The Breakers Ultimatum (YA Urban Fantasy) (Fixed Points Book 3) (8 page)

“Tell her, Echo!” Dahlia shouted. “She needs to know!”

“The children!” He said, blinking back tears. “The innocents, the uninitiated; it means children. It means that, if this is the end that we’re facing, if the Damnatus is really back in play, then the world won’t end until you wipe every child from the face of it.”

I had been sitting in that room, the one I woke up in, for far too long when he came in. Casper was holding a tray with a single cupcake on it and wearing a smile that was woefully out of place given all that we had just learned.

I drummed my fingers against the table top in a way too ‘Echo-like’ show of frustration.

“What cha doing?” He asked weightlessly as he plopped the tray down in front of me. The cupcake was lumpy and ill-shaped. Its frosting, yellow and pale, nearly slid off the side and was spotty in places. It was obviously homemade, not surprising given that any trip to a Breaker bakery would have more than likely ended in a mass execution. But this was ‘Casper homemade’, which meant that it was both completely inedible and wonderfully sweet.

“I’m a bad person,” I answered, letting my fingers hit across the table like mini jackhammers. I figured that, if I did it long enough, I’d understand what Echo found so therapeutic about it.

“I know. I’ve decided to love you anyway,” Casper said smiling. “I think it makes me seem very altruistic. Some people might even call me a hero. I just like to think of myself as a role model.”

“No Cass,” I said, making sure my tone held absolutely no lightness. “I’m an honest to God bad person.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head and reading my seriousness. He leaned in closer, so that a little of his ‘I’m in it for the money’ Hans Solo t-shirt dipped into the frosting. “Do you think I’m stupid, Cress?”

“I don’t-I don’t want to play this game, Casper.”

“No game,” he said flatly. “Just a simple yes or no, do you think I’m stupid?”

“Of course not,” I answered lowly.

“And, that Becky Thompson transgression from last year aside, do you think I have particularly bad taste in people?”

I pushed the now frosting laden square of the shirt away from the cupcake. He grabbed it, ran his finger across it, and stuck it in his mouth. “It’s peach. It’s delightful. Now answer the question.”

“No, I don’t think you have bad taste in people,” I answered like it was the answer to the world’s simplest math problem.

“Correct!” he said, running his finger across his shirt again and going in for seconds. “Now, knowing that I’m not stupid and, as you just said, I have an impeccable eye for people-“

“I never said that,” I interrupted.

“Knowing all that,” he pressed on. “Do you really think my best friend in the entire world would be a bad person?” He pushed the cupcake toward me. “I think not.”

I looked at the cupcake, at its droopy frosting and sad lumps. Casper must have worked hard on this. I did not deserve that.

“Do you know why I was pushing so hard to find the Damnatus?” I asked with my eyes still pinned on the dessert.

“’Cause you want to put an end to things,” he said without even having to think about it. “Something was happening to you. Something is happening to you. I’d want to get to the bottom of it too.”

“I wanted to leave the Hourglass,” I said.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re literally trying to murder you at this very moment. Wanting to get away from them doesn’t make you bad. It makes you normal.”

“That’s not why I wanted to leave. I mean, it’s not the only reason. I figured that, if we had to go right now. If we had to drop everything and figure out who the Damnatus was, then I’d be able to convince Echo to go get Owen. He wouldn’t leave him here, not forever.” My fingers rested impotently on the table. “And the thing is, after Echo explained everything to me, after he told me the awful, horrible reason I could never try to find the Damnatus, I still thought about it. I still wanted to.”

Casper looked at me for a long minute, something like pity spiking his expression. “Cress…” he finally said. But I couldn’t let him tell me it was okay, not this, not now.

“Kids, Casper. All those kids, every kid in the world, and I’m going to be the one who kills them.” I had thought about the prophecy a lot lately. It was practically the only thing (other than Owen) that ever graced my mind. But it was different before. The end that it had always spoken of was something distant and vague. This, child murder, was a real thing, and it was really too much for me to handle.

