Five's Legacy (6 page)

Maybe even careless.

And that’s how she finds me.

Normally any wallets I lift go straight into my duffel bag, and I go through them later when it’s dark and I’m not in a crowded area. But I’m hungry and low on cash and end up leaning against a palm tree on a nice, quiet section of beach. I’m rifling through my haul when she speaks from behind me.

“You’re just
looking
to get busted, aren’t you?”

I flinch and twist around, pulling my bag closer to me as I get a good look at the person this high, slightly raspy voice has come from. She looks like she’s a few years older than me, with deeply tanned skin and shiny black hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a lot of dark eye makeup and a gray tank top over cutoff jean shorts.

I stammer the beginnings of a few words and scramble to my feet. She laughs a little.

“Don’t worry,” she says with a shrug. “I’ve got enough reasons of my own to avoid the cops.”

She stares at me with dark brown eyes, waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what to do. I’ve been avoiding people the whole time I’ve been here—old habits—and no one’s really gone out of their way to talk to me. But this girl seems . . . nice.

“Okay, so do you not talk or something?” she asks. “What’s your name?”

I open my mouth, and then stop. It’s a simple question, but of course I have no answer. At least not one I can give her truthfully. So I think back to a person I liked being.

“Cody,” I finally say. The name I used in Canada.

“Cody,” she repeats. “It’s nice to meet you finally. I’m Emma.”

Shit. What does she mean by “finally”? I stare at her face, analyzing it, looking for signs that she might be a Mog—ready to fight or fly at a moment’s notice if it comes to that.

“Oh, please. I’ve seen you lurking around. It’s impossible not to. I’m surprised the police haven’t picked you up yet. You look totally sketch when you’re on the prowl. It’s crazy that you even get close enough to people to lift off them.”

Oh.
Well, the good news is, she doesn’t seem to notice that I’m able to pick pockets because of my Legacy. The bad news is, apparently I’m not nearly as stealthy as I thought I was.

“No offense,” she continues, squinting at me a little. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“I guess not,” I say. I’ve never really thought about it. “I used to talk a lot when I was younger and then it was just me and . . .” I don’t know how to finish the sentence—realize that I’ve said too much already.

Luckily, Emma simply nods her head.

“You working for anyone?” she asks.

“No, it’s only me,” I say. Then I’m confused about what she’s even asking. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Stupid
. I don’t know why, but I’m slipping up. I haven’t told her anything important—haven’t even scratched the fucked-up surface that is my past—but there’s no reason I should be telling her
anything
.

She just smiles and nods at my bag.

“Buy me an arepa and maybe I’ll tell you.”

If Rey were here, we’d be fleeing. Gone. I wouldn’t have even been given the chance to talk to Emma. But as much as I imagine Rey’s voice shouting at me to excuse myself and blend in with the crowd and make a break for the nearest sparsely inhabited island, he’s not
actually
here.

Besides, I haven’t talked to anyone in a long time. Not really. Maybe I’ll learn something useful. And if anything goes wrong and she leads me into a trap or something, I’ve got telekinetic powers and the ability to fly away. I’m practically untouchable.

“Okay,” I say, forcing a little smile. “What’s an arepa?”

She takes me to a little food stand up the beach and I order two arepas. When the cart owner tells me it’ll be six dollars, Emma says something in Spanish and the owner scowls.

“Three dollars,” he says, handing over two golden disks that shine in the sunlight. I pay and we walk away. The beach is on one side of us, a row of luxury hotels on the other.

“What was that about?” I ask. I bite into my arepa, which turns out to be one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten—savory-sweet corn cakes sandwiching melted white cheese. I’m in heaven.

“Just keeping that guy from taking advantage of you,” Emma says. “He thought you were a tourist.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“Just that I knew he was overcharging you.” She pauses for a beat. “
Maybe
I mentioned my brother’s name. He’s kind of a big deal around here.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Let’s just say if you
were
lifting those wallets for someone, it’d probably be him.”

