The Brokenhearted (27 page)

“Hi, Serge,” Will says, his voice cracking. “We were just—”

“It is very late,” Serge says, his eyes blazing. He puts a protective hand around me, inserting his enormous frame between me and Will. “Too late for you to be here. Anthem needs her rest.”

“Right, I just . . . um, okay.”

“I will drive you home.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. LaForge.”

“I insist.” Serge takes Will by his arm and walks him to the Seraph. Over his shoulder, he calls out, “Your parents think you are asleep in your room. I suggest you make your way there quickly.”

As Serge pushes Will into the backseat of his car, his hand on his head like a cop escorting a criminal to lockup, my adrenaline starts to ebb and I take a deep, shaky breath. They pull away, and Will’s face in the car window is a portrait of fury.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

.....................................................................

CHAPTER 33

The next morning, my parents and I end up all leaving at the same time. “Catch a ride with us, kitten,” Harris says as we get into the elevator, me in my school uniform, my mother in a navy pantsuit with a periwinkle silk shirt, my father in his usual suit and tie, the
Daily Dilemma
tucked under his arm.

“Okay,” I say warily.

We pile into the car, which Serge has pulled up to the grand front entrance of Fleet Tower. When I’m seated in the middle seat between my father and mother, Serge nods hello in the front seat, wearing his chauffeur’s cap. His eyes meet mine in the rearview, then flick away. A hot blush creeps into my chest and up my neck. What must it be like for him, keeping my secret from my father and mother, his employers, and for so many years, his closest relations?

Next to me in the backseat, my father makes a funny sound in the back of his throat. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.

I turn to look at him, and he’s got the front page of the paper in his hands. I freeze when I see the headline, printed in huge letters:

RETURN OF THE HOPE?

Next to it is a picture of Emmett, his face bloodied, squinting in the glare of the flashbulb, tied to the bridge girder.

The article itself is small, and I strain to read it without my father noticing. All I see before we get to school is this:

For the sixth time in two weeks, a wanted member of the Syndicate has been caught in the act, tied up, and delivered to the Bedlam Boys in Blue through an anonymous tip. Ariel Siegel, interviewed at the scene of the most recent crime scene, claimed to have seen the whole thing. She said, “What I saw tonight was incredible speed and strength. Beyond what a human being should be able to do. I always knew we’d have a second chance to turn the city around after The Hope disappeared. This is our chance.” Ms. Siegel declined to describe this “incredible” person’s looks, repeatedly saying “no comment” when pressed for a

“Anthem.” My mother is shaking my arm, and I have to tear my eyes away from the paper. “We’re here.”

“Sorry.” I put my hand against my chest, where my heart is hammering at my ribcage. I hurry out of the car and head toward school, the cathedral tower looming gray and massive in the white morning sky. The headline burned into my retinas, floating in front of me everywhere I turn. I really should start wearing a mask.

“So now you have your father’s bodyguard watching out for you?” The sound of Will’s voice oozes around the edge of my locker door. I slide my physics and Latin books on top of the teetering pile and have to fight the urge to slam the locker door against his face. Instead, I close my locker and begin to walk away. Fast.

But he’s right there alongside me, matching my stride, pushing his way through the pre-homeroom throngs, his blond head held high.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” I say. All I want to do is go to the computer lab and check all the papers to make sure none of them have a picture or description of me. But I head in the direction of the library instead, because Will and the computer lab don’t mix. Not while he’s got the footage on his flash drive.

“I don’t really care what you have time for,” Will hisses. “That was bullshit last night. I’m going to need you to tell your dad’s lackey to back off.” His eyes bulge out, and he’s breathing fast, almost panting, as we head up to the second floor.

I push the library door open, wanting more than anything to head up to the Thesis Tower, alone, away from Will. He’s right behind me, though, and when I pause, his hand goes around my waist.

I twist away from him and move to put a study table stacked high with books that need to be reshelved between me and him. “He’s not a
lackey
. And he doesn’t answer to me.”

