First, I notice Rosie, who has returned. She stands in the far corner of the room playing foosball with Luka. Claire stands at the head of the table holding a glass of water, laughing as Luka and Rosie twist and pull, clattering the ball around the Plexiglass field. Luka bites his lower lip in concentration and gives one of the handles a strong spin. Whatever move he tried must have failed, because Rosie whoops in jubilation, then dances about like a pixie.
“Your not boyfriend threw out a shield on his second try.”
Jillian’s unexpected voice in my ear makes me jump.
“Nobody’s ever done that before,” she says.
I glance again toward the corner of the room. Claire sets her hands on the foosball table and leans over it, capturing Luka’s attention with words I can’t hear. Nor can I see his expression, since the shift in his weight leaves me with nothing to see but his back.
“I’ve never seen Non so impressed.”
A skittish sort of feeling flits through my stomach. I have no idea why Jillian’s commentary has me feeling jumpy. Non’s not the first person to be impressed by Luka, nor will she be the last. He seems to have that effect on everyone he encounters, myself included. And apparently, Claire too. “Everything seems to come naturally to him.”
“I’ll say.”
Claire tips her head back and laughs. I narrow my eyes. “I thought she was into Link.”
“When it comes to cute boys, Claire doesn’t discriminate. And I’m afraid your not boyfriend is a walking billboard for cute boys.” Jillian crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’re a Fighter!”
Maybe that’s because I’m convinced I’ll be lousy at it.
“You have to promise to tell me everything once training starts. Jose and Claire are always so vague about what they’re up to with Sticks. It drives me bonkers, especially since they know what the Shields do.”
“Sure, I’ll tell you whatever you want.” My attention gravitates back to Luka.
He looks over his shoulder and a slow smile splits across his face. The brightness of his eyes reminds me of Jillian, only there’s nothing rodent-like about his nose or any other one of his features. He leaves behind a gloating Rosie and a disappointed Claire and makes his way across the common room, unleashing a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
“Hey,” he says, nodding toward Jillian.
“Hi,” Jillian says back.
“Mind if I borrow Tess for a second?”
“Be my guest.” She wags her thin eyebrows at me as Luka pulls me out into the hallway.
When we’re away from prying eyes, he takes a couple steps down the hall, then pivots on his heel. There’s this triumphant energy about him that makes the air around us sizzle and pop. “I know how to do it.”
“The shield?”
He turns over his palms and flexes his fingers, as if the power of throwing the shield thrums through his tendons. “I can’t believe I finally know how to do it.”
“That’s amazing.” My voice comes out off-key. A little pitchy. Like Pete’s when he went through puberty in eighth grade. I tuck a strand of wet hair behind my ear, but it quickly falls loose. I have no idea why my heart is thudding so erratically against my sternum. Or why I can’t seem to look up from my shoes. “Did you tell anyone that you’ve done it before?”
“No.” Luka shuffles closer. “Why?”
“No reason.”
“Tess.” He hooks his pointer fingers inside the front pockets of my jeans and gently draws me toward him. The butterflies stir into a frenzy. “I know how to protect you now.”
The huskiness of his voice has me looking up. For the first time since stepping onto the Greyhound bus, I don’t see a trace of shadow beneath his eyes. They are as bright and green as the leaves in spring. His hand moves to my hip, his thumb finding a sliver of bare skin beneath the hem of my shirt. A feverish heat radiates from the spot and gathers in my belly. My breath catches. Because I’m pretty sure Luka is going to kiss me. He’s not springing it on me in the middle of a crowded locker bay or in an alley behind a dumpster.
His hand slides to my back. He presses me closer, dips his chin …
“I’m starving!”
My heart slams into my throat.
Luka and I quickly break apart.
Rosie comes to a screeching stop, her attention sliding back and forth between us. “Were you two purpling?”
Luka tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles at the ground.
Rosie nose wrinkles in disgust. “Well, I’m going to the cafeteria to see if I can sneak in an hors d’oeuvre or two before dinner.” She begins walking backward down the hallway. “Hey, Tess?”
“Yeah?”
“Your boyfriend’s awful at foosball.”
Luka’s burst of laughter echoes off the walls, an enticing sound that makes me smile. I peek at him as he watches Rosie backpedal. Horrible at foosball. I guess there’s one thing that doesn’t come naturally to him after all.
*
I’m standing on a beach that’s only ever existed in my dreams. Waves crash onto the shore. White foam creeps toward Luka sitting in the sand. Sunbeams illuminate his profile in orange as he stares toward the horizon with his thumbnail wedged between his teeth. Funny how even here—in this space between two realms—his mannerisms are the same. I scratch my wrist out of habit rather than necessity, the numbness confirming what I already know. I walk across the sand, leaving vague footprints behind me.
Once I reach him, I tilt my face toward the sun, close my eyes, and spread my arms wide, bathing in the glow as another salty wave comes crashing toward my feet. How is it possible to feel the warmth of a sun that doesn’t really exist? I’m not actually outside. My physical body is sleeping at the hub. Does that mean, though, that this—right here—isn’t real? If Link’s lesson about realms taught me anything, it’s that reality isn’t as black and white as I once thought.
