Banished: Book 1 of The Grimm Laws (16 page)

Without warning, Edward urged his horse on past the maiden. She looked surprised and then disappointed, but her recovery was quick as she fixed her smile back into place.

Rushton felt like he was watching the scene in slow motion as Edward continued on down the line. When he paused in front of Cinderella, the blood left Rushton’s head, making him dizzy. Edward held out his lance to Cinderella. A hush came over the crowd as all awaited for her to respond. To refuse the Crown Prince would be unthinkable, and yet … Rushton couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw her hesitate and then look his direction. Ever so slowly, she removed the purple scarf from Edward’s lance and replaced it with her blue one. The crowd let out a deafening roar as Edward reared back his horse and raised his lance to the sky. The sound was drowned out by the sound of Rushton’s own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Anger surged in his breast, and he had the urge to rush forward and tear the scarf off of Edward’s lance.

Then he realized that it was his turn to choose a maiden. In the time it took for him to ride to the right side of the platform, Rushton knew what he must do. He would intentionally lose the bet he’d made with Edward and take him to see the Sorceress Griselda. The tricky part was ensuring that Griselda would steer Edward away from Cinderella and into the arms of another. He didn’t give a goose’s tail who Edward ended up with … as long as it wasn’t Cinderella. As he rode slowly down the line of maidens, he made a point of feigning interest by pausing here and there. He finally stopped in front of Cinderella and paused just long enough for her to give him a questioning look. Then he urged his horse to take a step back so that he was positioned directly in front of Josselyn. He barely even looked at her when she removed the scarf from his lance and replaced it with a yellow one of her own. He had the ridiculous urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. There Cinderella was, standing a few paces away from him, and yet she was completely out of his reach. Promise or no promise to his mother, he was going to have to tell Edward the truth. Once Edward realized that Cinderella was already spoken for, he would back down. Above all, Edward was a man of principle, a man of honor.
Honor
. The word was salt in the wound. No honorable squire would voluntarily lose a joust. From the time he was a lad, it had been bred into him to fight. The Grimm Laws demanded that he fight with all of his might. It was a duty that he’d taken a solemn oath to uphold. To do any less was cowardly … hypocritical. A squire was nothing without honor. He lifted the lance high in the air, the yellow scarf flapping wildly in the wind. Fleetingly, he decided against losing the joust. He would find another way, but then he glanced at Cinderella who was looking as distraught as he felt. It was then that he knew that no sacrifice was too great for her. He would forge through fire for her, slay the dreaded dragon, scale Aandover Peaks, and yes, for her, he would do the unthinkable. He would purposely lose the joust.

“
R
ush
, can you hear me? Rush!”

He turned toward the voice. His mind registered two things simultaneously: the annoying blinking lights and that his head felt heavy.

“He’s coming to.”

He looked at the face hovering over him. “Mom!”

Wisteria burst into tears and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Rush! I was so worried. I thought …” She shook her head. “I thought I’d lost you,” she finished quietly.

“Lost me?” He looked around at the police officers and paramedics. Then he realized that he was lying on the ground. No, he was on a stretcher. Panic raced through his veins as his mind tried to grasp what was happening.

A man stepped up behind his mom. “Ma’am, I need to check his vitals.”

Wisteria nodded. “Of course.”

Rush caught her arm. “No, don’t leave me.”

She put a hand over his and gave him a weak smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

The man shined a light in his eyes and then held up his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.”

The man lowered a finger. “Now?”

“One,” Rush answered impatiently. “Hey, what happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I was riding my bike … fast.” He regretted adding in that last part the minute it left his mouth.
Great
, now they would cite him for speeding and probably reckless driving. His heart skipped a beat, and his mouth suddenly felt dry. Had he injured someone? His mind raced as he tried to remember. All the while, he kept thinking about the events that had happened fourteen months ago. Time seemed to mesh together, and the events of that tragic night replayed in his mind like a painful movie that he was forced to watch over and over.

It was the biggest football game of the season, and they’d won. A few of the guys had gone out to celebrate. Everyone had a few too many drinks, especially Brian. It was Brian’s car, but he was too drunk to drive, so he’d tossed Rush the keys.

They’d been singing and goofing off. Rush rounded a curve too fast, and the pavement was slick from a recent rain. The car spun out of control and into a tree. Brian was killed instantly, and Matt was put into intensive care. To make matters worse, marijuana was found in the glove box. The only thing that saved Rush from juvie was the fact that his alcohol level was one point below the legal limit. Thankfully, Matt made a full recovery, but Brian was gone, and it was all Rush’s fault. He’d spiraled into a depression so deep that there seemed to be no way out. In a fit of desperation, Wisteria up and moved them to Castle Heights.

She always told the same story—that they’d moved here to get to know his late father’s extended family, but they’d not made contact with a single one of them these past few months. The truth was that Wisteria had moved them here to save him. But there was no escaping his past. It was happening all over again.