“What, is he like . . . a gangster?” Even as the words come out I realize how dumb they sound, but my mind immediately went to a mob movie I caught the day before when I’d spent half the waking hours in a theater. Cheese strings from my mouth to the golden half moon in my hand.

“Something like that.” Emma looks at me and smirks. I feel stupid, like some kind of naïve kid.

“So do you work for him?” I can’t picture her as one of the femme fatales from the movies. She’s too young, obviously, but also too friendly. “Is this the part where a black car drives up and I get shoved in and held for ransom or something?”

“I’d probably choose someone who wasn’t picking pockets if I was going to try to get some kind of ransom money,” she says with a little smirk. “No, I don’t work for my brother. I’m nothing like him. Don’t even talk to him, really. Besides, the last thing I want is someone telling me what I can or can’t do.
Especially
if that someone is as stupid as my brother.”

I smile, genuinely. I can kind of get where she’s coming from.

“Besides,” she adds. “He thinks I’m too young and that he doesn’t want me involved.” She lets out a long sigh between bites of her snack. Her mouth is half full when she speaks again. “So where are you from?”

“Why are you talking to me?” I ask, ignoring her question. She looks a little confused. “I mean, why did you come talk to me on the beach?”

“I wanted an arepa.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I saw you around and knew what you were doing. I figured you could use a few pointers. I thought maybe you’d be my new beach buddy. I’m tired of working alone.”

“Working?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, grins and then pulls a black leather billfold from her pocket. The first wallet I stole—the one I carry my cash around in now. My hand reaches to my back pocket and confirms what I already know. Somehow she’s managed to snag my wallet. I never felt a thing.

“Not everyone’s as easy a mark as you,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I could use a hand if you’re up to it.”

“You want me to steal wallets for you?”

“
With
me.”

I hesitate. Walking around and talking to Emma is one thing, but I can practically hear Rey yelling at me and telling me not to get close or make friends with anyone but him. But she’s obviously not a Mog.

“Come on,” she says, sensing my reluctance. “Look, I don’t know where you’re from but it’s obvious you’re not as familiar with this place as you should be if you were about to shell out six bucks for some street food, even if it was delicious. Let’s meet up again and get into some trouble. I’m so bored this summer.
That’s
why I came and found you.”

Her last words stand out to me. She sought me out, came and found me on the beach. The least I can do is consider hanging out with her a little more.

“Sure,” I say.

Her face lights up a little.

“Great.” She pulls out her cell phone and grimaces at the screen. “Shit, I gotta go. What’s your number?”

“I don’t have one,” I say, a little sheepish.

“What do you mean you—” she starts. Then her face falls a little. “Well, meet me on the beach tomorrow. Same place I found you today. I’ll be down in the afternoon.”

I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

She flashes one more smile and tosses my wallet to me. I fumble with it, uncoordinated. By the time I have it back in my pocket, she’s halfway to the street, disappearing into the throng of tourists.

Holy shit,
I think.
Did I just make a friend?

The realization that I’m not sure because I’ve never had a friend in my life other than Rey is crushing. How am I supposed to save a planet overrun with a warmongering species if I can’t even figure out how to interact with other people?

My thoughts flash to the other Garde. What if I don’t get along with them?

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
NSTEAD OF WAITING FOR
E
MMA IN THE SPOT
where she snuck up on me yesterday, I stay half a beach away, loitering between some bathrooms and a thick line of plants. That way I’ll be able to see if she shows up with a Mog brigade or something—though I don’t
really
think she’s going to. I’m just trying to be cautious.

And I don’t want her to catch me by surprise again.

Emma appears early in the afternoon. She looks around for me before shrugging and sitting underneath the palm tree where she found me. She waits for a while—twenty minutes maybe—as I try to talk myself into walking over.

It’s weird how nervous I feel. This is just so foreign to me, meeting up with someone. Talking to someone new at all. I feel awkward.

When she stands up and looks like she’s going to leave, I grit my teeth and head her way.

