Secret of Betrayal: Book Two of The Destroyer Trilogy (7 page)

I can’t do it. My spirit feels ready to explode
right out of my body and splatter me all over the walls for all my uselessness.
It’s all I can think about. Getting into the spirit world has consumed my
thoughts since rescuing Casey. If I have to hear the word Spiritualism one more
time, I am going to go insane. I’m not being dramatic. That’s just a fact at
this point.

The guy who sits next to me suddenly tumbles out
of his chair, followed by Ms. Sanchez’s shrill voice. “For crying out loud,
Nate, Spiritualism isn’t about force! It’s about making a subtle connection.”

Okay, so I don’t explode, but hearing that word
again makes me shudder. Even more, her advice inspires another round of
frustration to blossom. Lately Milo’s mom has been telling me the same thing
over and over and over again. I understand. I can be subtle. Actually, I’m very
good at subtle. But when I get frustrated after hours of trying to use my
Spiritualism and getting nowhere, she can’t expect me not to throw my energy
around tantrum-style.

Nate closes his eyes and tries again to contact
his partner’s spirit. He is by far the least talented, most idiotic person in
this class, but I wince as his spirit comes to his call right away. Ten seconds
later it blasts recklessly toward the guy across from him and backlashes him
out of his chair, but it’s still more than I can do.

I’ve had it! Since Ms. Sanchez won’t acknowledge
me for any reason except trying to wrangle details out of me about the incident
with Casey, I don’t bother asking her for permission to go to the restroom.
When I stand up her eyes do snap over to me, though. She’s yet to physically
assault me when hounding me about what happened with Casey, but her courage is
growing every day. At some point she’s going to stop following me around like a
freak asking repetitive questions and try to slap the information out of me.
Not today, though. I leave my books and bag at my desk so she knows I’ll be
back, and stalk out of the room before I scream.

The hallway is blessedly empty. The restrooms
are just down the hall, but I fall against the nearest row of lockers instead.
My eyes close, the cool metal pressed up against my back actually making me
feel the tiniest bit better. I slow my breathing to a rhythmic pulse flowing in
and out of my body. Meditative breathing is about the only thing I’ve mastered
in my Spiritualism class. As each breath drifts out of my body, it takes a
piece of my frustration with it.

I am almost completely relaxed when my skin
suddenly erupts in pin pricks. My eyes pop open in panic to find Braden staring
at me. Scrambling out of my lounging stance, I stand up straight and do my best
to put on a disinterested expression. He smiles, which probably means I failed.
Forget that, I go for irritated instead, and pull that off perfectly.

“What?” I demand. I’m getting really sick of him
sneaking up on me. He seems to find it hilarious to startle me. It’s become
something of a game for him over the last few weeks. Every time I happen to be
alone he manages to pop out of nowhere to badger me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Braden
asks.

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Are you going to report
me? I’m sure the principal would love to have me dragged into her office.
Me and her
are about as friendly as Sharks and Jets.”

“West Side Story reference,” Braden muses. “Are
you studying
Romeo and Juliet
this year?”

“No,
Wuthering Heights
,
actually.
We did
Romeo and Juliet
last year, but I really liked
West
Side Story
when we watched it.” I shake myself. Why am I still talking to
him? “What I’m studying in English has nothing to do with anything. What are
you doing in my face again?”

“Just patrolling the halls
like I’m supposed to.”

“Patrolling, huh? Why is it that your patrolling
schedule seems to match my class schedule exactly?” I ask.

“I’m here to protect the school from possible
threats, and at the moment everyone seems to think that means you.” For saying
I’m the biggest threat at this school, he doesn’t exactly seem worried about
standing right next to me. In fact, the casual expression he’s wearing seems to
say quite the opposite. Unfortunately for me, Braden treating me like I’m no
big threat always has the intended effect. I’m still mad at him, but my
combative stance softens minimally.

“If you don’t stop sneaking up on me, one of
these days I’m going to slap you. Now, what do you really want?” I ask.

Braden knows from personal experience I’m
capable of more than a harmless slap, but he keeps his unconcerned expression
and takes another step closer to me. Less than a foot stands between us. I’m
the only one that seems to mind. Braden acts as if it’s the most normal thing
in the world for him to be alone in the hallway with me, inches away from my
body.

