The Fall of Five (I Am Number Four) (7 page)

“Good,” I say. “We should be back in two days max. Six, get whatever you need and let’s head out.”

It’s taken a few days, but for the first time, I actually feel like a leader.

Of course, that leadership feeling doesn’t last all that long. I’m back in my room, stuffing a backpack with a change of clothes and some things from my Chest: my dagger, my bracelet, a healing stone. Sarah comes in carrying a holstered pistol from Nine’s armory and wordlessly stuffs it in a backpack of her own, covering it with a change of clothes.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“I’m coming with you,” she says, and gives me a defiant look like she’s expecting an argument. I shake my head in disbelief.

“That wasn’t the plan.”

Sarah shrugs her backpack on and faces me, her hands on her hips. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my plan to fall in love with an alien either, but sometimes plans change.”

“This could be dangerous,” I tell her. “We’re trying to beat the Mogadorians to Five’s location, but we don’t know that we will for sure. We’re going to have to use stealth and Six can only turn two people invisible at once.”

She shrugs. “Six says we can just bring the Xithi-whatever. That stone. She can use it to copy her powers.”

My eyebrows shoot up. It’s a good idea. But I’m more interested in something else she said. “You already talked to Six?”

“Yeah, she’s cool with it,” Sarah replies. “She understands. There’s nothing about this life that isn’t dangerous anymore. I’m getting used to the idea of my boyfriend fighting an intergalactic war, but I’ll never get used to just watching from the sidelines and hoping everything turns out okay.”

“But it’s safe on the sidelines,” I answer weakly, even though I already know this is a losing argument.

“I’d feel safer being with you. After all that’s happened, I don’t want to be apart anymore, John. Whatever dangers you have to face, I want to be by your side.”

“I don’t want to be apart either, but—” Before I can mount any further protest, Sarah steps forward and
shuts me up with a quick kiss. It’s really not fair that she can do that during an argument.

“Just stop there,” she says, smiling at me. “You’ve done the whole chivalrous routine, okay? It’s cute, I like it, but it’s not changing my mind.”

I sigh. I suppose part of being a good leader is knowing when to accept defeat. I guess I should grab the Xitharis stone out of my Chest too.

Nine rides the elevator down with us to the parking garage. I can tell he’s still fuming, even more so now that he realizes Sarah is coming along for the mission.

“We’re leaving the tablet here in case something goes wrong and you end up needing to track us,” I tell Nine. “Hopefully, Five stays put for a while. If we can’t find him once we’re in Arkansas, we’ll be in touch for an update.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nine replies, shooting a sidelong look at Sarah. “This is starting to look less like a rescue mission and more like you going on a leisurely road trip with two hot chicks,” Nine grumbles.

Sarah rolls her eyes. I glare at Nine. “It’s not like that. You know we need you here, in case something happens.”

“Yeah, I’m backup,” he snorts. “Johnny, do I have to start dating you to get some action around here?”

Sarah winks at him. “It might help.”

Nine looks me over. “Ugh. Not worth it.”

Six and Bernie Kosar are already waiting for us downstairs. Nine shows us to the row reserved for Sandor’s extensive car collection, eventually pulling the tarp off a silver Honda Civic. It’s the least flashy vehicle left in Sandor’s collection; we don’t want to be attracting any unnecessary attention while we’re on the road. BK immediately bounds into the passenger seat, excited to get going.

“It’s fast,” Nine explains. “Sandor outfitted all of these in case we needed to move ass in a hurry.”

“Does it have nitrous?” Sarah asks.

“What do you know about nitrous, sweetheart?” Nine replies.

Sarah shrugs. “I’ve seen
Fast and Furious
. Show me how it works. I’ve always wanted to drive something really fast.”

“Well, all right,” says Nine, grinning at me. “Maybe your girl does have some uses, John-boy.”

While Nine shows Sarah the controls inside the Civic, I join Six at the trunk, where we load our gear. I’m still feeling blindsided that Sarah’s coming along with us, and apparently I’ve got Six to blame for that.

“You’re mad at me,” she says, before I can even start in.

“I’d appreciate a heads up the next time you invite my girlfriend along on a dangerous mission.”

