nicely, and the white cotton was a perfect contrast to his smooth brown skin and glossy black hair.

  And his body wasn’t all that had changed. He’d always been a brilliant fighter, but when he’d first arrived, he’d relaxed while they were sparring, then tensed up the instant they stopped. But now when he practiced at the workout sessions at the Vardams’ clearing, he helped his junior partners, advising Jose on his stance or straightening Becky’s wrist, and sat down and talked during the breaks.

  And, of course, when he’d first arrived, he’d flinched from any touch but sparring practice. Now he not only let her touch him, he reached out to touch her. To pull her close, caress her body, draw her in for a kiss. There was nothing hesitant about his kisses now. Once he’d gotten past the first awkwardness, he kissed like he sparred, with ease and passion and skill, his body moving in perfect sync with hers. The chemistry between them had never faded. If anything, it had gotten more intense. She could feel it between them now, a heat that traveled from his body to hers through ten feet of empty air.

  When would he be ready to do more than kiss and touch? They’d never gone farther than him taking his shirt off, and touching her beneath hers. She was sure he was dying to see her with her blouse off, but whenever she started to lift it or move his hands to do the same, he’d freeze and she’d feel his heart speed up in a way that had nothing to do with desire. And then she’d back off until he relaxed again.

  It wasn’t sex specifically that scared him, that was obvious. He reacted the same way in all sorts of non-sexual situations. She’d been pleasantly surprised when he’d agreed to go to church with her, but once the service started, he’d looked tense. More than tense—haunted. There’d been a moment when she’d thought he’d run out, and she still had no idea what had set that off.

  But Jennie didn’t think it was some long-forg
otten moment that made him freeze up when their touching went past a certain point. She had a sense that what unnerved him was a feeling or atmosphere—not something sexual in itself, but something that came along with sex. Closeness, maybe. Safety. Relaxation. Trust. Intimacy.

  After all this time, part of him was still that wary boy who couldn’t meet her eyes.

  A surge of impatience rose in her, but she squashed it down. People were ready when they were ready. Some early, some late. Some never.

  What if it is never? Jennie thought, unable to stop herself. Will I be satisfied with just kissing and a little bit of touching, forever

  It been so easy with Indra . . .

  Sex had been easy with Indra, Jennie corrected herself. Other things hadn’t been. They’d broken up because he’d wanted to move in together, and he hadn’t let it go when she’d told him she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do the same thing to Ross that Indra had done to her.

  “Finished,” Ross said, indicating the cable. “Not even a raccoon could undo that.”

  As he climbed down and stowed his tools in his carryall, she admired the long lashes that brushed his cheeks. He had no idea how handsome he was, but that only added to his attraction. It was like he was something special and precious that only she knew about.

  Well. Only her and Mia.

  Remembering Jack and Sheriff Crow, Jennie held out her hand to him, then waited. Ross glanced around warily, then came to her. His strong arms closed around her. The steel gauntlet stayed at her waist, but he slid his bare hand up her back. Whether he was doing it on purpose or not, the slowness of his touch sent delicious shivers up her spine. He toyed with the agate beads he’d given her, making them click together, then moved her braids aside and laid his palm on the bare skin of her neck.

  Jennie swallowed, her breath catching. Ross pulled her head down and tilted his head back. His hair fell away from his face, and their lips met. And then Jennie stopped thinking of anything at all, and melted into his kiss.

  When they finally broke apart, Ross gave a puzzled sniff. “Did someone spill beer on you?”

  Jennie laughed. “Okay, I’m going home to take a bath now.”

  “I’ll walk you,” Ross said. If Indra had said that, he’d have meant, “to bathe with you.” But Ross clearly just meant, “to your house.”

  Don’t push, Jennie reminded herself.

  “Thanks.” She took his hand. That, he had no problem with. She gave him a run-down of her afternoon as they walked down the Hill.

  Ross looked more and more alarmed as she described the mob scene. “Is that still going on? I came here to get away from it. Mia’s locked herself in her cottage.”

  “Campaigning will probably go past midnight. Or until Grandma Thakrar’s beer runs out. And then it’ll all start up again tomorrow morning.”

  Ross’s dark eyes widened. “There isn’t any way to Mia’s that dodges everyone, is there?”

  “Not unless you want to walk the sentry wall all the way around Las Anclas.”

  “I might,” Ross muttered. “Is it going to be like this until the election?”

  He looked so horrified that she stifled a laugh. “Afraid so.”

  As they passed the Callahan house, Ross gave it a wide berth. Jennie felt the same instinct. It looked like any other house, but ever since she was small, she’d avoided walking too close. Maybe it was it the way the windows were always shut tight and the shades drawn, even at the height of summer. It felt . . . wrong.

  Maybe it was just that Mrs. Callahan lived there. She was never at a loss for an unkind word. Whenever Jennie had to deal with her, she had to work hard not to snap back. It was as if irritation were contagious.

  “I’ll walk you,” Jennie said as they turned at Pottery Circle. “If anyone tries to electioneer at you, I’ll waft beer fumes in their face.” She sniffed at herself. “Horse, too.”

  Ross gave her the sweet, elusive smile that always kindled warmth inside her. “Deal.”

  His shoulders and jaw tensed as they approached the town square, as if he expected someone to attack him at any second. Jennie dropped back a step, guarding his flank, and saw him relax a little.