“You’re here,” Luka says.
I open my eyes and smile down at him.
“The medicine must be wearing off.”
The revelation sends a thrill of excitement through my dream-world veins. He’s right. If I’m here, visiting with Luka on this beach, then that means my plan to sweat out the medicine must have worked. Soon, I will get to join Claire and Jose. Luka doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm.
I sit cross-legged in the sand beside him. “You don’t want me to train?”
“I’d like to know what we’re training for.”
“It’s a good thing I know, then.” I just haven’t had a chance to tell him yet. When he brought me out into the hallway, Rosie interrupted us before I could tell him how I’d spent my afternoon and all that I’d learned from Link. We ate dinner with Jillian and interestingly, Ellen (who really does like to quote Shakespeare), and then Non handed Luka a bucket of cleaning supplies and said it was his evening for bathroom duty. Although I didn’t see him again, I went to bed thinking about him. Hence, this beach.
I scoop up handfuls of sand and let them run through my fingers as I tell him everything I learned—the databases, searching for others, their rescue mission with Anna. I tell him everything but the bit about Cap and his wheelchair. Somehow, I don’t think Luka will process that too well.
“It sounds dangerous,” he finally says.
“Well it’s a good thing you can protect me now.” I give him a playful nudge with my shoulder—an attempt to keep things light—when a dragging sensation pulls at my body. It’s like I’m being sucked into a straw, a feeling I’ve felt before. A feeling that induces panic. I try to reach for Luka. He tries to reach for me. But it’s no use. There must still be traces of medicine in my system. I’m too weak to take him with me.
When the straw-sucking sensation stops, I’m standing in the middle of a familiar, rubble-strewn street. I turn a quick three-sixty, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. I’m outside the warehouse. A do
me of strange light falls over the entirety of the building so that only a fuzzy outline can be seen. I reach out and touch it with the tip of my finger, expecting an electrical zap, but my hand sinks right through without any repercussions at all. This must be Anna and Fray’s cloak.
Fascinating.
I move my hand over and through the luminous shield when a scream rents the night.
An awful, blood-curdling sound that has every hair on the back of my neck standing on end. It’s as though the screamer is fighting for her very life. There’s no time to think. No time to plan. I sprint through the rubble, toward that terrible noise, tripping and stumbling over debris. I need to get to her. I have to help her. But I don’t know where she is. The scream permeates the air with horror, echoing every which way so that it’s impossible to place its origin. No matter how far or how fast or which direction I run, I get nowhere.
She screams and screams and screams …
Until my body gives a violent shake and my eyes pop open.
Luka has both of his hands clamped over my shoulders. He’s the one who shook me. He’s here now, in my room. And I’m the one who is screaming. The blood-curdling sound belongs to me.
“You’re awake. It’s okay.”
I shut my mouth. The screaming stops. But its echo reverberate in my mind.
Luka blinks down at me through the dark.
I push him away and disentangle my legs from the sheets. We have to go right now. Right this instant. Before it’s too late. “Someone’s being attacked up there. A woman. We have to help her. She’s in trouble.”
“We can’t go out there.”
“You don’t understand. I think she’s being …” Raped? Beaten to death? I can’t bring myself to say either, although I suspect both are happening. The very thought has bile churning in my stomach. I stand from the bed and move toward the door, but Cap is there in his wheelchair—a living barricade.
“Luka’s right.”
“That woman will die if we don’t help her.”
“We can’t leave Anna and Fray’s cloak. It’s too risky.”
Disgust swells in my throat—red and burning hot. A woman is dying out there and we’re just going to sit here and let it happen? Why—because our safety means more than her life? I whip around to look at Luka, positive I will find an ally. He stands grim-faced behind me, staring resolutely at the cement floor.
“Please,” I say, a plea from the very depths of my soul.
He doesn’t even look up. He’s probably too ashamed.
“It’s time to return to your room.” Cap jerks his head for Luka to follow him, wheeling his chair around so it faces the hallway. As he waits for Luka to obey orders, his silver eyes pierce mine. “Your training will start tomorrow. It appears the medicine has worn off.”
It’s what I hoped for. Yet in light of what’s happening at this very instant, I feel far from victorious.
Chapter Seventeen
Training
The woman’s screams haunt me. Through the rest of the night, through breakfast, and now through class. Thanks to yesterday’s self-inflicted abuse in the weight room, I sit in class with incredibly sore muscles battling a mountain of guilt while Sticks talks about a war in the Middle East some thousands upon thousands of years ago. Luka sits beside me twirling a pencil around his thumb. Before breakfast, he pulled me aside and apologized, tried to explain why he couldn’t let me go last night. I didn’t want to hear it. What happened was wrong. I don’t care how convincing he can be.
I prop my chin on my hand and stare at the clock, urging it to hurry up so I can eat lunch and start training already. Maybe then I can burn off some of this cloying sense of culpability over the fate of a woman I never saw, but definitely heard. Sticks drones on and on until my eyes glaze over with the irrelevancy of it all. Finally, at quarter till noon, he picks up a piece of chalk and scratches a word on the board that has me forgetting all about the screams.
