Protecting Truth (12 page)

::17::
Defense Arts

I’m in the class I’d been dreading all summer, Defense Arts. Not because I don’t want to improve. Of course, I do, but I’m still not ready to reveal my improved abilities to Bishop. He’ll not only be hurt but he’ll easily figure out my plan—to go back and save my mom. That’s something I must do alone.

After changing into workout uniforms, a small group of students meets in the Defense Arts gymnasium. The person I really wish wasn’t here stands nearby, peering at her reflection in the mirrored wall, primping.

I look away from Perpetua, only to see another person I dislike.

“
Hello,
Sera.” Stu strolls over with his lanky, awkward walk. “You’re looking as lovely as ever, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He grabs his pockets, adjusting his pants. I instantly feel dirty, standing near him. His personality oozes an off-putting, slimy confidence.

“Actually,
I
mind,” says Bishop. He stands over us and crosses his arms, giving Stu a stern look.

“Whoa.” Stu holds up his palms in defense. “Hey, man. Just came over to say hi.” He retreats with false remorse, then quickly regains his overconfident swagger.

“Thanks for saving me.” I turn to Bishop.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says and smiles.

“It just makes me angry to know that they’re back,” I complain. Bishop rubs the length of my arms. “Why would they do something like that? Does Terease really think they’re
not
a threat anymore?”

“No, I doubt it. But in this case, the Society made a trade for something they need, info on Cece’s whereabouts.”

“Have they even looked for her yet?” I’ve held out hope that I’ll hear about a raid on the Underground before it takes place. In my mind, I imagine sneaking out to join the raiding group—that, or eventually using the rosary to find my mom. Whichever comes first, it doesn’t matter. The result will be the same.

“Not as far as I know, but I’ll keep my ears open. I know
I’ll
sleep better when they aren’t a threat to you anymore,” Bishop says. “But not that it matters, Sera, I’ll never let anyone like that near you again.” He slides his finger under my chin to raise my lips level with his. He gives me the smallest, sweetest kiss.

“I guess,” I grumble, trying not to smile. His kisses disarm me. Even still, I really need to get the rosary necklace back from Turner. It would be nice to find my mom and never have to think about Cece and the Underground ever again. My next thought: contemplating how to sneak out of the apartment tonight, so I can square off with Hologram Turner. He will lose eventually.

“We’ll start today’s class with warm-ups. Then we’ll practice one-on-one combat,” announces Ms. Swift as she walks into the middle of the room. “Now everyone go ahead and spread out.” She directs us with her arms until we stand at an acceptable distance from one another.

She then drops to the floor, leading everyone through a prescribed stretching routine, advising us to do so before every class. She explains this will lengthen our muscles, warm them up, and help reduce injury.

“Now, I want everyone to partner with someone
not
on your team,” Ms. Swift says. I look around awkwardly, wishing Macey were here. Instead, I find Scarlett, the Seer who sits with our group at lunch.

With the help of Atticus Li, Ms. Swift demonstrates protecting yourself from an attacker who grabs you from behind. Atticus attacks Ms. Swift, throwing his arms around her neck. She twists, securing herself to his shoulder, then flips him over. He moans, lying on the floor in front of her. She hovers in a defensive crouched position. When she determines he’s down for good, she pops up with her hands on her hips.

Together, she and Atticus show the class two additional defensive moves.

“Now, try all three moves with your partner. Take turns playing the attacker,” Ms. Swift suggests.

I turn to Scarlett, feeling a little guilty about fighting the pixie-like girl. She doesn’t seem a bit nervous as she dances into position behind me.

“Ready?” she asks in a cheerful voice.

“Go,” I say, quickly trying to decide how hard I should be.
Go easy.

I don’t even hear her running, but I know she’s coming. The hair on my arms stands on end. Something within me senses the danger. She jumps, grasping my back. Her arms and legs wrap around my body like a binding rope. Twisting my torso, I flip her. But when she doesn’t let go, I flop on top of her with a thud.

