Lightning Rider (32 page)

“Go!” Constantine pushes me away and barrels back into the fight, sword raised.

I arc.

The image of Constantine’s battle wavers, and then I’m standing at the foot of Viriato’s narrow bed in the center of his sparse quarters.

He’s asleep and alone.

Fast labored breaths make his chest rise and fall. Did they drug him before they abandoned him? I don’t have time to investigate—or to chicken out. This is like target practice. I just have to pretend he’s attacking me.

Then kill a defenseless, sleeping, drugged man.

A hero.

A man who’s already dead in my history books.

If I let him live, Ilif wins. We all lose.

Lightning flares and consumes the darkness in the tent. This is no longer about me and my single act of murder. This is about humanity as a whole, about everyone’s future. This is fulfillment of this man’s life. A life that ends here tonight.

I clap my hands together, and a bolt as thick as a pipe fills my hands. We may both die here. One a legend, a martyr. The other an anonymous answer to a prophecy.

I widen my hands, and the lightning doubles in size. I can barely control it. It’s trying to wrap behind me.

No more thinking.

The night goes silent.

I collapse my hands until the light is a thin line, a precision instrument.

It’s not about me or him. The big picture comes into focus. I am not condemning Spain to something brutal and horrific. I’m protecting her future. Ilif’s alteration would create a far worse fate—I’ve seen it. 

No way am I letting him have that. I don’t care what he’s after.

By killing Viriato I give this unconscious man before me what he’s been fighting for—Spain’s future beyond what he can see in his limited lifetime.

By killing him, I make him a legend.

A legend who will never exist if I allow Ilif to recreate Spain’s future.

I lower my lightning to his neck.

Blood splatters the side of the tent.

Chapter 26

I stare up at a familiar ceiling, bathed in bright sunlight. Hand-picked bamboo floors lay beneath me, and a couch and entertainment center are back where they belong—in my own living room. Please don’t let this be before Nick took it all. I can’t go through this whole thing again.

Pain snuffs my thoughts as it wracks my body, but not the customary stuff. No, this is a gaping hole in my chest, an ache in my joints, a pounding in my brain.

It’s been days since I’ve been here, but it feels like a lifetime. A gut-wrenching, horrible-ending lifetime. I just murdered a man. Laid four thousand volts of electricity across his neck. Sliced it thin and delicate. A knife wound to ancient coroners.

My guts heave, and I roll over and scramble to the sink, making it just before I vomit. I retch until there’s nothing left, and then I dry-heave some more. Tears and snot run down my face, and I rip a scrap of paper towel from the roll and dab my lips. I twist the faucet and watch the running water, then plunge my face under the icy stream. My hands tremble.

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

I heave again, and my stomach contorts into giant knots of regret and shame. I actually did it. I killed a legend.

And then abandoned my men, with no idea if the plan worked.

And Constantine. What about his future? Did it end on the battlefield that night? A sob breaks loose, and I lie across the counter, the cool tiles digging in to my cheek. Damn him. I pound the counter. Damn him for making me love him, for telling me he’d come with me. Protect me. Watch over me.

Damn him most of all for being dead.

Please don’t let him be dead. Even in my head, the request sounds puny and weak, but I plead again with the universe that throws me around like a rag doll, with the power that makes me a murderer.

Please
.

I sniff and stare at the pattern in the grout.

Facts bombard me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It was seven against one when I left him, seventy against one moments after.

My stomach lurches, and I grit my teeth. I was never supposed to be the one. It was never supposed to be me in the tent.

Penya knew it all along.

Trust.

Such a stupid word. I push up on my elbows and flick the water off.

Faith
would have been a better word. Faith in the impossible.

I drag my sleeve across my mouth, leaving a trail of snot and tears on my favorite cream sweater. I wipe the back of my hand across my leather pants, snagging my watch on the pocket. My head threatens to explode with the normalcy of what’s going on.

My legs give way and I crumple. I can’t do this. 

