Matt Archer: Blade's Edge (15 page)

Chapter Fifteen

I
didn’t get sent to the
funny farm, although Mom made it quite clear that if had another “incident,” now or in the future, she’d pull me from the team for my own good.

And I thought reservist status was bad.

I also had to endure worried phone calls from Uncle Mike, then Colonel Black, then the base shrink. Convincing the shrink I’d just been freaked out by my car accident was easy. Convincing Mike and the colonel I was okay was a little more difficult. Uncle Mike was inclined to believe I had battle fatigue and needed a break.

The call with Colonel Black was another story.

“Sir, I don’t know what I saw,” I told him the day after my episode, “but is Ramirez okay? I saw him trapped somewhere.”

“He reported in this morning,” Colonel Black said, “Parker did as well. They are making headway on the investigation, but haven’t run into an active hostile, yet.”

“Well, can you tell them to be careful?” I asked. “I have a bad feeling—”

“They’re fine,” he insisted. “Now, your mother said you can still come over during spring break, assuming you stay…stable until then. I think we’ll have need of you soon.”

I could hear the “end of conversation” warning—Matt, no crazy because we can’t have you benched. Holding in a frustrated sigh, I said, “Yes, sir. I’ll be there. Will’s counting on coming as well.”

“Good. We’ll see you then.”

After that, I laid low for the next month. I got my homework done on time, didn’t stay out too late, and kept my room completely clean. Heck, I didn’t even let the dishes pile up in the sink and I washed all my own clothes. Mom seemed satisfied. The worried creases on her forehead relaxed.

All this boy-scout behavior didn’t stop Ella from walking me from class to class, though. Once she found out what had happened, she guarded me with a ferocity I found a little surprising. When Carter Jacobs and his buddies spent an entire week talking trash about how I was psycho after my meltdown, I caught her “accidentally” knocking Carter’s lunch tray off his table. She fake-apologized in a high, sweet voice and Will laughed so hard, he coughed up a french fry.

As Ella continued to keep tabs on me day after day, though, I got a little worried. Did she think I was that unstable? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but as the weeks went by, curiosity got the better of me. I finally decided to ask her the day before spring break started, figuring I was shipping out for Afghanistan the next morning so I might as well grow a pair.

Trying to be nonchalant, I carried her books as we strolled to fourth period. “Much as I like the company, shouldn’t I be escorting you to class, instead of the other way around?” I paused outside my English classroom. “You don’t have to worry about me going crazy in the halls—I promised Mom I’d behave. Really.”

“What makes you think I’m protecting the school from you? Maybe I’m protecting
you
from something even more dangerous,” Ella said, glaring down the hall.

I followed her gaze to a petite blond standing on her tiptoes like a ballerina to get something off the top shelf of her locker. Sami Webber—the reason God created cheerleader uniforms.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, bewildered. Sami hadn’t even given me the time of day until last spring, after my unnatural growth spurt had improved my muscle ratio to that of a football player’s. Why’d she warrant Ella’s notice?

Almost like she had ESP, Sami turned right on cue, caught us staring and gave me a slow smile that made my entire body flush. It dawned on me that Sami had been the cheerleader who smiled at me in the cafeteria the day of my big fight with Ella. And now she was smiling at me again. Ella harrumphed, and I stifled a laugh as the blond offender sashayed our direction. Sami paused right in front of me to tie her shoe and her shirt gaped open clear down to her pierced belly-button.

Huh, she was an innie.

“Desperate,” Ella muttered and I pried my eyes away.

“That’s why you’ve been walking me to class?” I grinned, relieved. Ella didn’t think I was crazy; she was just defending her territory from hostile invasion. Which was funny because I hadn’t even realized I was up for grabs. “What, to make sure Sami doesn’t do a pole dance to get my attention?”

Ella blushed. “I must seem like an idiot. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. But you don’t have to worry, either.” I put our books on the floor, then wrapped my arms around her, risking Mr. Nolton’s wrath for committing PDA in the hallway. “Sami’s eye-candy, but not much else. I want a girl who’s man enough to handle being with me, because I’m kind of hard work, you know?”

“I wasn’t so brave that night you bailed me and Alyssa out with the monsters in the woods,” she said.

“That was different.” I pulled her closer. “I barfed all over myself the first time I saw a monster. So did Will.”

