Inquest Page 4

  Both his and Jen’s eyes burst wide in shock. “You knew?” Inquisitor Moore asks.

  I nod. I never planned on telling him, but I can’t walk away from him leaving him feeling so guilty.

  “How long?” he asks at the same time Jen does.

  “I figured it out when I was seven. Dad didn’t see it until I was ten, though. I tried to hide it from him, but he figured it out anyway. Sometimes I think he only doubted me because his Perception caught the lie. I never slipped up around him, never.”

  He always was too smart for his own good. Of course, he always said the exact same thing about me, too.

  “Without doing an Inquest?” Jen asked. “How could he figure out who you were without doing an Inquest?”

  Inquisitor Moore shakes his head. “Andrew Sparks was the most talented Perceptive I have ever met. He didn’t need an Inquest to see anything.” Bone-deep pain bubbles to the surface of Inquisitor Moore’s features, making him shrink in on himself even more. “Maybe if Andrew were still alive he would have known what to do. Maybe he would have been able to set things right.”

  “No,” I say forcefully, bitterly, “he wouldn’t have been able to do anything more than you.”

  They stare at me, Jen in confusion, Inquisitor Moore in curious doubt, but the force of my statement is enough to forestall any questions.

  “It’s late,” Inquisitor Moore says. “Jennifer, you’d better take Libby to your uncle’s hotel. I’ll have your car dropped off there as well, Libby. Call me if you need anything. I’ll try to help you the best I can.”

  “I know you will. Thanks, Papa Moore.”

  He smiles at the nickname I gave him years before when I thought he really was my grandfather. We hug each other tightly before Jen and I leave for the hotel, which turns out to be much nicer than I expected. Jen takes care of getting the keys from the front desk.

  Now we both stand in the middle of the room surveying it. Clean, is my first thought. I worried the whole ride over that I would be afraid to lie down at night. My second thought is how small it is. My bedroom back home was at least twice as big. My third thought, the one that actually manages to put a small smile on my mouth, is that it’s empty. No spiteful mother hovering over me with her hateful glares and barbed remarks. She has disowned me in every practical sense of the word, but maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

  “What do you think?” Jen asks.

  “It’s great. I like it, actually.”

  She frowns. “Are you sure?” Glancing back at the dimly lit parking lot, her frown deepens.

  “Don’t worry, Jen, I’ll be fine. This is actually pretty nice. And it really doesn’t look that scary out there. It’s too close to the museums to have too much crime, I bet.”

  “You have your cell phone?”

  I pull it out of my pocket for her to see, noticing that my service bars are still full. Mom hasn’t gotten around to cancelling it yet, I guess. That probably won’t last long. But Jen doesn’t need to know that right now.

  “Jen, I’ll be fine.”

  “I know, but…I hate this, Libby.”

  “I know.”

  Her fingers tighten around her keys. “I’d stay and make sure you’re settled in okay, but my parents don’t know where I am and they’ll start freaking out soon, especially if they realize I’m with you. I’m sorry, Libby.”

  Normally Jen doesn’t worry too much about her parents’ wishes, but I understand why she does when it comes to this. Both of her parents are Guardians. “Quit apologizing, Jen. None of this is your fault. Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll see you at school in the morning, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. “Call me if you need anything.”

  I nod that I will and watch her slip out of the room. The rumble of her car retreating is the only sound in the night air. It fades away and leaves nothing behind. Jen and Inquisitor Moore are my only allies, but even they are limited in what they’re willing to give. As the terrible knowledge of what I am spreads, I wonder if their tenuous help will break under the flood. The man who I called Papa, the friend I would do anything for, in the end I know they will abandon me just as surely as my own mother has. I am alone. In every sense of the word imaginable.

  The emptiness of the room that had given me a burst of satisfaction just a few moments ago suddenly takes on weight, crushing against me until my knees buckle. Falling to the floor amid my bags, my entire collection of possessions, I stare blankly at the wall in front of me. Two years. Of this. Maybe that isn’t the gift I thought it was after all.

