Secret of Betrayal: Book Two of The Destroyer Trilogy Page 4

  “Why?”

  “Because he’d probably like to know what’s going on. And he might have a good idea.”

  “Fine,” Lance says, “go get him. I’ll take care of this.”

  I stare at him. He means it. If I go after Milo he will attempt to take care of my locker issue on his own, and probably get himself blown up. He’s being a jerk, but when his hand reaches for the locker I make my decision.

  “Don’t even think about it! Just wait a minute.” I slip out my phone and text Milo to meet me at my locker as soon as possible. Then I redirect my attention to Lance. “Well, Mr. Impatient, are you going to do something about this locker, or what? I’d say ditch it, but I left my lip gloss in there and I’d really like to get it back.”

  Lance smirks at me. “Ha, ha.”

  “Really, what should we do?”

  Lance shrugs. “Got any tricks you’ve learned recently that could tell me what’s in there?”

  I have to think about that one, but not for very long. My mom showed me uses for Naturalism I had never considered before she tried to kill me last month. I’ve put a lot of focus into developing those unusual abilities. I reach my hand toward the locker. Lance stops me before I even get close.

  “I’m not going to open it. I’m just going to see what’s inside.”

  He looks wary, but pulls back and lets me try.

  The cool of the metal spreads through my skin. For a moment that’s the only sensation. Then I really start to focus. Metal comes from the earth. Even after being refined and molded into unattractive green lockers, the steel is still part of the earth, governed by Naturalism. Tapping my talent, I carefully send it into the door. It struggles a bit, but slowly spreads out to fill every inch of the locker. Along the way, everything touching the locker shelves leaves a type of imprint. If it is made from the earth I can feel that as well. If it isn’t, it feels like a shadow. Papers, books, a cotton sweater, pencils, I feel each one. My locker is so packed full there isn’t any space left for a bomb or even just a bucket of wet paint that will spill on me when I open the door.

  I pull my hand away and look at Lance. “I didn’t find anything unusual.”

  “How sure are you?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  He frowns.

  “Look, I won’t tell you to open it. I wouldn’t put you at risk, Lance. Leave it if you’re worried.”

  “You don’t think there’s anything dangerous in there?”

  “No. Unless it was really small, too small for me to feel.”

  Lance inhales slowly. He reaches for the lock. This time I’m the one to reach out. “Lance …”

  Shaking me off, he says, “I trust you.”

  His words surprise me enough to make me back up. It feels as if it’s been a long time since he’s actually trusted me. I watch, my breath held tight inside my lungs as his fingers swivel through my combination. When he stops for the final time, I nearly yank him away. But I’m sure there is nothing in my locker.

  The handle slides up and Lance pulls against the door.

  My eyes close.

  I wait for some noise, some signal.

  It doesn’t come.

  My eyes snap open, terrified the trick was silent, that Lance has already paid the price for his trust in me. When I see him standing in front of my open locker with a perplexed look on his face, my lungs finally release the air they held hostage.

  “Well?” I demand.

  “I don’t see anything.” He opens the door wider for me to see.

  I step forward to scan everything inside. Right away I spot something out of place. My hand darts in and retrieves the simply folded piece of paper lying on top of my trig book. Lance rips it out of my hand immediately. I snatch it back just as fast.

  “What is wrong with you? This was obviously meant for me.”

  “Exactly,” he says, the insinuation dripping from every syllable.

  After the hype from Lance, finding only a piece of paper in my locker makes me roll my eyes at him. “What, is the mystery kid going to paper cut me to death?”

  “The edges could be laced with poison.”

  “Why would he warn you about it?”

  Stumped, Lance doesn’t respond. I use the moment of silence to unfold the paper and read.

  Libby,

  I know we’ve never spoken, but I want to offer you my help, our help. I’m part of a group that wants to help you. We’ve tried to make a difference on our own, but we haven’t been successful. We need someone like you, someone with real power.

  If you’re willing, I’ll be in the Commons right after school. Lance can point me out. I’ll stay until 3:15. If you don’t come by then I’ll assume you aren’t interested. Mr. Walters knows about this message. He’ll understand if you’re late for class.

  The girl you helped today, Casey, she knows my brother. She said he wasn’t involved in what happened to her this afternoon.

  Commons by 3:15

  Lance was, of course, reading the note over my shoulder. I turn to look at him, wondering at his reaction. The dark look in his eyes isn’t reassuring.

  “It’s a trick,” he states.

  “Lance, come on. Did you read the last lines? His brother is clearly a Cipher. We’ve wondered about some kind of resistance. Maybe this is it.”

  “Or it’s a trap. Lazaro will go to any lengths to set up a trap for you.”

  “I really don’t think this is Lazaro. Notes slipped into my locker like a boy with a crush doesn’t seem like his style.”

  “Maybe that’s why he chose it, to throw you off,” Lance says.

  The note gets shoved into my pocket and I start walking toward the Commons. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  I get halfway down the hallway before spotting Milo coming toward me. The sight of Lance with me, along with our expressions, hurries his steps. He’s at my side a few seconds later, listening as I explain and hand over the note.

  “You couldn’t have waited for me?” he asks. “This could have been something dangerous.”