“Oh, please, Anthem.” Will laughs. “That guy would die for you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in
love
with you.” Will keeps laughing, doubling over, convulsing with it. I’ve had enough.

“You’re even more demented than I thought,” I say, my voice rising.

“Oh my god, Anthem, did that hit a little close to home? Are you, like, having an affair with big man Serge?” Will is breathing shallow breaths, like he can’t get enough air.

The edges of my vision blackening with rage, I reach down and grab a thick hardback from the table in front of me and throw it at his head as hard as I can. It grazes his cheek and falls twenty feet behind him.

“Really?” Will yells, his face turning ten shades of pink.

Then a lot of things happen very quickly.

He grabs me by my shoulders, shoving me harder than he should be able to into the side of one of the library stacks. My body slams into the shelves, sending a few dozen books flying off onto the carpeted floor. I push him away, and he staggers, falling over a chair.

“It’s your funeral,” he says flatly. “Hope you enjoy all the exposure, you stupid little bitch.”

Frozen above him, my body shaking with adrenaline, I open my mouth to say
Don’t do it, Will,
but I never get the chance.

“From where I stand, there’s only one stupid little bitch in the room,” a familiar voice growls. Zahra steps out of the stacks on the far wall, the ones that lead to the Thesis Tower. Her CDS cardigan is threaded with hundreds of safety pins; her black hair is dyed an amazing hot orange at the roots. It takes me a second to notice that she’s holding a small black canister out in front of her with two hands. “And it’s the guy cowering on the floor.”

I have never loved anyone as much as I love Zahra right now.

Will backs away, using a chair to pull himself up. “You use that, you’ll be expelled,” he mutters.

“Do I look like I give a shit about being expelled?” Zahra says, walking closer to him, the pepper spray still held out in front of her. “I think it would be worth it, Willard. Just to hear you cry like the stupid little bitch you are. You’ve had a good pepper spraying coming your way for a long, long time.”

“Don’t do it,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. “Zahra, I love you, and I can’t let you ruin your life for me.”

Zahra looks at me, and I see her eyes are glassy. “Who says I’m doing it for you?” She smiles feebly.

In the time it takes for us to have this exchange, Will is on his feet and running for the door. Zahra’s clear shot is ruined. “Leave her alone or we’ll finish this,” she calls just as Will hustles out the door.

“Z,” I start, running toward her. “You’re amazing. That was like a movie.”

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” Zahra’s face lights up for a second, reliving the triumph, then darkens again. She goes and grabs her book bag from the stacks and puts the pepper spray in a zippered pocket.

“I’m so sorry about everything,” I start, moving in to give her a hug. But she steps away from me.

“I know you are. But Ant, things are still seriously messed up between you and me. This gross game Will’s playing with you? It needs to stop now.” She pauses and gives me a hard look. “We’re not remotely okay until it’s over with him.”

“I just—” I whisper, looking at the floor, desperately wishing I could spell it all out for her. I owe her the truth, now more than ever. “I need a little more time—”

“There is no more time!” Zahra yells, exasperated. “He’s a rage-aholic, and it’s only going to get worse. I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore.”

Just then, the ancient, nearly deaf school librarian, Mr. Deckle, walks in, and the morning bells start to clang, and the spell is broken.

Zahra moves out the door as quickly as Will did, leaving me in the musty library to explain to Mr. Deckle why there are fifty books on the floor.

I take my bag off my shoulder and start to pick them up while Mr. Deckle goes around opening shades and turning on lights, humming to himself.

Zahra’s right. Will
is
a rage-aholic. He’s a ticking time bomb, getting crazier, more and more reckless, more erratic.

I gather up piles and piles of books from the floor and line them up on a library cart in the hope that Mr. Deckle won’t make me stay and shelve them. My thoughts wander to Duffy Doolittle’s arrest a few weeks ago. I picture her sweating, screaming at Roderick, threatening him . . .

I grab the last book off the floor and roll the library cart between the stacks, realizing I finally have something on Will. Something every bit as damaging as what he’s got on me.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

.....................................................................