  Chapter 4

  Unaware

  Staring at the school’s double doors from my car, I beg myself to turn the key and simply drive away. I don’t want to face this. I can’t stand the idea of running into Lance today. Seeing any shade of hatred in his eyes will break me. After last night, I feel as weak as a kitten. Don’t get me wrong, I’m mad as hell at him for turning on me, but his betrayal is still too fresh to let my anger overpower the crushing hurt. There is no way I can be anywhere near him today.

  My hand refuses to turn the ignition. Ditching is tolerated as long as it isn’t excessive, but only before a student’s Inquest. After, one class missed and the Concealment Officers are scouring the streets for you. The idea of being caught by those thugs again makes me shiver hard enough that the keys I’m touching jangle anxiously. Talent training is taken way too seriously. Especially since most of the students will be slotted into mundane jobs like accounting or business management.

  Only a select few actually become part of the lifeblood that keeps our society together, the Specialists, people whose talents are so profound that they can use them to police, find, or see in ways others cannot. But it doesn’t matter that so few are chosen, the process of examining the teenage population for the gems is more important than anything else. We wouldn’t survive without the Specialists. At least that’s what the Guardians believe.

  Slowly, I pull my keys from the ignition and take a deep breath. This is going to be hell.

  The walk from my car to the doors passes in strained silence. I’m early. I wanted to try and slip into my first class before anyone else could notice me. The problem, I realize as I stand in the empty hallway, is that I have no idea what class I’m supposed to be going to. My Inquest will have changed my schedule, dramatically. I only had my old schedule for barely two weeks. All of my electives will be replaced with talent training. Which leads to another problem. I only had four electives before, but now I have seven talents. My feet drag me toward the office as I wonder if they will even be able to fit everything in.

  They can’t.

  I stare at my new schedule and try to keep the bile in the bottom of my stomach where it belongs. My first three periods cover the only three general education classes I’m still required to take, English, History, and Trigonometry. Get the unimportant ones out of the way first, I suppose. My fourth hour makes me want to cry and throw the tacky grey chair I’m sitting on across the floor at the same time. Speed and Strength training. Lance will be in that class. All the football players will be there with him, training to become Guardians. With their Guardian blades strapped precariously around their left arms.

  My fingers reach up and touch the scab that formed over where Lance’s blade nicked me last night. I can’t face that again. But what choice do I have? Blocking myself from even thinking about it, I scan the rest of my schedule. Spiritualism and Perception training in place of lunch and fifth hour, Concealment and Vision together in sixth hour since those two are so commonly paired, Naturalism seventh. That should have been the end, seven classes, but I spot one more lurking at the end of the list. My Class Preparatory Course, the first time this class has ever been offered at any school anywhere. Destroyer 101.

  “You got to be kidding me. I can’t believe this.”

  I was talking more to myself than Principal Andrews, but she answers me anyway. “What I can’t believe is that I’m even being forc
ed to let you step foot back in my school. President Howe’s orders or not, it’s insane that they’re making me train the…train you.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” I say without looking at her.

  “I am well aware of that,” she snaps. “He called me last night and demanded I let you return to school. I have no idea what this is about, but I will not let you terrorize this school.”

  “I have no intention of terrorizing anyone,” I say, just as incensed as she is.

  I get Howe’s reasoning for keeping me alive, but not for forcing me to go back to school. Refusing to let me come back would have isolated me, challenged my confidence, and may have even led me toward depression and paranoia. I would have been more likely to make mistakes or act out. Why keep me here with everyone else, training me to fulfill my destiny, when that is the exact opposite of what he should be doing? President Howe is vicious and smart, the most powerful and evil of all the Guardians. He wouldn’t be president if he wasn’t. Nobody votes the president in, he takes it by force. He wouldn’t have done this without a good reason. There is a reason he chose to subject me to high school rather than exile. It could be a simple desire to keep an eye on me, but I doubt that.

