Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Sheriff Crow bolted for the jail, using her full Changed speed. Becky followed with Brisa at her side, leaving Mr. Preston behind to deal with everyone’s questions.

  When they reached the jail, the sheriff had laid Henry on a cot in a cell. She’d already put the manacles Mia had made for Kerry on Henry and was wrapping cloth around his hands, binding his palms together. Uneasily, Becky remembered that they’d done that to Kerry, too.

  Henry began to twitch and stir just as Sheriff Crow finished. She quickly backed out of the cell and locked the door behind her. Becky scrubbed her eyes on her sleeve. But no matter what she did, the tears kept welling up.

  “Come on, Becky.” Sheriff Crow led the way to her private room on the other side of the jail. To Brisa, she said, “Do you mind staying out here with the deputy? She’ll be right out.”

  “Sure,” Brisa said instantly. “I’ll help guard.”

  “Thanks.” Sheriff Crow led Becky into her room and closed the door. Aunt Rosa’s quilt covered the bed, and two chairs sat at a small table under the window. Becky dropped into one, her knees wobbly.

  The sheriff sat in the other. “I’ll tell you one thing. There is nothing you’ll ever do in this job that’s harder than what you just did.”

  “I had to,” Becky said. “I don’t think Henry meant to attack anybody. But he was going to. Brisa said I saved Mr. Preston’s life.”

  Sheriff Crow nodded. “You also saved your brother from becoming a murderer. He’s done things he can’t take back, but at least he didn’t do that.”

  “He’s going to be exiled, isn’t he.” It wasn’t even a question.

  “Afraid so. But at least he won’t be executed for murder.” Encouragingly, Sheriff Crow said, “This isn’t the end of his life. It’s more like a new beginning. We’ll give him supplies. He’s young and strong. He can make a good life somewhere else. Maybe he’ll find a Changed town where he’ll be welcome.”

  The anvil that had been pressing on Becky’s heart lifted. The sheriff was right. Henry would get a second chance.

  “And now we come to you,” the sheriff said. “Your work with Meredith and Jennie has really paid off.”

  “But they can both still beat me. Everyone in our practice group can.”

  “Not everyone can shoot straight,” Sheriff Crow said. “Even after far more practice than you’ve had. Very few people, adults included, can hit a moving target on an instant’s notice, with people rushing around in front of them, when they’re under a huge amount of pressure. You did that, Becky.”

  Becky knew the sheriff well enough by now to be able to read the subtle changes in her expressions. Sheriff Crow was proud of her. She was impressed by her. Despite Becky’s sadness, a tentative smile tugged at her mouth. Not many people impressed Sheriff Crow.

  “You went above and beyond today,” the sheriff continued. “But even before that, I’ve been thinking about you. Your integrity, your intelligence, your aim, your grace under pressure—those are all qualities I’d want in a sheriff. I always figured I’d tap one of my deputies as my apprentice, but none of them ever seemed quite right. But you do.”

  Becky was so amazed, she didn’t know what to say. The sheriff had plenty of deputies. She’d even temporarily deputized Ross and Mia during the battle. But she’d never had an apprentice.

  “Think about it, Becky,” the sheriff said, and she smiled. “You don’t need to decide right now. I know you’re under a lot of stress—”

  “Sheriff Crow, I would love to be your apprentice.” Becky gulped, aware that she’d actually interrupted the sheriff.

  Sheriff Crow laughed and clapped Becky on the shoulder. “I’ll see about getting you a badge—”

  The door banged open.

  Becky whipped around. Her stomach cramped as her mother charged in, Brisa’s yell echoing behind her: “Wait!”

  “Rebecca Callahan, how dare you!” Mom screamed. “Just because you’re a mutant, you dare to accuse your brother? You probably started those fires yourself!”

  Becky had frozen at her mother’s sudden appearance. For a heartbeat, all the old terror kept her in place. But she was not at home. She was the sheriff’s apprentice. She had just saved a life. And her mother had barged into the sheriff’s private space.

  Becky stood up. “Get out.”

  It was her mother’s turn to freeze in shock.

