Rebel Page 7

  Personal, but not too personal.

  “I never had a crush on anyone until I was nearly fifteen,” she said. “Want to know who it was on?”

  “Indra Vardam or Carlos Garcia,” Henry said resignedly. “All the girls love tall, dark, and handsome. Though if it was Julio, I guess that would be good for a laugh.”

  “No, no, and ugh,” Felicité said. “Though you’re right about dark, and you’re close about handsome. It was Elizabeth Crow.”

  When Henry’s jaw dropped, she said quickly, “Before her Change, of course.”

  “I get it. I never had a thing for older women, but if I had, I might have fallen for her, too. She used to be beautiful.” In a low soft voice, he added, “It’s so cool that you trusted me enough to tell me you had a crush on someone who turned into a monster. Poor Felicité! Was it awful for you when she Changed?”

  She shook her head. “No, I was crushing on someone else by then. But you see why it’s a secret.”

  Henry nodded emphatically. “That ugly mutant face of hers gives me the shudders.” He closed his eyes. “Your kiss. Surprise me.”

  Felicité took her time selecting a place for her kiss. But the joy had gone out of it. She could never let him see her own ugly mutant face. He could never be The One.

  Chapter Four: Kerry

  Nobody sympathized with an ex-princess.

  Kerry scorned pity. But still, there were these . . . holes in her life, these little frustrations that crowded her day, that nobody else even noticed, much less understood.

  Take brushing her hair. She’d rarely had to do it. She knew how, of course. Totally different from knowing how to pull a brush through your hair was doing it every day, especially after wind and sweat tangled it unmercifully, and your body was so tired every muscle ached, and you just wanted the maid to draw you a bath, then massage your scalp while you lay in the clean hot water with your eyes closed, soothed by the gentle tug on your scalp.

  Well, the days of maids were gone. And while Becky Callahan was perfectly willing to brush Kerry’s hair for her, Becky had a very full life. She couldn’t be summoned by a snap of the fingers whenever Kerry wanted her.

  And that wasn’t even considering the little braids woven into a complicated coronet, Kerry’s favorite style in Gold Point. It was elegant, and comfortable whether she was dancing or sparring. But when she’d tried to duplicate it, the braids inevitably came down around her ears. And none of the back braids were even, she’d discovered one day when Felicité Wolfe had said in that poisonous voice of hers, “Very interesting style in parting, Kerry. A Gold Point fashion?”

  Kerry had cadged a hand mirror from Becky, and craned her neck looking into her little mirror—to see her scalp looking like a ragged patchwork quilt under the lopsided braids.

  Ever since then, Kerry kept her hair in a single braid, wrapping it around her head in a simple coronet and securing it with a single hair stick. She finished wrapping her braid, pinned it, and ran to the stables in the soft pre-dawn air.

  The sky blushed pink over the eastern hills, heralding the sunrise when Kerry met Mia and Ross, who’d stopped to visit Rusty, Ross’s burro.

  They were just leaving, so Kerry went with them toward the gate. The silence of Main Street and the pearly light made her feel enclosed in a bubble of her own creation, safe from all harm. She’d always imagined that if her power were visible, her swords and sticks and shields would glow with that same translucent light. But it was a childish idea, and immaturity was a sign of weakness. She’d never told it to anyone.

  As she led Nugget toward the back gate, with Mia and Ross walking beside her, Kerry thought, I could tell Mia.

  Mia wouldn’t think getting odd ideas was weak or wrong. She’d be interested and speculate about why the objects Kerry created were invisible, and whether there might be any way of making them visible to see if Kerry was right. And if Kerry asked her not to mention it to anyone else, Mia wouldn’t.

  The sun had begun to rim the eastern hills when Mia began talking about the election. Ross, unsurprisingly, was silent. Kerry suspected that he, like her, had no interest in the topic, but was letting Mia go on about it, rather than risk hurting her feelings. Mia had confided once that people sometimes outright told her she was boring them and how crushed that made her feel. Kerry had no intention of hurting her, but she could change the subject so tactfully that Mia would never notice. With her idea about her power, for instance.

