I have to muffle a derisive snort in order to keep up Lance’s serious, yet disbelieving, manner. His dad told both of us those stories back when we were little enough to have sleepovers together without it being weird. He terrified Lance and me to the point of us cowering together in Lance’s room all night. But we were five and six years old at the time. I don’t think scary bedtime stories are going to have quite the same effect on us now.
“Mrs. Hanover, I need a real explanation if you expect me to believe you,” I say.
“I am giving you a real explanation. I know the stories parents tell their children to scare them. Matthew has even told them to Milo and Celia on occasion. Soulless zombies prowling around at night in search of naughty children. They’re harmless for the most part. But those aren’t the Sihirs I’m trying to tell you about.”
“Which ones are you talking about, then?” I ask.
Her face is absolutely serious as she says, “The real ones.”
Not even Lance scoffs at her this time. My hand tightens around Milo’s even though I can’t fully explain why. Something about the intensity in her voice keeps me from speaking my doubt as well. What really freaks me out is that Milo squeezes my hand back, a trickle of fear tainting his hold on me. Normally so bouncy and fun loving, this deadly serious version of Mrs. Hanover is unsettling. Maybe I was wrong about what will scare us.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Stories about Sihirs came from somewhere, from real life monsters. Monsters other humans create.” She pauses to take a deep breath and settle her shaking hands into her lap. “The spirit world didn’t used to be like it is now, filled with Ciphers. Centuries ago, before the Guardians started trapping Ciphers in the spirit world, it was an empty place, at least from what little information I can find about that period. Most information about the spirit world has been destroyed by the Guardians, but it sounded like people used it as a place for reflection and focus. They would take as much of their spirit into this other world as they could and try to align themselves with the spiritual forces that govern us.
“Supposedly, the first time it happened was purely by accident. A woman who was a strong Spiritualist was meditating in the spirit world when her home caught fire. She was so deeply immersed in the spirit world that she failed to realize her body was dying. The smoke burned her lungs and she perished without ever bringing her spirit back to her body. Her body was dead, but the crazed spirit was ripped free of the spirit world when her heart finally gave out.
“The spirit started scouring the town for its body. It didn’t care that it had been burnt to ash. It just wanted back its connection to the physical world. The spirit went from house to house murdering innocent people in search of its body. Half the village died before they stopped her.”
I might have at one point in my life said a spirit couldn’t hurt anyone in real life. Spending so much time learning about Spiritualism and the spirit world over the last couple weeks has taught me too much to doubt. Spirits are not ghosts, ephemeral beings with no substance. Spirits are a part of this world as surely as I am. They may be less substantial than a body, but they are powerful enough that nothing is safe from them. In fact, a person’s spirit is actually infinitely more powerful without a body holding it back when it comes to Spiritualism because it doesn’t have to try and escape a physical body before exerting its power. And if my lessons aren’t enough to convince me, having to tear Casey away from the Ciphers today certainly is. Even as spirits locked up with no talents, they could have killed her.
“How did they finally stop the spirit?” I ask.
“They used a woman who looked similar to the dead woman and offered her up as a replacement body to the spirit. The spirit was so delirious at that point that it was tricked into believing it had found its body again. Not held back by a physical body, the spirit was able to enter the new body and tear out the poor woman’s spirit,” Mrs. Hanover says sadly. “As soon as they were sure the spirit had taken over the body, the other villagers attacked her. She was dead, completely, a few minutes later, but she had already murdered so many innocent people.”
A shiver runs through me as I imagine the terror of that spirit darting in and out of homes wantonly taking lives. One spirit was able to kill dozens in just a short time. Thousands of Sihirs released on the world would make my purpose moot. They would destroy everything before anyone could stop them. If anyone could stop them. When I first learned of the Ciphers and feared they would be killed, I argued that the Guardians would easily sacrifice the several hundred Spiritualists guarding the Ciphers to keep them from me. But this is different. Even if the Guardians were willing to sacrifice one innocent life for every Cipher they destroyed, they have to know that there’s no way they could control something like that. The released spirits would overwhelm them in an instant.
“The stories we tell to children are the opposite of the truth, the body staying alive while the spirit dies, because for some reason that seems less terrifying. Either way, the point of the stories are the same,” Mrs. Hanover says. “Sihirs are incredibly dangerous. Trust me when I say that not even the Guardians would risk creating that many of them just to keep you from freeing the Ciphers. They would stand a better chance by facing you and your army.”
“If this were the consequence of putting Ciphers in the spirit world, why did they ever do it?” I ask. “Why didn’t they just kill them? It would have been so much easier.”
Mrs. Hanover smiles sadly. “The Guardians weren’t always as they are now. Before my Inquest, before I was slotted to be a psychologist because of my Spiritualism, I wanted to teach history. As time passes it gets all the much more difficult to find accurate descriptions of the past, but at one point the Guardians truly were our protectors. When the shift to tyrannical rule began, many of the Guardians still believed in compassion. They feared the Destroyer. Putting Ciphers in prison was more bearable than killing them outright. I don’t think they understood at the time what their mercy would cost. The Spiritualists were inexperienced at holding prisoners and believed themselves capable of bringing the captured spirits back out. It was only later that they discovered releasing the Ciphers was impossible.”
