Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Becky braced herself between two higher branches and pulled off her glove. Her hand trembled in the air before she forced her palm down on the branch she sat on.

  Excitement, satisfaction, and a delight in his own cleverness surged through Henry. And beneath that a simmering anger—a familiar anger. I don’t belong in this family. I’m meant for something better. Everyone will see it now.

  A strong, pale, freckled hand reached out. The anger flared through his belly, surging out in a flash of heat. A white-hot fireball exploded from his palm, shooting out over the wall and falling into the bone-dry cornfield.

  Now I’ll be a hero.

  Becky opened her eyes and clung to the branches as she fought against the sob threatening to tear from her ribs. Poor Henry. She buried her eyes against her sleeve. Ever since it had occurred to her that he could be the arsonist, she’d known in her heart that it was true—that she’d seen little signs all along. She’d wanted so much to be wrong.

  But she’d never guessed that he was Changed. How long had he been hiding that secret? In their family, nobody really talked to each other, because nobody trusted anybody, not with blame constantly hurled around. Henry must have felt terrible when the Change came, every bit as terrible as she had. And then he’d seen what had happened to her when she’d told.

  All he’d wanted was to be respected. She’d wanted that, too. He was angry. So was she. She’d just been too scared to show it. If she’d gotten his power and he’d gotten hers, would she have been the one to throw fire over the wall?

  “Becky?” Sheriff Crow called. “Have you found anything?”

  Becky pretended not to hear. For the first time, it occurred to her that she could keep a secret, too. No one could see what she had seen. All she’d have to do was claim that she’d seen nothing. She could talk to Henry privately, and warn him to never set a fire again.

  She could imagine that conversation. Henry would deny it, but if she pushed, he’d grin and say, “Don’t be so serious, Beck! It was a joke that got out of hand, that’s all. Of course I’ll never do it again.”

  But this was his third fire. His first would have killed Hans Ruiz if Alfonso hadn’t arrived on time. But instead of stopping or even being more careful, Henry had gotten more reckless. His fire on the cliffs could have killed the entire patrol. And his third fire was the biggest and most dangerous of them all. Would anything make him stop?

  Becky remembered Henry talking about how many soldiers he’d killed in the battle. That didn’t prove anything about him, of course. Half of Las Anclas had fought that night, and many of them had killed. Jennie had. Ross had, and Becky had heard him cry out in his sleep while he’d lain ill and delirious in the infirmary. Even Mia had.

  Brisa had told Becky how strange it felt to know that she had killed people when she’d blown up Voske’s ammunition dump. Her usually cheery face had been uncharacteristically solemn, her words stumbling as she’d tried to express feelings she didn’t quite understand herself.

  “I don’t feel guilty,” Brisa had said at last. “I know I did the right thing. I was protecting Las Anclas. It just feels . . . strange. Especially since I never saw the bodies close up. I don’t even know how many there were. Maybe if I did, it would’ve given me nightmares. But . . . I kind of feel like maybe I should have seen their faces. Like I owed them that.” Brisa had shaken her head, but in confusion rather than denial. “I guess if I become a Ranger, I’ll find out what that’s like. They fight up-close.”

  Becky herself had helped to take a life, handing Dr. Lee the poppy elixir. Mr. Gutierrez had glanced up as she’d arrived with the bottle, and he’d actually tried to smile at her. He’d been dying anyway; all she’d done was ease his passage. But it would haunt her till her own dying day.

  Henry had bragged about the number of enemies he’d snuffed. Even if he were making a show of unconcern to seem tough and brave, Becky had sensed that deep down, he’d meant it. It was as if those soldiers hadn’t been people to him.

  Becky glanced down at the sheriff’s upturned face. “Just a moment!”

  She gazed out at the blackened field. Sheriff Crow had sent away a man she loved because he’d tried to kill a citizen of Las Anclas. Henry had endangered every person in the town. For the first time, Becky understood that that meant her, too. What had Brisa’s great-grandmother said? You accept responsibility for your own actions . . .