  But while Kerry was still debating over whether she minded letting Ross know, too, Mia spoke to her. “So who are you voting for, Kerry? Or haven’t you made up your mind yet?”

  “I can vote?” Kerry had assumed that as the town’s former enemy, she wouldn’t be allowed.

  “Sure. You’re an adult citizen.” Mia squirmed and reached behind her back, trying to shift her backpack. Before Kerry could do anything, Ross helped her distribute its weight more evenly across her shoulders. “Oh, thanks, Ross.”

  As if my vote matters, Kerry thought. As if anyone’s does.

  Oh, maybe some elections were legitimate. Even in Gold Point, the craftspeople really did elect their guild leaders. The race between Mrs. Hernandez and Mr. McVey might be real. Both candidates held similar positions in the town hierarchy—a miller and a baker—so giving one the job rather than the other didn’t have any clear benefit. But there was no way Mr. Preston would lose his race, regardless of the actual voting. People in power didn’t give it up peacefully—it had to be taken from them by force.

  Mia was one of the most brilliant people Kerry had ever met, but even she was as naïve about politics as the rest of the Las Anclas citizens, campaigning so enthusiastically for their sham election.

  Kerry recalled Father saying, People will believe anything that preserves their illusion of comfort. Learn to manage their gullibility, and you’ll have as strong a tool for holding power as an elite cadre of soldiers on duty around the clock.

  Though Kerry hated her father with the same passion with which she’d once admired him, she couldn’t deny the wisdom of his words. He was hard and cruel, not stupid. He understood people like Mia understood machines and Ross understood the desert. Kerry wouldn’t follow in Father’s footsteps, but neither would she rebel to the point where she automatically disbelieved everything he’d ever taught her. That would make her as gullible as she’d been when she’d believed everything he’d said.

  A tall figure awaited them at the gate, instantly recognizable among the field workers ready to go out to tend the crops: Jennie, with her magnificent new sword slung across her back.

  Jennie greeted Ross and Mia, then turned to Kerry. “Coming with us?”

  Kerry detected an edge beneath the friendly teasing. Like many in Las Anclas, Jennie was still wary of her. Kerry could hardly blame them. If she’d been them, she wouldn’t have trusted the turncoat daughter of the town’s worst enemy either.

  No, Jennie, I have no intention of horning in on your adventure, your best friend, or your boyfriend, Kerry imagined replying, before she decided that those weren’t Jennie-type worries. She corrected it to one that probably was: No, I won’t run off to Gold Point and get back in Father’s good graces by telling him everything I’ve learned about Las Anclas.

  As if that would even work. She’d burned her bridges with her father for good. But nobody could understand that who didn’t know Father, and in all of Las Anclas, only Ross and Mr. Preston did.

  “I wish,” Kerry replied lightly, making sure there was no edge to her voice.

  “Oh, I wish you could, too,” Mia said with sincere regret. “But Ross can only hold hands with two people at a time.”

  Jennie chuckled, and even Ross smiled. Mia didn’t seem to notice that she’d said anything funny.

  “Well, if you ever decide to live up to that ‘I’m madly in love with Ross’ letter you left for your father. . . .” Jennie said to Kerry.

  There was no sharpness in that joke. But it hurt Kerry in a way that Jennie cou
ldn’t have intended.

  When Kerry had returned to Las Anclas with Ross, one of the first things she’d done was to catch Mia alone and make her promise to tell no one about Santiago. Kerry had seen how gossip traveled in this tiny town, and didn’t want condolences that would bring more pain than comfort. Mia had understood that and promised to say nothing, not even to Jennie.

  As the dawn watch bell clanged, the sentries opened the gates. Mia quivered with excitement, but Ross tensed. Jennie moved into a guard’s position beside him, alert and ready, and he visibly relaxed.

  It was like how Ross had helped Mia with her backpack. He’d known what she needed and did it without her having to say anything, because he knew her so well and paid her such close attention. Santiago and Kerry had been like that too, passing each other salt shakers, checking for eavesdroppers, and giving each other back rubs, all without having to ask. She could almost feel the solid muscle of his shoulders softening under her hands . . .

