Rebel Belle (14 page)

“This is ridiculous. You know that, right?” David glared at me as he slid into the passenger seat, fastening his seatbelt. “You could’ve come up to my house. Or I could’ve gone to your house. Basically, there were at least three options that didn’t involve me walking three blocks from my house and you dressing like Carmen Sandiego.”

I adjusted my sunglasses and pulled my hat a little further down. “I’m not . . . look, you were the one who didn’t want your aunt to know we were doing this. And I think it would be better if people didn’t see us together.” Especially since I’d begged off hanging out with both Ryan and Bee, telling them I was studying for the SATs.

David settled into his seat and immediately reached out to flip the radio on. My finger itched to push his hand away—I could be as bad as Bee when it came to people touching my radio—but music was probably better than awkward silence or bickering.

The drive out of town was pretty. Fall had come to Alabama in full force, the leaves orange, gold, and red. Overhead, the sky was that pure, impossible blue that only happens in the fall, and if I rolled down the window, I knew I’d smell wood smoke.

Nearly every other house we passed had some kind of Thanksgiving decorations in the window or on the mailbox. I counted three papier-mâché turkeys, two cling-form Pilgrims, and at least half a dozen cornucopias. Pine Grove definitely went all out for the holidays.

It wasn’t until we were about a mile out of town that David finally turned down the radio. “We’re going to feel really stupid if this is a totally legit scholarship offer, aren’t we?”

I glanced over at him. “I won’t, but you should. Who turns up to a scholarship interview in skinny jeans and a Doctor Who Tshirt?”

Reaching down, David slid the seat as far back as it would go before resting his heels on the glove compartment. “You mean like you did? Because there are few things less conspicuous than a teenage girl rocking a sombrero.”

“It’s not a—forget it. My choice of headgear is not the important thing. We need to figure out what we’re going to do once we get there. I mean, if this
is
an attempt to lure you out of town to kill you or kidnap you or whatever, we should be prepared.”

David shifted in his seat. “Isn’t that your area?”
Uncomfortable, I shrugged. “I guess so.”
Silence fell over the car again.
“Are you going to kill him?” David finally asked. “Or her?” That was my job, right? Or it would be, if I were actually

