The Fox Inheritance (26 page)

I made it all right. Days ago. So did you.
But the thoughts are all my own. She isn't even trying to get inside my head. She does look weak. Could I have lapsed and missed a few days? I look at the bottom of her feet, her delicate pink toes now blistered. How?

When Jenna turns away to grab a fresh towel and Allys bends over to squeeze out a cloth in the bucket, Kara looks at me through clear, bright eyes. Eyes that don't look tired at all.

"Miesha," Jenna calls over her shoulder, "could you see if they're back with the lemon balm and bring it here, but tell them to stay out for now."

Kara briefly closes her eyes and shudders. "It was a nightmare. I ran into some wild dogs that did this," she says, motioning to her legs. "But mostly I was so afraid of Gatsbro catching up to me. He was like a madman after Locke smashed his skull with that glass--"

I step away from the wall. "What?"

Miesha stops midway through the door. "
You're
the one who hit Gatsbro?"

Allys and Jenna pause from their work and turn their heads toward me too. The spotlight intensifies. Seconds stretch the air thin. All gazes are fixed on me, waiting for a response. The air pulls tighter. Kara's eyes bore into me.

"Yes," I answer. The word shoots through the room like a bullet. "It was me."

I watch their uncomfortable gestures, the twitch of Miesha's lip, the tilt of Allys's head, the shift of Jenna's eyes, reactions they work to hide and recover from quickly.

"But he was justified," Kara says. "Gatsbro was holding us prisoner."

"Of course," Jenna says. "Lie back, Kara. Rest. I'm going to give you something to help you."

"But there's so much I--"

"Shh. I know. We'll talk more later." Jenna presses a small tube to Kara's neck, and her lids almost instantly become heavy.

"Jenna," she says, just before she closes her eyes, "I've waited so long for this day. You have no idea...."

Chapter 65

Dinner is quiet and unnatural. Jenna's eyes are unfocused, frequently directed at the blank wall across from her. Allys passes the herbed tomatoes that have already been around three times. Miesha takes another helping, even though she hasn't touched her first one yet. It's like we're all listening for Kara's breathing in the next room.

"She'll sleep through till morning," Jenna says.

My fork clinks against my plate. "Thank you for taking care of her."

"She's
my
friend too, Locke." I hear the offense.

Only Kayla, who is playing with the snap peas on her plate, and Dot, who is seated next to her, seem oblivious to the weight pressing down on the rest of us. But then Kayla looks up at me, her wide brilliant blue eyes framed in dark, silky hair. She lays her damp stubby fingers on my arm and gently pats it. She turns her head to the side and nods. "Don't worry, Locke. Your friend will be okay."

My stomach squeezes. Her eyes swallow me up with their trust. "If you say so, Kayla, it must be true."

She leans over and kisses my arm.

"Are you done playing with your peas, Kayla?" Jenna asks.

Kayla beams and jumps from her chair like she recognizes the signal of mercy from her mother. She carries her dish to the counter and asks Dot if she wants to play on the porch again. Dot happily obliges.

"I think I'll join them," Miesha says, pushing away from the table. "But I'll do the dishes when the rest of you are finished." Gatsbro had a waterless dishwasher that used sound waves to clean dishes, but Jenna's is broken, and she would rather use her limited funds to put in irrigation for a new garden that will provide both food and income.

Allys stands. "No, I can do--"

"No," Jenna says. "Locke and I will take care of the dishes."

Jenna's eyes drill into me. "Yeah, sure," I say to Miesha and Allys. "Jenna and I will take care of it."

Miesha and Allys exchange a quick glance and leave their dishes on the counter before they walk out the back door to the porch.

Jenna and I silently eat a few more bites. When she rises to take her dishes to the sink, I do the same. She runs hot water and soap into a roasting pan and begins scrubbing it. Water sloshes, and she bangs the pan against the sides of the sink. I reach over and pluck the soapy sponge from her hand and toss it onto the counter.

"We're alone now. Get it off your chest, Jenna, before you kill the pan."

