Fragile Spirits (14 page)

“Give it up, Smith,” I said, getting a better hold.

“Never,” he growled from Ms. Mueller’s body. A searing pain shot out from my left shoulder blade. Smith laughed, and I punched him in the face; well, actually, I punched Ms. Mueller in the face, knocking her out cold. Fear spiked from both Lenzi and Vivienne.

“There he goes,” Lenzi said, pointing to the far side of the room. “His voice was over there before it faded away. You got him out, Paul.”

Yeah. But he hadn’t been weak. Ms. Mueller could never have fought that hard. It was as if he was scoping us out. Playing with us.

“Oh, no!” Vivienne ran over to me. “The scissors.”

“Yeah, I know,” I groaned. “Pull them out, will you?”

She leaned over me. “They’re stuck through her hand into you, just like the podium.” It must have looked pretty gross, because her fear spiked. She stood up. “No, I can’t . . . Shut up, Race.”

It was bizarre hearing her argue with Race while they soul-shared, and I would have been amused were it not for the pain in my shoulder.

“Okay, fine. Race is telling me what to do, so if I screw this up, it’s his fault,” Vivienne said, kneeling beside where I was sprawled over Ms. Mueller’s body. “He says he won’t leave my body yet because Smith might come back, which is total BS. He just wants me to be the one to yank this out.”

“Just do it, Vivienne.” I felt her fear and concern. She was frightened and compensating for it with belligerence, like she’d done before. “I’ll be fine. You can do this.”

I used words I didn’t even know I knew, but before long, the scissors were out. Vivienne had me stay still, lying on top of Ms. Mueller, while she put pressure on my wound.

Race’s body reanimated with a gasp, and he strolled over. “Oh, man. I wish it weren’t against code to photograph this, Paul, because I’d have blackmail material forever,” he said.

In less than a minute, backup arrived, and a dozen or so people charged into the room. Four wore lab coats, some wore what looked like special ops gear, a couple had on suits, and then there was Charles, whose concern blasted me for a moment as he knelt down. “How bad is it?”

“I have no idea,” I answered.

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Vivienne.”

“The shoulder bone deflected the blade,” Race said. “The wound is shallow.”

From my embarrassing facedown position on top of Ms. Mueller, I couldn’t see Charles’s face, but I could swear there was a smile in his voice. “While I appreciate your expertise, Horace, I wasn’t addressing you either.”

Vivienne shifted a bit, but kept the pressure on my wound. “I don’t have a clue about this kind of stuff.”

Charles stood. “You’ll need to get a clue. It appears Paul here has an adventurous streak no one anticipated.” I lifted my head to look at him, and he winked. He motioned to the guys in lab coats.

“Lift your hand, please,” one requested of Vivienne. The injury pulsed with pain when she took her hand away. I almost asked her to come back as she moved to sit in a desk on the front row. I wanted her to touch me. Needed it. Instead, I took a deep breath as the guys poked at the wound.

Before long, they had me move to Ms. Mueller’s desk chair, leaning forward with my elbows on the tops of my thighs. One guy attended me, while the other three hovered over Ms. Mueller. A couple of the guys in suits spoke on their phones, and the guys that looked decked out for warfare each stood in a corner.

“Please take your shirt off,” the guy in the lab coat treating my wound said.

Panic made my mouth dry as cotton, and I wasn’t sure I could speak. “No.” My response had been so quiet, he hadn’t heard.

“Please remove your shirt.”

“I can’t.” Still only a whisper.

He crouched beside me. “You can’t because it hurts somewhere else, or is it too painful from the wound on your shoulder blade?”

A pulse that felt like a twinge of regret came from Charles. The transmission was so unusual, I sat up and turned to look at him. He looked away—something I’d never seen him do. I wondered if it was because he’d let some emotions slip out or because he knew why I couldn’t take my shirt off.

“I have to look at the wound. I can just cut this shirt off, okay?” The guy moved to a large, metal medical supply kit a few feet away. Thoughts of bolting from the room ran through my mind. I plotted out several strategies to escape before they could stop me, but Vivienne killed my scheme by taking my hand.

“Hey. You okay?”