She moans.

I quickly jump up. “Are you okay?” I stretch out a hand to help her stand.

“You’re really strong. You almost yanked my arms out of the sockets.” She rubs her shoulders then rotates them like wings.

I wince. “Sorry.” I thought I was being careful.

We move on to the other moves. More gingerly this time, I dance around her, letting her win every time.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ms. Swift pats my shoulder in between matches.

“Yeah, why?” She looks at me as though she knows I can do better—much better.

She turns to the class. “All right, let’s switch partners.”

But this time, Ms. Swift rearranges the groups. Scarlett stands in front of Stu, and I, in front of Perpetua. Poor Scarlett; I cringe at her match-up. She looks over, pushes a blonde tress behind her ear, and gives me a worried smile.

She probably feels sorry for me, too. My feelings for Perpetua aren’t exactly a secret. I look over at Perpetua. She paces the floor, glaring at me.

Ms. Swift stands in the center of the room with her arms crossed over her gray jumpsuit. “All right, everyone. Try the routine again with your new partner.”

Perpetua looks over and gives me one of her evil little smiles. Maybe I can pulverize her while no one’s watching.

“I’ll attack first,” she says and settles into position.

My eyes quickly sweep the room. Every student, including Bishop, is focused on his or her match. It can’t hurt, just this once. I wrangle a smile.

The feeling of danger hits faster this time. Perpetua’s grip rips around my throat. As a Protector, her skills are far superior to Scarlett’s.

To confuse her, I deviate from the lesson. I grab her arm and twist to face her. I lift my knee to her stomach but in a blurred streak, she twists out of my grasp. Kick. Knee. Punch. Turn. Sweep. Flip. The motions repeat with the force of an earthquake. We’re locked in an even match until I consider what her weakness might be. I position myself for the final attack; one I know will end this.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bishop stop to watch our match. And in that instant, I allow Perpetua to control the fight. After a few quick, painful movements, she victoriously stands over me, twisting my arm into submission and smashing my face into the mat with her foot.

“Okay, class. That’s enough for today.” Ms. Swift blows her whistle.

Perpetua gives my arm one last jerk for good measure, then thrusts it away. My numb limb falls lifelessly to the ground. She steps over my body and struts away, leaving with an air of superiority. Stu blows me a secret kiss before he and Jessica leave the classroom arm in arm.

“Are you all right?” Bishop rushes to my rescue and lifts me.

“If you didn’t aggravate Perpetua, maybe she’d leave you alone,” Sam lectures, standing with her arms crossed, shaking her head.

I give her a dirty look. Does she really think that being nice to Perpetua will make a difference?

“I saw the way you prodded her in Physics,” she continues.

“I’m not the one who’s delusional, Sam. She thinks I stole some stupid crystal of hers.”

“Ms. Swift, I think you should have stopped the match. You shouldn’t have paired Sera with Perpetua. Sera didn’t have a chance,” Bishop explains to Ms. Swift when she approaches.

I lean my head into Bishop’s shoulder and cling to his waist. Having my butt kicked is worth the price of allowing Bishop to feel like he still needs to protect me.

Ms. Swift only glances between Bishop and me with a quizzical expression. But when she doesn’t respond to his complaint, an anxious flutter surges through my body. I hope she won’t contradict him and explain why she thinks I can handle Perpetua. I’m sure Professor Raunnebaum has filled her in on my extracurricular activities.

“Ah, Sera—why don’t you stay and chat for a moment?” Ms. Swift asks.

“Will you be okay?” Bishop tilts my face up toward his and searches my eyes.

“Of course,” I say, still acting fragile. Nervousness flutters through my body. I lift on my tiptoes and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at the apartment.”

Bishop and Sam leave, and I turn to Ms. Swift.

“Sera, why don’t you tell me why you let Perpetua win?” She walks to the rack of weapons and selects a machete from the wall.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.

“I think you do.” She strolls to the middle of the room, twirling the large knife. The blade flashes every time it catches the light.

