Inquest (26 page)

“You stayed,”
I say, surprising myself, because that wasn’t what I meant to start
out with.

“You were
crying. I couldn’t leave.” Milo’s holds onto me, but he feels stiff
and uncertain.

“Oh, I didn’t
realize,” I say. I never sleep well, but last night was
particularly awful. I didn’t realize I let my pain show. An even
deeper sense of gratitude fills me. “Thanks for staying with me,
Milo.”

The tension
he’s been holding melts away. His hands slide around me, and I’m
almost sure his lips press lightly against my forehead. Goosebumps
ripple across my body at what might have been an imagined touch. I
want him to kiss me for real, but at the same time, I’m not sure I
want to take that next step. Milo has been changing over the last
couple of weeks. His strange controlling side makes me nervous, not
to mention it bugs the heck out of me.

When he
suddenly shifts into this softer, more caring Milo I don’t know
what to think. It’s definitely nice, but where’s the sarcastic,
couldn’t-care-less Milo I befriended in the first place? Not to
mention I have some demons from my past to face down, Guardians and
Seekers breathing down my neck, a destiny to figure out, and an
ex-boyfriend who is confusing me more every time I see him. I’m
afraid I’d just screw up a relationship right now, and I don’t want
to hurt Milo.

“I was worried
about you last night,” Milo says, interrupting my muddled thoughts.
“You wouldn’t wake up, but you kept crying and sobbing. You
wouldn’t respond to me at all.”

Imagining
myself bawling on the bed while Milo sat by my side helpless to do
anything makes my barriers against him crumble a little more. I
feel bad for him, but picturing myself alone and crying upsets me
as well. I’ve been alone since my dad died, but I had kind of hoped
Milo was starting to fill that void. “Maybe, you could have…you
know, sat by me or something.”

The corner of
Milo’s mouth turns up in a guilty smile. “I did, actually. I spent
most of the night with my arms around you. It didn’t help as much
as I thought it would. I moved to the chair when you finally calmed
down because I didn’t want to freak you out if you woke up next to
me.”

I don’t think
I would have minded that, actually, but I’m not going to admit it
to him. I’m not sure how he’d react to that. He may want to stay
every night if he was about to say what I think he was last night.
A request like that would be hard to resist after realizing how he
held me all night. Or, he might think I was pushing things way too
far and go back to being completely vague about his feelings for
me. Milo admitting he wanted to stay would definitely be nice, but
his pulling back would keep things less complicated.

I can’t think
of anything intelligent to say to him about that, so I opt for
changing the subject. “I feel bad that you slept on that awful
chair. Is your neck okay?”

“It’s fine.
How are you feeling?” His eyes are actually filled with honest
concern. I don’t remember crying last night, I don’t remember even
coming home, but the dreams and nightmares are still painted in my
mind. I don’t want to discuss it, but I can’t reward Milo’s
vigilance and compassion by brushing him off.

I bite the
inside of my cheek to help keep control of myself as the images and
emotions come flooding back. “Part of me feels better now that I’ve
told someone about what happened to my dad, but everything else
from last night…I can’t keep it all inside. I know there are
probably more important things I should be doing, but I have to
talk to my mom.”

Milo frowns at
the suggestion. “Libby, I really don’t know if that’s a good
idea.”

“I’m not
asking you to come with me, Milo…”

“I won’t let
you go alone,” he interrupts.

“She’s
my
mom. I’ve got to face her. I can’t even think about
anything else right now. I’m so angry at her. For everything. I
could get over her ditching me after my Inquest. I hated living
with her anyway. I can’t get over her risking my dad’s life for her
own ambitions. It kills me to know that I’m the one who took his
life, but I never meant to hurt him. My mom, she gave him the idea.
It’s her fault he’s dead. Maybe my dad will forgive me if we ever
meet again, but I will never forgive my mom for what she’s done. I
want her to hurt as much as I have for the past five years.”

Milo’s stares
at me seriously. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t confront her
yet. Wait until you’ve calmed down. If things get out of hand, the
reporters will hear about it and you’ll be taken away. That can’t
happen. You need to wait.”