  “Get. Out,” Becky said louder, advancing on Mom. “This is Sheriff Crow’s room. You don’t belong in here.”

  Sheriff Crow stood at her shoulder, but said nothing. Becky knew with the instinct she was beginning to trust that the sheriff was letting her resolve this on her own.

  She took another step. Mom backed through the door, her face mottled with rage. Then she turned to Henry. He was standing by the cell door, his face pale and his lips pressed tight together as if he’d never smile again. The image of him forcing a grin to placate Dad flashed before Becky’s eyes, churning up her stomach.

  “You chose to be a mutant,” Mom shrieked. “That’s the only way it can happen. You betrayed me and your entire family.” She spun to shake a finger at Becky. “And you, with your monster girlfriend, you probably put him up to it!”

  The cold nausea in Becky’s stomach turned to hot rage. Her entire body burned with it, as if she’d been engulfed in one of Henry’s fires.

  “If anyone is to blame, it’s you.” Becky spoke so loudly that her last word echoed. “You’re the one who always told him he wasn’t good enough. He had to be a Ranger, he had to be a hero, he had to be defense chief some day. You made life so miserable that we could never tell the truth. We would’ve been safer outside the walls at night than in our own home.”

  Mom gasped. “I did everything for you and Henry! And all I’ve heard all my life is ingratitude. Everybody takes advantage of me . . .”

  Becky remembered walking through the house at night, seeing all the anger and pain of years. Grandma Ida sneering at Mom. Dad hitting Henry. Becky felt sorry for Mom, but mainly she wanted to never see her again.

  “I grew up hearing every mean thing Grandma Ida said to you, and what you and Dad said to each other. And I know what Dad did to Henry.” Becky held up her gloved hand. “I saw it with my Change power. No one’s ever been happy in that house. You could stop yelling at us right now. You could take responsibility for your own mistakes. But you’re not going to, are you?”

  Mom stood still, breathing hard, her face brick red. Becky looked into eyes as round and blue as her own, and saw the young Martha staring back.

  Then Mom’s eyes narrowed. Angrily, she muttered, “This is all your father’s fault. If he hadn’t run off and left me to raise two children . . .”

  Becky turned away. There would always be someone else to blame. Always.

  But she wasn’t going to accept that blame. Not anymore.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Felicité

  Felicité slipped away from the crowd around the barn.

  The entire town seemed to have gathered, and everybody wanted their opinion heard. Especially by Daddy. Mr. Horst had shoved his way to the front, but no one paid any more attention to him than they would to an ordinary citizen. She was certain that half the people there had literally forgotten that he was the defense chief now.

  He should have held a fire drill the day after the barn fire, Felicité thought. But he’d been too busy patting himself on the back for the new, better weapons that would be made at his forge.

  She walked to the jail, intending to see Henry. But she didn’t know what to say to him, and when she arrived, she could hear Mrs. Callahan all the way through the closed door. There was no chance of a private conversation.

  Felicité stood outside, at a loss. She felt terrible, inside and out. Her head throbbed, her entire body ached—even her hand hurt. A big red patch and small blisters covered her wrist and the back of her hand. She didn’t even remember getting burned.

  She headed for the infirmary, where a long line of people snaked o
ver the porch and spilled into the street. She circled around the line. Surely she’d be tended before all those perfectly well people who just needed a little water. To her dismay, the lobby was equally packed. Ross was slumped in a chair, his eyes closed and his head tipped back, with Summer and Kerry hovering over him. Everyone was always so concerned when something happened to Ross. Where was the concern for her and her injuries?

  Alfonso Medina stood over Ross, stitching a long cut on his arm. Felicité shuddered at his gecko fingers. She certainly didn’t want them touching her.

  “You need to get in line, Felicité,” Alfonso said. “It starts outside.”

  Felicité glared at all four of them. She couldn’t decide who was the best representative of how unfair everything was in this town. Alfonso, the mutant doctor’s new mutant apprentice, ordering her around? Kerry, the daughter of the town’s worst enemy? Summer, who had broken Will’s arm and gotten off free? Or Ross, who had broken practically every rule in town and also gotten off free? Mia had even shown him the tunnel under the town hall.

