Inquest (37 page)

I have two,
maybe three minutes. Lance is asking me something, but I can’t
focus on him right now. A full, twelve-member Guardian strike team
is on their way to the stage. Not even Lance and Milo, with his
fledgling Guardian abilities, will be able to handle that. I have
to help. My consciousness centers on my leg, accessing my
Naturalism to see what one week has done for my ankle. Hopefully
having my talents unlocked will mean an even speedier recovery than
usual. The crack is still there, but less defined than before. It
will have to do.

Shoving my
fingers down the sides of the cast, I pull against it with
everything I have. Faced with my Strength, the plaster and gauze
disintegrate. I look up to find myself faced with a stunned Lance.
“Guardians!” I exclaim before dashing down the aisle.

I don’t know
if Lance is following. I can’t see anything in front of me. All I
can do is push people out of my way as I flash through the throng
to the stage. Tapping into my Concealment, I send feelers out in
all directions, searching, desperate to know how far away they are.
Two dozen yards to my left, I find the first one. My Speed leaps to
its fullest. Grating pain throbs in my ankle. Dr. Layton is going
to kill me for this. Two more steps and I reach the edge of the
crowd. The sudden emptiness feels odd, but I can finally see Milo.
He’s waiting patiently while Celia gushes over the dancer.

“Milo,” I
scream, “Guardians!”

Milo crouches,
and Celia does exactly what we’ve trained her to do. She runs. But
not without grabbing Isabelle Sanders and yanking her back behind
the curtain to safety. I reach the stairs leading up to the stage
just as the team of Guardians converges on Milo at a speed I can’t
match with my injury.

Fast before
his second Inquest, Milo is even faster now, but the Speed and
Strength he’s attempting to use are way beyond what he is used to.
Instead of the fluid grace with which Lance executes every move,
Milo lurches and stumbles through his attacks. A dozen hits have
already gotten through his defenses when I reach the stage floor.
Luckily none of them have been fatal. They seem to want him alive.
Their focus is entirely spent on Milo, so none of them even react
to my advance. I take out the two closest to me with lightning-fast
flicks of my hands to the base of their necks. They drop like
spaghetti, drawing the attention of everyone else.

The
split-second surprise they suffer gives me all the opening I need.
I drop to a crouch and sweep my leg out to the left. The nearest
Guardian falls hard and tries to bounce back up, but my elbow to
his throat ends that attempt. Vision actually warns me of the next
attack. I leap into the air and watch as another Guardian’s low
tackle misses completely. My heel comes down hard on his neck. The
snapping of his Strength-enhanced vertebrae makes me cringe, but I
don’t stop moving.

Milo is back
in action, and Lance leaps onto the stage and engages two at once.
There go his chances of ever joining them. The gusto with which he
snaps one Guardian’s neck and slices into the knee cap of another
one with his Guardian blade makes me think he doesn’t care about
that right now. Focusing on the random glimpses I’m getting, I
leave the two of them to their work and take down Guardian after
Guardian.

It can’t be
more than a few seconds before all but one is either dead or
unconscious on the ground. Milo is panting on the floor next to his
last opponent, and Lance is kicking away the Guardian that fell on
him in his death throes. Apparently they’re both fine, leaving the
last one to me. Thanks. My ankle is killing me.

Tall, broad
shouldered, and surprisingly young, the last Guardian faces me
balanced between admiration and wariness. The insignia on his
jacket marks him as the leader. Vision reveals no intention of him
attacking, so I hold my stance as well. “Call off this attack and
I’ll let whoever is still alive stay that way,” I say.

“I can’t do
that, Cassia.” His firm voice only betrays his nerves when he gets
to my true name. I don’t like hearing it any more than he does. I
doubt anyone does.

My gaze slips
over his shoulder to the frozen mass of ballet patrons. Every eye
in the theater is focused on me. The cameras in place to record the
opening performance are trained on me as well. Their red indicator
lights glare at me from the darkness like a pack of evil fairytale
monsters. There is no going back, now. No pretending I’m not
Cassia. If I had to guess, I would say this whole thing is playing
live around the world. The chances of me seeing my eighteenth
birthday just decreased dramatically. I sigh and focus my attention
back on the remaining Guardian.