“There’s no reason I can think of for you to throw a fight.” The machete flips, whirling in the air. She catches the hilt and begins to pace.

“Why would you think I could beat a Protector? I’m just a Wand—”

Ms. Swift hurls the machete. It flies across the room, racing toward my face.

::18::
Closing In

Without realizing it, I lift my hands to stop the machete. When I comprehend what I’ve done, the blade sits an inch from my nose, its death trail halted between the palms of my hands.
I caught it. I caught the freakin’ thing!
My eyes bulge, and I release the knife from shock. It drops to the floor in front of my feet with a loud clank.

“Are you out of your mind?” I scream. My heart races.

Ms. Swift walks forward and nonchalantly snatches the blade from the floor and twirls it again.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I expect you to come to the next class ready to show me your
full
potential, Miss Parrish.” She tosses the machete into the air again. Her movements are so fast, it appears as though there are three knives instead of one. “Do I make myself clear?” She fixes me with a pointed stare.

Trembling, I nod my head and dart for the door before she can test whether I can save myself from being split in half by a machete a second time.

I run out of the training room, through the gymnasium, and into the pitch-black tunnel toward Olde Town.
Is she out of her mind? How did she know that I could even catch that thing? I could have died!
My stomach churns, remembering the shining blade and my horrified eyes reflecting back at me.

Turner’s silhouette appears in the light at the end of the tunnel. “What’s wrong?” he asks, assessing my fearful face.

I don’t answer, I just keep moving. When I race past him, he grabs my arm and spins me back to face him.

“What’s going on, Sera?”

“Nothing!” I yank my arm away and keep walking. He follows as I stomp across the courtyard. Students turn to watch. I look around at their curious faces, and then my eyes meet Bishop’s. He stands at the raptor entrance gate with a furious look on his face. His fists drop to his side, and he races forward.

“What did you do to her?” he yells across the courtyard, pointing at Turner. His jaw clenches. Anger visibly pulses through his body, turning his face red with emotion.

“He didn’t do anything, Bishop.” I rush to him, pushing my palms into his chest to hold him back.

“What’s going on, then?” He looks at me and back at Turner. “I can see you’re upset. I sensed fear in your emotions all the way across the building.”

“It’s nothing.” I look at Turner who stares at me with his arms crossed, his mouth forced into a line. Bishop struggles to get around me, but I push back even harder. Another fight between the two will only make things worse.

“What do we have here?” Terease appears. She glides between us, sucking in the tension like perfumed-laced air as it swirls around her face.

Bishop stiffens, drops his arms over my shoulder, and pulls me closer.

“It’s nothing, Terease,” I offer in the calmest voice I can muster.

“A misunderstanding,” Turner suggests casually.

Terease flings her silky black bob around and faces Bishop. “Is this true, Bishop?” She crosses her arms.

His body tightens into a statue. He stares at Turner with revulsion. “A misunderstanding,” Bishop finally repeats through grinding teeth.

I relax when he says the words, knowing there’s no reason for Terease to reprimand us.

“Fine,” Terease relents, her red lips twist over the words. I can tell she hoped for a confrontation. For some reason, she enjoys the hostility between them. “I’ll be watching.” She shoots us a warning with her horrid obsidian eyes. We look away, not wanting to invite her into our minds.

“Go!” she screams.

The city, filled with students, has come to a complete halt to silently watch the turbulent exchange.

Bishop and I turn to leave. When I glance back over my shoulder, Turner stands next to the obelisk with his arms crossed, staring at me.

•

I rush into the apartment, stomping toward my bedroom.

“Hold on, Sera,” Bishop requests.

“I already told you,
Max
, nothing happened!” I explode, using his first name because I know he hates it. He’s made me so angry, I can’t help it. The entire walk to the apartment consisted of Bishop attempting to coerce me into telling him that Turner did something to me. It’s as though he wants it to be true, a reason to hate his brother.