  “If it were up to me you’d be locked up right now,” Principal Andrews continues, interrupting my thoughts and striking a not so pleasant nerve with me. I glare up at her with my class schedule clenched between my fingers.

  “I haven’t done anything! They don’t have any right to touch me!”

  She pulls away from me visibly, and says, “Yet.”

  That single word quells my burst of anger and makes me shrink back. She claimed not to know the full story behind me not being dead, but her comment makes me wonder how much she really knows. I don’t want to think about it too deeply so I force my attention back to my schedule. It does not make me feel any better. The silence of her office feels so oppressive. I say the first thing I can think of to alleviate it.

  “When do I eat lunch?” I ask. I hate how weak my voice sounds. I hate even more how Principal Andrews’ voice has gone from angry to fearful in the face of my outburst.

  “You’ll have to eat between classes. There just wasn’t enough room for you to have a lunch break. There wasn’t even enough time to fit all your classes into the regular seven periods. I did the best I could. You’ll just have to make it work, Ca…Libby,” Principal Andrews sputters.

  Her falter at the end makes me sink in on myself even more. Usually she insists on calling every student by their true name. She can’t force herself to utter mine or even make herself look at me now. She’s staring at the papers in front of her like they might jump up and devour her face if she takes her eyes off them. I can’t help wanting to slap her.

  “You may go, Libby. First period starts in five minutes.”

  Anger hot enough to sear the fear right out of me flares to life. “Thank you for your help, Principal Andrews,” I say through clenched teeth. The fury in my voice shocks her enough to finally make her look up at me. She flinches away almost instantly. The pen in her hand is rattling against her papers as I hastily pull down my shirt sleeve to make sure my diktats are covered. She cringes at the movement.

  In a moment of clarity I realize she’s honestly terrified of me underneath her earlier anger. She has known me for years, and she’s afraid I’m going to hurt her. Anger morphs into twisting nausea, hitting me and making me stumble out of the room. The hallway is bustling with people trying to make it to class on time, but I barely notice them.

  I have a death grip on my bag and simply stand against the wall taking deep breaths, waiting for my heart and stomach to calm back down. My heart wins the race, but my stomach seems content to stay as it is. Shrill and irritating, the warning bell rips through the hallway. Students dart into classrooms. I have to force myself to push away from the wall and trudge through my first three periods. It takes nearly inhuman strength to make myself walk into the gym locker room and dress down for Speed and Strength training.

  The shorts and t-shirt I pull on are familiar, but the strip of painted fabric I strap around my left wrist is a new addition. I made it last night in an attempt to muddle through some of my emotions. The fuchsia fabric I started with can barely even be seen beneath the angry slashes of black, electric blue blotches, and splashes of nearly every other color I had on hand. Color and lines usually do wonders for calming me, but last night I was too close to bursting to do much more than take the edge off. Not much has changed since then. I trudge out of the locker room feeling ready to either puke or hurt someone, or possibly both.

  I’m not the only girl in the class, thankfully, but I am the last one to walk out onto the basketball court. As I feared, the entire gathering of students freezes and falls silent when they notice me. Lance’s presence seems to beat against my skin, but I refuse to look at anything other than the wooden planks beneath my feet. The court needs to be refinished. I try to focus on the individual scratches and cracks as the coach, Guardian Clement, calls the group to order. He begins calling roll, and pauses when he gets to the end of the list. I can imagine my name penciled in at the bottom with a note about who I am.

  “Uh, Libitina Sparks?” he asks. I raise my hand only enough to make sure he sees it. He looks at me and frowns. His clipboard lowers slightly as he considers me and I realize there is a Guardian blade sitting on it. Apparently he was told he had a new student, but until now he didn’t know the details.

