Spirit

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Instead of heading to the cafeteria at lunch, he went out back, to where a few concrete picnic tables were lined up under the pine trees. The weather was still crap, with rain dripping between the branches to soak the ground and seal the chill to his body, but it was outside, and deserted, and he could feel the elements and think.

  He lay on one of the tables and stared at the sky. The gun dug into the small of his back and the rain seemed to aim straight for his eyes.

  He remembered Kate’s words from yesterday. Don’t you trust anyone?

  No. He didn’t. It had been his father’s last lesson, and Hunter had learned it well.

  A branch cracked and split somewhere to his left, and he was off the table in a heartbeat.

  He landed in a crouch and surveyed the pine trees. Nothing.

  His hand found the gun, but he didn’t draw it—the last thing he needed was for some teacher to catch him with a firearm.

  The trees were still, aside from slow drops of water rolling from leaf to leaf. The air was full of information, centering on the fact that someone hid nearby.

  Yesterday, Kate had dropped out of a tree to tackle him. He glanced up, though all he found overhead was sky.

  Then he felt motion before he saw anything, and he was moving, spinning, dropping, all before his brain registered the attack.

  Everything was too fast—he couldn’t even tell who’d come after him. Sheer size said it was a guy; light hair said it wasn’t one of the Merricks. Then the air dropped ten degrees, turning thin and hard to breathe. Ice formed on his cheeks, stinging his eyes and stealing his vision.

  Then a fist caught him in the shoulder. The left one, exactly where he’d been shot.

  The sudden pain almost knocked him down. It felt like he’d been shot again. No, it felt like his whole arm was dislocating from his body.

  His power flared without direction, pulling strength from the ground and the air, and when he swung a fist, he connected hard.

  But he didn’t stop there. Most people fought to drive an enemy away—not Hunter. He’d been taught to pull an enemy close, to cause the most damage. He blinked frost out of his eyes and threw his joints into retaliation, drawing strength from the ground, connecting, punishing.

  He knew the moment when his attacker wanted to get some distance, and Hunter felt the surge of victory as he got the upper hand.

  Then a fist snuck inside his guard and jabbed him right in the throat.

  Hunter went down. Worse—he couldn’t breathe. He was on all fours in the grit and pavement of the school patio, and he was going to choke to death because no one else was stupid enough to be out here in the rain.

  He sensed movement, and the gun found his hand.

  The movement stopped. “You’re better than I thought you’d be.”

  He had an accent, leaving the words clipped.

  Hunter coughed and it hurt like a bitch. But it meant air was working its way into his lungs, so he couldn’t complain.

  Get up. Get up, you wuss.

  He shoved himself to his feet to face his attacker, keeping the gun pointed. At least his hand was steady.

  The man was tall, younger than Hunter expected, with darker skin and ice-blue eyes. He looked military fit, with close-cropped hair and a steady stance. He also looked like he didn’t take any crap—he was here to do a job, and he was going to do it.

  Hunter briefly wondered if this was how he would have turned out, if his father hadn’t died.

  “Do us both a favor and put the gun away,” said the man.

  “You’re Silver,” Hunter said. It sounded like he was talking through a throat full of gravel. “You shot me last night.”

  A nod. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you last night.”

  “You’re lucky I’m not killing you right now.”

  “I don’t think luck has anything to do with it. Put the gun away.”

  Hunter didn’t move, and the man raised an eyebrow. “You were the proverbial sitting duck a few moments ago. Surely you realize I would have already killed you if I meant you harm.”

  Hunter rolled that around in his head for a moment. He couldn’t sit here all day holding a gun, either. His father used to say, “Pointing a gun means nothing if you’re not willing to fire it.”

  Could he shoot this guy?

  No. He couldn’t.

  He slid the gun into the holster. “Where’s Kate?”

  “I had doubts about her ability to evaluate whether you were a threat.”

  Hunter rubbed at his throat. Again, he was reminded of Gabriel’s comment that first night. Keep your enemies closer. Or the old saying, The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Silver had shot him, had just about kicked his ass right here in the school courtyard, but Hunter didn’t get the impression that the guy was really here to fight with him.

  “If you’re here to stop the Elementals who are starting fires, I want the same thing,” said Hunter. “I’m no threat to you.”

  A smile. “I’m not worried about you being a threat to me.”

  God, this guy was cocky. Hunter bristled. “I told Kate I would help her figure out who the others are.”

  “I’m curious—why would you agree to turn in some, but not all?”

  He had to be talking about the Merricks. “I don’t have to turn in anyone. You know who the Merricks are. It doesn’t matter anyway. They aren’t the ones causing trouble.”

  A frown. “You know what your father was, do you not?”

  Hunter frowned back at him. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going. “Yes.”

  “And you have no problem with the Merricks’ continued existence?”

  “I told you—they’re not hurting anyone.”

  Silver leaned against the picnic table. “Did Kate tell you about her mother?”

  “She told me she was killed by a Water Elemental.”

  The man nodded. “Did Kate mention that she went after the same Water Elemental to finish the job?”