“We can question whoever it is,” I said. “See how many of them there are, what their plans are.”
“You heard Saylor. Their plans are probably to kill me.”
“Yeah, but maybe we could get more of a sense of why. Is it the whole ‘boys make crappy Oracles’ thing, or is there more to it? For example, maybe you’ve been writing horrible articles about other people.”
Snorting, David wrapped his arms around his knees. “No, you’re the only person I torture in that particular way.”
Why do you?
I suddenly wanted to ask, but I bit back the question. Mine and David’s tangled personal history wasn’t the issue here.
“Have you had any more . . . you know?” I lifted one hand off the steering wheel and wiggled it. “Visiony things?”
“Prophecies? No. Nothing since that night.”
I made the turn into Merlington, driving down an oak-lined street. “Well, that’s part of it, right? Being a boy means not having great visions.” Overhead, the trees cast shadows on the car, covering David’s face in dappled sunlight.
David shrugged. “Unless I do some kind of crazy spell on myself that makes me Mega Oracle.”
I turned to look at him, nearly running a stop sign. “You wouldn’t do that though, right?”
David dropped his feet from the dash, pulling at the hem of his T-shirt. “Seeing as how I wouldn’t even know where to start on something like that, let’s go with no.”
He wasn’t looking at me, but something in his voice wedged under my skin like a splinter. “But even if you did know how,” I said, “you . . . you wouldn’t, right? I mean, you heard what Saylor said. That spell gave Alaric awesome visions and power, but it also fried up his brain and ended with lots of dead people.”
David sighed, scrubbing a hand up and down the back of his neck. “Yeah, I got that part. Still, it sucks having visions that are so half-assed, you know? And no matter what Aunt—” He stopped, dropping his hand back to his lap. “I’m never going to stop doing that, am I?”
“You can still call her your aunt, David,” I said, surprised at the gentleness in my voice. “I mean, she did raise you.”
He made a noncommittal sound in reply before settling back in his seat. “All I’m saying is, being able to see the future but not really see the future is frustrating as hell. I get why someone would try a spell like that.”
We drove past the big brick sign reading “The University of West Alabama,” and I turned down the narrow street leading to campus. The library was at the end of the road, rising out of the bright green lawn like some kind of medieval church. I could already make out the stained glass windows. “Well, the next time you start thinking like that, try to remember that Alaric ended up dead thanks to that spell.”
David turned to me as I pulled into a parking space. In his glasses, I had to admit, I did look a little Carmen Sandiego-ish, so I tugged off the hat. “Okay, before we go in, anything else I should know?”
Unbuckling his seatbelt, David dropped his gaze. “No.”
“You are the worst liar in the entire world.” As I shifted the car into park, a couple of girls walked past the car, long hair blowing in the breeze. Other than them, I didn’t see anyone else in the parking lot.
“I’m not lying,” he said, but I waved him off.
“Look, I know we’re not exactly best friends, but we
have
known each other more or less since the womb. Remember in second grade when you spilled all the blue paint, and tried to say you hadn’t? You’re making the exact same face.”
David rolled his eyes. “And what face is that?”
I jutted my jaw out and gave my best David scowl. “Kinda like this,” I said through clenched teeth, and he gave a surprised laugh.
“Okay, I do
not
look like that. That looks like . . . I don’t know, Dick Cheney.”
“No, this is totally how you look when you lie,” I insisted. “You did it with the blue paint and you’re doing it now.”
David’s grin slowly faded and his fingers fiddled with the edge of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his bicep a little. Since when did David Stark have biceps? How did you get any muscle tone when all you did was type and be annoying?
“Trust me, Pres,” he answered as he opened his door. “That’s it. No more to tell.”
He wanted me to trust him, and Saylor wanted him to trust her, and I just wanted this whole thing over with.
So why are you here?
a little voice whispered inside my head. Instead of chasing that thought, I got out of the car and hurried after David.
He was looking at his phone. “Okay, so the appointment is in ten minutes on the second floor of the library. Which would be . . .” He pointed to the large Gothic building. “Here.”
I stared at it, waiting to feel that sudden tightness in my chest that told me David was in danger. But there was nothing but the breeze brushing my hair into my face and the slight chill of early November. No vice around my heart, no Pop Rocks.
“Should we go in?” David asked, and I nodded.
Walking inside, the familiar old building smells of mildewed carpet and burnt coffee assaulted my nose, but other than that, everything felt . . . fine. Normal. Maybe this
was
a routine scholarship interview.
The office David had been told to go to was on the library’s second floor. As we made our way up the stairs, everything was completely silent except for the squeak of David’s sneakers on the stone floor. “Do you feel weird?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. I feel . . . weirdly unweird, actually.”
Slanting me a look, he gave a half-smile. “Only for us would unweird
be
weird.”
It was easy enough to find 201-A. It was the first office right off the stairs, and when David knocked on the door, a pretty, petite brunette opened it, smiling at us. There were deep dimples on either side of her shining white teeth, and despite the imminent danger we might be in, I couldn’t help wondering where she’d gotten her lipstick. That was a seriously gorgeous—ugh, no. Focus.
“Hi, there!” she said brightly. “David?”
It was hard to imagine anyone looking less like an assassin, especially since she was decked out in a bright pink and green Lilly Pulitzer dress.
David startled slightly, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. “Yeah,” he finally said. Then, clearing his throat, he tried again. “I mean, yes, I’m David Stark.”
The brunette reached out and shook his hand. “I’m Blythe,” the woman—girl, really—said, pumping David’s hand enthusiastically.
Then her eyes slid over to me. “Oh!” she said. “You brought a friend!” The dimples deepened, and she leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. “Or is this your girlfriend?”
Rude
, I thought, but then I realized we hadn’t exactly come up with an excuse as to why I was here with David.
David slung an arm across my shoulders, and I automatically slid my arm around his waist. Seeing as how we were standing a few feet apart, I’m not sure if any two people have ever held each other more awkwardly.
“Yup,” I said. “Girlfriend.”
“So my girlfriend,” David agreed, and I would’ve dug my fingers into his ribs if I’d been capable of it.
But if Blythe noticed our extreme awkwardness, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Well, y’all come on in!” she said.
Once her back was turned, David glanced over at me. I knew what he was thinking. How could a girl who appeared to speak only in exclamation points possibly be a hired killer?
“I have to say, David, we have heard so many great things about you,” Blythe said, going over to her desk. As she rifled through it, she added, “Oh, and could y’all shut the door, please?”
David turned to do that while Blythe kept talking. “You do not even know the trouble we’ve had trying to get in touch with you.”
His hand still on the doorknob, David turned back to Blythe. “Yeah, you guys have sent a bunch of e-mails.”
Blythe gave a light, trilling laugh. “Oh, trust me, it’s been a lot more extensive than some e-mails.” Suddenly her face brightened as she found whatever it was she’d been looking for.
“Oh, here we go!” she said chirpily. She was holding a letter opener, one that looked far longer and far sharper than necessary for opening mail.
For a second, all I could do was stare dumbly at the blade, wondering why I wasn’t feeling the chest tightening and the Pop Rocks, and all of that.
Blythe planted one foot on the edge of the desk, launching herself up and over, and I realized why I hadn’t felt like David was in danger.
She was lunging for
me
.