“Will did, too?” she asked. “Okay, I didn’t throw up…I even tossed a pot lid at the thing’s head. Maybe I should be your hunting partner. I’m braver than Will.”

“You’d be a lot more fun on a cold night in the mountains, that’s for sure.”

I swear she purred after I said that. She tilted her face up, lips puffed out. I leaned in for a kiss, thinking things couldn’t get much better.

Dang it if Mr. Nolton didn’t round the corner right then, squawking something about “seeing daylight between students in the hallways.”

His timing really sucked sometimes.

Ella pulled away, laughing, and waved him off. “I had something in my eye. Matt was just checking it for me.”

Mr. Nolton scowled, spluttering, “Miss Mitchell, you…that’s not what I…oh, get to class!”

Ella squeezed my hand, whispering, “Find me later so we can get that kiss in without the scarecrow catching us.”

Hooah.

Chapter Sixteen

I
inhaled deeply, drowning in the
scent of baking pumpkin pie. Smelled like cinnamon-nutmeg heaven, but you’d have to tie me down and pry my mouth open to make me eat it, especially since Mom used that slimy canned pie filling. How could something that smelled so great taste so gross? I yawned, sprawled out on the living room sofa. These were the stupid things I thought about while trying to nap in a house full of people.

“Mom,” Mamie called. “I think the turkey’s done.”

A breeze zipped by me and Mom’s footsteps faded to the kitchen. I pulled a pillow over my head. Maybe I should’ve stayed in my room. Will and I were flying out first thing in the morning to catch transport to Afghanistan, and Mom insisted on a big family meal before I left. That called for a pre-lunch
and
post-lunch nap, if you asked me. I snuggled deeper into the couch, determined to dose until the very last minute.

Then a mountain sat on me.

“Wake up, butthead!” The mountain bounced up and down, squeezing the wind from my lungs. “Food’s ready.”

Without thinking, I curled up my body, using the resistance from the now creaky sofa, and kicked my big brother to the floor. Before Brent could get up to wrestle, I landed on him with my full weight and pinned him to the living room carpet.

Brent’s face turned purple. “How’d you get the jump on
me
?”

I laughed. He got demanding when his pride was hurt. “How do you think, asshat? I’ve been training with Green Berets for more than a year. Besides, have you looked at me lately? I’m taller than you are and almost as big.”

“Maybe I should’ve looked closer. Let me up, dipweed.”

I stood, offering him a hand. Brent didn’t take it; he clambered up on his own. Yep, hurt pride. Oh, well, he’d get over it.

I hadn’t seen him since Christmas. A few things had changed in the last three months, but not much. He still looked like a gorilla in a guy-suit and letting his hair grow out some didn’t help things.

“What’s up with the hippy hair?” I asked. “Looks like you have a brown mop sitting on your head.”

“Girls at Washington State like my hair longer.” Brent snorted. “What’s your excuse? Your hair looks like a shoe brush.”

I rubbed my hand over my buzz cut. Too long—time to take the clippers to it. “Least I don’t get mutant bed head.”

“Aw, how sweet,” Mamie said from the kitchen door, “I think they’re bonding.”

“I’m going to be bonding something if you boys don’t get in here to eat,” Mom hollered.

As we lumbered toward the kitchen, Brent shoved me into the wall. Just like old times.

We took our places around the table. Uncle Mike’s usual chair stared back at us, empty. Mom caught me looking at it. She smiled and said, “I miss him, too. Maybe he and Julie can come visit before the baby comes. In the meantime, make sure to give Mike a big hug for me when you see him.”

“I will,” I said.

Brent scowled and stabbed a piece of turkey like the bird had personally offended him. A pall settled over the table.

Mom tried to start some conversation. “Mamie, why don’t you tell us about Missoula?”

While Mamie repeated the story about her campus visit to the University of Montana for the third time, I watched Brent glare at the table. He could get moody, no doubt, but something was clearly eating him.

“Dude, how’s school?” I asked, thinking to draw him out.

He grunted. “The same.”

I put down my fork. “What’s with you?”

Brent shot me a look that would’ve melted titanium. “Nothing.”

Huh, maybe I bruised his ego more than I thought when I knocked him down.

Mom, making a big show of slicing more turkey, said, “So, Matt, have you packed for your trip yet?”