Paramedics were on either side of the stretcher. In unison, they lifted him up and started carrying him to an ambulance. He looked wildly around. “Wait!” He took stock of his body. He could feel his legs. He wiggled his toes, moved his arms, turned his head from side to side. “Wait!” He tried to sit up. “Stop!” They kept walking and placed him in the back of the ambulance. He struggled to get up. “I’m not hurt!” He looked around frantically and caught sight of his mom who was standing beside the open door. “Mom!” he called. “I’m not hurt. I don’t need to be in here!”

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “You hit your head. They’re going to take you to the hospital and do a CT-scan to make sure you don’t have any fractures.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“I’m going to ride behind the ambulance to the hospital.”

Knowing that she would be close by was comforting. A thought struck him. “My bike.”

A paramedic lifted his arm. “This might sting a bit.”

“Aw!” Rush howled as the man shoved a needle into the top of his hand.

“An IV,” the man explained.

“This is ridiculous!” Rush protested. “Where is my bike?”

“Relax, your bike is fine. The cops fished it out of the river.” The man’s calm voice helped take the edge off of the situation.

Rush gathered the courage to ask the thing he’d been dreading. He swallowed hard, trying to voice the words. “W-was anyone else hurt?”

“Just you. Now hold still, so I can get a read on your blood pressure.”

The relief that pulsed through him was palpable. He lay back and closed his eyes, attempting to recall the events leading up to the accident. He’d been angry about Cinderella and Edward. Something about a horse and a blue scarf … and jousting. The stands were brimming with people, wearing bright colors. He shook his head. Jousting? Really? He chuckled inwardly. Maybe he did have a concussion. He was angry with Elle, not Cinderella. So, now he was referring to her as
Cinderella
, like the storybook character? Wow! He was losing it! He was on a horse, in a suit of armor, and she was in a long flowing dress, a braid wound around the crown of her head, blonde tresses trailing free below the braid. And he loved her with a fierceness that nearly took his breath away.

He pushed away the crazy thoughts and focused on the paramedics. He looked at the blood pressure monitor and the fluid flowing through the IV into his veins. He willed his mind to fight against the insanity and focused on the present. As he did so, the events of the evening came rushing back in vivid detail. He’d been angry with Elle because she was sitting in the car with Edward. And the worst part was that she’d been about to kiss him. He clenched his fists. He’d gotten on his bike and gone for a ride. Once he got out on the open highway, he’d opened up the throttle, and then the lights came at him. Lights from an oncoming Jeep. He’d swerved to avoid a collision and had dived off his bike to keep from going into the river.

“Whoa, man, calm down. Your blood pressure is skyrocketing.”

“Someone intentionally ran me off the road.”

“What?” The paramedic frowned. “Are you sure?” He shot his partner a concerned look. “Are you absolutely sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“
A
ll I’m saying is
that it wouldn’t hurt to take a day off from school, so you can get some rest.” Wisteria plunked a piece of toast into the toaster and pushed down the lever. She then reached into the cabinet for a glass and poured some orange juice into it.

Rush blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Mom, I’m fine. The tests came back clean. No concussion.” It wasn’t so much that he was dying to get back to school, but the tryouts for the formal were only a few days away, and he needed to practice. And if the truth were told, he was eager to see Elle—even though he was still ticked at her.

“I know you’re fine … thankfully.” She brushed a stray curl from her forehead and turned her full attention to him, her expression thoughtful. “That report you gave the cop … was it the truth?”

He fought the urge to swear. The woman could be so exasperating! As if he would lie about something so serious. “Yes, for the umpteenth time, someone intentionally ran me off the road! I swear!”

She gave him a searching look. “I know things are still raw from the other accident. It’s okay to admit that you were going too fast and lost control.”

He resisted the urge to punch the counter. “Mom, I’m telling you the truth!” His eyes met hers, pleading for her to believe him. If his own mother didn’t believe him, how could he expect anyone else to? He could see the battle that was taking place within her. She wanted to believe him, he could tell.

Her eyes softened and then went moist. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Really?” He desperately wanted to erase the events that had led them to Tower Heights. If only he could erase the hurt he’d caused.

“Yes.” She tightened her jaw resolutely.

His heart lifted a notch.

Wisteria took a drink of her juice. “I just don’t understand why anyone would intentionally run you off the road.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He could’ve been drunk or stoned.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “He?”

“Or she. I don’t know.”

“Well, hopefully the cops will get to the bottom of it.”

“Yes,” he said unconvinced. It was a dark, lonely stretch of highway with no witnesses, and he couldn’t remember the color of the Jeep. The chances of the cops finding the perpetrator were slim to none. And his mother would go on full alert, watching his every move. He glanced at the clock on the microwave and stuffed his books into his backpack. “Well, I’m off.”

“Not so fast.”

He turned. “What?”

“Don’t you
what
me. You’re riding with me today. We’re giving the bike a rest for a few days.”

“But it’s fine. It wasn’t damaged, and I cleaned it up.” Despite his mother’s protests, he’d spent a good two hours last night checking his bike and detailing it. The truth was that the bike was damaged, but only slightly. His tail pipe was dented, and there was a small rip in the leather seat.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this.”