The sun slides across my feet, and I sit for over an hour, immobilized by grief. I would sit here forever, but that would be an insult to the warriors who fought with me today. I must find a way to complete this, to burn off the dangling loose ends.

I pull a soda from the nearly empty fridge and then wander the living room. A folded white tent of paper has fallen over on top of the entertainment center. I pick it up and run a finger through the layer of dust.

My name is scrawled on the front in what looks like Papi’s handwriting.

Mija,

I wanted you to have a home when you returned. Mrs. Steinaman’s feeding Ike.

Come see me.

Love and beans,

Papi

Well, that explains the furniture. He did a good job. At least he’s still my papi and I didn’t screw that up.

I don’t know what I’ll do if I find out I failed.

I straighten. I’m going to handle it, that’s what I’m going to do. When we started this crazy ride, I was nothing but a bike builder. Now, for better or for worse, I’ve just affected the entire population. Heavy stuff. But stuff I’m going to face head-on. I have to. For Constantine. For his men. For Viriato.

And maybe for me.

But first, I need to bust ass to Papi’s house. It seems strange that I didn’t land there in the first place. I’ve never come back here. I close my eyes and pull my braid forward, rubbing the ends across my lips. If the alteration started on the mountain when I got my lightning, this was the first home I came to, so maybe I create a great big reset button each time. Every time to Papi’s was
during
the alteration. For now, it’s as close as I can get to an answer.

Like an old woman, I hobble down the stairs, snagging my jacket and helmet. I swing past Ike’s cage on the way. His bowl is full of melons. I tap the glass, and he lifts his head and his big mouth opens like a Muppet.

I slip out through the garage. Snow glitters in the bright light, and my breath catches. Figures we’d get a typical early-spring snowstorm. I ease the bike into the snow. It’s only an inch deep, but my “bust-ass” plan to Papi’s house just got knocked to a “creeping-don’t-die” plan.

I maneuver the bike through the neighborhood, avoiding the busy roads and their slush. At the entrance to Papi’s subdivision, I notice the first Christmas tree.

I blink, stunned.

Six months is substantially longer than a few-hour swing. I can hardly bear another puzzle. Not today.

Whatever day that
is.

And yet I still have loads of questions. I need the Internet, a history book, and some serious answers. I’ve got to know what happened after I left Spain, what changed, and if the mission was a success or a grand failure. It might be nice to know if I can go to jail for murdering a man a couple of thousand years ago, too.

A group of bundled kids huddles at the edge of a crosswalk, and I slow the bike.

The one question I really want answered is jumping up and down, arms flailing in the air.

Maybe I should find out what happened to that man I was falling in love with.

The parade of kids crosses the road, and my eyes burn. If he survived, I’ll get a chance to see him again when I save Aurelia. Not for my own selfish gain, but to soothe his pain, to give Aurelia the future she’s supposed to have. If Aurelia is ancestor to some brilliant scientist, it’s not about me
or
Constantine—or that giant, beating space between us.

The crosswalk empties and I roll forward, taking little notice of the snow-covered decorations and cutesied-up houses.

The bump in Papi’s driveway jolts me back into focus. I pull the bike into the carport and wince at the rumbling echo. My fingers are frozen, and I have to pry them off the handlebars. I rub them together quickly and barrel through the house.

A chorus of girly voices greets me, and I freeze. Everyone’s here. 

Mami comes around the corner, an apron around her thick waist and her black hair up in a messy bun. She wipes her hands on a towel, sees me, and claps in surprise. “Evy! Come in, come in. We expected you later.”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them away before she sees. After losing Penya, after killing a man . . . sometimes, I still just need my mami.

She wraps her arms tight around my waist, and I blink and force a smile.

“Hi, Mami.” I kiss her cheek and hug her tight. She smells like peppers and roses. I’ve missed her.

She grabs my shoulders and holds me away, studying me. I’m happy to see her, and that makes it easy to hide everything else. She pats my cheek softly and tugs my coat from my shoulders.