  They’d talked about vengeance, but they’d never talked about killing anyone.

  Then again, he hadn’t known what Kate was. Not then. “No,” he said. “She didn’t.”

  “You see, Hunter Garrity, son of John Garrity, your father was a great man. He did what needed to be done, for the good of all. I wasn’t aware he had a son, so you’re a bit of a mystery. I worry that you have missed the mark somewhere.”

  Hunter felt fury well up inside, but not at Silver. At himself. He worried about the exact same thing. “I told Kate that I would find the other Elementals.”

  “You talk about Elementals as if there are shades of gray. There are not. There are full Elementals, and there are Guides.”

  Hunter didn’t say anything.

  Silver studied him. “When I finish the job I’ve come here to do, which side will you stand on?”

  “What difference does it make?” Hunter snapped.

  “It makes a great deal of difference if the five of you can form a full circle. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  “Yeah.” Silver was saying he wouldn’t take the chance of Hunter helping the Merricks to fight back.

  Hunter wondered if that meant Silver would kill him right now if he gave the wrong answers.

  He was so sick of this debate over right and wrong. Silver’s attacking him had been a relief of sorts—he could defend himself from an assault. A fight was clear-cut.

  But really, wasn’t this just as clear-cut?

  Silver was still watching him. His voice was grave. “I knew your father. I respected him, and I was sorry to hear of his death. I would rather not kill you, but I put duty before emotion. Do you?”

  Hunter looked away. Rain snuck inside the collar of his shirt to make him shiver.

  “You were negotiating with Calla Dean,” said Silver. “Why?”

  “I didn’t want her to hurt anyone else.”

  “Why didn’t you kill her when you had the opportunity? From what I’ve read, she’s been hurti
ng people for a while, and many of them.”

  “I didn’t know who else she was working with.”

  Silver straightened. “I don’t believe that’s a complete answer.”

  Hunter scowled. Maybe it was the repeated mentions of his father, but somehow this conversation radiated disappointment, and he felt obligated to prove himself. “I thought she was my friend at first. I thought I understood her. I wanted to find out why she was drawing the Guides here.”

  “You don’t think she should have been put to death for the crimes she committed?”

  Hunter didn’t have an answer for that, either.

  And wasn’t that answer enough?

  He kept going back to that conversation with Michael in the truck, about turning off his conscience. Was that the problem here? Had he been going about everything all wrong? Was it really so simple as needing to focus on the goal and forget how he got there?

  Kate was full of rage against pure Elementals—and he got it, if they’d killed her mother. He hadn’t been able to kill Michael and Gabriel a few weeks ago. He hadn’t been able to kill Calla.

  He hadn’t been able to do the job he’d been born to do.

  The Merricks were a family. They’d stick together. They’d do whatever they had to do to keep themselves together and safe.

  And was working with Silver even a betrayal? They were leaving.

  With a sudden flash of understanding, he wondered if this was the true reason his mother had hidden those weapons, those files. She thought he was living in enemy territory. She thought the Merricks might be a danger to him.

  And they were, in a way: they’d made him a target. A bullet through his shoulder had proven that.

  He’d been off track for a while now. But here, talking to Silver, a man who’d tried to kill him, he felt like he’d found the rails.

  He squared his shoulders and looked up. “I’m not your enemy,” he said. “Tell me what you want to know.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Kate sat with Hunter outside the middle school. He was nursing a bottle of water, twisting it between his hands until she was reminded of Silver with his weapons.

  “Nervous?” she said.

  “No.”

  “Which one are we waiting for?”

  “I’ll know when I see them.”

  He was different this afternoon, more determined, maybe. It reminded her of the first day in the cafeteria, when she’d seen him so tightly coiled, so full of control. She wondered just what Silver had said to him.

  And what it would take to make him snap again.

  “Did I miss anything exciting in History?” she said.

  He didn’t look over. “Do you really care?”

  “I care deeply about the Treaty of Versailles.”

  His eyes flicked her way. “Really. Describe it.”

  She could call his bluff since she’d read the chapter last night, thinking she’d be in school today. If Silver hadn’t been so damned overbearing, she would have been. “It ended the First World War and made Germany realize they weren’t the badasses they thought they were.”

  Hunter sniffed and looked back at the door of the school.

  “Look,” she said. “I don’t get what your problem is.”

  “I don’t have a problem, Kate.”

  “What’s with the attitude?”

  “No attitude.” His eyes cut her way again, his gaze sharp as steel. “I’m just done being played.”

  “I never played you.”

  “Okay.”

  “The sarcasm really isn’t attractive.”

  “Like I care.”

  His tone was a smack to the face.

  But what did she expect?

  She traced a fingertip over the tattoo on his forearm, something scripty and long. She recognized the symbols as Arabic or Persian or something, but she couldn’t read the language. “What’s this really say?” she said, making her voice provocative. “Something dirty?”

  He smacked her hand away, as if she were a troublesome fly.

  “So touchy,” she whispered mockingly.