  I could blame it on Lance, but I know that will only cause more fighting. “We were worried it was something time sensitive.”

  Milo frowns, but doesn’t argue. He and Lance do argue with me the whole way to the commons about actually doing what the note says. As usual, neither of them convinces me to change my mind. I march through the halls determinedly until I reach the last stretch of hallway before stepping into the open air Commons in the center of campus. Doubt creeps across my skin, making it prickle into gooseflesh. This is the innermost part of the school, furthest from exterior doors. If someone is behind me they could close and lock every door. I would be in the open. The knife edge of fear pokes against me. But my skin, thickened by injury and pain, refuses to surrender. This isn’t a trap, and if it is, it won’t trap me.

  I push through the doors with Lance and Milo close behind. Tense muscles make my stride more jerky than usual. I’m sure it shows my anxiety, but the lone teenage boy standing in the center of the concrete park is fidgeting and glancing around. He’s too busy being worried about his own safety to notice my nervousness.

  I’m assuming this is the note writer, but just to be sure, I whisper to Lance, “Is that him?”

  He nods. “It could still be a trap.”

  I ignore him and focus on the young man no more than fourteen years old who is standing in front of me. I know Lance well enough to know he’s scouring every inch of the Commons. To this young man, I ask, “How long has your brother been in the spirit world?”

  “Two years,” he says.

  “What is his name?”

  “Sam Vera.”

  “So when I meet Sam, who should I tell him told me his name?” I ask.

  He hesitates. “Cole Vera.”

  I smile when he finally seems to let out the breath he’d been holding. My comfort level goes up a few degrees as well. Lance and Milo could still be right. It could be a trap, but I don’t think so.

&nbs
p; “It’s nice to meet you, Cole. Would you like to tell me why I’m here?”

  Cole gestures for me to sit down. I do. Lance stays standing, his eyes practically scraping plaster off the walls to assure my safety. Milo takes a position behind me. Cole takes a seat on the concrete bench opposite. I take notice that despite there being plenty of room on my bench, he sits across from me. Plausible deniability, or getting out of the line of fire?

  “I can’t stay long,” he says, “but I knew I needed to talk to you. We want to help you, or to have you help us. I’m not sure which.”

  “Who is us?”

  “The same people who kept you from getting killed the night of the theater.”

  “Cipher families?”

  Cole nods.

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Cipher families? Over two thousand families. Each family has several people, so six thousand is a fair estimate,” he says, and my hopes rise. “But how many of us are willing to fight back … well, that’s a smaller number, unfortunately.”

  And there goes the warm fuzzy feeling I was starting to get. “How small?”

  “Worldwide, less than fifty. Locally, it’s even worse. Eight.”

  “Eight?” The disappointment is impossible to keep out of my voice.

  Cole hears it and cringes. “Yeah, well there used to be fifteen, but …”

  “But what?”

  “Did you hear about that car accident over the summer? The one on San Mateo where four teens were killed when their car went out of control and rolled three times?”

  I nod. The sedan had been crushed. The pictures displayed on the news had shown one of the victims’ arms reaching through the broken window completely still. That image stuck with me for quite a while.

  “You may not remember, but there was a string of home invasions a few months later in the Heights. Two people were killed, a few others beat up.”

  “I remember hearing something about that,” I admit.

  “Things like that are the reason there are only eight of us still willing to fight. Guardians killed four of my friends that night by running them off the road. Several members of our group tried to retaliate after the crash. They failed. Their families paid for it. The leader’s parents were killed in their home. The others had members of their families attacked, most ending up in the hospital but surviving.”

  “I’m so sorry.” It’s all I can say. My blood rages with the desire to amend such hateful actions. I keep a tight lid on my thoughts to avoid spiraling into a rant about the Guardians. A split second later, shame slithers over my skin. For the first time, I feel sick about making my deal with Howe. What right did I have to accept an extra two years from Howe when the cost was keeping him in power even a few minutes longer?

  “Look,” Cole says, interrupting my thoughts, “This is what happens every time a resistance against the Guardians gets big enough for them to notice. Alone we have no hope of ever beating them. I know there aren’t many of us, but we want to help.”

  Help. I can certainly use it, but can I really put these boys in harm’s way when they’ve already lost so much? I meet his eyes to tell him that he should stay out of my mess and protect his family. What holds my tongue is the steel of loss, refined into determination that will not be broken by me or anyone else.

  “I don’t know what we can do,” Cole says, “but I won’t abandon my brother. Sam deserves better.”

  “Yes, he does,” I say softly.

  Cole’s eyes lift slightly. He seems surprised that I agree with him. “You’ll let us help?”

  “I won’t turn away help, Cole, but I need you to understand that if you join up with me you and your friends can’t move without my permission. It’s too dangerous.”

  “You want us to hold off? Why?”

  “Because we need a plan to get your brother back home, and I need everyone to stay alive until we’re ready to make our move. Can you do that?” I ask. If I can keep this broken group in check for a while it will keep them safer than my turning them away.

  “Yeah,” Cole says eagerly, “sure. We’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Good, but I don’t think any more of these meetings is a good idea. From now on you’ll go through Lance or Milo if you need to get me a message.”