Taken away?
That scares me more than I want to admit, but I shake my head at
his argument. “I can’t, Milo. I think she’s keeping me from
reaching the spirits. I have to do this.”

“What do you
mean?”

“I don’t
really know how far you’ve come with your Perception abilities
because you never practice with me, but one of the first things I
learned how to do with mine was trap my own emotions so no one else
could sense them. I’ve been doing it so long, it’s automatic for
me. But I realized at some point last night when my nightmares
finally stopped that I’ll never be able to contact my spirit if I’m
hiding parts of it. Those emotions are part of me, but they’re
locked away so tightly that I can’t even get to them anymore.”

“Then why
don’t you just…unlock them?” Milo asks.

“That’s what
I’m going to do,” I say, “by confronting my mom. Letting me feel
all of those pent up emotions isn’t going to do me any good if I
can’t deal with them. I’ll just end up locking them back up. I have
to face her.”

“Libby, I
don’t like this. If this goes badly…”

“It won’t,” I
argue. Then I think better of it. Free of any repercussions, I
would definitely do something both painful and humiliating to my
mom, if not something worse. “But if things do start going wrong
while we’re there, I give you permission to stop me.”

Doubt twists
his face into a scowl. “Stop you how? You’re the most powerful
person on the planet, Libby. If you want to do something, I
seriously doubt I’m going to be able to stop you.”

How could he
stop me? Hmm…kissing me would definitely do it. Instead, I say,
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Milo scowls at
me and gets up from the bed. He paces over to the window and pulls
back the curtain in a habitual gesture. It’s the first time I
notice that he isn’t wearing his dress shirt and slacks from last
night. My head tilts to the side in confusion. Where did the
t-shirt and sweatpants he’s wearing come from? A black duffle bag
sitting next to the door finally registers in my mind.

“Where did
that come from?” I ask as I walk over and point at the bag.

Milo looks at
me and shrugs. “I stopped by my house last night. I know you liked
the suit, but it would have been really uncomfortable to sleep in.
Plus Celia was worried and kept texting me so I wanted to stop by
and check on her.”

“You went by
your house?” I ask. I would have liked to have seen where he lived
even if I couldn’t go in.

“I was only
there for a few minutes. You didn’t miss anything.”

“Still, I miss
being able to go over to other people’s houses and hang out and
meet their families,” I say.

Milo shakes
his head at me. “You’ve already met Celia. My parents…you don’t
want to meet them. I can’t even remember the last time I talked to
them and didn’t end up in a yelling match. They’re something to
avoid. Believe me.”

“Why?” I ask.
I’m sidetracking myself, but I really want to know. “Why don’t you
get along with your parents? Celia said it used to be different
between you and them.”

Fear widens
Milo’s pupils until the black swallows up his stormy grey irises.
Anger joins the party soon after. “Celia was talking about me? What
else did she say?”

“Nothing,” I
say quickly. “She told me I’d have to ask you. So I am.”

“Good,” he
says. I’m guessing the “good” was referring to Celia not spilling
his secrets, and not that I asked him since he doesn’t bother to
elaborate. I raise my eyebrows expectantly, waiting. Milo sees my
expression, but the way his eyes dart away from me don’t give me
much hope that I’m going to get an answer.

“I thought we
were talking about your parents. We can talk about mine later. Why
don’t you go take a shower so we can get this over with?” he says,
though it’s comes out as more of a command than a question.

“Fine,” I say,
heading for the bathroom. I’ll give him this one, but he’d better
believe I’m going to come back to this.

An hour later
all thoughts of Milo’s secrets are completely erased from my mind.
The palatial home I grew up in looms in front of me like a
nightmare. Its pearly walls and manicured lawns do nothing to
change that impression. Coming home should feel like…well, coming
home, but it doesn’t. Not for me. This place stopped being my home
the night my dad died. After that it was just a building I wasn’t
really welcome in. Only that oh-so-breakable bond of blood kept me
there for as long as it did.

It is sucking
me back now, and I’m letting it.

“We can turn
back,” Milo says.

“No. I’ve got
to do this.”