She guides me through the doorway and pushes me toward the commotion at the front of the house. Papi is in the front living room under a pile of my two littlest sisters. Sophia looks like she’s grown a few inches, and Mami must have finally chopped Desiree’s hair of like she’s been threatening. Tiana perches on the edge of the couch, about to pounce into the melee.
Bunch of kids.
Maybe this new version of Papi is keeping them all younger in spirit.

Laughter fills the room, and he tickles Desiree again.

I let myself enjoy the sweetness of this moment, the purity of a family bond free of danger and uncertainty, just for the bliss it brings me and maybe for the strength to keep me going.

My eyes water, and I swallow a couple of times.

On the edge of the couch, I take it all in, and I understand a little more why Papi wasn’t willing to risk this for the rush of time-traveling. He had everything he ever wanted here, first as a world champion boxer, then as an award-winning builder, while I was always looking for the pieces of my life that have been missing.

Then I went and found what I was looking for two thousand years in the past.

Tiana lifts her head, sees me, and squeals. “Evy! You’re here!” She leaps from the pile and catapults herself beside me on the couch. “We’ve missed you. Papi wasn’t sure when you’d get back from your trip.” She squeezes me hard, and Papi pokes his head from the pile. 

My eyebrows shoot up questioningly, and he tumbles the little girls off him, smothering them both with kisses and tickles. “Go help your mother.”

Groaning, they obey, hugging me on their way like I’ve been missing for months. He props himself up on his hands, searching my face. “
Hola
.”

Though his voice is quiet, I hear a thousand questions in the word. My hands tremble, and I fight the full meltdown. I don’t want to lose it now, with Mami and the little girls around to overhear. He moves to the couch, and I look away.

Hold it together, Evy. He’s okay, and that’s what I came to check. A million questions burn on my tongue, but I can’t ask any.

He tugs my hand from my lap and cradles it between his. His whisper is for my ears only. “I’ve been so worried. It’s been the longest six months of my life. I’ve woken every day wondering what happened to you and to your Constantine. If he protected you or if the mission went wrong. If Ilif won. I’ve conjured a thousand different scenarios. But I held on to the hope that you’d walk through the door again.” He strokes the back of my hand. “Oh,
mija
, I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Papi, it was awful.” The words tumble out. “Ilif kidnapped Penya, and I don’t know where they are. I think the entire mission was a disaster. We got attacked and . . .” I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. “It was awful,” I whisper.

He pulls me to him, and I press my face into his chest. “And your Constantine?”

I can only shake my head some more.

“Oh,
mija
.” He strokes my hair. “I’d take it all back if I could. I’m so sorry you had to go through this. So sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

I sniff against his shirt and force the tears back. I need to go home so I can blubber in private. “I’ll be fine. I just—I need some time to adjust and figure out what’s next. Penya thinks there’s more to this alteration.”

“But Ilif kidnapped her?”

I nod, bumping my forehead against his shoulder. 

Mami’s voice floats from the kitchen as she talks to the girls. Her voice is so much like Penya’s. I pull myself away, dragging my sleeve across my face. “I don’t know what he’s done with her. I guess maybe they worked together . . .”

“Ilif and Penya?” Papi asks, his face thoughtful.

I twist my fingers in my lap.

“You have to find her,” he says. “She wants to teach us. Really teach us. I think we need her.”

“Yeah, I know.” She wants me to be a double agent and make Ilif trust me again. Maniacal laughter threatens.

We both look away. Another million questions pile on top of the first. I grip my sanity tight with both hands.

Christmas carols float through the house. I jerk my thumb toward the other room and raise my eyebrows. 

“Telling them you were traveling for work seemed cleanest,” Papi says. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back by Christmas, but I couldn’t tell them you wouldn’t be here. I hoped you’d figure it out somehow and find your way home for something as important as Christmas. They think you’ve been busy with work and traveling a lot.”