Sickness rose in my gut and I thought I was going to upchuck all over Casper’s ill-proportioned cupcake.

“What do you want me to say, Cress?” He asked with his brows arched. “Want me to tell you it sucks? I can, ‘cause it definitely does. Want me to tell you it’s unfair and that you don’t deserve it? I can do that too. But what’s the use? You know this stuff, Cresta. We’ve been through it. These idiots have been spouting garbage about you since the day they came to pull you out of your house.” He pointed at me. “And don’t forget that. They came for you, not the other way around. We were happy stealing root beer from the general store and kicking rocks alongside the train tracks. Well, maybe not happy,” he grinned. “The point is, none of this touches you. You know you’re not some world destroyer, and you sure as hell know that you’re not the type to take out a bunch of children. So I’m not gonna waste my time telling you that, not when your cupcake is getting soggy.”

“Can cupcakes get soggy?” I asked, inspecting the ugly lump.

“Let’s not find out,” he said, and pushed it even closer to me.

“Tell me I’m not a bad person, Cass,” I said.

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Not gonna do that. I’ve gained a little perspective in my time away. And that perspective has taught me that we, you and I, are not the people who should be questioning ourselves. They’re the bad guys, Cress. I don’t care what they’re stupid prophecies say. We’re through defending ourselves to these people, Cresta. Never again.”  He ran his finger over the icing and licked it. “Now eat the damn cupcake.”

One overly frosted (and somehow soggy) cupcake later, and I made my way out the door. I wasn’t feeling much better per say, but Casper had tried hard. So the least I could do was plaster on a fake smile as I went out for some fresh air. It probably didn’t fool him. He was Casper after all, but he knew me well enough to know I needed a little more alone time. So he didn’t stop me as I marched down the hallway toward the front door.

I took a left, trying very hard not to let my mind rest on the idea of a childless world or the notion that I was the one who made it that way.

“I don’t know why you gotta be like this!” Royce’s twang sounded from a door to my left. It was slightly ajar and, though it was probably none of my business, I stopped and peeked inside. Hey, on the list of awful things I could or maybe would do, eavesdropping barely counted. He was standing over a bed with a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. The old man lying down was unfamiliar to me at first. But, as I studied his weathered and weary features, I realized it was Renner.

He was bedridden? But that didn’t make any sense. Royce told me he was getting better. He looked awful, like he one foot in the grave. What was this better than, dead?

“Uncle Renner, you gotta eat. I know you don’t want to. I know you feel sick, and I know that, whether you want to admit it or not, there’s a piece of ya that don’t wanna do this just ‘cause you know it’s pissing me off. But I promise, you’re gonna eat this or I’m going to sit here and recite John Wayne’s life story to you.” He plopped down on a stool beside the bed. “The whole thing.”

He extended the spoon, which looked to be full of soup. But Renner wasn’t having any of it. The older man just turned his head away.

“Have it your way,” he said, slamming the spoon back into the bowl, which splashed over with soup. “Marion Mitchell Morrison was born on May 26, 1907 in Winterset, Iowa. It was unseasonably warm that day. Real sticky, y’know?”

I’m not sure why, because it wasn’t necessarily funny, but the whole thing made me chuckle for some reason. I threw my hand in front of my mouth. Realizing that I had just made noise and probably given myself away, I bolted before Royce could look up.

I figured he mustn’t have heard me by the time I made it outside, sighing as a cool breeze made its way across my bangs.

“You spying on me now, Sweetheart?”

No such luck. Turning around, I saw Royce leaning against a nearby tree. His mouth was twisted into a crooked smile and his eyes, while sleepy, lacked the concern they held just minutes ago.

“You know, you coulda just said hey.”

My face reddened. “I didn’t- you seemed busy,” I answered.

“He’s a handful these days. I ain’t gonna deny it.”