“Just give us
the Cipher…”

How odd that
he knows the nickname Mr. Walters gave Milo.

“…and we’ll
leave you and the others in peace. I promise that I will not attack
you or your friends, even that one, though I’d truly like to strip
him of his weapon right now for his traitorous involvement in
this,” he says gesturing at Lance.

Lance kicks
the Guardian next to him and snorts at the promise. Unless this guy
is Super Guardian, the threat of him attacking us at this point
seems pretty minimal. He is still alive, though, so you never
really know. I know better than anyone that people are rarely what
they seem.

“You give me
your word, Guardian…” I pause, waiting for him to fill in the
blank. If I get a promise from a Guardian I definitely want a name
to go along with it.

“Braden,” he
supplies, his head tilting to one side at my request. He almost
seems curious, or maybe he’s just trying to memorize my features
for when he comes back to kill me, but he stares at me very
intently with an odd expression on his face. It’s like he’s trying
to figure something out, but I can’t imagine what would be more
important right now than wrapping up this mess.

“You give me
your word, Guardian Braden, that if I give you Milo you’ll leave
without hurting my friends?” I ask.

His first two
fingers touch the emblem on his dagger, and he says, “I do.”

The gesture
binds him to make an honest answer, which I appreciate, but hardly
need given the truthful aura surrounding him. Still, it’s good to
know that the guy hunting me and my friends is at least honest.

“The first
problem with that is,” I say, “that Milo is my friend, too.”

Braden’s
expression shifts to amusement as he brushes a dark lock of hair
out of his face. His eyes don’t leave mine. “Yes, I figured that
when you leapt up here to defend him. What’s the second
problem?”

He’s being
so…decent about this. Most Guardians I ever tried to argue with
just backhanded me, or something equally unappreciated. He actually
seems to want to know what I have to say. Is it weird that I find
myself actually liking this guy? There’s got to be something
seriously wrong with me. “The second problem is…Milo isn’t what you
think he is. He has talents. You can check for yourself.”

“I don’t need
to see the forgeries he’s been wearing since his Inquest. The
Inquisitor who tried to hide him already confessed to his crimes,”
Braden says.

“That’s not
what I’m talking about.”

I motion for
Milo to stand up and join me. This will bring him within reach of
Braden, but he trusts my judgment and moves to stand up. Well, he
attempts to stand up, anyway. A trail of blood running down the
side of his face that I couldn’t see before makes him wobble. The
way he winces when he puts weight on his right leg doesn’t look
very good either. My heart convulses with worry. I can’t show
Braden any more weakness than I already have, though. My eyes beg
Lance for help. He responds with pleasure at having to help a woozy
Milo stand up.

Braden’s brow
arches in surprise as the two draw near us. I keep a careful eye on
my Vision for any warning that his interest will turn dangerous,
but I get no such glimpses. He waits patiently for me to take
Milo’s left arm and hold it out for him to inspect. His cuff is
covering his diktats. I move to push his sleeve back, but Braden
folds his arm across his chest, a none too subtle sign that he is
no longer amused.

“Wrong hand,”
he says.

“No,” I say,
“it’s not.” My fingers slide up the cuff of his shirt. The black
band of diktats that go almost completely around his wrist look
like onyx under the stage lights. Milo’s eyes are growing glassy,
but Braden’s double in size.

“I…I don’t
understand. How did this happen?”

My lips part
to explain, but instinct warns me to be careful. He may be willing
to let me talk rather than just killing us all, but he’s still a
Guardian. Not to mention the video cameras trained on me right now.
“The first Inquisitor, he did something wrong. I redid the Inquest
and Milo’s diktats appeared.”

The frown
Braden is wearing crinkles his eyes. I can’t tell whether or not he
believes me because I’m too focused on Milo’s pain to tune into his
emotions at the moment. Milo is trying to hold off his agony, but
he’s losing ground. Braden seems doubtful of my explanation, but
Milo’s problem was unique. Who is Braden to know for sure what
could remedy the situation? “Why are the diktats on his left arm?”
Braden asks finally. “And why are they black?”