Like it had that night with Dr. DuPont, my body started moving before my mind had time to catch up. David shouted, but I was already bracing myself, throwing up an arm to deflect the blow. Blythe landed on me, hard, and I felt something icy arc along the skin below my elbow. Then the ice turned into searing heat, and I saw a flash of red.
Oh my effing God
, I thought, almost from a distance.
She stabbed me. A girl in Lilly Pulitzer stabbed me.

Gritting my teeth against the sudden blossom of pain, I reached up with my other hand, trying to grab her wrist, but she moved faster than I’d anticipated, snaking out one foot to hook around my ankle and send me crashing to the ground.

As she did, I managed to grab the hem of her dress, yanking her off balance, too. We fell together, my head thwacking the base of one of the chairs. I saw stars, and then another flash of silver as the blade darted at my throat. Without thinking, I grabbed at the letter opener, my palm closing around it. I could feel metal cutting into my skin, but the agony was nothing compared to the adrenaline and fear racing through me. Above me, Blythe had her teeth bared in a snarl. Sweat dotted her forehead and her upper lip, and strands of hair came loose from her ponytail to cling to her cheeks. Her face was pale, dark eyes huge in her head, and I realized that despite her being the one with a weapon, she was scared. Terrified, even.

Blythe might have had the element of surprise on her side, but she wasn’t a Paladin. I gripped the blade even harder, forcing her hand away from my throat. Red rivers were running down my forearm now, but I didn’t care. I’d deal with the pain later.

I decided to go with the same move that had surprised Dr. DuPont. Jerking my head forward, I smacked my forehead as hard as I could against her nose. The letter opener dropped to the floor as Blythe raised both hands to her face with a watery cry. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I went to shove her off me, but before I could, there was a crash and the sound of breaking glass.

Blythe slid off me, boneless, and collapsed on the floor. Behind her, David stood clutching the remnants of the desk lamp. His eyes were wild and he was practically panting.

Wincing, I pushed myself up, taking care not to put any pressure on my injured hand. Now that the fight was over, the pain was even worse. I only had to glance at the gash bisecting my palm to know it was going to need stitches. Even as I stared down at Blythe, I was wondering how I could explain this particular injury to my parents.