  As they reached the surgery, the door opened and a pale face peered out.

  “Hi—” Jennie began.

  Becky’s gaze traveled past her and spotted the crowd beyond. The blonde girl’s wariness flashed into terror. She ducked back inside and slammed the door.

  Poor Becky, Jennie thought. Maybe once she’d finished escorting Ross, she ought to walk Becky home, too. The girl hadn’t ever had to deal with anything worse than her acid-tongued mother and equally unpleasant grandmother, but Jennie supposed that if you were a naturally timid person, a lifetime of scolding could have the same effect as a lifetime of people actually trying to kill you.

  “Jennie?” The voice was unmistakable: sugar with a faintly sour edge. Like burnt caramel.

  Ross whipped around; Jennie turned more sedately.

  Felicité Wolfe was a walking campaign declaration, gold and red from head to toe. Her dress and long scarf were crimson, while her parasol and huge sunhat were gold.

  Whoever went around with a parasol and a hat, Jennie wondered—not for the first time. It was so fussily pretentious, and had to be uncomfortable. But Felicité had been that way for years.

  Felicité’s golden spy rat trotted at her heels. Jennie choked down a snicker at the thought of Wu Zetian voting for Mayor Wolfe with her tiny pink paws.

  “Jennie!” Felicité exclaimed, as if she couldn’t recognize Jennie from the back. “Just the person I wanted to talk to.”

  Ross froze at Jennie’s side. She knew exactly how he felt. She’d done her best to avoid Felicité outside of the schoolhouse, but Las Anclas was far too small for that to last forever.

  Felicité’s gaze dropped to Jennie’s hand. Jennie had made it through years of Ranger training, a battle, multiple encounters with dangerous animals and plants, and a fight with the formidable Kerry Voske without acquiring any major permanent scars, only to be bitten by Felicité. It still made her angry. Her only consolation was that Felicité was undoubtedly reliving a memory that must fill her with equal rage, of Jennie tying her up, gagging her, and locking her in a fruit shed all day.

  Jennie waited in silence until Felicité said, “Did you talk to my mother about my graduation?”

  “Yes,” said Jennie.

  She’d make Felicité ask her for it. But Felicité seemed to have resolved to make Jennie volunteer the information. Neither girl spoke. The tension between them was palpable.

  Ross spun around and bolted into Mia’s cottage, slamming the door behind him. Jennie wished she could follow him. But Ross could get away with things like that. Everyone was used to it and expected it from him. The expectations placed on Jennie were entirely different; people whose opinion she cared about would be shocked and disappointed if she simply fled from unpleasant situations. She held her ground.

  Felicité broke the silence.

  “Mother trusts your judgment, so I’m sure you gave me a good report. Thank you very much.” Felicité gave Jennie an extra-sweet smile.

  Now Jennie had to tell her, or she’d look childish. Resigned, Jennie said, “I said you were ready to graduate. You can start planning your party now.”

  But Felicité didn’t move. She must have some other agenda as well.

  Here it comes, Jennie thought.

  Sure enough, Felicité flicked invisible dust off her crimson sleeve, smoothed her scarf, and said, “I know you and Daddy have had some serious differences.”

  Jennie had to marvel at Felicité’s way with words: “serious differences,” meaning that he’d thrown her in jail, called her a traitor, and forever banned her from the Rangers. For doing the right thing. And in return, she’d revealed to the entire town that he’d tried to have Ross murdered.

  Those were more than differences. Those were actions that neither would forget or forgive for the rest of their lives
.

  “But I know you’re much too mature to let personal matters sway you from what’s best for the town.” Felicité paused as if waiting for a response.

  Jennie smiled. There was no longer any reason to hold back from doing something she’d longed to do for years. She held out her hand, tugged with her mind, and jerked a smooth lump of metal from Mia’s yard. It smacked into her palm. Jennie looked into Felicité’s eyes as she used her Change power to tug the metal from one hand to the other as if she were juggling.

  I dare you to call me a mutant, Jennie thought. The way you called Ross a mutant in front of every teenager in Las Anclas.

  Felicité’s jaw clenched. Then she spoke in her accustomed sugary tone. “Yes. You are, as everyone knows, one of the best fighters in town. And who trained you? Daddy—”

  “Sera Diaz,” Jennie said, her heart constricting.

  Felicité’s lips tightened, then she dipped her head in acknowledgment. To Jennie’s surprise, it seemed sincere.

  “Sera and Daddy,” Felicité corrected herself. “But defense is my father’s charge. He can protect Las Anclas. You know how well he trains people, and you know that people are the strength of the town. Not machines, like Mr. Horst thinks.”

  Jennie couldn’t help agreeing, but that only annoyed her more. She kept silent.

  “I’m confident that you’ll vote for the safety of Las Anclas,” Felicité went on. Then the sugar dropped out of her voice, leaving a startling echo of Mr. Preston’s steel. “Because you and I and Daddy know that Voske is coming back.”

  Jennie counted to five inwardly, then said, “Are you done?”

  That would have wilted most people, but Felicité said brightly, “I am, indeed. Are you going to talk to Mia, too?” Her crimson skirts swishing, she marched up to Mia’s cottage, leaving Jennie to follow.

  It was a masterly maneuver, Jennie had to admit, worthy of the mayor herself. With Jennie behind Felicité, Mia would have to open the door.