Keepers
I glance nervously at Luka.
“The first recorded occurrence of a keeper dates all the way back to two thousand B.C. Very little was recorded about this particular Keeper, but what is known strongly suggests his anima played an integral role in the outcome of the war.” Sticks brings his hands together for a clap, his attention briefly flitting to the left of the class, where Luka and I sit. “Just to make sure we’re all on the same page, who wants to explain to our newest pupils what a Keeper is?”
I shift in my seat. Thanks to my first meal here at the hub, I already know. Luka, however, doesn’t have a clue.
“They’re a type of Guardian,” Declan says. “And they are incredibly rare.”
“Why?” Sticks asks.
“Because they’re created for the sole purpose of protecting one Fighter.”
Luka stops his pencil twirling.
My neck turns hot.
“Only the most powerful Fighters have them.” Claire’s icy blue eyes gleam, as though she’d love nothing more than to be one of those Fighters.
“And what do we call this powerful Fighter, in relation to his or her Keeper?”
“The Keeper’s anima,” Rosie quips. “It’s Latin for breath of life.”
Luka’s stare burns the side of my face.
“This brings me to our assignment. Everyone will choose a Keeper from history to study in-depth. Who were they? What circumstances brought the Keeper together with his or her anima? What did the pair accomplish during their lifetimes? Don’t neglect to study the historical context. What was happening in the world at the time? Were The Gifting rising in number, or dwindling? I want you to become an expert on your Keeper and then I want you to write a detailed report.”
Someone to my left lets out a loud groan.
“It’s important to know our history, Danielle.”
She twists a strand of hair around her finger. “Why?”
“Because as my dear wife likes to say, patterns in history reveal much about the future. And we don’t want your brains filling up with dumb. Now, does anybody have any questions about the assignment? Luka, you look like you want to say something.”
The class shifts collectively. He so easily gathers attention. It was the same way in Thornsdale.
“How does someone know if they’re a Keeper?”
I shift in my seat.
“That’s an excellent question,” Sticks says. “Every recorded Keeper in history has been haunted by recurring dreams of their anima, often before they’ve ever met.”
*
I’ve never worked so hard in my life to actively avoid someone, not even Summer Burbanks back in Thornsdale, and that’s saying something. But work hard I do to avoid Luka. I would have succeeded, too, had not Non assigned me to lunch cleanup duty. With five trays left to go, Luka joins me in the kitchen. Honestly? I’m surprised he didn’t come sooner.
“I don’t need any help,” I say, attacking another tray with the high-powered washer, ignoring the way my arm muscles scream in protest. Thanks to yesterday’s workout, even holding up a tray hurts.
He comes beside me anyway and starts on the silverware. “We should talk about this.”
I set the tray on the drying rack, shaking my head. The very idea that someone like me would require a Keeper is so farfetched, it’s laughable. “You heard Declan. Keepers are incredibly rare.”
“It’s the only explanation for my dreams.”
My head-shaking continues as I spray down another tray.
“It’s the only explanation for the way I feel.”
“So the only way you could possibly have feelings for me is if they were forced upon you before your birth?” Even as I pose the question, I don’t know why I sound incredulous. Of course it’s the only explanation. At least the only logical one. All along I’ve wondered why. Why is a guy like Luka attracted to a girl like me? Well, this is definitely an answer.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“What are you talking about, then?”
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“This protectiveness I feel.” He grips his chest, as though he might be able to pry away the unwanted emotion. “It’s consuming.”
I shove another tray inside the crowded rack. “Come on, Luka, look at me. Do I look like a super powerful Fighter to you?”
He shuts off the faucet. “You’re in denial.”
“No, I’m not.”
“No, you’re not what?”
We both turn toward the door.
Claire has stepped inside the kitchen. Today, she wears her hair in a loose, side braid that reaches all the way down to her abdomen. I wonder if other dudes feel as annoyed by Luka’s flawlessness as I do with Claire’s.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
She eyes Luka like a cat on the prowl, then turns her icy blues on me. “Sticks told me to come get you for training.”
I turn the faucet back on, eager to finish up.
“Is the training safe?” Luka’s intensity slips through.
His question makes my blood boil, especially since he’s not directing it at me. He’s directing it at Claire, who looks more than a little amused by his inquiry.
“Are you afraid Tess will get hurt?”
I wait for Luka to defend me, to extend the smallest measure of faith.
He says nothing.
“You don’t have to worry. Sticks won’t let anything bad happen to her. She’s perfectly safe.” With a look of pure condescension, she flips her braid over her shoulder and saunters away.
*
Cap stops his wheelchair in front of the only locked room in the hub. He pulls out a key on a chain tucked beneath his shirt and lets us in. Sticks, Jose, Claire, me, and Link. I guess today, his services—whatever they are—are needed. There are six chairs inside the room that look as though they belong in a dentist office and upright trays beside each one that hold gadgets and gizmos and wires.
Link boots up the computer at the front of the room. The rest of the mysterious technological devices blink to life as well. Claire and Jose hop onto chairs, fully aware of what’s about to happen. I wait for Sticks to do the same. Instead, he scoops Cap into his arms and sets him on the chair at the end.
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