“I’ll use these.” He unsheathes two short swords.
“They’re too short.” I say.
He shrugs casually. “Try me.”
I quirk my eyebrow. “But I’ll destroy you if you fight with those, and I really want to show you what I’ve figured out.”
He raises his eyebrows and then gestures for me to proceed. I spin once, twice, hearing my own chords, my own runs, my own intervals. He pulls back and flips his short sword around and punches me right in the face with the hilt.
Blood pours from my nose. “Edam!” I spray him with red when I shout. “Be serious!”
“I am. Look, I know you think you can hear me now, and you can feel the music behind my movements or whatever, but you can’t just flow. You have to think smart, too. You need to apply what I’ve taught you. As much as you want to believe it, fighting isn’t some puzzle you can unlock. You can’t drop a piece into place and then magically dominate. People are more complex than that. Melodics may have clicked for you and there may be moves that are intuitive, sure, but people can always surprise you. That’s the beauty of life, and the danger in it as well.”
I nod, wipe my face angrily, and resume the ready position, legs apart, arms relaxed, sword pointed toward him. “Fine. Fine!”
He comes after me and I realize the pacing for the melodic line I thought I heard with him was off. I’ve fought him dozens of times now, and I’ve seen him fight Judica at the same pace, the same speed, but now I can see that he was always holding back. Edam unleashed is faster than I can follow. He practically moves at the speed of light as I try, without success, to anticipate his moves. A new line, a new pace, a new melody, surges at the edge of my consciousness, but it dances away. He destroys me like a tiger playing with his food, smirking infuriatingly the entire time. After an hour or so, I slump to the ground and toss my sword to the ground. “I yield, okay, I yield.”
He bows and says, “You’ve improved. A tremendous amount. But you’re still not there yet. Now, let’s try this again with hand-to-hand and focus on the basics.”
I pretend I haven’t sunk into the depths of despair, but I doubt I convince Edam, much less myself.
23
I’m tapping out a text to Logan, explaining that something came up and I can’t make it to the party, when Lark bounds up to me.
“Geez, what happened to you? Meat grinder?”
I glance around, eyes wide, but Edam’s already gone. At least he didn’t hear.
“Training, so basically, yeah.”
“I thought you said things clicked.”
I stomp toward the door. “Obviously not like I thought.”
Lark jogs along after me like an eager puppy. I close my eyes and stop, trying not to think about Cookie, and consequently thinking about her even more. I inhale in and out and in and out to try and stave off the tears. “What’s up Lark?”
“I heard there’s a party later.” She’s practically bouncing on her toes.
“Not anymore.”
Her jaw drops. “Wait, why not?”
“I can’t waste time on stupid parties.”
Lark touches my hand lightly. “If training isn’t going well, isn’t it even more critical that you seriously consider walking away?” She drops her eyes and her volume. “It may be your best choice.”
“Is it a real choice?”
Lark flinches and I realize what a jerk I am. I didn’t mean that humans are beneath me and living with them would be so awful I couldn’t contemplate it, but that’s how it came out. If I try and clarify, this is going to get even more awkward.
I’m sick of walking on eggshells around her. It’s time we take about what happened, our moms, her dad, our friendship. But I need to show her she matters to me first, and this party just became more important. It’s not about thumbing my nose at Edam, or flirting with Noah or Edam, or anyone else. It’s about showing Lark that I still see her, and there’s life after our moms’ deaths, life that has value.
“You’re right. We should go.”
Her tentative smile makes it worth it, no matter how hard going feels right now.
I force myself into the shower and dress in a pair of knee-high black boots, black pants, and a hot pink top. Not that it matters when I cover it all with a long coat. Ugh, I miss the perfect weather in Hawaii. I could ignore the cold, but I’d stand out like a sore thumb among the humans, which is the opposite of the point.
I leap down the stairs two at a time, and four or five steps away from the foyer, I almost collide with Edam. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt that hugs his solid frame in all the right places. The Edam I know is always on guard duty, always standing at attention. He’s been in uniform more often than not, or in black training gear when he’s dressed casually. I don’t know how to adjust to an Edam who looks like, well, an abnormally hot human.
It’s disconcerting, like a panther playing fetch with a frisbee. But it’s also beautiful and confusing, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him.
“I was just leaving,” I say.
“We can ride together,” he suggests.
“Uh, how would we explain that?” I glance at Lark.
Edam raises one eyebrow. “Are you worried what Noah will think?”
A smile lifts the corner of my mouth. “You remember his name.”
He frowns. “Of course I do.” He taps the side of his head. “Perfect recall. I just don’t care about his opinion.”
Lark smiles. “Well I do. He’s hot.”
Edam’s voice is flat. “He’s human.”
I am so going to stab him in the stomach for that one later. “Humans are just as good as evians,” I say.
Edam opens his mouth, glances at Lark, and closes it.
“It’s fine,” Lark says. “I know my human side is responsible for my weaknesses. I’m not oblivious.”
“Some humans,” Alora says from the doorway, “burn brighter than the sun at noon day. Some humans run circles around us, figuratively speaking. We have a lot to learn from them.”