Of course, my life would be made a million times easier if I could just tell Bishop the truth.
Ms. Swift almost killed me with a machete. But she didn’t, because somehow, I saved myself. She knew I would. I’m a better fighter than you realize and possibly better than you.
But that information will hurt him, and I can’t tell him yet. Can I tell him before Miss Swift’s next class on Friday? What will she do if I don’t practice to my full potential?

“Sera, I’m sorry.” I turn to face him before I open my bedroom door. He walks across the room with his arms open. “I made a mistake. If you say that Turner had nothing to do with upsetting you, then I believe you.” He rubs the length of my arms and searches my eyes for an acceptance of his apology.

“I promise,” I say. “He had nothing to do with anything.”

“I believe you.” He leans in and wraps his long arms around my waist. “If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’ll be in my room.” He holds me at arm’s length. “Okay?”

“I think I just want to be alone for a little while. I’ll meet you and Sam for dinner later.” I look around his shoulder. Sam peeks out of her bedroom door, assessing the situation. She shakes her head and retreats without saying a word.

I disappear into my room and lean my back against the closed door, letting out a long exhale. Bishop hesitates on the other side, but finally, his footsteps move away.

The long day, filled with so much drama, exhausts me. I drop onto my bed and let out a dramatic moan. I burrow into my pillow, then kick off my shoes and curl into a fetal position.

I want to rest, but I can’t. My oath package sits nearby, taunting me to look inside.

Well-worn leather encases the ancient-looking box. Gold rivets line the edges. A shining Society of Wanderers crest spreads across the front. A ribbon of Latin text reading
Tempus Rerum Imperator
floats above a gold obelisk, the sun, and its shining beams of light. A handless clock encircles the scene. I run my hands over the miniature gilt relief, taking the time to trace the edges of each rivet with my fingertip.

I stare at the box for at least an hour before I finally open it. I place my thumb on the recognition pad. The latch releases with the touch of my finger, and then I lift the top. The hinges lock open and into place.

There are many items inside, but the one I zero in on immediately is a cell phone. I haven’t owned one since I lost mine when I moved to Chicago. My
other self
used this phone in London, the day I wandered to see Bishop over the summer. I’m certain.

As items from that day in London appear in my life—the outfit and the cell phone—I sense something closing in. But what it means, I’m not sure. I toss the phone into the box.

Next, I pick up the neatly folded uniform. Holding it at a distance, I get a better look. The military-style suit is a fitted gray jacket with black piping, leather shoulder pads, and a metal emblem on the upper arm. Gray slacks, a black hooded cloak, and a pair of steel-toe boots rest inside the case. Obviously I’m expected to wear this on the day of oaths. The thought makes me nervous.

I pick up the Society of Wanderers handbook and quickly flip through. Whatever it says, I don’t care. I drop it into the box and move on to the next item, a shiny gold credit card.

My name is embossed in silver letters. When tilting the prismatic reflective surface perfectly with the light, my face appears in 3-D, hovering above the card. Through gossip, I’ve heard the credit card has no spending limit. As unsettling as this is, my mind immediately drifts to a pair of spiky heels I admired in a downtown store window. Knowing Gabe, they’re probably already in my new wardrobe. I just have to get on the floor in the closet and look.

The last item is my Wandering compass. The leather strap is unique, embossed with the symbol of a Wanderer—feathered wings.

I reach to close the top of the package, then stop. Instead, I lean in closer to look at a miniature oil painting mounted on the inside of the box within an ornate Victorian frame. Cracks spread along the surface, but their deep grooves don’t mar the beauty of the painting. In puffy clouds, angels swoop from the sky, standing on silver disks. An obelisk sits to one side in front of a beaming sun. Figures on the ground look as though they’re running. Running to wander, I suppose. I squint, looking to see their faces, but time has worn their expressions away.

The announcement for dinner pulls me out of the painting. I roll out of bed and head for the mirror, pinch my cheeks, and then pull my hair into one low braid. In the closet, I find an outfit to wear, something nice enough for dinner, but also comfortable enough to secretly fight Hologram Turner later.