  The tunnel!

  Felicité had completely forgotten that she’d taken Henry through it. Fear chilled her. If Daddy found out now, he’d have Henry shot. There was no chance that he would let an exiled criminal leave town with that secret.

  She had to warn Henry not to say anything about it. Felicité pushed past the crowd and ran into Main Street. She peered through the gloom toward the jail on the north side of the town square. A huge crowd had collected around it. There was no chance that Felicité would be able to get past that mass to talk to Henry in private. She’d have to come back later. With any luck, Henry would have way too much on his mind to even remember the tunnel.

  With no better options, she decided to go home. She could get a bandage there, after she cleaned up. Now that she was aware of the burn, it hurt more than ever, and she felt gritty and grimy and filthy and sweaty. She wanted to burn her clothes and never see them again.

  Felicité walked home the long way, avoiding the few people she met. She found Wu Zetian waiting for her. She kissed her rat, then locked herself in her bathroom.

  It took three towels, barely dampened, before she was sufficiently clean, her skin smooth and normal. When she emerged in a fresh dress, she found Daddy and Mother in the dining room. They too had bathed and dressed, but the air inside still smelled of smoke. Or had it soaked into Felicité’s pores? She resisted the urge to sniff at herself.

  Clara had laid out a cold dinner of potato salad, fish salad, crisp bread, smoked fish, fresh cheese, pickled turnips, and fish dip. Fish again! There were only three table settings, so Grandmère and Will were elsewhere. Instantly, Felicité knew what she was in for. Daddy and Mother would never humiliate her by scolding her in front of Will. Felicité’s neck tightened and her mind raced.

  Mother waited until Felicité sat down. Then she said, “Darling, I am concerned that you deliberately put yourself in danger.”

  “Disobeying an order,” Daddy said.

  Mother touched him on the wrist. “I am sure you had your reasons. We felt we should discuss this quietly.”

  “I wanted to make sure Henry would surrender without a fight. I thought he’d listen to me. I was afraid Daddy would scare him, and that’s exactly what happened.” Felicité was proud of her even voice. “Henry wouldn’t have done anything if we’d had more time to talk. He was scared when the door slammed open. I was scared.”

  Daddy’s lips compressed. “Felicité, you don’t seem to realize that that boy has been lying to us all along. Lying to you. You haven’t considered what he might be capable of.”

  “But he had to lie—” She stopped. She’d meant to point out how horrible and prejudiced Mrs. Callahan had been. But anything she could accuse Mrs. Callahan of, short of actually hitting Becky, could also be seen as an accusation against Daddy.

  “What do you mean, he had to lie?” Daddy asked.

  “He knew how I felt about Changed people. How we all felt.” Felicité glanced at her mother, who looked distressed. She was probably thinking of Grandmère. Feeling sick, Felicité turned her gaze to Daddy.

  He gave her a nod of approval.

  An unexpected angry heat flared up in her belly. Daddy liked knowing that she hated Changed people. He was completely fine with Henry feeling forced to lie about his Change to keep her love.

  “He should never have dated you in the first place,” Daddy said. “Then he never would have put himself or you in that position. Don’t blame yourself, darling. Henry chose everything he did, and he’s the one who will bear the consequences.”

  Consequences like exile, Felicité thought. Consequences like Daddy killing him if he finds out about the tunnel.

  Well, Daddy’s choosing what he’s making me do.

  * * *

  After checking the jail several times, only to be foiled by crowds outside or people inside, Felicité finally had the perfect excuse to be alone with Henry. She wished she didn’t.

  When the council had voted to exile him, Felicité had volunteered to take the news to him, saying, “I think it’s better if he hears it from me.”

  She hated the thought of it. But anyone else doing it would be even worse. Besides, she still had to warn him never to mention the tunnel. The Rangers would escort him a day’s journey out of town, and if he let his knowledge slip, they’d never let him go.