  Kerry swung into Nugget’s saddle, suddenly desperate to get away from the tender awareness between Ross and Mia and Jennie. But there was no escaping her own loss. Santiago would never ride beside her again, and every reminder of him was like opening a wound.

  “Find some great artifacts!” Kerry saluted them, then rode away before anyone could say anything awkward.

  Then she groaned, recognizing that she’d done something awkward. They didn’t salute in Las Anclas.

  Nugget tossed his head, sending the glittering strands of his mane flying. The sun had crested the mountains, lighting his shimmering coat. Kerry gave him what they both wanted: the signal to gallop.

  “Hoo, look at him go!” Jose Riley yelled from the sentry post.

  Kerry grinned fiercely. Nugget permitted no one but her to ride him, but she’d seen him run in the corral and knew his magnificent gallop, with his tail flying out behind him like a streak of gold.

  She only slowed when they reached the shore. The fishers had launched on the ebbing tide, visible as tiny dots on the blue expanse. She was alone on the beach.

  It still surprised her how casual the townspeople were about the ocean. Kerry vividly recalled her first glimpse of that extraordinary expanse of water, blue as a sapphire that day, and in constant motion, stretching out to meet the sky. She’d visited the beach nearly every day since, finding it different shades, sometimes full of whitecaps, other days smooth. Once, angry with surging waves. Why didn’t the entire town come out every day to look at the ever-changing sea?

  The empty beach was deserted, as if it belonged just to her. Kerry rode onto a wide spit of land that extended into the ocean, inhaling the sea brine and listening to the soft splash of the waves. Morning birds chattered as they rose in a flock of gray wings. She was solitary, but the ocean’s peace made her feel less lonely.

  Nugget’s ears twitched, and he tried to wheel away from the ripples foaming up the sand.

  “Easy, Nugget. It’s not going to attack you.” She stroked his neck, but he didn’t calm. Instead, he tried again to get off the peninsula, forcing her to rein him in.

  That was strange. She’d taken the stallion to the beach more than any of her other horses, and even ridden him once through the lapping waves. He hadn’t liked that, so she hadn’t done it again. But the waves themselves shouldn’t bother him.

  Kerry scanned the area to see what was upsetting him, but there was nothing but water, sky, and sand. She shrugged. Horses did sometimes suddenly decide that things were scary when they’d never been frightened of them before. Sally had once been badly startled by her own watering trough! Kerry often wondered what was going on in horses’ minds, or what they were seeing that humans could not.

  “Ghosts,” her sister Bridget had once suggested, her eyes bright with ghoulish glee. “Horses can see ghosts. So can cats. When it seems like they’re startled by nothing, that’s why.”

  Kerry had always secretly enjoyed how unabashedly strange Bridget was. Her little sister was completely herself, unworried that Father would think she was creepy or weird or immature. Even at thirteen, Bridget had still enjoyed suddenly thrusting her cupped hands at people’s faces, then opening them to reveal something alarming: a live scorpion in a glass jar, perhaps, or a dissected fetal pig.

  Sean was the sibling Kerry loved most. But Kerry missed all of them, not only Bridget: Owen’s earnestness, Fiona’s delight in high places and “flying” with the help of her mother’s gravity-negating power, and little Connor’s sweetness as he crouched in a field, watching wildflowers bloom under his outstretched hand. And Mom: what would their relationship have been like if Kerry hadn’t left? The brief taste of what it could have been—love and compromise and conversation instead of a constant battle of wills—made Kerry wish for more.

  Kerry really was haunted, in a sense. She was haunted by everyone she left behind.

  Stop that. Gone is gone. She patted Nugget again, trying to fix her mind on what she had, not what she’d lost. “You’re spooked by your own shadow. It’s nothing.”

  A hiss and splash made him sidle. Then the blue water heaved up as if something big was under it.

  A red claw the size of a horse’s head lashed out of the waves.

  Kerry jumped, and Nugget tried to rear. As she struggled to control the stallion, a scarlet creature lunged out of the water. It resembled a crab grown to the size of a wild boar, with clacking claws and tentacles that writhed like a nest of snakes.

  Kerry wheeled Nugget to race back to safety. But another crab-creature scuttled up onto the spit, blocking their path back to the beach. Its claws extended, clacking together threateningly.

