Vendetta (19 page)

We sit there, cramped, quiet, shoulder to shoulder. And when he lifts his arm I scoot in closer. It's comfortable there, nestled in that crook,
and a wave of familiarity washes over me. The smell of his laundry detergent. His skin next to mine. Little things not forgotten. Little things that are, somehow, still part of me.

"Carter? Why did you let your application to State lapse?" I ask.

The word
s have remained unspoken between us since Selena first told me what happened. I thought that maybe it was an oversight—that Carter would get around to mentioning it. But he hasn't.

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"You're my best friend. You can tell me these t
hings, you know."

"You have enough going on in your life right now without having to worry about me. Whatever it is I'm dealing with, it's trivial. Trust me."

"Your dad is mad at you."

"My dad has this idea that I'm going to State just like him," he says.
"Rush the same fraternity. Come back in four years and manage the same company. Join the same country club. Schmooze the same people at the same dinners at the same benefits."

"That sounds so awful," I say, unable to hide the sarcasm.

"I know. But that's
h
is
plan. Not mine."

"What's your plan?"

"I don't know," he replies. "I just . . . I don't know."

He stops there, letting the silence settle between us.

Already, sweat pools at my back. It's not worth it, though. To move. To do anything but be here. With C
arter. And so I close my eyes again and let the warm sun and sounds of summer lull me into a calm, quiet sleep.

*
             
*
             
*

I pass through the pool house, grabbing my keys on the way out the door. The place is empty. Mara is gone. Joshua. Seth, I know, is stil
l hovering nearby, hidden. I don't call out to him, though. I need more time. Time to myself. To just be me. Alone.

I drive with no particular destination in mind, but I'm not entirely surprised when, minutes later, I'm parking in a lot near the ocean.

D
ark clouds move in rapidly, and a fierce wind whips my hair in my eyes as I cross the sand, barefoot, heading toward the water. The beach is long deserted, and, just above the crashing waves, I hear the distant growl of thunder.

I stop at the water's edge
, the voice in my head calling out to me, beckoning.

One more time.

She's out there.

My flip flops tumble to the sand, and I step in. The clouds advance quickly, bruising the sky. A furious wave collapses in front of me, sending cool, foamy water rushing
over my feet. I take another step. And another. Thunder rumbles.

Genesis.

I twirl at the sound of my name, stumbling, struggling to regain my balance, half-expecting to see Seth or Joshua or Mara coming to claim me. I push the hair away from my face with
both hands, searching the beach, but I'm alone.

I turn back to the ocean.

Or not.

I take another step forward, letting the sea drag me in. A wave crashes just before me, splashing my shorts. Lightning cracks the sky.
One. Two. Three. Four.
A roll of thund
er. It runs on. And on. And on.

Just a few more steps. A few more steps and you can end this. Forever.

I pitch forward, scrambling awkwardly into the sea.

A firm hand grips my arm, holding me back. I spin around, and Seth's eyes focus on mine. They seem p
aler somehow, etched with fear.

"I'm fine!" I shout above the roar of thunder and waves and the pounding of my heart.

"I know," he replies.

"I wasn't going to . . ."

"I know," he breaks in, interrupting before I can finish.

I glance back at the violent o
cean.

What wasn't I going to do?

I have no idea. My hands tremble, hair blowing wild around my face. Mind spinning and out of control.

What's happening?

Another deep wave moves in. The water grasps at my legs, nearly knocking me over. Seth holds my wais
t, steadying me.

I won't let go.

"What?"

"I won't let you go," he promises, voice carrying across the wind and rising above the waves.

I push the hair from my eyes. "What if . . . what if there's nothing left?" I ask him as the first of the raindrops leak
s from the sky. "To hold on to."

His eyes grow more careful, guarded. "Are you saying there's nothing left?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Then it doesn't matter," he assures me. "I'll find it. Whatever it is that's left, I'll find it. And I won't let it go. I w
on't let you go."

I wait. Wait to feel his promise wrap around me. To feel right again.

T
WENTY-THREE

"Come on, punk," I tease. "Don't be such a lightweight."

Joshua's jaw
clenches, fingers tightening. He pulls his arms back, beating the focus mitts again and again and again. My body tenses, and I struggle to keep my hands locked in position.

"Fists of fury, baby," he says.

I'm surprised to feel laughter—an actual, genuine
laugh—building inside. "What?"

That's when my arms fall, leaving me unprotected. I'm not sure what happens first. If I see Joshua's fist arcing toward me, feel the pain radiating through my face, or hear the crack of his knuckles as they meet my jaw. It al
l seems to happen at once, too fast to compute. I stumble backward, clutching the injured area.

"Holy shit!" But it hurts to speak, and I can barely hear my voice above the ringing in my ears. The cries of "Genesis!" are muffled, too. And in an instant Se
th is by my side.

He holds my face in his hands, examining it. "Are you all right?" But before I can even answer he turns on Joshua. "What the hell were you
thinking
?" he yells.

I flinch at his tone, blinking back my surprise. I've never heard Seth speak
like that. Not to Joshua. Not to anyone. Ever.