“I want the same thing I’ve wanted for the last
two weeks,” he says. “Tell me what happened with Casey.”

Persistent is not a strong enough word for
Braden. “It’s none of your business, so drop it.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Careful not to touch his injured chest again, I
thrust my hand against his shoulder and push him away from me. My plan is to
slip away through the opening I just created, but Braden taps his Speed and
whirls back in front of me half a second later. He rarely displays his talents
around me, so his quick movement traps me before I think to react. Braden’s
pleased expression spurs me to try again. More prepared, I shove him away a
second time and slip to his side before he can block me again. I smirk at him
as I spin away, but he catches my hand and yanks me back.

The way he holds my hand is an enigma. Soft as
if he doesn’t want to hurt me, yet his fingers are locked around mine in a way
that won’t let me escape without hurting him. Add in the warmth that is sliding
up my arm from where our hands meet, and I can’t seem to think properly. I
stare at our hands as if they are the strangest things I have ever seen.
When Braden seems to accept that I’m not going to run away again,
his grip changes.
His hand softens and rolls over mine like warm
molasses, comforting and sweet. A little voice in the back of my head tells me
to make him let go, but it’s outweighed by the odd sense of rightness I feel
pulsing through my entire body.

Slowly my eyes work their way up to Braden’s.
More often than not, his expression holds a sense of curiosity when he looks at
me. I always get the impression that he’s trying to figure something out about
me. As I look at him now, I realize that curiosity is gone, and in its place is
certainty. I don’t know what he’s suddenly figured out, but it scares me. I
take a step back and pull my hand away. My determination to go back to class
falters at Braden’s pleading voice.

“Wait, Libby.”

I do wait, but I don’t say anything.

“I don’t follow you around because the principal
told me to,” Braden says. “Those were my orders when I met with her two weeks
ago, but I have my own reasons for keeping track of you.”

“What reasons?” I ask quietly.

“Because I want to.
I
want to know who and what you are.”

“Don’t you already know? Hasn’t it been drilled into
your head by now? I’m Cassia. I’m the Destroyer.” I say it resolutely. It’s
something I’ve practiced doing. I used to wear a wristband to hide the jet
black diktats that announced my destiny to the world. The painted fabric now
sits on my nightstand as a token, but hasn’t been worn since Braden tried to
arrest Milo. I’ve accepted who I am.

Braden reaches for my hand again. The way his
eyes are fastened on my wrist convinces me to let him. I can understand the
desire to see such an anomaly. He lifts my hand so he is holding it between us.
The fingers of his other hand reach up and slide across my diktats. It doesn’t
bother me any to see them, but I’m surprised he shows no fear or hesitation
when he rubs his thumb back and forth across the black scar tissue. His touch
is gentle, almost a caress.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I have
memorized every detail of Cassia’s file. I know exactly what has been written.
The words are ingrained in my mind. I don’t need to know anything else about
Cassia. What I want to find out is who and what Libby Sparks is.”

“We’re the same person, if you haven’t figured
that out yet.” I try to tug my hand away from him, but he holds it fast.

“No, you’re not. Cassia, Destroyer, those are
titles. They aren’t you.”

I’ve told myself the same thing a million times.
I don’t have to be some hated monster that is going to ruin everyone’s lives. I
have a destiny, a plan for my life laid out before I was even born, but I don’t
have to walk that path. Whatever has been written or prophesied about me
doesn’t have to come true. I could walk away from everything and have the
normal life I’ve always wanted. I’ve told myself that, but I’ve never believed
it. It’s more than my knowing I can’t let the Ciphers suffer in their prison.
Whatever I try to convince myself of has always been overwhelmed by a sure
knowledge that no matter what choices I make, I will be pulled into a chain of
events I can’t control. Rescuing the Ciphers is good. I know that in my heart,
but there is still the fear that Fate will twist my good intentions into
something horrific.