Six groans, slamming the trunk closed and rounding
on me. “Oh please, John. She wanted to come along. She can think for herself.”

“I know she can,” I whisper back, not wanting Sarah to overhear. “Nine wanted to come along too. We have to consider what’s best for the group.”

“You don’t want her feeling like dead weight, do you? This is a good way to show her that she’s not.”

“Wait. Dead weight?” I think back to my conversation with Sarah in the Lecture Hall. Those were the exact words she used. “Were you eavesdropping on us?”

Six looks a little guilty at being busted, but more than anything she looks increasingly angry with me, her eyes flashing. “So what? I thought you might finally grow a pair and tell her that we kissed.”

“Why would I do that?” I snap, struggling to keep my voice low.

“Because the longer you put it off the more awkward it gets, and I’m getting sick of it? Because she deserves—”

Before Six can finish, the Civic roars to life, Sarah revving the engine. Nine steps back from the driver-side window, looking pleased with the way Sarah’s gunning it. Sarah leans out the window, peering back at Six and me.

“You two coming or what?”

THE PENTHOUSE FEELS EVEN LARGER AS SOON AS
John, Six and Sarah are gone. I’m still not over the size of this place; it’s almost big enough to contain the entire monastery of Santa Teresa. I know it’s silly, but I find myself tiptoeing through it, feeling like I’m constantly disturbing these riches Nine and his Cêpan amassed.

The tiles in Nine’s bathroom are heated—they actually warm and dry your feet when you get out of the shower. I think of all the times I sat on my mattress, picking splinters out of my feet after crossing the uneven wood floors of Santa Teresa. I wonder what Hectór would think of this place, and I smile. Then, I wonder what kind of person I would be if my Cêpan had been Sandor instead of Adelina; a showy but dedicated guardian, frivolous in his purchases but not one to abandon his duties. It’s pointless to think such thoughts, yet I can’t help it.

But if I hadn’t been stuck so long in Santa Teresa,
I never would have crossed paths with Ella. I never would have journeyed to the mountains with Six and met Eight.

All the hardship, in the end, was worth it.

I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. None of us got much sleep last night, not with the excitement of finding Number Five. It was supposed to be my night sleeping in Ella’s room, shaking her awake when the nightmares got too bad. Actually, I don’t think Ella slept a wink in between the meeting and tagging along with Nine during his shift watching Five’s beacon. Apparently, to her, spending time with Nine is better than getting some rest. I wish I knew how to help, but my healing Legacy doesn’t extend to the dream world.

I find Ella curled up in a chair in the penthouse living room. Nine is stretched out on the nearest couch, snoring loudly, his hands curled around the contracted metal tube that turns into the staff I’ve seen him use with such deadly efficiency. He must have gotten it from his Chest when he still thought there was a chance John would bring him along on the mission. Nine clutches the weapon like a teddy bear, probably dreaming of killing Mogadorians.

“You should get some sleep too,” I whisper.

Ella looks from me to the sleeping Nine. “He said he was just going to rest his eyes and then he’d show me some ass-kicking techniques.”

I giggle. There’s something hilarious about Ella
parroting Nine’s language.

“Come on, there will be time for training later.”

Nine grumbles something in his sleep and rolls over, burying his face in the couch cushions. Ella stands up slowly and we tiptoe out of the room.

“I like Nine,” she announces as we walk down the hall. “He doesn’t care about stuff.”

My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“He never asks me how I’m doing or, like, worries about me. He just makes gross jokes and lets me walk on his shoulders across the ceiling.”

I laugh, but I feel a bit wounded. All of us have been so worried about Ella, always trying to get her to open up about Crayton—I’m still supposed to do what John asked and get to the bottom of that letter—and along comes Nine, taking her mind off her troubles with bluster.

“We’re just worried about you,” I say.

“I know,” Ella replies. “It just feels better not to think about it sometimes.”

Maybe this is a good time to give Ella that gentle nudge John was talking about. “My Cêpan, Adelina, she spent a long time trying not to think about her destiny—about our destiny. But eventually she didn’t have a choice. She had to face it.”

Ella doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the way her face is scrunched up that she’s thinking about my words.