“Speaking of,” I say, “I’m ready to go.”
“Edam can accompany you,” Alora says. “He offered to attend the party already. Just hop out of the car around the corner and no one at the party will know you arrived together.”
“I’m not a child,” I say. “Lark and I will be fine.”
“Five of us will be waiting on the perimeter,” Frederick says, stepping around the doorway. “But I’ll insist on coming as your uncle unless you let Edam attend.”
I sigh. “He can come.”
Lark and I talk about the humans we’ve met on the ride over, but Noah’s place is surprisingly close to Alora’s brownstone. Or maybe not that surprising, since we attend the same school. The second the car stops, I grab Lark’s hand, ready to dart out of the car.
“I should go in first,” Edam objects.
“Give us three minutes,” I say. “Then you can follow.”
Edam grits his teeth, but he nods tightly.
When I pass through the gate from the car park area into the garden in front of Noah’s house, I exhale loudly. I grew up in a palace, and I’ve visited the richest and most prestigious people in the world with Mom. Not much impresses me, but Noah’s house does.
It’s the size of a small palace, and it’s right on the water in Manhattan. I’d expect something like this if he were evian and looking to impress others, but knowing he isn’t, well, maybe Alora’s right. He might be a good contact to have. Especially if I’m supposed to unite the world someday. Not that I’m in a rush, since the uniting the world comes after blood and horror and just before terrible catastrophe, presumably.
I don’t have much time to marvel at how rich Noah must be before he’s standing in front of us. I’ve barely cleared the gate. I’m glad we ditched Edam in the car.
Noah looks different away from school. Older, with a sense of command I hadn’t noticed before. “You came,” he says. “I was beginning to wonder if
you really would.”
“I thought about bailing,” I admit.
“I convinced her to come,” Lark says.
I bob my head.
“Then I owe you a debt of gratitude,” Noah says. “Laura, right?”
Lark blushes and nods.
We’ve reached the front steps by now, and the doors open without a single touch, not sliding doors, but solid, heavy wooden doors, swinging wide to allow us access. For a nanosecond, I wonder whether there’s some new technology I don’t know about, but then a butler in a tuxedo says, “Welcome to House Wen,” and bows.
“Thanks, Chin,” Noah says.
Noah and I walk through an enormous entryway with marble floors and gorgeous crystal chandeliers that opens to the right on a shiny kitchen and to the left on a formal sitting room with a waterfall built into one corner. Then we pass a study with meticulously designed inlaid wood floors and a library with floor to two-story-ceiling books and walk out onto an enormous veranda. Past that, a sleek yacht is tied to a private dock, the word ‘Conqueror’ stenciled on the side. Dozens of teens mill around a fire pit while loud music plays from speakers spaced at even intervals all over the yard. Probably twenty more are soaking and splashing in a gargantuan hot tub, and another ten or fifteen are flirting on the yacht. Marshmallows on sticks lean against a rack, and men and women in black pants and white shirts pass out steaming mugs of something.
“Who are all these people?” I don’t recognize many of them at all, which means I haven’t even passed them in the hall.
“Too big a party?” Noah asks.
“I thought the celebration was for the cross country team. I was expecting like four kids and hotdogs on a stick.” I wanted to get to know Noah and Logan better, but with this many people, I’ll be lucky if we spend five minutes together. I haven’t even seen Logan yet.
Noah shrugs. “I only invited the cross country team, but then the yearbook photographer and the school paper people heard and wanted to come, and everyone has a friend who tags along, and then they all tell their friends. Believe it or not, this is small.”
I glance around at the enormous back yard and realize he’s probably telling the truth. So much for experiencing a typical high school gathering.
“It could be worse,” Logan says, walking toward me from the fire pit. “Usually Noah throws keggers. He’s packed hundreds of people in here before.”
“I specifically didn’t buy any alcohol for this,” Noah says. “Although, I have some left over from my last party if that bums you out. I just didn’t envision you as someone who wants to get hammered and puke.”
“What does your impression of me have to do with this party?” I ask.
Logan grins, and Noah’s heart rate spikes. It may be dusk, but with my evian eyes, I still notice the flush in his cheeks. “Well, nothing, except you and I both broke the record, you know. You for the girls, and me for the boys, so it’s really a celebration for the two of us.”
Logan laughs. “Noah planned this whole party for you. He’s showing off.”
Noah glares at him.
“Laura, is it?” Logan holds out a hand to shake. “And you’re Rebecca’s older sister?”
“Right, and you’re Logan.”
He bobs his head. “I am. And you look like you’d make an excellent partner at pool.”
Lark beams and follows Logan toward the back porch. “I’m not very experienced, but I pick things up fast,” she says coyly.
Wait, does Lark like Logan?
A waiter with a tray pauses by us, distracting me. “Cider or hot chocolate?”
I take a mug of hot chocolate. My body adjusts to hot and cold so well I don’t really need my coat, much less a warm drink, but I love hot chocolate. Who doesn’t?
“Was I right?” Noah leads me over to two empty chairs on the back porch that are near a space heater. “You don’t look like much of a party girl.”
“I like parties,” I say.
Noah’s eyebrows rise. “So you do want beer?”