“Hey!” she says with a grin when she catches sight of me. “I thought you were going to stand me up.”

“Sorry,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I, uh, lost track of time.”

“No problem. It’s nice out today. Let’s hang out here for a while.”

And so we sit and chat. Or, mostly she talks, and I respond to questions as vaguely as I can—or with outright lies. Where am I from? Around. Where do I live? Not far from the beach. What about my parents or family? They’re here and there. They travel a lot. I’m left to my own devices. I pick a pocket or two on occasion because I think it’s fun.

Emma doesn’t press me about anything, which almost makes me feel bad for all the lies I tell her—that I’ve got a home to go to at night and a loving family somewhere. She’s easy to talk to in a way that Rey never was. Mostly because she talks a lot about herself, and everything she says is new to me. Sometimes she slips into Spanish and it sounds so pretty that I don’t even point out to her that I can’t understand her.

Emma isn’t at all the person she made herself out to be when we first met, so self-assured and street smart. As she talks I can see the cracks begin to show. Her brother might be some kind of criminal guy—that much I think is true—but she’s just a rebellious girl who has gotten good at sneaking things from other people, looking for some adventure during the summer. Emma really
does
have a loving family and a home to go back to every night. But from what I can tell she’s hungry to be a part of something, to get a taste of danger.

It’s funny: I never imagined people would actually go out looking for trouble or danger. I guess when you spend your life hiding from everything to keep something bad from happening, stuff like that loses its thrill. Still, when she suggests we go out and lift a few wallets or purses, I go along. I think of it as a game, or training. Lying. Hiding. Stealth. These are all things that Rey would
technically
approve of since they’re skills that’ll help keep me hidden away from the Mogs.

Right?

I find out pretty quickly that I’m not the best thief when I’m not using my powers. I only have to be chased through the streets of South Beach once to figure that out. Emma can’t see how I’ve made it so far without getting caught, but I just shrug. My role becomes that of the distraction. I’m the person who stops and asks for directions, or falls down in front of a mark while she picks their pocket.

That I’m not terrible at: I’m basically just lying and telling stories.

And before I know it we have a system that works and are making a lot of money. At least, enough that I’m never hungry or wanting for much, with a little left over to put in my Canada fund. We get good at what we do. We make a code—a sort of Robin Hood pact. We steal only from those who look like they can afford to lose a few bucks. They’re easy to spot, coming in and out of designer stores or hotels. We target tourists, not people who look like locals.

We see each other most days. About a week after first meeting Emma, I ask her why she’s into breaking the law and stealing from people. I’ve deduced by this point that she probably comes from a good enough home that she could just ask her parents for money or something.

“Respect,” she tells me as she tosses some woman’s now-empty wallet into a trash bin on the beach. “That’s what I want. That’s what
we
need. When people respect you, you can do anything. That’s how you get real power in a city like this. Your name has to mean something to people.”

I want badly to tell her that my name
does
mean something. To a lot of people. I’m a savior. And a target. But the more time I spend with Emma, the less pressing these things seem, and the farther away Canada lies. With her I’m just a kid eating ice cream and street food every day, spending the afternoons sneaking into movie theaters and lazing around the beach at dusk.

Over the course of a few weeks Emma and I
do
get a reputation around the beaches—at least enough of one that Emma’s brother hears about us and tells her to lay off before she gets into trouble. I can tell that the locals have changed the way they think about me just from how they look at us when we pass them by. Some with respect. Some with a hint of fear. All of them with knowledge of who we are and what we can do.

It feels good to be acknowledged.

I carry my Chest with me wherever I go, too scared to leave it hidden somewhere. It’s all I have left of the island, and of Rey, which both seem so far away now. At night, I sleep with it pulled close to me. It’s in the moments between sleeping and waking that I find my thoughts drifting to my destiny and the rest of the Garde, to the war and fighting that surely waits in my future. I dream that I never have to be Five again. That I can do whatever I want, no longer bound by the destiny forced upon me by the Elders of Lorien.