I find myself detouring away from the bedrooms and instead heading back into Sandor’s workshop. I stand over the plugged-in tablet, watching the dots that represent Four and Six crawl slowly towards Five’s stationary dot in Arkansas.

“Are you worried about them?” Ella asks.

“A little,” I reply, although I know the others will be fine. Even after meeting Nine, Six is still the toughest and bravest person I’ve ever met. And Four is everything Six said he would be—a good guy, the leader we need, even if sometimes I can tell he feels like he’s in over his head.

“I hope Five is a boy,” announces Ella. “There aren’t enough boys for all of us.”

My mouth hangs open for a moment, and then I start to laugh. “Are you matching us up already, Ella?”

She nods, looking at me mischievously. “There’s John and Sarah, of course. And you and Eight.”

“Wait a second,” I say. “Nothing’s happening with me and Eight.”

“Psshh,” interrupts Ella, continuing on, “and if I grow up to marry Nine, who does that leave for Six?”

“Who’s getting married now?”

Eight’s standing in the doorway behind us, that charming smirk of his lighting up his face. How long has he been standing there? Ella and I exchange a surprised look
and start laughing.

“Fine,” says Eight, sidling over to gaze at the tablet. “Don’t tell me.”

Our shoulders brush when he gets close and I don’t move away. I still think about that desperate kiss we shared in New Mexico. It was probably the boldest move of my entire life. Much as I’d like to, we haven’t kissed again since. We’ve talked a lot, sharing stories about our years on the run, comparing the fragments of our memories of Lorien. The time just hasn’t felt right for anything more.

“They’re really taking their time, huh?” Eight says, watching Four and Six move south.

“It’s a long drive,” I reply.

“Good,” he says, grinning. “That should give us some time.”

Eight’s wearing a red and black T-shirt for something called the Chicago Bulls and a pair of blue jeans. He steps back and gestures at his wardrobe, like he’s asking Ella and me for our approval.

“Do I look American enough in this?”

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

I’m feeling nervous as the elevator glides down from the penthouse to the lobby. Eight stands next to me, practically bouncing with excitement.

“We’ve been here for days and still haven’t actually seen
the city,” he says. “I’d like to see more of America than military bases and apartments.”

“But what if something happens while we’re away?”

“We’ll be back before they even make it to Arkansas. Nothing’s going to happen on the drive down there. If it does, Ella can use her whole telepathy thing and call us back.”

I think about Nine, who was still sound asleep on the couch when Eight and I crept past him. Ella watched us go, smiling conspiratorially at me, while she curled back up in her chair next to Nine.

“Won’t Nine be mad if he wakes up and we’re not there?”

“What is he? Our babysitter?” Eight cracks merrily, reaching out to shake me gently by the shoulders. “Loosen up. Let’s be tourists for a couple hours.”

Gazing down from the windows of Nine’s penthouse never gave me a real sense of how truly busy the streets of downtown Chicago are. We exit into the midday sun and are immediately hit with a wall of noise, people talking, car horns blaring. It reminds me of the marketplace back in Spain, except times a thousand. Eight and I both find ourselves craning our necks upwards, trying to take in the buildings that tower above us. We’re walking slow, people shooting us annoyed looks as they’re forced to cut around us.

It’s a little intense for me out here. All these people,
the noise, it’s way more than I’m used to. I find myself slipping my hand into the crook of Eight’s elbow, just to make sure we aren’t accidentally separated and lost in the crowd. He smiles at me.

“Where to?” he asks.

“That way,” I point, picking a direction at random.

We end up on the waterfront. It’s much more peaceful here. The humans wandering around the shore of Lake Michigan are like us—not in a rush to get anywhere. Some of them sit down on benches, eating their lunches, while others jog and bike by us, exercising. I feel suddenly sad for these people. So much hangs in the balance and they have no idea.

Eight touches my arm gently. “You’re frowning.”

“Sorry,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

“Less of that,” he says with mock sternness. “We’re just out for a walk. No big deal.”

I try to put the doom and gloom out of my mind and act the part of a tourist like Eight said. The lake is crystalline and beautiful, a few boats lazily cutting across its surface. We amble by sculptures and outdoor cafés, Eight taking an interest in everything, trying to consume as much of the local culture as possible, and cheerily trying to get me interested.