  “You don’t need to be here,” he said. “I told Silver I didn’t need you.”

  “You and Silver are besties all of a sudden?”

  “Let’s just say he didn’t climb in my lap to get his point across.”

  Well, that stung. She sat in silence after that, letting the last bits of rain collect in her hair and chill her neck. She didn’t want to be sitting next to him now, but getting up and leaving would let him know he’d gotten to her.

  After a minute, Hunter sighed, a breath full of weight, like he was going to apologize.

  But he didn’t.

  They sat there for the longest time, just breathing the same air, waiting for the end-of-class bell that would send students through the doors.

  Maybe she was the one who owed him an apology. Or at least an explanation.

  “I was never trying to play you,” she said quietly.

  His posture tightened, as if he was going to snap back—but then he didn’t say anything. It gave her courage to continue.

  “When I got here,” she said, “I didn’t know who you were. I was just supposed to find the Merricks and figure out how hard they’d be to kill. You were kind of like . . . a wild card.”

  He didn’t say anything, but he was listening. She could feel it.

  “That first day—you defended me in the school office, but then you had some issue with Calla, and then the fight with Gabriel Merrick—I couldn’t figure you out.” She paused. “I still can’t.”

  “I can’t figure you out, either,” he said, his tone sharp. “I mean, you throw yourself at every guy you see—”

  “I do not!”

  He gave her a look.

  She sat up straight and gave him one right back. “What?”

  He sighed and turned his attention back to the rear door of the middle school.

  Then he abruptly looked back. “What happened to your face?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “You have a bruise.”

  Kate put a hand to her face, and he shook his head, reaching out to touch her opposite cheek. “Here,” he said.

  His hand was warm, and she was surprised how it almost made her breath catch, just that little bit of contact.

  If she said something about it, he’d probably mock her. So she brushed his hand away. “Sparring with Silver.”

  He made a small sound, a disbelieving sound. “Sparring, huh?”

  She wanted to hit him. “How did it feel when people didn’t believe you about Calla?”

  That got his attention. “This is nothing like that.”

  “Really?”

  His eyes were intense now, locked on hers. “Yeah. Really.”

  She had a retort on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t say anything, not with the way he was studying her.

  “Did you really kiss Silver?” he asked.

  “He kissed me.” It was nothing to blush over, but her cheeks disagreed.

  “And when you jumped me on the Ferris wheel, wasn’t that an attempt to shut me up?”

  “You don’t have a very high opinion of me, huh?” But her cheeks still felt hot, because his words were absolutely true.

  That didn’t mean she hadn’t enjoyed their time on the Ferris wheel.

  “See, there’s the difference,” said Hunter. “I never hit Calla. The only time I ever laid a hand on her was when she was trying to kill me.”

  “I think you’ve got this all wrong.”

  He swung his head around to look at her. “You would, wouldn’t you? I’m surprised you’re not throwing yourself at me right now, just to end the conversation.”

  She snorted. “Like you’d know what to do if I did.”

  He recoiled, and she regretted it immediately. But she’d needed to sting him back for everything he’d been saying, as if the only thing she could offer this mission was a little physical distraction wrapped up with a pretty smile.<
br />
  That was how Silver treated her.

  And how her mother had treated her.

  Hunter’s shoulders were tight now, and he was peeling the label off his water bottle. He very determinedly was not looking at her.

  Mocking him should have felt good. It didn’t. It felt like crap.

  “I’m sorry you don’t think you can trust me,” she finally said.

  He didn’t say anything. He probably could recite the label by heart he was studying it so hard.

  “I don’t trust anyone,” he finally said.

  That surprised her. “You trust Silver.”

  Hunter looked her way. “Trust isn’t the right word. He’s the first person I’ve met in a long time who brought it back to black-and-white.”

  And Hunter respected that. She could hear it in his voice. He might not like Silver, but he respected him, he respected what he was doing here.

  “So you’re going to turn on the Merricks.”

  “I’m not turning on anyone. They’re not on my side.”

  “I watched Gabriel pull you out of the line of fire, after Silver shot you.”

  Hunter didn’t say anything. Then he looked over. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m just making sure you’re not going to stab us in the back, too.”

  “I’m not stabbing anyone in the back. They know what I am. God knows they question me about it enough. They’re looking out for themselves, so I need to do the same.”

  “What does that mean, they’re looking out for themselves?”

  “It means exactly what it sounds like.” But he’d hesitated for a moment.

  Before she could question him about it, the school bells rang and the side door was flung open. Middle schoolers came pouring out.

  She couldn’t believe how young they looked. Had she ever been this young? She’d been tiny when her mother first took her to that farm in Virginia. She’d been about this age when her bloodied face had been pressed into filthy straw. What was the worst thing these kids had ever encountered? Hangnail? Forgotten homework?

  Hunter was trained on the door, watching as each kid came out. The courtyard filled with students, the gray sky dulling the bright jackets and backpacks. Girls laughed and giggled, boys yelled to each other about sports and games, and they were suddenly surrounded.

  “We can’t just shoot him, you know,” she said.