“Jesus,” David said, looking down at the blood dripping from my hand and arm. “Are you okay?”
When I stared at him wordlessly, he amended, “I mean, obviously you’re not, but . . . are you going to be?”
“I-I think so,” I told him, but to be honest, I felt a little faint. Not from the blood loss and the pain—although they were part of it—but from how close that blade had been to my throat. How all my supposed superpowers hadn’t counted for much when someone got the jump on me.
There was a little white cardigan hanging from the back of Blythe’s chair, and I grabbed it, wrapping it as tightly as I could around my bleeding hand. The wound in my arm still hurt, too, but it wasn’t as deep and it had already stopped bleeding.
“Why didn’t you feel anything?” David asked. “Isn’t that part of your whole deal? Like with the guys in the car?”
Staring down at Blythe, I shook my head. “Seems like I only feel that when someone’s after you. She was trying to kill
me
.”
David blinked. “So . . . your superpowers don’t help you defend yourself, too? That seems kind of unfair.”
It seemed a heck of a lot more than kind of unfair to me, but I didn’t say that to David. “Give me that lamp. Or what’s left of it,” I said. When he did, I ripped the cord out of the base, then nodded at Blythe, who was beginning to groan a little “Help me get her in a chair.”
Once we did, I threaded the cord through the slats in the back of the chair, tying her hands tightly behind her back. Blythe stayed unconscious through the whole thing, blood dripping steadily from her nose, leaving bright red splotches next to all those little pink and green daisies on her dress.
“I can’t believe no one heard all that,” David said, gesturing to the blood on the carpet. Frowning, I looked up from the cord.
“Yeah, me neither. There aren’t many people here, but you  would think someone would’ve heard me nearly getting murdered.”
Chewing on his thumbnail, David was still staring at the letter opener. It was laying on the carpet, edge gleaming in the fluorescent lights. “This is insane,” he said at last.
I gave the knot one last tug and sighed. “Yes. As has been established.”
Now that I was certain she was pretty securely tied to the chair, I stepped back next to David and studied our captive.
“She seems . . . younger,” he said at last. “I thought she was too young to work at a college before, but now that I really
look
at her . . .”
She was young. Barely out of her teens, I’d guess. I looked at her crooked nose, wondering if I should feel guilty. But then I thought of her leaping over that desk, blade in hand.
Nope. No guilt here.
Moaning, she started to stir. “What are we going to do?” David whispered.
“Question her,” I replied. My blood continued to drip steadily on the beige carpet, and underneath the fluorescent lights, David looked greenish. Outside, the leaves of a giant magnolia tree beat softly against the window.
“We can’t . . . are you going to kill her?” I didn’t think it was possible for David to look any more wretched, but as he turned to me, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, I was worried he might throw up.
And I didn’t know how to answer him. I honestly hadn’t thought about that. Meet this chick, question her, get a little more info on what was going on—that had been my whole agenda. But David was right, it wasn’t like we could just leave her here. And she
had
tried to kill me. Before I could think through that any further, Blythe’s eyes fluttered open.
They rolled around in her head for a second before coming to land on me. “You are a heck of a lot tougher than you look,” she said, her voice thick.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Who are you?” I’d seen enough movies to know this was the part where the bad guys usually laughed and started spitting in people’s faces, but the girl nodded at her name tag.
“Like it says on the freaking tin. Blythe.” There was no hint of a Southern accent in her voice now.
“Yeah, right,” David muttered next to me, but I ignored him.
“I don’t mean your name.” I’d only ever interrogated one person—a freshman cheerleader named Tori Bishop. Of course then, I’d been asking about some car wash money that had gone missing, not my potential murder. Still, I figured the technique would be basically the same. Clenching my jaw, I narrowed my eyes at Blythe. “I mean . . . what are you? You’re not a Paladin—”
Blythe snorted and then winced. “Obviously. And since I’m clearly not an Oracle—” she jerked her head at David—“why don’t you use the process of elimination?”
“You’re a Mage,” David said, mimicking my pose. “Like my— Like Saylor Stark.”
Blythe surged against the cords holding her, eyes suddenly fierce. “No, I am nothing like Saylor Stark. I do my damn job. I am loyal to the people who gave me this power.”
“The Ephors?” I asked as David said, “How long have you been a Mage?”