  I can see the 007-inspired wheels turning in his head. Inwardly I cringe at his reaction, but if secret messages and playing spy for a while will keep him and his unnamed friends alive, more power to him. I make a few more arrangements with him to guarantee I don’t end up standing in a plainly visible courtyard with him again. Then I say my goodbyes.

  “Eight,” Lance mumbles. “There goes my hope of a secret army of Cipher sympathizers showing up to make all of this much easier.”

  “I really thought there would be more,” Milo agrees. “Why aren’t more Cipher families willing to stand up to the Guardians?”

  “Can you blame them?” I ask. “They want their family members back, but how long can you fight when all it gets you is losing more loved ones? They’ve been beaten into submission. The Guardians have been doing this for a long time. They know how to keep people in line. Just them standing up for me after the theater took a lot of guts.”

  I sincerely hope no one died because of their intervention.

  “Thanks, by the way, for making me babysit a bunch of freshmen,” Lance says.

  “You like the cloak-and-dagger crap as much as Cole does, admit it.”

  Lance smirks, but I know I’m right. Milo doesn’t seem to mind the assignment.

  The three of us slip into Mr. Walters’ class quietly a few minutes later. This class is meant solely for teaching me about the Destroyer class, but more often than not it turns into a planning session. Milo and Mr. Walters jump into a deep discussion as soon as we arrive. I listen quietly to their thoughts, not bothering to join in right away. Milo brings up the idea of a direct assault on the Guardians. Mr. Walters reminds him it would be suicide, but after meeting with Cole I wonder if it could ever work.

  Waiting scares me.

  How many more people will die before we’re ready to make our move? I tune out everyone else, my thoughts instead going back to Cole’s note. I knew not to bother telling my teacher I would be late, because the note said he already knew where I would be.

  I often get the feeling Mr. Walters is holding out on me. I know his unbreakable promises made to the Guardians are partly responsible for that impression, but sometimes I wonder if there isn’t more he simply chooses to hide. Scholarly interest can’t possibly be enough reason for him to risk working with me. What is the real reason behind his help, and why is he hiding it?

  Chapter 5

  Sihir

  “I don’t understand, Libby,” Milo’s mom says. “The Guardians can’t kill the Ciphers.”

  “Yes, they can,” I argue, glad to finally be out of school and trying to figure out the mess with Casey this afternoon. “You said yourself that they could kill them. You only said the consequences would be bad, so bad they wouldn’t do it. But what if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not.” Her body shivers at the very idea.

  “You could be,” Milo says. “It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”

  I take Mio’s hand gently and will my calm into him. I completely understand why he is still angry about how his parents handled his first failed Inquest, but I can’t afford a fight between them right now. I need answers. Mrs. Hanover still hasn’t explained to me what will happen if the Guardians kill a Cipher while they’re still locked away in the spirit world. Whatever it is, the mere mention of it terrifies her. I was willing to accept her assurances before, but not any longer.

  “Mrs. Hanover, the Ciphers are sure they’re in danger. They even risked attacking Casey to get me the message. If what you say about the Spiritualists monitoring the Cipher’s activity is true, they are probably paying for that very dearly right now. And now I have teenage vigilantes trying to take on the Guardians all by their lone
somes. They want their family members back. Everyone is getting desperate.”

  I wasn’t connected to the Ciphers like Casey was, but I could certainly feel her terror.

  Milo’s mom wrings her hands in confusion. “They can’t kill them. There has to be another explanation. Something that will keep them from you without … without consequences.”

  “Nothing else will work! I’m the Destroyer, for crying out loud! Where are they going to keep them that I won’t be able to get into? Locking them in the spirit world is the only way to make sure I can’t make use of them. I’ve got to get their spirits back to their bodies if I have any hope of freeing them, but I can’t do that without alerting the Spiritualists guarding them. It’s practically impossible! Anything else would be too easy for me to circumvent. They have to be planning on killing them!”

  My frustrated rant is followed by silence. With Celia at dance class and Mr. Hanover at the hospital taking care of the ER, only Lance, Milo, and I sit in the room with Mrs. Hanover. Milo is restraining himself from joining in my argument with his mom. Lance is quietly backing me up as he usually does. I am on the verge of becoming hostile. I need answers. If Mr. Hanover were here, he would support his wife’s reasoning, but without him next to her she begins to falter.

  “If you don’t believe me,” I say crossly, “you better explain why I shouldn’t argue with you. Otherwise, I’m going to start planning what I need to do on the idea that the Guardians are about to commit mass murder.”

  She cringes visibly. Stopping the Guardians from killing the Ciphers means going after them in their own compounds. A virtual suicide mission. My threat is enough to make her talk.

  “Do you know what a Sihir is?”

  I look over at Milo. He clearly thinks his mom has lost her mind. Lance looks ready to laugh out loud.

  “You’re not serious, are you?” Milo asks.

  “You asked me to explain. That’s what I’m trying to do,” she says with uncharacteristic peevishness.

  “Sihirs are children’s tales,” Lance says patiently. “My dad used to try to scare me with Sihir stories at night. It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.”