"It was my fault," I tell him. "I dropped the mitts." I open and close my mouth, trying to work the pain away.

"I'm so sorry, Gen," Joshua says. "I didn't mean . . ."

"I'm fine," I assure him. "It's fine. I c
alled you a lightweight. I totally deserve it."

"
Here.
" Mara passes me a dishrag full of ice cubes. "You should sit down."

I climb onto the barstool, pressing the towel against my face. It stings, and I can almost feel the bruise expanding, travelling bene
ath my skin.

"So how much longer is this going to last?" Carter asks, shoulders squaring. "You've been here for weeks now," he tells Mara, "and there's still no sign of Viola." His voice is flat, emotionless. "What happens next? You just keep on training h
er hoping this demon shows up one day?"

"I'm here for as long as the Council recommends I stay," Mara replies. "Whether that's for a few months or longer is yet to be determined. You have to remember that our time is different from your time. Your lives pa
ss very quickly to us."

"So this could drag on for years and years," Carter confirms.

"I wouldn't think so. Not in this case."

"But you don't know for sure," he says.

"No. But this is what Genesis wants. She's vowed to avenge the death of Stuart. And now
Selena." I swallow hard at this, and my jaw smarts. Mara turns her attention to me. "I suppose she could stop this at any time."  

"I'm not a quitter," I tell them.

"It's not quitting," Seth says. "It's, for once, acknowledging that this isn't your fight
."

I close my eyes, feeling the ice numb the pain radiating through my face. "I don't think it matters what I want anymore," I confess. "This isn't just about Stu. Viola is coming whether I want her to or not. I can seek her out,
ready, or I can sit back and wait. But she
will
come."

The five of us fall into an uncomfortable silence. It descends, thick and heavy, blanketing the room.

Finally, I set the makeshift icepack aside and move back into the living room. I pick the focus m
itts off the floor, determined. "All right, Fists of Fury," I tell Joshua. "Let's finish this."

He shakes his head. "Your face looks awful," he says.

"You should be proud. It was a great shot."

"I hit a girl."

"A girl who could throw a knife at you from ha
lfway across this house and sever any number of major arteries running through your body. Providing, you know, you could die," I add, smiling. I lift the focus mitts, but Joshua hesitates, refusing to come closer.

I turn to Seth. "Tell him it's okay."

Set
h's shoulders fall in a resigned exhale. "Pay attention to what you're doing this time."

*
             
*
             
*

"It might have been a mistake to focus solely on combat skills. They're important, obviously, but you won't always have the advantage in fights," Mara says.

"I
thought the knives . . ."

"The knives are essential," she interrupts, voice stern, "but there may come a time when you don't have access to them. If this happens, you should be prepared to fight and defend yourself without them. Carter?" she calls.

He sta
nds, rising from the couch. "Lucky me. I get to be the dummy."

A small smile pulls at my lips. "At least we got the right guy for the job."

"Oh, you're going down," he replies.

"Focus, you two," Mara says. "Okay, Carter. I want you to throw a punch."

He he
sitates, eyeing Mara carefully. "Yeah. Seth almost killed Joshua for doing that."

Joshua's frown reaches us from across the room. "I said I was sorry! How many times do I have to apologize?"

"I wouldn't have killed him," Seth assures us. "Not totally, any
way. Just . . . very nearly."

"I'm not concerned with Seth right now," Mara says. "Don't make contact, just pretend to."

Carter moves in. He pulls his arm back and punches the air slowly. Mara stops his hand inches from my face. "This, right here, is wher
e you need to react. Take your arm, and push his hand away. His body will automatically move forward. When this happens, grab the back of his neck and pull him down. Try it."

Carter throws another slow, deliberate punch. This time I shove it aside. Just as
Mara predicted, he leans in. I push down on his neck.

"You have him in one of the most compromising positions, now. You can knee him in the face. You can go for the nose, or turn his head, aiming for the temple."

I lift my knee, stopping short of Carter'
s chin.

"It never matters the number of punches thrown. The winner is always the last person left standing."

Carter tries to punch me again, moving faster this time. I block him, bringing him down. We
practice this a few more times before Mara is ready to move on.

"If someone is choking you from the front, you can try several tactics. You can punch him, or strike his nose with the palm of your hand, but to break the grip, you'll need to clasp your hand
s together, bend at your knees, and push all of your weight into separating his arms. I'll demonstrate."

Carter wraps his fingers around her neck. "You'll want to push all the way through. Use your strength to your advantage and throw off the opponents' ba
lance. At that point, they can only react to what you're doing to them. Now grab me from behind," she tells Carter. "If he's choking you like this, twist your body, put your arm between the two of you, and use your weight to force his arm away. Try to mane
uver around him. Like this."

We practice until I'm comfortable with the techniques, and then Carter and I switch places. I do the attacking, and he tries to fend me off. Mara stands on the sidelines, scrutinizing, evaluating, content to break in only when
she feels we're doing something wrong. The more we train, the more confident we are. We're swinging faster, pushing harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.

Carter cocks his arm and punches through. I block him, forcing his fist away.