“You said he was better,” I reminded him as he pushed off from the tree and came swaggering toward me. As he neared, I felt my body react to his closeness. Shade, the shade that I had built up just by being here, started to leech off of me, flowing into his body in a sweet, aching movement. I did my best not to shudder.

“I didn’t want you to feel bad,” he shrugged. “You seem to have this knack for making everything about you, and I didn’t want you blaming yourself for something you couldn’t help.”

“It is my fault,” I answered. He was right. It was almost instinct now, to blame myself for the bad things that seemed to always happen to anyone who got close to me.

“There ya go again. You know, I’d tell you this ain’t your fault, that all this garbage would be moving whether you were you or not, but it wouldn’t do any good. You’re head’s as hard as Monday morning, girl. There just ain’t no getting’ through it,” he sighed. Moving even closer, it took all I could do not to reach out and touch him. It wasn’t that he was particularly tempting; though, with his swept over sandy hair and deep, mysterious eyes, I could certainly understand if he caught a girls attention. This was about something different, though. He was right about what he’d said before. My body did react to his. For whatever reason, our abilities fit together. I needed him, like fate was trying to make sure we never got too far apart. And that really pissed me off.

“Well, you’d know about stubborn, wouldn’t you?” I asked, turning away and trying to mask the real reason I was so on edge.

He moved around me and, even though I didn’t see it, I felt him. I actually felt him move, the pull of his body to mine shifting as he did.

“Aww, don’t be like that, Sweetheart.” He gave me a wink. “Besides, I know what’s going on. You’re all hyped up.” He extended his hand. “Come on and let Royce make you feel better before he leaves.”

I pulled away from him, disgusted not only because he seemed to be enjoying the idea of having me over a barrel, but because he was right. Of course, I wasn’t about to admit that.

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest as though that might block me from him somehow. “I decided not to worry about the Damnatus. There are… circumstances.”

“The kids thing?” He tilted his head. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, reading my face. “I know about this stuff. Old Royce is smarter than ya give him credit for.”

“Well he’d have to be, wouldn’t he?” I sneered, but my tone was lacking its usual bite.

“Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to talk ya outta blaming yourself for that too. It ain’t even happened yet, Sweetheart.” He crossed his chest with his arms too, mirroring my stance with mock sadness.

“Why does everybody keep telling me that?” I asked, shaking my head. “Why are you all acting like it’s not a big deal? Every kid in the world might die!”

“World’s a dangerous place, Sweetheart. You could take a wrong turn and get hit by a truck.” He glanced around. “Well, not here, but you get what I mean.” He leaned closer, causing my body to almost pull close to him. “The point is, nothing’s done ‘til it’s done. You ain’t who they say you are until the minute you become that person. Until then, you’re you. And here’s a secret. No matter what they say, they’ve got no power over you, otherwise they wouldn’t be wetting their pants trying to find you.” He gave me a pat on the shoulder, which sent sparks through my chest. I dared to look at him for an instant, wondering if he felt that too. If he did, he didn’t let on. “The only way you become the Blood Moon is if you believe you are.”

“You might be right,” I conceded, looking at the ground. “But it doesn’t matter. Right or not, I’m not going to risk it. So you don’t have to go.”

Royce laughed so loudly that it was almost a howl. “You’re a self-centered little junebug, aren’t cha?”

“Junebug?” I asked, my nose crinkling.

“I’m trying it out,” he shrugged. “Point is, you ain’t the only reason I’m going. There are people back there, people who have risked a lot to do what’s right. They deserve to know that we didn’t lose. They deserve to know that you’re okay and that Uncle Renner is okay, more or less. And besides, whether you want to do anything about it or not, the Damnatus happened, and our side,” he motioned to myself and him. “Needs to know what their side knows.”

“How close to do you have to get?” I asked.

“Close enough to make it interesting,” he said as a breeze parted his swept hair. “Why do ya ask?” A wide smile draped across his face.

I ran a hand through my hair, hating myself for what I was about to ask. “Your people, they’re close enough that they know everything that’s going on, right? “

“They’re our people, but yeah,” he answered.