CHAPTER 34

The Hansens live in a townhouse near the lake, on a street with old-fashioned oil-burning lanterns spaced evenly at the corners of sumptuous lawns. The carved topiary sculptures are thick and green in spite of the cold winter.

It’s Wednesday at 7:30. Will is still at Cathedral, heading up a Prom Budget Committee meeting. After ballet, I ran back to school to make sure, peeking into the lighted auditorium windows, where Olive Ann was walking the committee through the proposed floor plan. Will stood in the corner of the small group, furiously crunching numbers on his phone. I smiled when I noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

I press a gloved finger to the bell and hold my breath.
Smile
, I remind myself. When the door opens, Will’s stepmother is in front of me in a black cocktail dress with a plunging neckline. I blink at her surgically enhanced cleavage, the two tan orbs of her breasts at my eye level, then beam a smile. Her pinched, puzzled face is framed by a swirl of black hair crowned with a diamond tiara.

“Anthem.” She air-kisses each of my cheeks, making no physical contact with me, then motions me inside. “Lovely to see you again,” she mumbles, approximating a smile as best as her lip injections allow.

“Hi, Lydia,” I say, pulling my gloves off and threading my fingers together, blowing into my hands to warm them up. “Sorry to show up like this. I should have called.”

“Will’s not here . . . he’s . . . got a school thing,” Lydia says lamely, shrugging her toned shoulders.

“Right,” I nod. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you and Rupert.”

“Oh.” Lydia frowns. “You’re lucky you caught us. We’re off to the opera.”

“It’ll just take a minute,” I say. She blinks at me, then runs off to get her husband, dashing through the sweeping great room in her bare feet and looking, from the back, like a much younger woman. As Rupert Hansen’s third wife, she might be closer to my age than to his.

In a few minutes, District Attorney (“Rupert, please! Ho ho, Anthem, been a few months since I’ve laid eyes on you, how is it you’ve grown even more beautiful?”) Hansen and Lydia and I are all standing awkwardly together at the entrance of the great room, the fireplace roaring, our shadows flickering on the velvet wallpaper. Rupert Hansen’s blond waves are gelled in a deep side part, his temples graying slightly, a small paunch in his belly mostly concealed by a cummerbund, his black bow tie drooping askew around his neck.

Lydia reaches out and straightens her husband’s tie. The fire pops and hisses. I clear my throat.

“I’m here because as you probably know, Will and I are dating again . . .”

“We couldn’t be happier. William needs a girl like you to keep him grounded,” District Attorney Hansen cuts in, flashing a carnivorous smile my way. I have the distinct impression he’s ogling me, and I’m glad I’m still wearing my coat. I pull it tighter around my chest and take a breath.
Bombs away
.

“Anyway, I’m worried about him. He’s been acting strange lately, and I have reason to believe he’s . . .” I’ve practiced this part, locked inside my bathroom, staring at the mirror. My eyes fill with tears. It’s not a hard trick to master, since in my life there are a million good reasons to cry.

“What?” Lydia whispers, grabbing my hand. “Tell us, sweetie. It’s okay.”

I wipe a few tears away and feign struggling to get my voice under control. “I think Will is addicted to some kind of study drug.” I choke out the words as if I’m devastated, then stare down at the carpet, which is a lovely blue and green paisley.

“Will? Are you sure? He’s always gotten
A
’s, so I can’t see why he’d bother with all that,” District Attorney Hansen says.

“I know, that’s what’s so sad.” I sigh. “He doesn’t even need them. But I saw him buying a baggie a few days ago, and he’s been acting kind of . . . um . . .”

“He’s been acting like an ass,” Lydia says. We both look at her, and she shrugs. “Come on, Rupert. You know he’s never liked me. He’s a different person when you’re not around. And I agree, Anthem. Lately he’s been . . . hyper. Secretive. Angrier than usual.”

I nod and try to look sad, but inside I’m ecstatic. I’ve got an ally in Lydia—someone else who wants Will out of her hair.

“Well.” Lydia sighs, but I see her eyes dance with anticipation in the firelight. “Obviously we need to search his room.”