Secret of Betrayal: Book Two of The Destroyer Trilogy (5 page)

He grins. “You’re the one who ran up on that
stage to save Milo’s worthless butt. You should have to handle your own death
threats.”

“You ran up there too,” I remind him. “And if
you call Milo worthless again you’re going to regret it.”

“Oh really?”

“I’ll tell him…and then stand back.”

Lance glares at me, and says, “I was trying to
save you, not Milo. If it had been up to me, I would have let them cart him off
in a heartbeat.”

I doubt he’s kidding, but I let this one slide
because I know Lance honestly thinks Milo is dangerous and shouldn’t be near
me. I think he’s crazy, but I can’t convince him he’s wrong. “Milo isn’t going
anywhere. In fact, maybe we should go get him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’d probably like to know what’s going
on. And he might have a good idea.”

“Fine,” Lance says, “go get him. I’ll take care
of this.”

I stare at him. He means it. If I go after Milo
he will attempt to take care of my locker issue on his own, and probably get
himself blown up. He’s being a jerk, but when his hand reaches for the locker I
make my decision.

“Don’t even think about it! Just wait a minute.”
I slip out my phone and text Milo to meet me at my locker as soon as possible.
Then I redirect my attention to Lance. “Well, Mr. Impatient, are you going to
do something about this locker, or what? I’d say ditch it, but I left my lip
gloss in there and I’d really like to get it back.”

Lance smirks at me.
“Ha, ha.”

“Really, what should we do?”

Lance shrugs. “Got any tricks you’ve learned
recently that could tell me what’s in there?”

I have to think about that one, but not for very
long. My mom showed me uses for Naturalism I had never considered before she
tried to kill me last month. I’ve put a lot of focus into developing those
unusual abilities. I reach my hand toward the locker. Lance stops me before I
even get close.

“I’m not going to open it. I’m just going to see
what’s inside.”

He looks wary, but pulls back and lets me try.

The cool of the metal spreads through my skin.
For a moment that’s the only sensation. Then I really start to focus. Metal
comes from the earth. Even after being refined and molded into unattractive
green lockers, the steel is still part of the earth, governed by Naturalism.
Tapping my talent, I carefully send it into the door. It struggles a bit, but
slowly spreads out to fill every inch of the locker. Along the way, everything
touching the locker shelves leaves a type of imprint. If it is made from the
earth I can feel that as well. If it isn’t, it feels like a shadow. Papers,
books, a cotton sweater, pencils, I feel each one. My locker is so packed full
there isn’t any space left for a bomb or even just a bucket of wet paint that
will spill on me when I open the door.

I pull my hand away and look at Lance. “I didn’t
find anything unusual.”

“How sure are you?”

“Pretty sure.”

He frowns.

“Look, I won’t tell you to open it. I wouldn’t
put you at risk, Lance. Leave it if you’re worried.”

“You don’t think there’s anything dangerous in
there?”

“No.
Unless it was really
small, too small for me to feel.”

Lance inhales slowly. He reaches for the lock.
This time I’m the one to reach out. “Lance …”

Shaking me off, he says, “I trust you.”

His words surprise me enough to make me back up.
It feels as if it’s been a long time since he’s actually trusted me. I watch,
my breath held tight inside my lungs as his fingers swivel through my
combination. When he stops for the final time, I nearly yank him away. But I’m
sure there is nothing in my locker.

The handle slides up and Lance pulls against the
door.

My eyes close.

I wait for some noise, some signal.

It doesn’t come.

My eyes snap open, terrified the trick was
silent, that Lance has already paid the price for his trust in me. When I see
him standing in front of my open locker with a perplexed look on his face, my
lungs finally release the air they held hostage.

“Well?” I demand.

“I don’t see anything.” He opens the door wider
for me to see.

I step forward to scan everything inside. Right
away I spot something out of place. My hand darts in and retrieves the simply
folded piece of paper lying on top of my trig book. Lance rips it out of my
hand immediately. I snatch it back just as fast.

“What is wrong with you? This was obviously
meant for me.”

