Vendetta (3 page)

"I can't believe how dead it is around here," Selena mutters, gazing out the window, the scenery blurring past.

"I thought you hated the crowds and how crazy every
thing is during the busy season. What did you call them? Tourist morons?"

"Tour-
ons
," she corrects. "And I do, but
look
at this place. It's like, everything that was good about it is gone. It's almost as bad as winter."

She's right.
At one time, summers meant extra shifts at the diner, business for everyone, enough tip money to carry you safely to the other side of the slow season. It also meant traffic jams and overflowing parking lots.

It's mid-season, and The Strip is nearly empty
.

We pass rows of colorful houses on the way to the beach, pink and teal and coral summer residences. Many are still boarded shut. A few owners installed bars on the windows. Alarm systems.

We see it at the same time.

"Whoa," Selena mumbles.

I crane my n
eck, slowing as we pass one of the newer homes sitting on a corner lot a few blocks from the ocean. The first floor windows are busted out, and black graffiti stains the front, an assortment of unfamiliar signs and symbols.   

They think it's gang-related
. After the fire at Ernie's, things started happening. The town hired a few more police officers, brought in some outside help, but it's not enough. I want to tell them that they can set curfews and patrol the streets all they want. It won't put a dent in
the damage these "gang members" can do. They're destroying property, breaking and entering, stealing, killing. . . .

The beach isn't empty, but it's not crowded, either. Selena and I drag our bags and chairs to the water's edge, feeling the warm, white san
d between our toes.

"Your head looks pretty bad," Selena says after we've set up. "Carter's not beating you, is he?"

"Why does everyone automatically assume I'm in some kind of abusive relationship?" I ask.

Because it's the only logical explanation for w
hy you're always running around with black eyes and bruises.

An eyebrow lifts, accusing. "Well?"

I suppress my laughter. "Selena, no. I told you. It's not like that between us."

"So my other guess is that the massive purple welt on your forehead has somet
hing to do with a vision you may or may not have had."

Selena knows about my gift. Aside from the Guardians and the demons, she and Carter are the only ones who know what I see.

"Something like that."

"Keep it up and people are going to start asking quest
ions."

"I wish you guys would stop worrying about me."

She shrugs. "I'm not worried. You can do what you want. I'm just saying it can't be worth it all the time—you know, getting beat up for other people."

Images of Stu flash through my head. Throwing ham
burger patties onto the grill. Bringing me plates of scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. Lying in a heap, bleeding, flames licking at his broken body.

"Trust me, Selena. It's worth it." 

A motor hums behind us, and I turn in time to watch a police SUV cru
ise by. The mayor is enforcing a mandatory curfew until things settle down. We're urged not to go out after dark, to stick to groups of two or more. It's like we're living in a police state. No one is safe from anyone.

I follow the vehicle with my eyes, br
ake lights blinking as it slows, and I see something in the distance. Near the cabana. A flash of red. My heart pounds through my skin. Pulse edging a degree as I try to focus. A bead of sweat trickles down my back, and I shiver.

She's here.

I spring to
my feet, stumbling in the sand.

"Are you okay?" Selena asks.

"Yeah. I'm, um, I need something to drink," I say, thinking quickly. "Do you want anything?"

"I packed us a couple of waters," she replies, motioning to her bag.

"I know. I just . . . I need som
ething with caffeine." I don't hear what she says next. I'm already walking toward the cabana. A wave breaks, crashing, sending cold water rushing over my feet. I poke around my purse as I hurry to the building, until I feel the solid handle of my knife.

"
What's wrong?"

I refuse to stop moving. Every second wasted is another chance for her to get away. "It's Viola," I say, marching across the sand. "She's here."

"We're watching," Seth reminds me. "She's not here. We haven't seen her since the fire."

I breat
he in the sea air. Some of the hair has already slipped out of my ponytail, and the wind lashes it against my face.

"Seth, I know she's here," I tell him, pushing the strands away.

I stop at the bathhouse, searching, hand wrapped tightly around the knife,
out of sight.

If I could get her alone. If I could lure her somewhere else.

"It's too crowded," Seth says, as if reading my thoughts. "You'll never get away with it."

The snack station is bustling. Groups of college students, down for the day. A few famil
ies. The last of the locals unfazed by the terrorism that plagues our city. No Viola.

"What's up?"

I spin around. Joshua, his dirty blonde hair shining in the sunlight, stands behind us, hands stuffed deep inside the pockets of his swim trunks.

"I saw her.
"

Seth exhales beside me. "Will you explain to her that we've been watching? If Viola was here we'd know it."

Joshua shrugs. "We're watching, Gen," he assures me. "If she was around we'd know. I am on this. I promise."

"I know what I saw," I insist. "It wa
s her hair. That . . . that
red
. I saw it clear across the beach. It was
her
."

"It's not an unusual color. You can buy it from the drugstore," Seth reminds me.

"She's here," I tell Joshua, ignoring him. "Let the others know. When you see her, come to me f
irst. Do
not
let her get away."

I turn on my heel, trudging across the sand, heart pounding heavy in my ears.

Why am I always a second too late?