  Becky slowly began to climb down. The bark felt as cold as the bottle of poppy elixir. She’d thought she never wanted to be involved in that kind of decision again. And yet here she was, holding another person’s life in her hands.

  Hot tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her view of the sheriff’s face. “It was my brother. He’s got a Change power.”

  “I see,” Sheriff Crow sounded completely unsurprised. Becky wondered how long she’d suspected that. “Good work, Becky. And I’m sorry.”

  Silently Brisa slid an arm around Becky, who leaned gratefully into her warmth. She hadn’t even noticed that she was shivering. That sob was trying to get out again, and her throat tightened.

  “I know it feels like your responsibility, as if you’re exiling him,” Sheriff Crow said, echoing Becky’s own thoughts up there in the tree. “But this fire was not your choice. Henry was the one who set fires and risked other people’s lives.”

  She handed Becky her canteen. Becky wiped her eyes on her grimy sleeves and took a drink. “I’m all right now.” She wasn’t, of course. But she still had a job to do.

  “Then let’s go report,” the sheriff said.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Felicité

  Felicité climbed wearily up to the command center and once again mopped her face, though the air had cooled considerably. But she felt grimy and filthy, and the memory of those scales changing her skin made her constantly want to scrub at it. Her father gave her a concerned glance, and she yanked her hand away.

  “Sheriff Crow and Becky said they hadn’t found anything yet,” she reported.

  Indra and his team of Rangers walked up below the platform. “Fire’s out,” Indra called.

  A cheer rose. Daddy smiled. Then his smile faded. “Jennie Riley, what are you doing with the Rangers?”

  It took Felicité a moment to spot Jennie, who wasn’t standing tall and stuck-up the way she normally did. She lurked behind Indra as if she’d snuck into a place where she didn’t belong, and knew she ought to be ashamed of herself. As indeed she should!

  “I needed her on my fire team.” Indra sounded neither apologetic nor defensive, but simply stating a fact.

  “The fire is out,” Daddy said, echoing Indra’s tone. But his angry gaze was directed at Jennie as he said, “You’re done here.”

  Jennie walked away without a word, her face expressionless. Only then did Daddy congratulate the Rangers.

  Felicité knew then that Daddy would never forgive Jennie. She’d sometimes wondered if Jennie could worm her way back into Daddy’s good graces with some especially heroic deed, which Felicité had to admit Jennie was entirely capable of. But now Felicité knew that nothing she did would ever be good enough. Daddy knew Jennie was brave and capable, but he’d always known that. It didn’t matter. There were some things that Daddy would never—could never—forgive.

  Felicité didn’t miss the tightening of Indra’s face, or the other subtle ways that the Rangers showed their anger. It was obvious that they all thought Jennie deserved to be commended, too, and equally obvious that none of them would say so. They might not approve of Daddy’s actions, but they would never speak against them. He’d disciplined them well. That discipline would be good for Henry, once he got back into Ranger training.

  The crowd below parted. Sheriff Crow appeared, followed by Becky and Brisa. Becky was once again staring at her feet, and though Felicité couldn’t see her face, every line of her body reflected the old Becky, timid and miserable. A sparkle fell to the ground. Was Becky crying?

  “Do you have anything to report?” Dad
dy asked.

  “Yes.” But Sheriff Crow didn’t look triumphant. In fact, she seemed grim, though that might only be her ghastly face. When she reached Daddy’s side, she spoke so quietly that Felicité could barely hear her. “I don’t want this spread across town before we can do something about it.”

  Daddy stepped to the rail. “Rangers, dismissed. The rest of you, go home. Good job.”

  Everyone left, except Mia, who stood looking nervously from Daddy to the sheriff to Felicité.

  Brisa piped up, “I already know.”

  Daddy gave her an irritated glance, then turned to the sheriff. “Do we need her?”

  “We might,” Sheriff Crow replied.

  The only reason anyone would need Brisa was for her power to explode stone. What in the world was going on that they might need a potentially lethal Change power?