He ripped open the pop tart package and shoved a bite into his mouth “I’m practicing with the band this afternoon, and I won’t have a ride if I don’t take the bike.”

“I’ll take you.”

He took another couple of bites of the pop tart and was done with it. “But you have meetings after school.” He watched her face color slightly. His mom had been staying late after school on a regular basis. Her excuse was always that she had meetings, but Rush suspected that she had a thing for Principal Kingsley. That he was the principal of the school and his mother’s boss levied two strikes against him. Add to that fact that he was Edward’s father—strike three!

“You’re more important than some silly meeting. I’ll take you.” She flashed a smile. “Besides, I’m dying to hear the band.”

He groaned. “Great, just what I need. My mother coming to watch me practice.” He held up a finger. “No criticism.”

She let out a devilish chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of it … as long as your performance is up to par.”

“Uh, huh, exactly what I was afraid of.” He rolled his eyes. There were many talented musicians and singers in the world, but for his mother, it was a way of life. She lived and breathed it. For as long as he could remember, she’d shoved piano lessons down his throat. Her greatest hope for him was that he would become a classic pianist. Much to her chagrin, he’d sworn off the piano in favor of the guitar. Music ran through his veins too, but he preferred to play and sing his songs … his own way.

She cocked her head. “Will Elle be there?”

“Yes,” he said, sensing a trap. “You know she’s in the band. What are you gonna do?”

“Nothing,” she said reaching for the toast and spreading butter over it. She took a bite.

“Mom, I’ve got enough problems without you adding to it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of adding to your problems.” She began humming under her breath as she gathered her books. She slung her purse over her shoulder, juggling the books in one arm while holding the piece of buttered toast in the other. She hurriedly finished off the toast.

“Mom, please don’t say anything to Elle.”

She went to the door and pulled her keys out of her purse. “Come on, I don’t want to be late.”

He shook his head and followed behind her. There was no use arguing with her. She always did exactly what she wanted to, regardless of what anyone else said or did. He’d have to find a way to warn Elle. Once his mother went on the warpath there was no stopping her, and as of right now, Elle was her primary target.

“
Y
ou have failed me
! I send you to do one simple task, and you failed!”

Huntsden kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, not daring to look his accuser in the eye. He’d learned through sad experience that when his dad went on a rampage, it was better to keep his mouth shut. The last time he’d tried to defend himself against the vicious attacks he ended up with a broken arm and a cracked rib. The hair on his neck stood on end when his father got up in his face.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you!”

Even though his dad was three inches shorter than he, he was a formidable force with his blocky, muscular build and black eyes. Huntsden’s instincts were to back away, but he knew better, so he stood motionless, keeping his eyes fixed on the clock hanging on the wall. His stomach churned as he got a whiff of the stench of onions on his dad’s breath, leftover from dinner. He swallowed hard, knowing that he was left with no other choice but to answer. “I ran him off the road just as you told me to do.”

Ruben swore and knocked over a kitchen chair, causing Huntsden to flinch. “I told you to eliminate him!”

“I tried to do as you asked,” he said, fighting hard to keep the tremor out of his voice. The truth was that he’d intended to “eliminate” Rush as his dad had demanded, but at the last minute, he’d lost his nerve. He’d raced toward the bike at full speed, but at that last critical second, he’d swerved to miss him. Last summer, during football camp, he’d put the marijuana in Rush’s bag, just as his dad had instructed. The tactic had gotten Rush thrown off the football team, and it had tarnished Rush’s reputation. Ruining a guy’s reputation was one thing, but killing him? That was something else entirely. In the other realm, he’d abhorred violence in the beginning, but as time wore on, he’d allowed the darkness to permeate him, becoming more of a savage like his dad. Once the darkness took hold, he couldn’t keep it from overtaking him entirely. Now that he was in this new world, he wanted to keep the dark side of him in check. He wanted to be more like the young lad that initially abhorred brutality—more like his mother and less like his dad. It was his dad, and not he, that was the famed hunter. It was his dad that, time and time again, had looked death square in the eye and cowed it down.

A distant memory flittered before his consciousness. It was his first hunt with his father—that sacred event that marked his emergence into manhood. All went well until they came upon an unfortunate goat that had gotten caught in the trap that was set to catch the massive bear they’d been tracking. When Huntsden saw the goat’s leg, mangled by the teeth of the trap, and how the blood mixed with splintered bone and torn flesh, his stomach churned. His father handed him an arrow. “Finish it, my Son,” he commanded. With a quivering hand, Huntsden placed the arrow in the bow and pulled, but all he could see were those pleading eyes of the goat, looking into his, imploring him to be merciful. “Now!” his father commanded. But try as he might, Huntsden couldn’t release the arrow. His young body started to shake, and a sob erupted from his throat. In the end, it was his father that had levied the deathblow that silenced the bleating of the goat. He’d then turned to Huntsden and gave him a bitter look—a look that still haunted Huntsden’s dreams.