Nothing will
change my mind and he knows it, so he approaches the gate and
punches in the key code I gave him. I’m mildly surprised when the
gates swing open. I had honestly worried that she might have
changed the code after kicking me out, but that would require
notifying the dozens of people who used the code on a regular
basis. It would have been terribly inconvenient for my mom. And she
doesn’t do inconvenient. Leaving me while I was unconscious and
sending some toady to drop off my bags, that was easy.

Milo’s hands
are tight on the steering wheel as we roll along the driveway and
turn into the spacious parking area in front of the entrance. An
expanse of marble steps draws his eyes up to the overly-large, oak
double doors at the top of the staircase. He stops right at the
base of the steps and cuts the engine. All of the sound seems to
have been sucked out of the world, leaving only my fear and anger
to fill its absence.

My sneakers
make a soft tapping noise as I step out of the car. I can hear Milo
take a deep breath and then follow my lead. He’s pretending this
doesn’t freak him out, but he’s not as good at hiding things as me.
Worry clings to his skin worse than the cold, damp air left after
the snowstorm last night.

Walking around
the car to meet me, Milo waits for me to lead the way. Together we
approach the imposing doors. It feels odd to ring the doorbell of
my own house. Even stranger is watching the door open to find our
middle-aged butler, Manuel, staring at me. I have never been on
this side of the door from him before. He holds his calm demeanor
for all of two seconds before breaking into a leathery grin.

“Miss Libby,
you’re home! We have all missed you very much,” he exclaims in his
thickly accented English.

I barely have
time to open my mouth before he’s wrapping me up in one of his bear
hugs. When I was little I would run at him so he could grab me out
of the air and swing me in a big circle before pulling me into his
arms for a hug. He thinks I’m coming home for good. I don’t have
the heart to tell him this is very likely the last time I will ever
see him.

When he
finally releases me I step back just far enough that he can’t grab
me again. “Manuel, I’ve missed you too. How have you been?”

“Same as
always,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Now who is this with
you, Miss Libby? Not Lance, that’s for sure.”

“No, sir,”
Milo says emphatically. “I’m Milo Hanover.”

“It is a
pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hanover. Have you been taking care of my
Miss Libby for me while she’s been away?”

Milo laughs.
“I’ve been trying to.”

Chuckling at
his response, Manuel claps him on the shoulder. “Yes, I can
understand that. Miss Libby has always been a little difficult to
watch over. She broke three different bones in nine months. Did she
ever tell you that? I never imagined one child could have so many
accidents until I met Miss Libby.”

“I’d love to
hear all about them,” Milo says, relaxing a little.

“Another time,
perhaps,” I interrupt. “Manuel, I need to speak to my mother.”

He shakes off
his pleasure at seeing me and tries to return to his uptight butler
mannerisms. He doesn’t do a very good job. “Yes, come in. I can’t
believe I made you stand on the doorstep like a salesman. Not that
you even need to ask, Miss Libby. It’s your own home, after all.
Your mother will be so pleased that you’ve decided to come home.
All the staff has been very concerned about you since you
left.”

I stop walking
and shake my head in disbelief. “Manuel, what did my mom tell you
about me not being at home?”

“Mrs. Sparks
said that you and she had a disagreement and you decided you needed
some space. I assumed you were staying with a friend until whatever
you fought about was resolved.” His cheerful expression slowly
turns into a deep grimace as he realizes that my mother was lying
to him. “That’s not what happened, is it?”

“No, Manuel,
she kicked me out. She is not going to be happy to see me here, but
I need to talk to her anyway.”

“But why would
Mrs. Sparks kick you out of the house, Miss Libby?” he asks.

Sadness
replaces my irritation. Manuel always did spend too much time
watching telenovellas and not enough time watching the news. “She
didn’t tell you about what happened at my Inquest?”

“No, Miss
Libby. Mrs. Spark doesn’t discuss such things with me like your
father did.”

Manuel
pretends to have nothing in his head but the orders my mom gives
him, but I know that he was an incredibly gifted artist back in
Mexico. He is intelligent and observant, almost to a fault. He
caught me sneaking out more times than I can count in the years
after my dad died, but he never once told on me. How can he not
know about my Inquest? Manuel was one of the few good things about
living at home. I won’t lie to him.