Nine's Legacy (6 page)

Immediately, my heart is in my throat. My iMog is signaling a warning. I practically tear the device out of my pocket, staring down at the screen.

But it’s blank. Just a solitary white dot in the center.

My cell phone, I realize. It was my cell phone. I carry my phone mostly out of habit; it hardly ever vibrates, unless Sandor wants me to pick him up a bagel on the way home from my run.

The screen blinks with a new text message.

“It’s her,” I announce, almost too nervous to open the message.

“What’s it say?”

“Had fun today,” I read. “For the next date, you’re picking the place.”

Sandor whoops and mimes a high five from across the table. So, she thought it was a date too. And if she had fun that means I didn’t screw up too badly with the hand holding. I don’t have long to savor these facts as a fresh wave of anxiety washes over me.

She wants me to plan a date.

“What’s wrong?” Sandor asks, reading distress in my expression.

“I have no idea where to take a girl on a date.”

Sandor cuts short a laugh. We sit in silence, both of us pondering.

“I could take her back to the Windy City Wall,” I suggest. “I could definitely kill that wall now.”

Sandor makes a face.

“You want to spend a date climbing rocks instead of talking to her?”

He has a point.

“You know,” Sandor muses, “if you really want to impress her, I have an idea.”

Chapter Fourteen

I make plans with Maddy for the following weekend, which makes the weekdays in between a slog through endless anticipation. I’m filled with nervous energy, but not the kind that I can channel into my training sessions with Sandor. The drones score more hits on me than they should, my mind occupied with cycling through wardrobe choices and practicing imaginary conversations. I can tell Sandor is annoyed as he powers down the Lecture Hall.

“Do you think the Mogadorians will care that you’ve got a girl on your mind?” he snaps.

I offer my best contrite headshake, knowing he’s right.

Later, Sandor summons me to his workshop. He’s got his feet up on his desk, crumpling a stack of old blueprints. He has a distant look in his eyes and for a second I think I’m interrupting some pleasant daydream. He looks me over with a wistful smile.

“You know, I wasn’t much older than you are now when I was assigned to be your Cêpan,” he says. “That’s young for a Cêpan to be assigned to a Garde. I was good, though. I’d helped the engineers—much older, more experienced—with some tech projects. I think they wanted to get me in the field as soon as possible.”

I’d been expecting a lecture from Sandor. That’s something I’m used to. Annoyed Sandor was a familiar entity. Nostalgic Sandor, on the other hand, I’ve got no idea how to deal with. It’s so rare for him to talk about Lorien, I’m afraid to interrupt.

“I liked to think I was ready,” he continues. “It was a big honor, that’s for sure. Even if you were an unruly little piece of work.” He winks at me and I can’t help but smile.

“Bonding with a Garde, that’s a full-time responsibility. As ready as I wanted to be, I had other things on my mind too. I had a girlfriend. Things were getting kind of serious, you know? I was trying hard to balance it all.”

“What happened?” I ask, before realizing what a stupid question that is.

A shadow crosses Sandor’s face, although he’s quick to hide it. “You know what happened.”

Sandor sits up and tears a piece of paper out of a legal pad. He hands it to me, the lines filled with his precise writing. A shopping list.

“Since you’re no good to me in the Lecture Hall, you might as well go run some errands,” he says, stern Sandor resurfacing.

I take the list and head for the door, but Sandor stops me.

“I never figured out that balance,” he says. “Maybe you can. Until you do, just remember what your real responsibilities are. All right, man?”

This isn’t the first time I’ve run errands for Sandor. It isn’t groceries he sends me out into the world for; that’d be too easy. I’m after spare parts. It’s not like we couldn’t just order whatever high-tech items Sandor needs for his drones off the internet, but I think he enjoys the challenge of taking broken-down Earth junk and making it work again. He’s tried to get me more involved in his salvage projects, but it’s never really worked. I’m way more interested in smashing his inventions than putting them together.

I spend the afternoon dutifully patrolling downtown’s pawn shops and thrift stores. I find a few things on Sandor’s list—an ancient compact disc player and an automatic vegetable slicer with curving blades that I dread to see flying at me in the Lecture Hall. I also pick up some stuff I know he’s always on the prowl for, a fried circuit board here, an orphaned length of cable there.