I nodded and focused on her slim, tiny hand holding mine. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, intentionally letting my memories drift back to the incredible kiss outside her house last night.

She sat on the floor in front of my chair and gave my fingers a squeeze. “You look a little panicked. Does it hurt a lot?”

I shook my head. The wound from the scissors didn’t hurt that much. It was the least of my worries.

The guy in the lab coat pulled a chair up beside me and reached for the hem of my shirt, holding scissors in his other hand. I flinched.

Vivienne took my other hand. “It’s okay.”

No. It wasn’t.

The sound of the blades cutting through the fabric on my back seemed amplified as if it were being broadcast through speakers. The guy stopped midtask. He made no sound, but that bizarre regret emotion pulsed from Charles again. And then I placed that emotion; it was pity. Pity was my enemy.

I took a shaky breath. I couldn’t stop this from happening. But I wouldn’t allow it to beat me now, not after all these years of successfully dominating my past to create a real future.

I stared into Vivienne’s eyes as the guy made the last few cuts in the shirt, then pulled it away from the wound. At least only my back was exposed, and right now, Vivienne was directly in front of me. “You still okay?” she asked. Her sweet concern and tender emotion almost made me weep. Were it to turn to pity, I didn’t think I could remain in that chair.

The guy at the door opened it to admit a man rolling a gurney. I was relieved when they put Ms. Mueller, who was still out cold, on it. She had a black eye from where I’d punched her.

“You need stitches,” the guy at my back said. “We should do it off-site.” He pulled out a bandage. “We’ll do a temp solution until then.”

Still shaking, I nodded.

Vivienne squeezed my hand. She thought I was nervous over stitches.

Then she stood, and my worst fears surfaced. I clung tighter to her hands, willing her to stay in place, but even from where she stood, she could see. She pulled her hands away and peered over for a better view of my back. A pulse of surprise. Then horror. Then, yeah, there it was: pity.

I groaned and dropped my head to my hands as she moved to get a closer look.

The guy placed a bandage over the wound, but all I felt was Vivienne looking at my back.

“God, Paul. What happened?” she whispered.

That, of course, prompted Alden, Lenzi, and Race to come view the freak show. I remained silent. What could I say?

Then she touched me, and it felt like fire. She ran her fingers over my skin in some kind of macabre connect-the-dots from one scar to another. I shut my soul from receiving any emotional transmissions at all. Something I was not allowed to do by IC rules, but at that moment, I wasn’t a Protector. I was a five-year-old boy being examined by strangers. I had shut out their emotions, but I couldn’t stop mine—or my shaking.

She laid her palm flat on my spine while the guy still worked. “Was it measles or chicken pox or something like that?”

The guy had finally finished and pulled off his gloves.

“Yeah, something like that,” I said, still trembling.

The guys in suits spoke with Charles, who was nodding but still watching me. Ms. Mueller was strapped down on the gurney, and the medical team seemed packed and ready to go.

Alden, Lenzi, Race, and Vivienne said nothing, but I could feel them behind me, staring. Emotional block still in place, I replayed the memories from outside Vivienne’s house last night.

“We’ll take care of the Protector,” Charles said. “The teacher needs to be transported to a real hospital. The principal understands that the official story is that she somehow lost her balance while holding scissors and fell, impaling her hand and hitting her face on the corner of a desk and whatnot. He is aware of our presence and will stick to that story to keep it under cover. He will contact her family.”

The men in the room spoke in quiet voices as they wrapped up. “You’re good to go,” the guy who bandaged me said, helping me to my feet. I didn’t turn around to see the others. I knew I wouldn’t be able to bear the looks on their faces.

Charles slid off his suit jacket as he walked over to stand in front of me. “Let’s go home,” he said. “Race will stitch you up there.”

I nodded.

Charles helped me into his jacket, and I almost sighed with relief. It was like a suit of armor protecting me from the arrows of pity. Pity was stifling. It kept people distant. I’d learned that when people felt sorry for you, it was impossible for them to divorce that feeling from any other emotion, like respect . . . or love. And unlike respect or love, once in place, pity was permanent.

I pulled the jacket closed and, without looking back, walked out the door.