I can’t think of anything to say to her after that. My life, beliefs, and world view have been broken down and rebuilt too many times to count since my Inquest, but finding out my childhood terrors are real is more devastating than you might expect. Not only do I have real hunters waiting for their chance to kill me, there is the possibility of my nightmares coming after me as well. There is no element of fairness to my life at all.
“Well,” Lance says brightly, “I guess attacking the Guardians in person isn’t necessary, then.”
“No, now we only have to figure out how to battle nightmarish ghosts. Attacking Guardian compounds sounds easy in the face of that,” Milo grumbles.
I have to admit I’m relieved by the realization that I don’t have to start planning a kamikaze mission, but our problems aren’t exactly solved. “We may not have to go after the Guardians directly, but we do still have to figure out what they’re doing. Even if it’s not outright killing the Ciphers, something awful is going on.”
“And we have to find out what that is,” Lance says. “Any ideas on how to do that?”
Unfortunately, no.
But Mrs. Hanover seems to have one. “Whatever the Guardians are doing, it’s going to have something to do with the Spiritualists, and the only way to spy on them is to get into the spirit world. Libby, I know you’re probably tired of hearing me say this, but we have to get you to the Ciphers. They won’t talk to anyone but you. Whatever is holding you back, we need to figure out a way around it, and quickly.”
Which means another round of Spiritualism training. Another round of failure, most likely.
Chapter 6
Overmatched
It has been two weeks since Casey collapsed in the hall. For two weeks I have had her warning that something bad is going on in
the spirit world. Fourteen days have passed with me completely unable to do anything about it. Milo’s mom has tried to help me out by going herself, but no one will talk to her. They’ll only talk to me for reasons they refuse to explain. Fantastic. The only way I’ll find out what I need to know is to get to the spirit world myself.
I can’t do it. My spirit feels ready to explode right out of my body and splatter me all over the walls for all my uselessness. It’s all I can think about. Getting into the spirit world has consumed my thoughts since rescuing Casey. If I have to hear the word Spiritualism one more time, I am going to go insane. I’m not being dramatic. That’s just a fact at this point.
The guy who sits next to me suddenly tumbles out of his chair, followed by Ms. Sanchez’s shrill voice. “For crying out loud, Nate, Spiritualism isn’t about force! It’s about making a subtle connection.”
Okay, so I don’t explode, but hearing that word again makes me shudder. Even more, her advice inspires another round of frustration to blossom. Lately Milo’s mom has been telling me the same thing over and over and over again. I understand. I can be subtle. Actually, I’m very good at subtle. But when I get frustrated after hours of trying to use my Spiritualism and getting nowhere, she can’t expect me not to throw my energy around tantrum-style.
Nate closes his eyes and tries again to contact his partner’s spirit. He is by far the least talented, most idiotic person in this class, but I wince as his spirit comes to his call right away. Ten seconds later it blasts recklessly toward the guy across from him and backlashes him out of his chair, but it’s still more than I can do.
I’ve had it! Since Ms. Sanchez won’t acknowledge me for any reason except trying to wrangle details out of me about the incident with Casey, I don’t bother asking her for permission to go to the restroom. When I stand up her eyes do snap over to me, though. She’s yet to physically assault me when hounding me about what happened with Casey, but her courage is growing every day. At some point she’s going to stop following me around like a freak asking repetitive questions and try to slap the information out of me. Not today, though. I leave my books and bag at my desk so she knows I’ll be back, and stalk out of the room before I scream.
The hallway is blessedly empty. The restrooms are just down the hall, but I fall against the nearest row of lockers instead. My eyes close, the cool metal pressed up against my back actually making me feel the tiniest bit better. I slow my breathing to a rhythmic pulse flowing in and out of my body. Meditative breathing is about the only thing I’ve mastered in my Spiritualism class. As each breath drifts out of my body, it takes a piece of my frustration with it.
I am almost completely relaxed when my skin suddenly erupts in pin pricks. My eyes pop open in panic to find Braden staring at me. Scrambling out of my lounging stance, I stand up straight and do my best to put on a disinterested expression. He smiles, which probably means I failed. Forget that, I go for irritated instead, and pull that off perfectly.
“What?” I demand. I’m getting really sick of him sneaking up on me. He seems to find it hilarious to startle me. It’s become something of a game for him over the last few weeks. Every time I happen to be alone he manages to pop out of nowhere to badger me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Braden asks.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Are you going to report me? I’m sure the principal would love to have me dragged into her office. Me and her are about as friendly as Sharks and Jets.”
“West Side Story reference,” Braden muses. “Are you studying Romeo and Juliet this year?”
“No, Wuthering Heights, actually. We did Romeo and Juliet last year, but I really liked West Side Story when we watched it.” I shake myself. Why am I still talking to him? “What I’m studying in English has nothing to do with anything. What are you doing in my face again?”
“Just patrolling the halls like I’m supposed to.”