I shrug in
false ignorance. “Maybe because I’m the one who unlocked them,” I
say, lifting my own hand in comparison. “I don’t know, but he’s not
talentless. You can’t have him.”

My body tenses
as Braden reaches out for Milo’s hand. I scour the future and get
assurance from my Vision that Braden won’t hurt Milo, but I don’t
back down. Milo is barely aware of the fact that his new diktats
are being poked and examined by the man who just led a strike team
against him. The bump on the side of Milo’s head makes me anxious
to wrap this up and get him some help.

“They’re
real,” I snap, worry edging into my voice. “You can’t deny they’re
real. Let us leave.”

Braden’s blade
flips out of its sheath with a harsh whisper. My own hand
intercepts his before he can do anything with it. The threat in my
eyes and stance is met by a peaceful, but insistent, posture from
Braden. “I need to be sure,” he says softly.

Every talent I
have works furiously to reassure me. My Vision finally splutters
and gives up, but I can sense the calm energy of his body and his
honest need to examine Milo. There’s no readiness to fight, or
malice in him. More than anything there is curiosity, about Milo,
but even more about me. Even feeling secure in Braden’s intentions,
it’s almost impossible to make my fingers uncurl from his wrist.
The dark red marks that I leave behind when I finally do let go
gives me a faint pang of guilt. I hadn’t meant to grab him that
hard.

It’s an insect
bite compared to my fear for Milo, though. My stomach takes a nose
dive when Braden presses the blade against Milo’s wrist. The slow
draw of the knife across his skin mimics the sound of steel on
steel. No blood colors his transformed skin, but I cringe until the
tip pings and slips away. Braden puts his blade away and drops his
hands to his side.

“He looks like
he needs medical attention,” Braden says. “I would suggest getting
him to a doctor as soon as possible. Head wounds can be
dangerous.”

“Wait,” Lance
interrupts, “you’re just going to let us go? Is there another
strike team waiting outside to ambush us?”

“No, of course
not.” Braden seems offended by the insinuation. His stringent honor
is a far cry from what I usually see in Guardians.

“Why?” Lance
demands.

Braden rolls
his shoulders in a careful shrug, his eyes trained on me. “I was
sent here to collect a Cipher…”

Again with
that nickname.

“…but your
friend is not one. I have no other reason to arrest him.”

Lance looks
less than convinced, but I’m not going to let him stand around and
argue the point. The next strike leader might not be so
understanding. “Lance, take Milo out to the car. You’re going to
have to drive.”

I turned to
the curtain behind me. “Celia?” I call. She creeps out from behind
the heavy curtain still holding Isabelle Sanders’ hand. “Celia, go
with Lance and Milo. Miss Sanders, everything is fine now. You
should probably go to your dressing room.”

The dancer
scampers away daintily, but Celia hesitates. “You’re coming,
right?”

I look to
Braden for an answer to that question. “Are you going to take me
in?”

What I just
did probably constitutes a breach in my agreement with Howe. Braden
surprisesme by shaking his head. “I only came here for your friend.
If you’re going to be arrested, it will be by someone else. My job
here tonight is finished.”

Not a hard and
fast guarantee I didn’t just sign my own death warrant, but it’s
better than nothing.

“I’ll be right
behind you, Celia. Now go help Milo.” The insistence in my voice
pushes her to act. I want Milo out of this theater as quickly as
possible. The crowd below us opens in front of them. Their cowering
assures me that they’ll be safe all the way to the car. I want to
race after them, but I have one more thing to take care of.

“Braden,” I
say, “thank you.”

He regards me
curiously. “Apparently you’re the one to thank. I would be very
interested to know the specifics of how you accomplished unlocking
your friend’s talents. The Inquisitor who performed his Inquest was
very talented.”

“Maybe another
time,” I say anxiously.

“I may just
hold you to that,” Braden says. I have a bad feeling that he means
that. If he does, I’ll deal with him later.

“Look, Braden,
you’re going to tell your bosses, or whoever told you to come after
Milo that he’s not what they thought. He’s a regular person just
like you and me.”