H
ey, wait up,” Vivienne called, running down the hallway after me. I couldn’t even bring myself to slow down. What I wanted to do was take off running.

She caught up as I reached the front doors. “Stop. Just for a second,” she said. “Please.”

I stopped and waited. Not turning because I dreaded seeing that look—the one people wore when they knew. And I’d made certain that very few knew. I supposed I should have expected this to happen; I just hadn’t thought that far ahead with regard to this.

“Can I ride with you? Alden and Lenzi are going by her house for something, I don’t want to be stuck with the old man, and I’d much rather be with you than Race.” She put her hand on my chest, over my heart. “I’d rather be with you than anyone.”

I closed my eyes and hesitantly lowered my emotion block just enough to get a reading off of her. No pity. None at all. Concern . . . and something else. Something different and intense. The same thing I felt from her outside her house, but it was different. Richer.

I pulled her against me in a hug, and after a moment, she wrapped her arms around my waist. I held my breath as she ran her hands up my back over the jacket. I remembered her touch on my bare skin and shuddered, partly from fear and partly from something stronger than the mortification of her discovering my private past. I had come to like this girl and trust her—probably more than I should.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, head against my shoulder.

She smelled so good. I took a deep inhale. “Yeah. I am now.”

We were silent on the way to the mansion, except for an occasional comment about the possession. Vivienne tactfully avoided any mention of what had come after.

I pulled into the garage and killed the motor. My shoulder blade ached, and so did my head. Vivienne grabbed my arm as I unbuckled.

“Thanks for standing up for me,” she said.

I held my breath as she leaned across the console until her face was inches from mine. I knew the wise thing to do would be to stop her, but being wise didn’t seem possible when she was this near. She stared into my eyes for a moment before our lips met. And then I was lost. Hopelessly lost in this amazing girl who was smart and brave and kissed like she was on fire.

She pulled away. “Wow,” she said.

“Yeah, wow.” I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head to clear it.

She laughed and got out of the car, leaving me alone with my pounding heart and scattered thoughts. Soon, I mustered enough strength to follow her into the house, where Race was waiting for me in a modified clinic he and Cinda had created in the kitchen. Vivienne was leaning against the refrigerator.

“Hop up on the operating table, Junior, and let’s get this done,” Race said. “My lovely assistant, Cinda, will act as nurse.” Cinda blushed and stared at the floor.

“No.” I caught myself and chose my next words carefully. “I mean, okay, but I’d like it to be just you and me. I don’t want an audience while I’m being stitched up.”

Race’s eyebrows shot up. “You scared you’ll blubber like a baby?”

“Yeah. That’s it. You got me, Race.”

He shrugged. “Okay. You heard the man. Clear out, ladies.”

Vivienne shot me a puzzled look as she left, but no strong emotions transmitted from her.

“I was going to let your hot little Speaker distract you, Junior. You missed a great opportunity there.”

I slid Charles’s jacket off and laid it over a stool. “Hopefully, it won’t be my last opportunity to be distracted by her. I just prefer it not be in front of an audience.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” He chuckled and put on a pair of surgical gloves while I pulled off my shirt. He was going to see my entire back up close under bright lighting, so wearing the blood-soaked, ripped-up shirt made no sense. I wadded it up and dropped it into the trash can.

He paused in putting on the second glove and stared at my chest. I braced myself for the worst. Instead, he turned his attention back to his preparation.

“You can either lie down on the island counter or sit on a stool for this.” He picked up a syringe, and I slid onto a stool. I folded my arms on the counter and laid my head down, feeling no fear over the stitches at all. Still, my stomach churned at my exposure.

I closed my eyes and waited through several sharp stings, each one less intense than the one before. Race pulled a stool around to the other side of the bar and sat down to wait until the anesthesia took effect. “You want a Coke or something?” he asked.

“No. I’m good.”

He pulled off the gloves, then went to the fridge and grabbed a grape soda, Charles’s favorite. “I always wondered why you wore shirts when we swam laps at the academy.” He popped the top on the soda. “You also ran sprints in a shirt and showered at odd times when nobody was around.” He took a swig of soda. “Now I know why.”

I closed my eyes. “Now you know.”