“Exactly,” he says, the insinuation dripping
from every syllable.

After the hype from Lance, finding only a piece
of paper in my locker makes me roll my eyes at him. “What, is the mystery kid
going to paper cut me to death?”

“The edges could be laced with poison.”

“Why would he warn you about it?”

Stumped, Lance doesn’t respond. I use the moment
of silence to unfold the paper and read.

Libby,

I know we’ve never spoken, but I want to
offer you my help, our help. I’m part of a group that wants to help you. We’ve
tried to make a difference on our own, but we haven’t been successful. We need
someone like you, someone with real power.

If you’re willing, I’ll be in the Commons
right after school. Lance can point me out. I’ll stay until 3:15. If you don’t
come by then I’ll assume you aren’t interested. Mr. Walters knows about this
message. He’ll understand if you’re late for class.

The girl you helped today, Casey, she knows
my brother. She said he wasn’t involved in what happened to her this afternoon.

Commons by 3:15

Lance was, of course, reading the note over my
shoulder. I turn to look at him, wondering at his reaction. The dark look in
his eyes isn’t reassuring.

“It’s a trick,” he states.

“Lance, come on. Did you read the last lines?
His brother is clearly a Cipher. We’ve wondered about some kind of resistance.
Maybe this is it.”

“Or it’s a trap. Lazaro will go to any lengths
to set up a trap for you.”

“I really don’t think this is Lazaro. Notes
slipped into my locker like a boy with a crush doesn’t seem like his style.”

“Maybe that’s why he chose it, to throw you
off,” Lance says.

The note gets shoved into my pocket and I start
walking toward the Commons. “You’re being ridiculous.”

I get halfway down the hallway before spotting
Milo coming toward me. The sight of Lance with me, along with our expressions,
hurries his steps. He’s at my side a few seconds later, listening as I explain
and hand over the note.

“You couldn’t have waited for me?” he asks.
“This could have been something dangerous.”

I could blame it on Lance, but I know that will
only cause more fighting. “We were worried it was something time sensitive.”

Milo frowns, but doesn’t argue. He and Lance do
argue with me the whole way to the commons about actually doing what the note
says. As usual, neither of them convinces me to change my mind. I march through
the halls determinedly until I reach the last stretch of hallway before
stepping into the open air Commons in the center of campus. Doubt creeps across
my skin, making it prickle into gooseflesh. This is the innermost part of the
school, furthest from exterior doors. If someone is behind me they could close
and lock every door. I would be in the open. The knife edge of fear pokes
against me. But my skin, thickened by injury and pain, refuses to surrender.
This isn’t a trap, and if it is, it won’t trap me.

I push through the doors with Lance and Milo
close behind. Tense muscles make my stride more jerky than usual. I’m sure it
shows my anxiety, but the lone teenage boy standing in the center of the
concrete park is fidgeting and glancing around. He’s too busy being worried
about his own safety to notice my nervousness.

I’m assuming this is the note writer, but just
to be sure, I whisper to Lance, “Is that him?”

He nods. “It could still be a trap.”

I ignore him and focus on the young man no more
than fourteen years old who is standing in front of me. I know Lance well
enough to know he’s scouring every inch of the Commons. To this young man, I
ask, “How long has your brother been in the spirit world?”

“Two years,” he says.

“What is his name?”

“Sam Vera.”

“So when I meet Sam, who should I tell him told
me his name?” I ask.

He hesitates. “Cole Vera.”

I smile when he finally seems to let out the
breath he’d been holding. My comfort level goes up a few degrees as well. Lance
and Milo could still be right. It could be a trap, but I don’t think so.

“It’s nice to meet you, Cole. Would you like to
tell me why I’m here?”

Cole gestures for me to sit down. I do. Lance
stays standing, his eyes practically scraping plaster off the walls to assure
my safety. Milo takes a position behind me. Cole takes a seat on the concrete bench
opposite. I take notice that despite there being plenty of room on my bench, he
sits across from me. Plausible
deniability,
or getting
out of the line of fire?