We glared at each other, and Blythe’s gaze flicked back and forth between us. The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk, cracking the dried blood under her nose. “Which one of you am I supposed to answer first?”
After a moment, David rolled his eyes. “Her,” he said, gesturing toward me. “Answer her first.”
But instead of answering, Blythe kept looking at the two of us. “How old are you guys?”
“Seventeen,” we answered in unison, and Blythe made a kind of gurgling chuckle. Seriously, I never wanted to break someone’s nose again, even if they
were
trying to stab me. It had some majorly gross after-effects.
“Me, too,” she said. While she’d seemed young, she hadn’t looked
that
young. David glanced over at me, and although telepathy wasn’t part of the Paladin-Oracle bond, I still knew what he was thinking:
How effed up is this?
Tightening the cardigan around my hand, I stared Blythe down. “You haven’t answered my question.”
Heaving a sigh, Blythe leaned back in the chair. “Yes, the Ephors,” she said, and while she didn’t add “you idiot,” it was clearly implied. Then she looked at David. “And as for your question, about six months.”
“How do they find you?” I found myself asking. Suddenly, I was really regretting not asking Saylor more about all of this. It would’ve been nice to know that Mages could be just as homicidal and dangerous as Paladins in their own way.
Blythe looked up at me, tilting her face. “You know those tests you take in school? The things that judge aptitude for certain careers?”
“I worship those tests,” I said, leaning back against one corner of the desk.
A lock of hair had fallen into Blythe’s eyes, and she huffed out a breath. “Me too. There are questions woven into that thing that alert the Ephors to people who have Mage potential.”
David stepped back a little, nearly tripping over a jar of pens. It must have fallen during the fight with Blythe. Righting himself, David rubbed one hand over his mouth, studying Blythe. “But a Mage’s power can be passed on, right?”
Sighing, Blythe rolled her neck. “Yes, but it helps to find someone with a few natural abilities if you can. If the Ephors have time, which they did in my case. The Mage before me knew she was dying for months. Plenty of time to prepare.”
Over Blythe’s head, David and I locked eyes. That was an interesting little fact. I wondered if it worked the same way for Paladins. But before I could ask, Blythe jerked her head in my direction and said, “Now would the two of you get on with the killing me part already?”
“We’re not going to kill you,” I heard myself say, and when Blythe looked up at me, eyebrows raised, I hastily added, “I mean, not yet. So long as you tell us what we need to know.”
The letter opener was near the door, so I picked up the nearest weapon I could lay hands on: a stapler.
I lifted it, going for “menacing.” I admit it lacked a certain elegance, but hey. It was worth a shot.
David placed his hand on my arm and pushed it back down.
“What?”
“Just . . . that’s embarrassing for all of us,” he replied.
Blythe gave another one of those laughs that made me shudder. “This is such a freaking mess,” she muttered before fixing me with her dark eyes. “You don’t even know what’s really going on here, do you? What’s your name, Paladin?”
“Harper Price,” I said, good manners automatically kicking in over sense.
“Do you want to give her your address, too?” David muttered, but Blythe’s gaze stayed on me.
“Well, listen to me, Harper Price. Me, the people I work for . . . we don’t want to hurt David. We want to
help
him.”
I opened my mouth, but David replied before I could say anything. “Help me?” His voice was tight with anger, and he reached up to tug at his hair, never a good sign. “You killed the man who was sworn to protect me.”
“That wasn’t me—” Blythe said, but David acted like she hadn’t spoken.
“You tried to run me over,” he said, eyes wide behind his glasses. I could see a flush creeping up his neck.
Scowling, Blythe struggled a little against the cords. “Okay, that
was
me, but technically I was after
her
—”
“And then, to top it off, you lure me out of town and try to stab Harper right in front of me.”
By now, David was nearly shouting, and again, I wondered why no one was running in. Surely we’d made enough noise to bring someone up here. I mean, this was a library, for goodness’ sake.
“If you’re trying to help me, why would you—or the people you work for—do any of that crap?” David rocked back on his heels, waiting for an answer, and I would’ve felt sorry for Blythe had it not been for the whole stabbing thing. Being on the other end of a David Stark Glare was a truly unpleasant thing.
Blythe sat up as straight as the cords would allow, leaning forward. “Because,” she said, clenching her teeth, “those people— that janitor, your so-called aunt—they were holding you back, David. You have a destiny, and I’m here to help you fulfill it.”