He said nothing for a long time. “I thought you had a hang-up or something.”

“I do.”

“Is it just your chest and back?”

I opened my eyes and met his. “Yes.”

He nodded and looked at his watch. “Almost time.” He took another swallow of soda.

I heard the kitchen door open, and my whole body tensed. “Whoa, Junior. It’s just Charles,” Race said, patting my elbow. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“How’s it going in here?”

“The anesthesia has another minute or so before I test it,” Race said, finishing off his soda.

Charles nodded and pulled a grape soda from the refrigerator. “How are you holding up, Paul?”

“Fine, sir,” I answered. Race got up and moved the tray of medical supplies. Charles retrieved a glass from a cabinet and sat on the stool Race had just vacated.

“Do you have any questions or concerns, Paul?” His question surprised me. He used to ask that at the end of every day when he was training me. I hadn’t heard it in a while.

“Yes, sir.” It was the first time I’d ever answered affirmatively.

He popped the top on his soda and poured it into the glass. “I thought you might.”

“Do you feel that?” Race asked. I knew he was testing with a needle to see if I was numb from the anesthesia.

“No. Go ahead.”

Charles took a sip of his soda as he waited for me to return my attention to him.

“Vivienne told me something in confidence, sir. Perhaps this conversation should wait.” I looked over my shoulder at Race, who appeared completely focused on his task.

“Nonsense. Horace is sworn to secrecy. He knows a multitude of confidential things. I trust him.” Charles put his glass down and emptied the rest of the soda into it.

Race said nothing, but continued sewing, causing strange, painless, tugging sensations where he worked.

If Charles trusted him, then so should I. “Vivienne said her father was a Protector. She said he abandoned her mother.”

Charles turned his glass a half turn, then met my eyes. “Why does this trouble you?”

“Because it troubles
her.
She blames the IC for it. It ripped her mother up. She plans to find him and engage in some kind of confrontation.”

“That sounds like her personal business and not that of the IC, which means you, as a Protector, must honor her privacy.”

“It affects her ability to perform as a Speaker.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “The magic words—‘it affects her ability to perform as a Speaker.’”

“Done,” Race said. I could hear him snipping off the ends of the stitches.

Charles took a swallow of soda. “Vivienne’s father did not abandon her. He was killed the day before his wedding. It was a controversial resolution, and the IC had to cover it up. For practical purposes, he just disappeared. We didn’t tell anyone, including his fiancée, that he had died.” He picked up his glass to take a sip.

“You should have. You were wrong.”

He froze before the glass reached his lips. He put it back down on the counter and paused before answering. “In retrospect, you’re right. We had no idea she was pregnant. I didn’t know about Vivienne until her aunt told me about her existence and her extraordinary abilities. I made arrangements for her the minute I found out.”

“And what if she hadn’t had abilities?” I regretted asking it the second it came out of my mouth. I had let my anger get the best of me.

“If she hadn’t had abilities, she’d be living a life of extreme poverty in New Orleans with her grandmother, none the wiser. Like you, her talents have given her the opportunity for a better life than she would have had otherwise.” He leaned forward. “What we do is bigger than any one individual. Sometimes sacrifices are made. Her mother’s situation was unfortunate.” His pointed look told me that not only had I gone too far, but that the conversation was over. His eyes strayed from my face to my chest, and his look softened. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He stood and left the room.

For a long while, I played Charles’s words over in my head while Race silently packed up the medical supplies.

When I looked over at him, he shook his head and gave a low whistle. “Dude. You like walking on a razor’s edge, huh? No wonder they paired you up with the wild girl. Both of you are danger junkies.”

I stood. “That’s ridiculous. I was never in any danger.”

He snapped his kit shut. “I wouldn’t dare challenge Charles. I’d be struck by lightning or something.”

“I didn’t challenge Charles. I questioned the IC.”

“Same thing. Be careful, Junior.”

Someone knocked on the door. I still didn’t have on a shirt. “Don’t,” I said, not intending to sound as panicked as it came out.

Race nodded. “We’re almost done,” he called toward the door. “What’s up?”

“You need to get out here, Race,” Lenzi called from the other side. “We have a surprise for you.”