"I thought you were getting something to drink," Selena says as I plop back down in the chair beside her, tos
sing my bag to the ground.

"I was. It was crowded. I, um, saw someone." I turn back toward that cabana, staring into the distance, determined to see her one more time.

"Okay. I just
wanna
let you know that this is getting kind of weird for me," Selena con
fesses.

"Yeah, well, trust me when I say that it's even weirder for me."

I turn my face toward the sun, closing my eyes, skin tingling as it warms. A cool breeze blows off the ocean, tousling my hair. I open my eyes and gaze across the sea. Another wave cr
ashes, tumbling to shore, pausing a few feet shy of where we're sitting. I study the horizon. The calm.

It's an illusion, though. Any water appears flat, smooth, from a distance.

She's here. I can prove it.

I rise, moving quickly.

"Now where are you going
?" Selena asks.

"I just want to stick my feet in."

"After last night's storm? The water is freezing."

"I'll only be a second," I promise.

I reach into my bag and remove my knife, winding my fingers around it.

"Genesis!" Selena hisses. "Are you
crazy
?"
Her voice is lost in the wind and the waves and ignored by the part of me that knows Viola is still out there, waiting for me.

I move toward the water, chasing the sea as it sucks back, foaming and bubbling. Another wave moves in, colliding with my ankles
, splashing up to my knees. I gasp, feeling the icy water prick my skin. Behind the breakers, I lift with each new wave. They push against me, shoving me back to shore. I lose the sandbar, and, in the next moment, slip beneath the surface. Saltwater assaul
ts my nose, burning. Eyes stinging. Above me the world is clearer, brighter, quieter, the sunlight reflecting diamonds on the water. My feet scrape against sand, and something slimy brushes my leg. I kick furiously, grappling for the surface as the current
drags me along. I break free and inhale sharply. Gasping. Coughing. Sputtering. Lip trembling with cold. 

Come on, Viola. I know you're here.

I tread water, waiting, moving with the waves.

This is where you like to play, isn't it? I dare you.

A band of
seagulls flies overhead, squawking. One lands on a nearby post, eyeing me curiously with its beady black eye.

I turn back to the sea, expecting to feel her at any moment. Fingers wrapping around my ankle. The jolt that drags me under.

This is what she wan
ts, isn't it? For me to die? I've made it easy for her. She could never resist this.

I wait. Watching. But there's nothing.

My legs grow weaker, shaking and numb with cold.

A few beats more and I turn, swimming with the next wave that moves in. And the ne
xt. I feel the sandbar beneath my feet and trudge back to shore. The surf carried me down the beach. Selena sits in the distance, waiting.

I cross my arms tightly against my chest, both warming myself and hiding the blade of my knife as I approach her. Set
h is nearby, sitting on a towel in the sand. Sunglasses hiding his eyes. His jaw is tight. Angry. 

I'll hear about this later.

"What was
that
?" Selena demands to know.

Seawater drips from my hair, rolling down my body. I wipe my nose, feeling the sun heat
my shoulders. "Do you want the truth?"

"God, no. Just humor me."

"I was trying to catch your dinner." I toss the knife into my purse. "They're not biting."

"You're a freak, Genesis Green."

"Yeah, I know." I swallow back a smile, reaching for the elastic t
o fix my ponytail. But it's gone. I run my fingers through my wet hair, searching for it on the ground.

I eventually give up, turning my attention back to the sea. At whatever's out there. Waiting for me. Not waiting for me. 

I am not afraid of you.

F
OUR

"Why do you keep doing this to me?" Seth shouts, infuriated. "How many times do I have to tell you we're watching?"

I spin on my heel, flinging my beach bag to the floor. "You didn't believe me when I told you I saw her."

"I did!"

"You didn't!" I
accuse. "You just wrote it off like I was imagining things. I am
not
crazy!"

"No one is saying you are, Genesis. But we didn't see her. And even if we did that's not a license for you to throw yourself into the ocean!"

My arms fold across my chest in defi
ance. "You're angry because you know it could've worked."

His jaw tightens, eyes flashing. "I'm angry because every day you find some new way to put yourself in danger. Do you
want
to die?"

"You know better than that."

"Then stop doing stupid, irrational t
hings! Anything could have gone wrong today. The freezing water. The rip tide. Viola should have been the
least
of your concerns."

I swallow back a laugh. "Viola is my
only
concern."

"I know, and that's the problem. When you first agreed to work with us, i
t was so you could
help
people. You felt like it was your calling. Did I like it? No. But this is worse. Your visions, your actions, everything you do now centers around her." He steps back, head shaking, looking at me like he doesn't know who I am anymore
. Like he doesn't even know the person standing in front of him.

And maybe . . . maybe he doesn't. Because neither do I.

I move into the kitchen, gathering empty take-out trays and crumpled napkins and pitching them into the trash can. Dumping dirty silv
erware into the sink. I fight against the surge of sadness swelling inside. He's right. I know he's right. But this is about more than him or me. She killed my
friend
. For no other reason except that he was my friend.

"Genesis," Seth says, tone softening.

I force the sadness away, and, in its place, am left with a slow, simmering anger. "I can't let her get away with what she did. I can't."