  She eyed it warily. Nugget could probably jump over it, but she didn’t know how fast it could move. Those claws looked strong enough to snip through a horse’s ankle. It would be safer to kill the thing. Kerry materialized a sword and studied the creature for a weak point. But except for its swiveling eyestalks and waving tentacles, it was covered in armor plates.

  Something splashed behind her. Kerry looked over her shoulder. Two more crab things crawled out of the ocean and lumbered toward her.

  At least they were slow. Though maybe they could move fast, but hadn’t yet.

  She was alarmed, but not terrified. She’d been attacked by creatures before, and felt confident that she could handle one medium-sized beast. Kerry urged Nugget toward the thing blocking their way back to the beach, her sword upraised. She’d slice through the eyestalks and have Nugget leap over it while it was blinded.

  A wave of panic swept over Kerry. That thing is going to kill me!

  Her heart pounded and terror drenched her in sweat. The sword vanished from her hand. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

  A desperate glance behind her showed that the other two crab things were closing in. She and Nugget would be sliced to bits by those razor claws if they stayed where they were.

  They couldn’t go forward. They couldn’t go back. Her only chance was to ride into the ocean. Her heart pounding, she urged her stallion toward the waves.

  Nugget balked. She yanked on the reins and dug in with her heels. He had to obey her, or he’d get them both killed!

  “Move!” Kerry screamed. “Move! Into the water, you stupid thing! It’s our only chance!”

  Nugget’s ears flattened. He tossed his head, eyes rolling, and planted his hooves in the sand. No matter how hard she tried, he wouldn’t budge. And the crab things were almost on them.

  Kerry had to abandon the horse. She leaped free of the saddle and bolted for the safety of the water. Her foot splashed in surging water when five iron bands closed around her arm and yanked. The world spun around her.

  Father loomed over her, gripping her tight. She recoiled in terror, a shriek bursting from her lips.

  “Kerry!”

  That wasn’t Father’s voice.

  “Kerry?”

  It wasn’t Father.

  “Paco,” she breathed. Then she gasped, “Look out!”

  Kerry
tackled Paco, knocking them both to the damp sand. A giant red claw snapped shut where their ribcages had been.

  Then her terror vanished, as abruptly as it had seized her. As Paco rolled to the side, she materialized a sword and slashed through the crab monster’s eyestalks. It thrashed around wildly, its tentacles lashing and its claws snapping on empty air.

  Kerry and Paco scrambled to their feet. Her heart still banged against her ribs, but with excitement and ordinary fear, not the unreasoning panic she’d felt before. What had she been thinking, abandoning Nugget to run into the water that the monsters had come from?

  Where was Nugget? She couldn’t see him anywhere. Her heart lurched at the thought that the crab-creatures could have gotten him.

  “On your right!” somebody yelled.

  Kerry whipped up her hand and created a shield. A tentacle splattered across it. For an instant, she stared in fascination at the suckers clinging to the shield’s invisible surface. Then Paco swung his sword, slicing the tentacles. They fell away.

  “Get back on the beach!” a hoarse voice bellowed.

  An entire patrol was battling a horde of crab-creatures on the beach. To Kerry’s immense relief, Nugget plunged about higher on the strand, well away from the fighting. But more crab things scuttled from the waves, keeping her and Paco trapped on the spit. As Kerry fought them, she caught glimpses of the battle on the beach.

  Her friend Sujata dodged one crab monster, then leaped over another. A tentacle coiled around Indra’s ankle as he used his machete to hack through the legs of the biggest creature yet. Sujata snatched up her fallen bow, cranked it, and shot, severing the tentacle around her brother’s ankle.

  Kerry hoped the patrol leader had seen that. Sujata was trying out for the Rangers, and that had been a Ranger-worthy shot if Kerry had ever seen one.

  But everyone was fighting hard. Anna-Lucia, the pastry chef, gripped a staff in both hands and slammed it down on a crab-creature. It bounced off the shell, but the blow staggered the thing. Indra’s machete smashed down on its sectioned neck. The tiny severed head rolled down the sloping beach into the ocean.