It isn’t until the last thrift store on my route that I get the tingly feeling that someone is watching me.

Instinctively I make a discreet check of my iMog. There’s no sign of danger nearby. As I slip the device back into my pocket, I notice her. Standing two aisles over, next to a rack of vintage T-shirts, is Maddy.

At first, I think it must be my eyes playing tricks on me. She’s been on my mind so much that I’m starting to hallucinate. Then Maddy holds up her hand in a shy wave and I practically bound over to her.

“Hey,” I exclaim, trying not to sound too excited and probably failing. “What’re you doing here?”

“Hey,” she replies, glancing around like she’s as surprised to be in a musty thrift store as I am to find her here. “I’m, uh, stalking you.”

I grin like an idiot. “Seriously?”

“No!” She rolls her eyes. “My dad, he’s really into antique telescopes and stuff like that. I’m just looking around.”

“Oh,” I say, playing crestfallen. “I was actually hoping you were stalking me.”

Maddy glances at the bags I’m holding from other stores, each of them bulging with weird shapes. “What’s all that?”

“Science project stuff,” I say, thinking quickly.

“For homeschool?”

I shrug. “My uncle is weird.”

Together we wander the aisles of the thrift store. Maddy pulls a maroon leisure suit off a rack and holds it up to me.

“Maybe you should wear this on our date this weekend,” she says, cocking her head, trying to imagine me in the suit.

Sandor would probably burn this suit if I dared desecrate the penthouse with its presence.

“Would you even come outside if I showed up in this?”

“Probably not. Here, hold it up,” she orders, and I take the suit with my free hand.

Before I realize what she’s doing, Maddy’s held up her phone and snapped my picture. She laughs, looking at what I’m sure is my startled expression above the most hideous suit in history.

“Perfect,” she says. “Hello, new wallpaper.”

“Now I definitely have to buy it. You’ve talked me into it.”

When I jokingly check the price tag, a moth flutters out from the sleeve. I drop the suit, grossed out, and Maddy laughs again. We dart out of the store, the old man behind the cash register glaring at us.

“I hope I don’t have fleas,” I say once we’re out on the sidewalk.

“Actually, I think I see one,” she says. She leans close, inspecting, and then gives me a quick peck on the cheek.

She leans back and laughs again, this time at what must be the dumbfounded expression on my face.

“See ya Friday, Stanley,” she says playfully, adding, “Take a bath.”

Chapter Fifteen

It’s the big night.

Sandor and I stand in the subbasement garage of the John Hancock building. Arrayed before us, each neatly tucked beneath a tarp, is Sandor’s collection of getaway vehicles.

Really, I’ve never thought we needed more than one car. Sandor, however, has taken to collecting the things since we’ve been in Chicago, outfitting each with his various improvements. I guess Cêpans need hobbies too. He’s lucky that being a Cêpan comes with unlimited funds; I’d hate to imagine him driving a beat-up old clunker.

Sandor pulls the tarp away from a sleek, dark red convertible. He runs a hand lovingly across the hood. Then he gives me a deathly serious look.

“Please don’t make me regret this.”

I grin at him, eager to get behind the wheel.

“That smile doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

Still, he opens the driver side door for me and I hop in. Sandor leans in the window as I adjust the seat and mirrors.

“How fast are you going to go?” he asks.

“Five miles under the speed limit at all times,” I recite. We’ve had this conversation all week, ever since Sandor suggested I take one of the cars. “Always signal; no racing to catch yellows; keep the top up. I get it.”

“You better,” replies Sandor, his tone more parental than ever. He looks a bit anxious about the way I’m excitedly drumming my hands on the wheel, but he steps back.

“Have a good time,” he says.

I carefully pull out of the parking garage. Sandor, watching me and nervously rubbing his beard, disappears in my rearview mirror.

When I’m a few blocks away from the John Hancock building, I hit the button to roll the top down. What Sandor doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

I pick Maddy up at the park across the street from the rec center. The convertible handles like a dream and I cruise over to her place following all of Sandor’s rules. Except for the top, of course. The cool night air swirls around me and I feel energized.