“Oh, no, I don’t drink alcoholic beverages. I didn’t realize that’s what you were asking.” I wonder whether I could even get drunk. I’ve never had alcohol, but it’s not out of a sense of propriety. I’ve never known any evians to drink it. The evian metabolism processes any stimulant or depressant so fast they don’t have any noticeable effect. I could snort cocaine without side effects from what I’ve heard. It makes us exceptionally hard to poison.
But not impossible, obviously.
Why does my mom’s death keep hitting me over and over, like a two-by-four to the head, or a crowbar to the gut without warning? When will this terrible, wrenching sorrow clear and allow me to function again? Wondering when I’ll stop being sad all the time sets off another wave of despair. Because I don’t want to stop thinking about Mom. Her death should hurt.
“Hey.” Noah puts his hand on my arm. “Are you okay?
“Oh, yeah. I’m okay. Sorry.” I am not about to start bawling at some human function.
“You look upset.” His eyes have always looked too large for his face, but looking down at me with concern, he looks practically angelic. I’ve always been a sucker for puppy dog eyes.
“My mom died a few days ago,” I admit. “It’s why I transferred.” It’s weird to say it out loud. “My mom is dead.” I have no mother. It feels more real somehow, saying it to a virtual stranger. I wonder if he’ll clam up and wander away like Lisa did.
His hand tightens on my arm. “What? I didn’t know,” Noah says softly. “This party was a stupid idea. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I say truthfully. “It’s too recent, and it hurts too much.” An errant, unwelcome tear springs to my eye, and I wipe it away. “I’m actually looking forward to thinking about something else.”
“Alright,” he says. “I won’t bring it up again, but I do want to say how sorry I am. If at any point you realize you don’t want to be here, I’ll take you home myself.”
“There are like a hundred people at your house,” I say.
He shrugs. “I don’t care, but they probably wouldn’t even notice if I left.”
I’m not sure how to respond, but a huge splash in front of us distracts me. Judging from the shouts and churning in the water, someone has fallen off the yacht and into the river.
“Think they’re okay?” I ask.
Noah looks disgusted. “They’re fine. High school kids are idiots.”
“Why are they even on there?”
“They wanted me to take it out, but I couldn’t very well do that when I wasn’t sure what time you’d be here, could I? After all, I never would have broken that record without you pushing me.” Noah’s smile warms my heart. He seems so genuine. It’s strange to be around someone who wants nothing from me.
“Is the Conqueror your dad’s yacht?” I glance at the smooth lines. It does look fun. “Why didn’t your dad name her after your mom?”
He glances at me sideways with another inscrutable expression. “My dad wouldn’t dare name his smallest, least impressive ship after my mom. He’s smarter than that.”
Interesting. “Why’d he name her the Conqueror?”
Noah’s eyebrows both rise. “My dad came to America for the very first time a few months before I was born. He decided on that visit to expand the family business overseas. So when he sent me here for school and bought a yacht for his house here, it seemed logical to name it Conqueror.”
“Does he spend much time in the States?”
“None,” Noah says. “My dad prefers home and rarely travels.”
“Wait, they aren’t here right now? Do they even know you’re having a party?”
Noah grins. “I check in with my dad pretty often, but believe me, this isn’t something I need permission to do. He wouldn’t care at all. My parents both live in China, so as I get good grades and don’t get into trouble I can sort of do what I want.”
“Where in China?”
&nb
sp; Noah leans back in his chair. “Our family home is in a small town in the Kunlun mountains just north of Tibet. Does that mean anything to you, princess?”
The word princess takes me aback at first, but then I remember that it’s a common nickname for spoiled or rich kids among humans. “Uh, no. I’ve seen the region on a map, but I’m not an expert on China.” Judica is, but I don’t mention that. I doubt he’d appreciate knowing my sister salivates over the idea of seizing control of his country.
“Knowing the general region on a map is better than most people can boast,” he says.
“I can’t believe your parents would send you here alone.”
He shrugs. “I’m the youngest son.”
Like that explains it.
Logan strolls up and sinks into a chair next to me, slinging one arm around the back of it. “Noah’s filling you in on his dad’s plans for world domination?”
Prickles run down my spine and the hair on my arms rises under my jacket. A chill that has nothing to do with the temperature. “World domination?” I listen for Noah’s heartbeat again. It’s far too fast for him to be anything but human. And Alora looked into him. I force a big breath in and then out again. This isn’t a plot. Not everything is some kind of manipulation.
“Hey, where’s Laura?” I ask Logan.
“She’s talking to some kids over there. She stinks at pool, by the way.”
“So did you lose?” I ask.
Logan laughs. “Heck no. I could win with a blow up doll as a partner.”
“You mean the only girl dumb enough to have you?” Noah asks.
Logan rolls his eyes. “You’re one to talk. Noah’s been here since he was five, off and on, and he’s never had an interest in any girl for more than half an hour.”
The thought makes me smile. I’ve never had a boyfriend, and I always figured I was behind everyone else in the world. But maybe not. “You’ve been here that long without your family?” It sounds terribly lonely.
Displaced (The Birthright Series Book 1) Page 26