“Patrolling, huh? Why is it that your patrolling schedule seems to match my class schedule exactly?” I ask.
“I’m here to protect the school from possible threats, and at the moment everyone seems to think that means you.” For saying I’m the biggest threat at this school, he doesn’t exactly seem worried about standing right next to me. In fact, the casual expression he’s wearing seems to say quite the opposite. Unfortunately for me, Braden treating me like I’m no big threat always has the intended effect. I’m still mad at him, but my combative stance softens minimally.
“If you don’t stop sneaking up on me, one of these days I’m going to slap you. Now, what do you really want?” I ask.
Braden knows from personal experience I’m capable of more than a harmless slap, but he keeps his unconcerned expression and takes another step closer to me. Less than a foot stands between us. I’m the only one that seems to mind. Braden acts as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be alone in the hallway with me, inches away from my body.
“I want the same thing I’ve wanted for the last two weeks,” he says. “Tell me what happened with Casey.”
Persistent is not a strong enough word for Braden. “It’s none of your business, so drop it.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
Careful not to touch his injured chest again, I thrust my hand against his shoulder and push him away from me. My plan is to slip away through the opening I just created, but Braden taps his Speed and whirls back in front of me half a second later. He rarely displays his talents around me, so his quick movement traps me before I think to react. Braden’s pleased expression spurs me to try again. More prepared, I shove him away a second time and slip to his side before he can block me again. I smirk at him as I spin away, but he catches my hand and yanks me back.
The way he holds my hand is an enigma. Soft as if he doesn’t want to hurt me, yet his fingers are locked around mine in a way that won’t let me escape without hurting him. Add in the warmth that is sliding up my arm from where our hands meet, and I can’t seem to think properly. I stare at our hands as if they are the strangest things I have ever seen. When Braden seems to accept that I’m not going to run away again, his grip changes. His hand softens and rolls over mine like warm molasses, comforting and sweet. A little voice in the back of my head tells me to make him let go, but it’s outweighed by the odd sense of rightness I feel pulsing through my entire body.
Slowly my eyes work their way up to Braden’s. More often than not, his expression holds a sense of curiosity when he looks at me. I always get the impression that he’s trying to figure something out about me. As I look at him now, I realize that curiosity is gone, and in its place is certainty. I don’t know what he’s suddenly figured out, but it scares me. I take a step back and pull my hand away. My determination to go back to class falters at Braden’s pleading voice.
“Wait, Libby.”
I do wait, but I don’t say anything.
“I don’t follow you around because the principal told me to,” Braden says. “Those were my orders when I met with her two weeks ago, but I have my own reasons for keeping track of you.”
“What reasons?” I ask quietly.
“Because I want to. I want to know who and what you are.”
“Don’t you already know? Hasn’t it been drilled into your head by now? I’m Cassia. I’m the Destroyer.” I say it resolutely. It’s something I’ve practiced doing. I used to wear a wristband to hide the jet black diktats that announced my destiny to the world. The painted fabric now sits on my nightstand as a token, but hasn’t been worn since Braden tried to arrest Milo. I’ve accepted who I am.
Braden reaches for my hand again. The way his eyes are fastened on my wrist convinces me to let him. I can understand the desire to see such an anomaly. He lifts my hand so he is holding it between us. The fingers of his other hand reach up and slide across my diktats. It doesn’t bother me any to see them, but I’m surprised he shows no fear or hesitation when he rubs his thumb back and forth across the black scar tissue. His touch is g
entle, almost a caress.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I have memorized every detail of Cassia’s file. I know exactly what has been written. The words are ingrained in my mind. I don’t need to know anything else about Cassia. What I want to find out is who and what Libby Sparks is.”
“We’re the same person, if you haven’t figured that out yet.” I try to tug my hand away from him, but he holds it fast.
“No, you’re not. Cassia, Destroyer, those are titles. They aren’t you.”
I’ve told myself the same thing a million times. I don’t have to be some hated monster that is going to ruin everyone’s lives. I have a destiny, a plan for my life laid out before I was even born, but I don’t have to walk that path. Whatever has been written or prophesied about me doesn’t have to come true. I could walk away from everything and have the normal life I’ve always wanted. I’ve told myself that, but I’ve never believed it. It’s more than my knowing I can’t let the Ciphers suffer in their prison. Whatever I try to convince myself of has always been overwhelmed by a sure knowledge that no matter what choices I make, I will be pulled into a chain of events I can’t control. Rescuing the Ciphers is good. I know that in my heart, but there is still the fear that Fate will twist my good intentions into something horrific.
Braden’s words aren’t new or terribly insightful. His words aren’t really what affect me. In his voice, expression, and even the way he is looking at me, there is such conviction. The fantasy I’ve failed to convince myself of becomes infallible truth in his simple words. He believes it, and somehow he makes me believe it, too.
“Who are you, Libby?” Braden says quietly. He sweeps his finger over my diktats again, as if the answer to his question will somehow be revealed by them. “Who is this girl the entire world is terrified of.”
“Even the Guardians?”
“Especially the Guardians.”
Secret of Betrayal: Book Two of The Destroyer Trilogy Page 5