This is as free as I’ve ever felt.

Maddy is sitting on the bench when I pull up, and does a double take when she sees me behind the wheel. I wave her over.

“Want to go for a ride?” I ask.

“Oh, wow, is this yours?”

“My uncle’s,” I tell her, shrugging nonchalantly. “He’s cool with it.”

Maddy glances up and down the street, a bit apprehensive.

“You’re a good driver? I can trust you?”

Okay, I don’t
technically
have a license. But I do have an extremely convincing fake that Sandor forged in his workroom. I’ve also got plenty of experience behind the wheel. Back when we were nomads, Sandor had me practice driving as soon as my feet could reach the pedals, mostly to relieve him when he got tired.

“Of course,” I reply.

We engage in a mini staring contest, her jokingly sizing up my trustworthiness, me trying my hardest to look innocent. I can’t help the devilish smile that creeps across my face.

“Aha!” she says, pointing. “The look of a speed demon.”

Before I can defend myself, Maddy vaults over the passenger door and flops down in the seat beside me. She flashes me a lopsided grin.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

I can’t take my eyes off her. Right then, Maddy looks more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. I watch as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail, not wanting to get it tangled in the wind. I’m immediately swept into a vision of just driving forever, out of Chicago; it doesn’t matter where as long as Maddy’s next to me. Still, something nags at me, a sensation that I can’t quite place, adding a dark edge to what is an otherwise perfect moment.

I ignore the feeling.

“Ready?” I ask her.

“Ready,” she answers.

I don’t take my eyes off her as I pull away from the curb with a flourish.

Immediately, I rear-end a conversion van that’s double-parked a few feet away. That definitely wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

“Oof,” groans Maddy as we’re both jerked forward.

“Are you all right?” I ask, my hands shaking uncontrollably on the wheel. I’m simultaneously terrified that I’ve hurt her and mortified that I’ve made such an unbelievable asshole of myself.

“I—I think so,” she stammers.

In front of us, the doors of the conversion van swing open and three men jump out. They’re all dressed in dark clothes, matching fedoras pulled low over pale faces.

I realize that in my back pocket, my iMog is vibrating like crazy.

Chapter Sixteen

I don’t need the incessant vibrating from my pocket to tell me that the three men standing in front of my car are Mogs. I know my enemy.

“They probably want your insurance info,” says Maddy as she begins rifling through the glove box.

For a second I try to convince myself that this could just be a coincidence, that they don’t know exactly who—or what—I am. But they’re not looking at the damage to their van. I’ve crumpled their back bumper pretty good and shattered one of their taillights, but they don’t seem to care.

All three of them stare at me. Slowly, one of them begins to reach under his coat.

There’s no way this is random. Wishful thinking. My date is ruined before it’s even started.

“Hell with it,” I growl, and throw the car into reverse.

The Mogs immediately fan out, trying to cut off my escape. As if I won’t run them over. I rev the engine and peel out, forcing one of the Mogs to dive out of the way. As I shoot by, I see the others already scrambling into the van.

“What are you doing?!” screams Maddy.

“I think one of them had a gun,” I shout back, weaving around a slow-moving sedan.

“Are you nuts? Stanley, slow down!”

I do the opposite. Flooring it, I blow through a red light. The convertible’s tires screech as I jerk the wheel hard left, nearly fishtailing us through a turn. Maddy is thrown against her seat belt and I wince as she cries out in pain.

In the rearview, I see the Mog van cut off by traffic. I realize that I’ve been holding my breath and let an exhale hiss through my teeth.

“Let me out,” says Maddy. “Let me out of this car right now.”

I start to slow down, trying to blend into the rest of the traffic. That’s not going to be easy considering my flashy car. I hope Sandor’s out there somewhere watching this all go down on his network of hacked cameras, that he’s sending a drone to bail me out as we speak.

The iMog in my pocket vibrates with renewed vigor.

“Hold on,” I say, punching the gas just as the Mog’s van comes barreling out of a side street, nearly clipping the convertible’s bumper.