She faces me, wiping her wet hands on her dress, and spits it out without hesitation. "Why did you lie to us about hitting Gatsbro?"

I don't understand why she's so angry. We never talked about it before. It wasn't a detail of our escape I had ever mentioned. "I never told you before that I didn't--"

"I mean
now
. Tonight. Why did you admit to hitting Gatsbro when you didn't do it? This is my life, Locke. My daughter lives in this house. It's bad enough that I'm dealing with the Network again. I need to know what's going on in my own--"

I grab her arms. "
I don't know
, Jenna. I didn't see who hit him. No one did. I had lapsed and don't even remember the moment right before it happened. It could have been me. I was angry enough to do it."

"That's not what I saw in your eyes, Locke. I saw you covering."

My hands drop from her arms, and I step away, shaking my head. I'm tired of everyone second-guessing me. I lean against the counter, staring down at the stacks of dirty dishes. "I didn't think it would be such a big deal. That's all I was trying to avoid." I turn back to face her. "She's weak and injured, Jenna. It didn't seem important to correct her right at that moment. That's all. Who cares who hit him?"

She stares at me like she is weighing what I said--or maybe reading something new into it. "Maybe you're right. I suppose it doesn't matter." But then, just as she turns to grab the sponge from the counter, I notice her face. A fragment. A glance. A sliver. Only one of the thousand angles of her face. But it's enough. For a split second, there is something else woven into her face besides worry about my lie. It sinks into my stomach, her micro expression I can't name, but I know shouldn't be there. She averts her eyes so I can't look again and hurries to wash another dish.
Too late, Jenna
.

"And now it's your turn to hide something."

She shakes her head.

"Jenna."

"Her wounds are only superficial, Locke."

"So? That's good, isn't it? She'll recover quickly, right?"

"Yes," she whispers. "Probably by morning."

"But?"

"The gashes on her legs didn't come from dogs."

I don't like the doubt in her voice. "How can you know? A gash is a gash--"

"I know. I've sewn up enough Runners. Her wounds were too clean."

"So she got them some other way. She's confused. After all she's been through, that's possible, isn't it?"

She pauses before she answers. A very long pause. "Yes. It's possible."

I don't dig deeper. I don't want to know what she's thinking. I don't want her to know what I'm thinking. How did Kara get
any
of those wounds--from the gashes on her legs to the blisters on her feet--in one day? Is it possible that I only imagined her coming to me last night? Was it like all the times I imagined Jenna coming to me when I was stuffed in that six-inch cube?

I grab a towel to dry the dishes, feeling like I'm doing something as old and ancient as what my sister and I used to do. I listen to the clinks, the slosh, the clatter, the sounds of an ordinary familiar kitchen, and I try to focus only on that. But then a plate slips from my hands, glass shattering across the kitchen floor, and just as quickly my thoughts slip from one shattered moment to another.

Chapter 66

I had told Kara about the party first. She was excited about the idea of crashing a party in a different part of town. Then we went to Jenna's house to tell her. I knew Jenna had a new car sitting in her garage just waiting for her parents to hand over the keys.

"But the party's out past Quincy," I said. "The only way we can get there is if you drive."

Her response was immediate. I knew what it would be. Even Jenna had her limits on the kinds of rules she would break. I think that's why I told Kara first, so the two of us could work on her. "No. I can't drive, Locke," Jenna said, like the matter was settled.

I remember rolling my eyes, thinking it would shame her into changing her mind. "You're the only one with a car, Jenna. Besides, your parents are gone for the night. They'll never know."

"If you don't drive, then we don't go," Kara said. "We need you!"

"I'm not driving without a license. Besides, my voice commands aren't even programmed into the car yet. I couldn't start it anyway."

"Kara could drive," I said. I was feeling like I was in charge for once, like I wasn't the loser my brother said I was, and it was a good feeling. I didn't let up. "And starting it isn't a problem. There's an override. You must have a code or keys around here somewhere."

Jenna hesitated, but I never took my eyes off her and it finally paid off. She opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out some keys.