  Felicité scanned her closet, frowning at her prettiest dresses. She’d worn them all on dates with Henry. She couldn’t wear one to tell him that his life in Las Anclas was over. She reached for a plain blue dress, then stopped. Mrs. Callahan had made that. She knew Henry could recognize his mother’s work. He might even have seen her making it. She didn’t want to show up in anything that would seem like an ironic reminder of what he’d lost.

  She rummaged through her closet, realizing how many of her dresses Mrs. Callahan had made, or Henry had seen her wear and admired. Practically everything. She finally located a dress Mr. Kim had made that she hadn’t worn in years. Its green dye had faded to an unpleasant shade that reminded her of mold. Felicité sniffed at it. Despite the sachets in the closet, it smelled slightly musty. Well, it would have to do.

  She squirmed into it, barely managing to roll it over her hips. It was much too tight, and not in a flattering way. But at least it didn’t have anything that would make Henry think of things he’d never see again.

  Except her body. Felicité glared at her reflection in the mirror, trying to crush all the lovely memories of kissing Henry that had popped up at that thought. Angrily, she grabbed a handful of scarves and draped them around her shoulders and her neck. When she was done, she looked like she’d been huddling in the attic against a freezing winter. But she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  Felicité once again set out for the jail, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. When people looked at her now, they weren’t thinking “Felicité, the most stylish girl in Las Anclas” or “Felicité, the future mayor.” They were thinking, “Felicité, the naïve girlfriend of the mutant fire starter.”

  She was stopped by two teenage girls from the Catalina Players, both in pretty, perfectly-fitting outfits. One was the blonde who’d mocked her onstage as the rat-eared princess. The other had scales like mother of pearl and a crest that rose from her head like a filigree crown. Lots of people would find the scales and crest beautiful, Felicité knew, and she hated the girl for it.

  Felicité hid her rage and practiced her mayoral smile. “Yes?”

  The scaled girl stepped close and spoke in a breathy whisper. “We saw you after the fire. We could see you’d been fighting hard.”

  “We wanted to let you know that we’ll be asking the company to pick another play,” the blonde girl said.

  In her strange, soft voice, the Changed girl said, “Grandma Jing says that a ten year old grudge rightly belongs to ten-year-olds.”

  When Felicité didn’t answer—she had no idea what to say—the filigree girl dropped her gaze,
looking disconcerted. Felicité wondered what had got past her control.

  “See you later,” the blonde said, and the two walked away.

  It was only then that Felicité saw that her fists were clenched at her sides. She shook them out, wiped her sweaty palms on the awful mildew dress, and continued on her way.

  She kept her head down until she reached the jail. A handful of busybodies still lurked outside. But for the first time, Felicité ignored them and went inside. Sheriff Crow emerged from the side room. “Hold on, Felicité. Becky’s talking to him.”

  The two blonde heads were close together, separated by iron bars.

  “I wish you’d told me,” Becky was saying.

  “How would that have helped anything?” Henry replied, his voice flat.

  “Maybe if you’d had someone to talk to . . . I mean, someone who knew about you . . . You wouldn’t have done that stuff.” Becky sounded as miserable as Felicité felt.

  “I didn’t need one more person nagging me,” Henry retorted. “You were always such a goodie-goodie. Perfect little Becky.”

  “I was always afraid.” Becky’s voice was so soft, Felicité almost couldn’t hear the words.

  “Of what? Dad never hit you.”

  “I know. But I was always scared he was going to. The way he yelled at Mom. And you. I should have told Grandma Wolfe. Or Dr. Lee. They both asked. Maybe they could have done something.”

  Henry shrugged. “And have the whole council blabbing about us? Make the whole family look bad? Then I never would’ve had a chance with the Rangers.”

  Becky was silent. Felicité was sure that she, too, was thinking that Henry’s actions had exposed everything that was wrong with the family more effectively than any gossip.

  Then Becky spoke louder. “Listen, Henry, we don’t have to be like the rest of our family. I’ve promised myself I won’t be. You can be different, too.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Henry jerked his head at the cell bars. “Look where you’re standing.”

  Silence fell again. Finally, Becky asked, “Henry, why did you set up Summer?”