  “Libby, you weren’t named to the Guardian class, apparently, so I guess you don’t actually need this.” He gestures to the knife. “Unless you want it, I guess. You are in the class and we do train with knives.”

  Feral snarls rise from the gathered group, letting their coach know how they feel about him giving the one meant to destroy their world a weapon. Guardian Clement blinks in surprise. Amazingly enough, I’m with them. I shake my head and step back.

  “Uh, yeah, that’s probably best, I guess,” Guardian Clement says. He stuffs the blade into one of his pockets and turns back to the gathered Guardians-in-training. “We’ve got a new student, so bear with me while I give her the basics.”

  Turning back to me, he says in a tone that makes it clear he’s given this speech hundreds of time before, “Guardians are protectors of our world by birthright. In this class you will learn to master the skills of a Guardian. We have one mission. Stop the Destroyer. The Destroyer’s purpose is to end our world, destroy our society. The Guardians are the only ones who can stop her. The Destroyer is the greatest threat the Guardians will ever face and we will stop her. Any questions?”

  That last sentence was clearly directed at me. Confusion fills my mind. I can’t believe he was able to spout all of that without flying into a hateful rage. He’s faced with the one he’s meant to stop, no matter the cost, and he delivered it like he was bored. All the stories Lance told me about how intense and freakishly dedicated Guardian Clement is don’t add up. All I can do is shake my head quickly and hope he’ll move on. My prayers are answered.

  Guardian Clement waves the clipboard at the class. “Let’s get started then. Line up behind the cones. We’ll be going over some of the fundamentals today. Twenty-five times through the cones then fifty laps around the gym to warm up.”

  I literally feel my jaw drop. The cones run the entire length of the court. I am supposed to run through those twenty-five times, and then run fifty laps around the gym? And this is supposed to be our warm up? This guy has to be insane. I’ll be on the sidelines puking before I even get halfway through. The coach must have noticed my shock because he wanders over to me without making it obvious that is what he’s doing. At least he isn’t too scared of me to even look at me.

  “Don’t worry, Libby, it’ll be easier than you think. You’ve probably already noticed that you’re faster and stronger than some of your friends, people usually do, but until the Inquisitor actually unlocks you’re talents you’re only getting hints of what you’ll be able to do one day.�
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  He motions toward the cones. I look up, surprised to see that the fifteen people in front of me have already made it through the first lap and are waiting on me.

  “Give it a try,” he says, an almost excited gleam in his eyes.

  I hesitate briefly before walking up to the cones and shifting my weight to the balls of my feet. Everyone in the room is staring at me. Guardian Clement is urging me on with a gentle wave and a building smile. For some reason his childlike enthusiasm to see me taste my talents for the first time makes me relax. Somewhat. Watching Lance for the last year, I know how incredibly fast Speed makes a person, and Strength gives the body the endurance and power it needs to withstand the furious forces moving so quickly puts on a body. I have watched Lance countless times and wished I could wrap myself in that cloak of invincibility, run like I am flying. I nearly burst forward without thinking.

  But then I remember what my moment of joy would do to the room of eager killers surrounding me. My muscles tense all over my body. I can feel my limbs gathering their strength, begging to be put to use. I step forward, and break into a light jog. Or what everyone else would consider a light jog. My face purses in serious concentration even though making my body move and go where I want it to at this speed takes only a fraction of my brain power. I’m running slightly faster than any non-Speed-enhanced person might, but nothing close to the blur of motion I should be demonstrating.

  Turning around the last cone, I start back, opening my mouth to gasp in a breath as if I have to strain to maintain my paltry speed. With so little of my mind on what my body is doing I find myself wondering if anyone is buying my act. I look up on reflex and find Lance staring at me very intently. The doubt in his eyes frightens me, causing me to lose my concentration. I step on a cone instead of dodging it and the rubbery shape collapses, sending my ankle to the right while the rest of me keeps going to the left.