"Yes!" I said, and I grabbed the keys from her hand and threw them to Kara. I don't even know if Kara wanted to drive, but she had no choice now. It was all in motion.

We didn't know anyone at the party. It was an older crowd, and I knew within two minutes I had made the wrong choice. This was not a party that would impress Kara and Jenna. We were just about to leave when a fight broke out. That's when we ran to the car. I jumped into the back seat, and Kara and Jenna were in the front, fumbling with the keys. I yelled at Kara to hurry. People were pouring out of the house. She revved the engine, and we squealed down the street. We were scared, but once we made it to the highway, we started laughing, nervous, relieved laughter.

It was only seconds later that we came to a curve, still going too fast. I heard the screech of brakes, but the car was already fishtailing on the shoulder. Jenna and I both yelled at Kara to stop, but there was no stopping. Kara was screaming and crying. And then we were falling, tumbling, and glass was everywhere. I felt my body crashing through a window, glass slicing through my arms, felt the crush of metal on my chest, felt the crunch of my limbs hitting the ground, and then almost instantly, the roar of metal and screams stopped, and I heard the whisper-quiet crackle of flames. I remember turning my head to the side. For a few seconds, I could see them both. Jenna's clothes--or maybe it was her skin--were smoldering. Kara had nearly no face at all. It was slashed and so full of blood I wasn't even sure it was her. Then the world went black, but I could still hear their moans and the gurgling sounds of breath and blood strangled in their throats, and those were the sounds that filled my dark world for 260 years.

Chapter 67

I lie awake but force my eyes shut. The others are all asleep, and I need to sleep too, but instead I listen to the sounds of the night. A creak. A sigh. An old wooden house is never silent. It moans like it's alive.

Locke. I told you. Soon.

I lean up on one elbow. I stare into the dark corners of my room, but there's nothing there. Can I trust anything in my own head?

A creak.

Creak.

Creak.

Like footsteps. I throw back my sheet and sit on the edge of my bed.
She'll sleep through till morning
. But is she already awake? I walk to my door and ease it open slowly so it makes no noise, then step into the dark hallway, looking in both directions. Where is she? Could she be going to Jenna's room?

The knife
. Is it still in my pack? Or did she creep into my room and get it? I stand and take a cautious step, and then another, and move quickly to Kara's room, forgetting caution altogether. The door is ajar. I push it open and stare at her bed. She is there. Her eyes shut. Her hair tousled across the pillow. Her chest rising in soft breaths. A thin beam of light from the window falling across her neck, her pulsing throat as delicate as a bird's.

Sleeping like a peaceful child.

Chapter 68

"You're up early."

"So are you," Jenna whispers. She's curled up on a wicker couch on the porch with a steaming mug of coffee cupped in her hands.

I sit down next to her. "I wanted to be up when Kara woke."

"Me too."

"Any sign of her yet?"

She shakes her head. "Probably not for a few more hours." She stares out at the pond, white mist clinging to its surface. The worry of last night still hasn't left her face.

"She
is
going to be all right, isn't she?"

"I told you, her wounds are only superficial."

I work to keep my voice low so I won't wake the others, but it is annoying, the way she keeps phrasing it. "Why do you keep saying
only
, like that's something bad?"

She breaks her stare from the pond and looks at me. "I'm sorry. I just thought you should know."

She looks back at the pond and sips her coffee, her eyes squinting, staring out like she is watching something, but there are only patches of dissolving fog skimming the surface. Is she nervous? She and Kara haven't had a real chance to talk yet. There's a lot that still needs to be said. Will Jenna be able to explain to Kara, the way she did to me? Will Kara even listen?

"There's coffee on the counter," she says without looking at me.

She knows I don't drink coffee. I told her on my first day here. "Nervous?"

She turns. The rims of her eyes are red. "She was my friend, Locke." She looks back out, staring at the pond that's as still as glass. "There are all kinds of friends you make in life. Allys is very dear to me, more like family. But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you. That's what we did, didn't we?"