Braden’s words aren’t new or terribly
insightful. His words aren’t really what affect me. In his voice, expression,
and even the way he is looking at me, there is such conviction. The fantasy
I’ve failed to convince myself of becomes infallible truth in his simple words.
He believes it, and somehow he makes me believe it, too.

“Who are you, Libby?” Braden says quietly. He
sweeps his finger over my diktats again, as if the answer to his question will
somehow be revealed by them. “Who is this girl the entire world is terrified
of.
”

“Even the Guardians?”

“Especially the Guardians.”

“Why?” I ask.

Braden’s eyes leave my diktats and travel up to
my face. He examines every contour with his gaze. It takes all my effort not to
shiver, though I’m not sure whether I would be responding to his attention with
fear or delight. Braden’s brow crinkles before finally answering my question.
“The Guardians are afraid because they think they know what you’re going to
do.”

“Don’t they?”

His hand drops away from me. “I don’t know.”

“Are you afraid of me?” He’s seen my talents,
and I’ve told him I am coming after the Guardians for imprisoning the Ciphers.
He has every reason to be afraid.

Braden meets my eyes. His expression is calm,
sure. “No, I’m not afraid of you.”

I don’t know if it’s overconfidence, or
something else, but I have the urge to set him right. “You should be. You
should be scared like everyone else.”

“Maybe everyone else has reason to fear you, but
I don’t. The kind of coldhearted killer it would take to destroy the world
wouldn’t have jumped to her friend’s defense even though she had a broken ankle
and knew saving him would give away her secrets. I’m not saying that you’re not
capable of being merciless. Pushed hard enough, anyone can be twisted, but
there’s something …”

My chest tightens in fear of what he might say
next. I hear my own thoughts spilling back at me from him. He’s a Guardian. I
should hate and fear him, but I don’t. I know deep down in my soul that I’m
safe with him, that he would never hurt me. My logical mind tells me I’m an
idiot for believing nonsense like that, but the feeling is there all the same.
If Braden feels something similar …

Shaking his head, he finally takes a step back
from me. “I just don’t see you hurting people that don’t deserve it.”

“The Guardians do deserve it,” I say, eager to
get away from my own thoughts. “I’ll kill as many of them as I have to. It’s
not like they haven’t done the same.”

Braden doesn’t argue. The Guardians pretend to
be servants of the people.
Their protectors.
They’ve
shown their true colors too many times for anyone to actually believe that.

“Not all Guardians are like that,” Braden says.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” I ask. He’s a
Cipher hunter. Collecting helpless teens shouldn’t be too deadly, but I doubt
every Cipher ever revealed has gone quietly. Darkness flashes in Braden’s eyes.

“Only when absolutely necessary,” he says.

“The night you came after
Milo, would you have killed me if you’d had the chance?
Would my death
have been necessary in order to capture him?”

“Would I have killed you that night?” Braden
repeats. “Yes.”  

“Would you kill me now?”

There’s no one around to see him. He’s been
ordered to leave me alone by the president once thousands of Cipher families
rallied to save my life after seeing me protect Milo, something I am still
shocked by. If he were to take the initiative and slit my throat, I’m pretty
sure he’d be promoted rather than punished. My fingers reach up and push back
the long sleeve of Braden’s dress shirt to reveal his blade. I expect him to
tense up, push me away, but his head only cocks to the side as he watches me
slide the knife from its sheath. Instead of keeping the weapon, I push it into
his hand.

“Why am I still alive, Braden? Why did the
president give in to the Cipher families? I broke our agreement. He had every
right to kill me after what I did at the theater. I know he wants to see me dead
more than anything else. Why don’t you end the biggest threat our world has
ever seen, right now?” I let my hands fall to my side in a passive gesture.

Braden shifts his blade into a more secure grip,
one used for inflicting damage. “President Howe wants you alive so you can
train and become someone worthy of being killed by him. Despite the legends,
he’s supremely confident killing you won’t be that difficult. He wants to make
a spectacle of your death and make anyone contemplating removing him from office
think twice. Howe wants Lazaro, and those like him, to tremble at his knees and
beg for their lives. He’s getting older. His ways of doing things don’t mesh
with everyone, anymore. The president is quickly losing power among some of the
younger Guardians.