“We’ll be out in a sec,” he called. He scanned me, pausing on my chest. “You need a shirt, don’t you?”

I nodded.

He cracked the door. “Hey, Cinda!” He continued to peek out the door for a moment. “Hi, sugar. Could you please go grab a shirt out of Paul’s room and bring it back here?” She didn’t say anything, but he stuck his head farther out and made a
mmmm
sound in his throat. Surely, they weren’t kissing. Yep, they were, I discovered when he pulled his head back in with a self-satisfied smirk and lipstick smeared across his mouth.

I threw him a towel. “You look like a drag queen.”

He laughed and wiped the lipstick off. “She’s pretty fine, huh?”

“You say that about every girl you meet.” I stood and stretched my sore shoulder.

“Yeah, but she’s different.” He took a few steps closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

“No.”

“Sure you can. Beatrice has severed our official bond at Charles’s request, and he’s assigned Cinda as my new Speaker. She’ll be given a soul brand tomorrow or the next day that matches mine!”

My head reeled. She barely transmitted emotion, which meant she didn’t hear the Hindered completely yet. “She’s not ready.”

“For what?” He wagged his eyebrows, and I stifled a groan.

“To be a Speaker. Her powers aren’t fully in place yet, are they?”

“No. Charles wants her to just hang out with me and learn the ropes until they are. He thinks we’re a good pair. He wants her to get used to me and the job and then he’ll put her in the field when she’s ready.”

I sat back on the stool. “Well, you do take some getting used to.”

A gentle knock came from the door, and Race opened it, returning to me with a black T-shirt from a concert I’d gone to last year. I slipped it on over my head and looked down. The pleated, navy blue school uniform pants with the black 30 Seconds to Mars T-shirt looked ridiculous.

Race gave me a thumbs-up. “You’re stylin’, man.”

I rolled my eyes and followed him out the door, fully intending to dash up the stairs and throw on some blue jeans before anyone saw me like this, but squealing and laughter broke out in the media room before I made it to the stairs. My curiosity got the best of me, and I peeked into the room. Race was in a bear hug, being showered with kisses by a girl with short blond hair and a powerful build, decked out in western wear. Cinda looked as pale as a ghost in the corner.

Race finally broke free long enough to catch his breath. “Hey, Maddi! Glad to see you too. How was Venice?”

“It was great,” she said. “Helena and I resolved a zillion Hindered, and I can say some words in Italian now. Wanna hear?”

He noticed Cinda in the corner and gave her a smile. “Not now, Maddi. I want to introduce you to my new Speaker . . . well, she will be tomorrow or the next day.” He gestured for Cinda to join him, and she blushed as she crossed the room. “This is Cinda. Cinda, this is Maddi, one of my very best friends.”

The expression on Maddi’s face indicated they were more than friends. Alden and Lenzi looked uncomfortable too. Vivienne cast me a puzzled glance, and I shrugged.

Maddi held out her hand. “Hi, Cinda. Great to meet you. It’s about time he had a real Speaker. I’m getting kind of sick of babysitting him, you know.” Maddi was a Protector, obviously, since she had been involved in resolutions, but I felt no emotions coming off of her. Her eyes gave her away, though. She was shaken by this news. “Yeah. Race and I hang . . . hung out together every cycle until my Speaker showed up, since his old one had ditched him and he didn’t have anything better to do.” She shrugged in a jerky, awkward movement. “I guess he has something better to do now.”

Lenzi bit her lip, and Alden studied the carpet. Everyone was uncomfortable except Race, who seemed totally relaxed. He put his hands on either side of Maddi’s face. “We knew this would happen. We talked about it, right?” She nodded. “I am always happy for you when your Speaker emerges. I need the same from you.”

“I am,” she said. “I just wish you had called me and told me privately or something instead of this.”

“I only just now found out myself. Be happy with me.” He put his arm around Cinda. “Please, Maddi.”

“So, I guess this means they’ll be pulling you off of Smith’s case?” Maddi asked. “A new Speaker wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Vivienne’s anger pulsed into me. Her eyes were glued to Maddi. “Why couldn’t a new Speaker do it?” she asked.