  “Henry Callahan is Changed,” Sheriff Crow said. “He can shoot fireballs a distance of ten yards. He started this fire, and probably the others as well. Seems like he wanted to be a hero.”

  “He did not!” Felicité heard her own voice rise in an ugly shriek. “You’re crazy!”

  “Becky saw it,” the sheriff said.

  Felicité turned on Becky, and there were the twin tracks of tears running down her cheeks. Felicité’s fury froze into cold shock. Becky would never make that up.

  Felicité turned desperately to Daddy, hoping he would explain why Becky was mistaken. But he didn’t even look surprised. “We’d better go find him.”

  Mia had started to slink away, but Daddy said, “Mia. You’d better stay.”

  She jumped, the tools on her ridiculous harness clattering. “Oh! You might need . . . water? Engineering advice? Explosions?”

  “I hope we won’t need explosions,” he said grimly. “Or water, either. But we might.”

  “Let’s try to avoid backing him into a corner,” Sheriff Crow said to Daddy. “I think he was specifically trying to impress you.”

  “Then I should be the one to talk to him,” Daddy said. “I’ll take him aside. I should be able to get him to surrender peacefully, once we’re alone. The rest of you follow in case I need backup, but hang back out of sight.”

  “What if I talk to him?” Felicité offered.

  From the surprise in Daddy’s eyes, she realized that he’d actually forgotten that Henry was her boyfriend. He patted her shoulder. “No, darling. That boy is not what you thought he was. He’s dangerous. Stay here.”

  He walked down with the others. Felicité lingered on the platform, watching them go. She wanted to believe that everyone was wrong, but like Daddy, once she’d gotten over the shock, she wasn’t really surprised. Henry did want to be a hero. He wouldn’t have meant to hurt anyone. He didn’t intend to do this much damage. He was impulsive. She could all too easily imagine him grinning and saying, “Just kidding!”

  Felicité’s shock gave way to hurt, then anger. How could he have not told her? If he’d only trusted her enough to confide in her, she’d have warned him not to do anything crazy. He didn’t need to start a fire to be a hero. Felicité could have made up some story about him saving her life and coached him on it.

  Of course he had a Change power. His sister was Changed. And Becky had been thrown out of her own home. He’d probably thought Felicité would hate him if he told her.

  She ground her teeth, remembering every conversation they’d had about Changed people, and how they’d assured each other that they hated the people and their powers. They’d each lied so the other wouldn’t reject them.

  If he’d only told her, she could have revealed her own secret. What if Henry had been The One after all? He might not have cared about her gills and scales. Maybe he’d only said he thought physical Changes were ugly because he thought she believed it. She could have had one person who knew everything and loved her anyway.

  Maybe she still could. His secret was out now, so she could tell him hers. She just needed to think up some excuse he could give Daddy so he wouldn’t be exiled. People got away with all sorts of stuff in Las Anclas. Jennie, Mia, and Yuki had locked her into a fruit shed all day to cover up their treason, and they’d gotten off with a mere two weeks in jail.

  Treason was worse than arson. If those three could weasel out of exile, then Henry certainly wouldn’t have to go. Felicité could still salvage things. She just had to get to Henry before Daddy did.

  She raced down the stairs. Daddy had gone toward Main Street. Felicité knew that Henry had been fighting the fire with the team sent to the stream beyond the mill. They would be coming back into town now that the fire was over.

  Daddy would know that, too, but he and his group were trying not to attract any attention. They’d walk normally, and with any luck, they’d be slowed down by the usual busybodies trying to start conversations. But it didn’t matter if anyone saw Felicité running. She was a messenger. If anyone asked, she’d invent a message.

  She ran behind the buildings to make sure Daddy didn’t see her, and reached the gate at the same time as the fire teams coming back to town. Felicité scanned their sooty faces until she spotted Henry, tired but triumphant. Her heart twisted at the sight of him, and again, even more painfully, when he saw her and gave her that familiar joyous grin.

  “Felicité! You came to meet me!” Henry called.

  “I did!” She plastered on a smile. Turning to the fire team captain, she said, “Mind if I take him?”