When I walk out of the apartment, Bishop and Sam have already left. In the hall, some students are overloaded with shopping bags, rushing to their apartments from outings with their shiny new credit cards. Excitement, much like that of Christmas, buzzes through the school. The scene is no different when I reach the dining room.

Quinn waves as he zooms past on a brand new long-board skateboard. Scarlett and Agnes appear with matching haircuts, dyed light pink. One hairdo is cropped with spikes; the other is rolled in soft curls like a 1940s pinup girl. Perpetua walks ahead in a new slutty outfit and the same spiky heels I had been dreaming about. Annoyed, I hang back until she takes her normal seat. Then I dart for mine.

“Check it out.” Macey holds up her arm and jiggles a new stack of multicolored bangles around her wrist.

“Sweet!” I act happy.
Why shouldn’t I be?

“So what have you bought so far?” She leans in with a smile.

“Nothing.”

She shoots me a look of horror.

“Yet,” I quickly add. This seems to calm her.

“We have to plan a shopping excursion, ASAP!” She reaches for her menu and points to an entrée for the waiter hovering behind her.

“Sure. Yeah, whenever you want,” I agree as I point to lasagna on the menu.

“Ser—ra,” Macey whines. “You should be excited. And you don’t sound like you’re excited. Can you please be
excited
?” Her words trail into a high pitch, her eyes pop wide, and her dark curls bounce.

“I’m excited!” I throw my hands in the air to please her.

She gives me another disapproving look. “I’ll get into it, eventually,” I promise. “It just seems so—”

“What?” Sam asks, joining our conversation.

“It seems—superfluous.” I sip my water.

“That’s a big word for you, Sera,” Sam says. “Have you been hitting the S.A.T. books?” she asks with a laugh.

I kick her leg underneath the table.

“Will you ever grow up?” she yells.

“You love me,” I insist with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes as she always does when she disapproves, but instead of agitating the conversation further, her gaze falls behind me.

I turn. Bishop strolls into the dining room with a shopping bag under his arm.

“You’ve been shopping, too?” I ask him when he sits on the bench next to me, his back facing the table.

“No, not really.” He smiles, handing over the bag.

“What is it, then?” I ask, peeking in.

“A present.” His beautiful eyes sparkle, smiling back. “Open it.”

I pull out a box. Marbled sage and maroon swirls stretch across the wrapping paper. An emerald-green velvet ribbon encircles the width with a large loopy bow.

“This is so beautiful, I don’t even want to open it.” I gaze at him, overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness.

“Go ahead.” He nudges me playfully.

My hand skims under the tape at the ends. The wrapping paper pops open. Carefully, I set the package on the dining table, reach into the open end, and slide out a hardbound book.

The green crushed velvet cover seems to move with the light. My fingers sweep over the front. The fabric changes hues, from light to dark, with each pass of my hand. I flip the book open. The edges of each page are rough and unfinished, and the paper is thick and textured as though it’s handmade.

On the first page, in large hand-printed calligraphy, says the words, “My Seraphina.”

“You made this?” I ask in disbelief.

“Keep flipping,” he urges.

I slide my hand to the edge, folding my fingertips around the deckle-edged page and flip to a letter—the first love letter he ever wrote to me, the day after our first date, just one of his many beautiful, romantic letters. I carefully flip again and again. The entire book is filled with the love letters he’s written. I stop on the last one—the one stolen from me in London.

“How?” I ask, confused.

“I wrote duplicates of each one, knowing that I could give this to you for our first anniversary, but I can’t wait that long. So whatever today is will have to do.” His hand reaches for mine. “Do you like it?”

“I absolutely adore it,” I say, but I don’t smile. The gift touches me deeply. I lean into his chest and slide my arms in and under his open blazer, locking my fingers tightly behind his back. The entire room disappears and in my mind, we’re alone. I’m huddled into Bishop’s strong arms and wrapped in our perfect relationship.