“I can’t stay long,” he says, “but I knew I
needed to talk to you. We want to help you, or to have you help us. I’m not
sure which.”

“Who
is
us?”

“The same people who kept you from getting
killed the night of the theater.”

“Cipher families?”

Cole nods.

“How many of you are there?”

“Cipher families?
Over two
thousand families.
Each family has several people, so six thousand is a
fair estimate,” he says, and my hopes rise. “But how many of us are willing to
fight back … well, that’s a smaller number, unfortunately.”

And there goes the warm fuzzy feeling I was
starting to get.
“How small?”

“Worldwide, less than fifty.
Locally, it’s even worse. Eight.”

“Eight?” The disappointment is impossible to
keep out of my voice.

Cole hears it and cringes. “Yeah, well there
used to be fifteen, but …”

“But what?”

“Did you hear about that car accident over the
summer? The one on San Mateo where four teens were killed when their car went
out of control and rolled three times?”

I nod. The sedan had been crushed. The pictures
displayed on the news had shown one of the victims’ arms reaching through the
broken window completely still. That image stuck with me for quite a while.

“You may not remember, but there was a string of
home invasions a few months later in the Heights. Two people were killed, a few
others beat up.”

“I remember hearing something about that,” I
admit.

“Things like that
are the
reason
there are only eight of us still willing to fight. Guardians
killed four of my friends that night by running them off the road. Several
members of our group tried to retaliate after the crash. They failed. Their
families paid for it. The leader’s parents were killed in their home. The
others had members of their families attacked, most ending up in the hospital
but surviving.”

“I’m so sorry.” It’s all I can say. My blood
rages with the desire to amend such hateful actions. I keep a tight lid on my
thoughts to avoid spiraling into a rant about the Guardians. A split second
later, shame slithers over my skin. For the first time, I feel sick about
making my deal with Howe. What right did I have to accept an extra two years
from Howe when the cost was keeping him in power even a few minutes longer?

“Look,” Cole says, interrupting my thoughts,
“This is what happens every time a resistance against the Guardians gets big
enough for them to notice. Alone we have no hope of ever beating them. I know
there aren’t many of us, but we want to help.”

Help. I can certainly use it, but can I really
put these boys in harm’s way when they’ve already lost so much? I meet his eyes
to tell him that he should stay out of my mess and protect his family. What
holds my tongue is the steel of loss, refined into determination that will not
be broken by me or anyone else.

“I don’t know what we can
do,
”
Cole says, “but I won’t abandon my brother. Sam deserves better.”

“Yes, he does,” I say softly.

Cole’s eyes lift slightly. He seems surprised
that I agree with him. “You’ll let us help?”

“I won’t turn away help, Cole, but I need you to
understand that if you join up with me you and your friends can’t move without
my permission. It’s too dangerous.”

“You want us to hold off? Why?”

“Because we need a plan to get your brother back
home, and I need everyone to stay alive until we’re ready to make our move. Can
you do that?” I ask. If I can keep this broken group in check for a while it
will keep them safer than my turning them away.

“Yeah,” Cole says eagerly, “sure. We’ll do
whatever you want.”

“Good, but I don’t think any more of these
meetings is a good idea. From now on you’ll go through Lance or Milo if you
need to get me a message.”

I can see the 007-inspired wheels turning in his
head. Inwardly I cringe at his reaction, but if secret messages and playing spy
for a while will keep him and his unnamed friends alive, more power to him. I
make a few more arrangements with him to guarantee I don’t end up standing in a
plainly visible courtyard with him again. Then I say my goodbyes.

“Eight,” Lance mumbles. “There goes my hope of a
secret army of Cipher sympathizers showing up to make all of this much easier.”

“I really thought there would be more,” Milo
agrees. “Why aren’t more Cipher families willing to stand up to the Guardians?”

“Can you blame them?” I ask. “They want their
family members back, but how long can you fight when all it gets you is losing
more loved ones? They’ve been beaten into submission. The Guardians have been
doing this for a long time. They know how to keep people in line. Just them
standing up for
me
after the theater took a lot of
guts.”