  If the captain had refused, Felicité would have invented a message from Daddy on the spot. But the woman shrugged. “Go ahead. We’re done here.”

  Felicité silently hustled him to the north wall harvest barn, which was the nearest place with any privacy.

  “What’s wrong?” Henry asked. “You look—”

  “Shh.” Felicité pulled him inside.

  As soon as she closed the door, Henry laughed. “Oh! That’s what you wanted. Any time.” He put his arms around her and bent to kiss her.

  She braced her palms against his chest. “Not now. This is important. Daddy is coming right now. To talk to you.” Felicité swallowed, the words burning in her throat. While she tried to figure out what to say, she backed up to light the lantern that always waited by the door.

  “About the Rangers?” he asked hopefully, following her. “You should have seen me out there. I put out more fires than any three people—”

  “Henry, Daddy knows,” Felicité said.

  His smile vanished. He stared down, the light of the lantern flame flickering in his eyes. “Knows what?”

  “About you. And your Change.”

  His eyes widened in an expression she had never seen before. Then it was gone, replaced by a “You’re kidding, right?” Grin. “What Change? Felicité, that’s not funny.”

  Felicité wanted to shake him. “We know you set that fire—all the fires.”

  “Set it? I fought it!”

  “Daddy knows about everything, Henry. Stop arguing. He’s on his way. You’ve got to tell him you didn’t know you were Changed. You only realized that you must have accidentally set those fires when you started this one.”

  Henry froze, his face gone blank. Like shutters had slammed down and closed him off.

  She talked even faster. “Say you get dizzy. Feverish. Then it’s like you wake up, and you don’t remember the last few minutes. But today, you realized what must have happened. You were afraid to say anything while there was a crisis, in case it distracted people from their work. But you were going to confess as soon as it was over. And you fought that fire harder than anyone. Maybe you felt so guilty, you didn’t even care if you got killed fighting the fire that you accidentally started.”

  “Felicité,” Henry said, reaching for her.

  The door slammed open, shocking them both. Henry pulled her to him as they turned—

  “Felicité!” Daddy stood in the doorway, the lantern light shining on his furious face. “Get away from my daughter, you monster!”

  Henry backed away, hi
s eyes wild. Felicité watched in horror, the word monster echoing in her ears.

  “Stop!” Felicité shouted, not knowing if she were yelling at Henry or at Daddy.

  A white light gathered in the palm of Henry’s hand.

  Daddy lunged at him, yelling, “Felicité! Drop!”

  Henry raised his hand. And then toppled, crashing into a pile of empty crates.

  Stunned, Felicité whirled around. Sheriff Crow and Daddy were skidding to a stop on either side of Henry. And in the doorway, silhouetted against the floodlights, Becky Callahan stood holding the cloud viper gun, tears dripping down her face.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: Becky

  The sheriff picked up Henry from the splintered crates. He was stiff, his eyes closed. The only movement was a thin trail of blood trickling down his face.

  He was Becky’s brother. And she’d shot him. She leaned against the barn door, shadows swimming at the edge of her vision.

  Mia’s urgent voice spoke at her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Brisa’s arms slid around Becky, holding her up. “You saved Mr. Preston’s life. Whatever Henry was going to throw was aimed right at him.”

  Becky gulped in a breath. Her fingers trembled as she tried to give the gun to Mia.

  “Keep it, Becky,” Mia said. “You were terrific.”

  “That’s right,” Sheriff Crow said as she passed by the girls with Henry in her arms. “She was. How are you doing, Becky? Do you want to go home?”

  Becky couldn’t run away now. She had to follow this all the way to the end. “No. I’ll come.”

  The sheriff waded into the crowd that had gathered outside the barn, shouting, “Stand clear!” To Mia, she asked, “How long is he going to be paralyzed?”

  Mia eyed Henry. “Um, looks like he weighs about one seventy-five, so I’d guess four minutes thirty seconds. Approximately. You’ve got one minute twenty seconds left.” After a pause, she added, “Approximately.”