I nodded. I’d been packed for two days; being off the hunt made me antsy, especially with the knife buzzing warnings in the back of my head almost constantly.

“Stay safe, ‘kay?” Mamie said, darting a glance at Brent. “It sounds like this one could be pretty dangerous.”

My brother smacked a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate with a loud clank. Then another. And a third.

Mom finally had enough. “Brent, what’s gotten into you? You’re going to break my china.”

“It’s just a plate,” he grumbled.

“No, it’s my grandmother’s china,” Mom said. “What’s going on?”

He wonders why it’s you and not him
, the knife-spirit whispered.
His blood didn’t fit, but he doesn’t understand why.

Based on that clue, I realized what was bothering my brother. A green-eyed monster I couldn’t kill was running amok in our kitchen. Brent’s jealous streak irritated the crap out of me and all the things he said about me being selfish came rushing back. What a hypocrite. Before he could answer Mom, I said, “He can’t understand why I’m the one the knife picked. That’s his problem.”

The silence was deafening, almost like I’d dropped an A-bomb in the center of the kitchen and we were the ashes that remained in the aftermath.

“Matt,” Mom said, sounding weary, “that’s unfair.”

“It’s also true,” Mamie squeaked. When Brent glared at her, she shrank down in her seat. “It is.”

Mom’s mouth opened, then closed. What could she say? Heck, Mamie had surprised me, too. Brent, on the other hand, took it personally.

“Thanks, sis,” Brent said. “It’s nice to be told I’m a jealous idiot.”

Mamie flushed dark red. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. What I’m saying is that being chosen by the knife isn’t this glorious thing. It’s a burden, not something to be jealous about. The knife’s dangerous; you shouldn’t…covet it.”

Brent threw his fork down, splattering the brown tablecloth with green bean casserole. Mom groaned as he rounded on Mamie. “Don’t go all Ten Commandments on me. You have no idea what’s in my head, so quit selling me out.”

Mamie’s eyes filled with tears. I hated that my job was causing this much trouble. Didn’t excuse Brent’s crap, though. The knife-spirit buzzed me, shaking me right down to my brainstem. My fists curled under the table. “Don’t talk to Mamie that way.”

“You shut up,” he growled before turning to Mom. “So, do you think I’m a jealous idiot, too?”

Mom winced at his tone. That made me angrier and my self-control frayed around the edges. How dare he talk to Mom and Mamie like that? It wasn’t their fault. I stood up, kicking my chair back so hard it skittered across the floor. “Apologize. Right now.”

Brent leaned across the table. “Or what?”

The world flashed red. Mamie let out a squeak and somewhere in the haze, Mom was saying something like “everyone calm down.”

But I only heard the static from the knife, whispering
fight, fight, fight...danger, enemy…fight!

Next thing I knew, I’d tackled Brent, sending him flying off his chair. We crashed to the kitchen tile, pulling the tablecloth with us. Food splashed the walls, china shattered, and Mamie screamed. Brent and I rolled around in the mess, punching each other as hard as we could. Swear words of an awful variety filled the room.

Then I had Brent on his stomach, pinning his arms behind him with a vicious tug. “Apologize!”

“Get off me!” He kicked hard, but I wouldn’t let him go.

Out of nowhere, a splash of water drenched us.

“Enough!” Mom snapped

Turns out her pissed-as-hell bark was worse than Uncle Mike’s. Spluttering, I scrambled up, knowing better than to disobey. The room had gone all blurry. Based on the pain in my left eye, I was developing quite a shiner. Brent edged to the wall and sat with his back to it. A trickle of blood ran from his right nostril.

Mom set the mop bucket on the counter with a smack. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you two boys, but I swear if either of you ever do something like this again, I’ll feed you nothing but peanut butter until you leave home.”

My stomach gurgled; it didn’t like the peanut butter threat. Neither did I. “Sorry, Mom.”

Mom didn’t respond. Mamie peered out from behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining nook. She held a dishrag in trembling hands. My shoulders slumped; my temper had scared Mamie before, and here I’d done it again.

Brent got to his feet, moving slow. He limped my direction and I loosened my stance in case he planned to rush me. Sure, I’d apologize to Mom, but I wouldn’t take a sucker punch to prove how sorry I was.

Looking at the floor, Brent mumbled, “I’m done.”

He shuffled out of the kitchen without a backward glance, leaving the rest of us with our mouths open.