Vendetta Page 13

That's when my arms fall, leaving me unprotected. I'm not sure what happens first. If I see Joshua's fist arcing toward me, feel the pain radiating through my face, or hear the crack of his knuckles as they meet my jaw. It all seems to happen at once, too fast to compute. I stumble backward, clutching the injured area.

  "Holy shit!" But it hurts to speak, and I can barely hear my voice above the ringing in my ears. The cries of "Genesis!" are muffled, too. And in an instant Seth is by my side.

  He holds my face in his hands, examining it. "Are you all right?" But before I can even answer he turns on Joshua. "What the hell were you thinking?" he yells.

  I flinch at his tone, blinking back my surprise. I've never heard Seth speak like that. Not to Joshua. Not to anyone. Ever.

  "It was my fault," I tell him. "I dropped the mitts." I open and close my mouth, trying to work the pain away.

  "I'm so sorry, Gen," Joshua says. "I didn't mean . . ."

  "I'm fine," I assure him. "It's fine. I called you a lightweight. I totally deserve it."

  "Here." Mara passes me a dishrag full of ice cubes. "You should sit down."

  I climb onto the barstool, pressing the towel against my face. It stings, and I can almost feel the bruise expanding, travelling beneath my skin.

  "So how much longer is this going to last?" Carter asks, shoulders squaring. "You've been here for weeks now," he tells Mara, "and there's still no sign of Viola." His voice is flat, emotionless. "What happens next? You just keep on training her hoping this demon shows up one day?"

  "I'm here for as long as the Council recommends I stay," Mara replies. "Whether that's for a few months or longer is yet to be determined. You have to remember that our time is different from your time. Your lives pass very quickly to us."

  "So this could drag on for years and years," Carter confirms.

  "I wouldn't think so. Not in this case."

  "But you don't know for sure," he says.

  "No. But this is what Genesis wants. She's vowed to avenge the death of Stuart. And now Selena." I swallow hard at this, and my jaw smarts. Mara turns her attention to me. "I suppose she could stop this at any time."

  "I'm not a quitter," I tell them.

  "It's not quitting," Seth says. "It's, for once, acknowledging that this isn't your fight."

  I close my eyes, feeling the ice numb the pain radiating through my face. "I don't think it matters what I want anymore," I confess. "This isn't just about Stu. Viola is coming whether I want her to or not. I can seek her out, ready, or I can sit back and wait. But she will come."

  The five of us fall into an uncomfortable silence. It descends, thick and heavy, blanketing the room.

  Finally, I set the makeshift icepack aside and move back into the living room. I pick the focus mitts off the floor, determined. "All right, Fists of Fury," I tell Joshua. "Let's finish this."

  He shakes his head. "Your face looks awful," he says.

  "You should be proud. It was a great shot."

  "I hit a girl."

  "A girl who could throw a knife at you from halfway across this house and sever any number of major arteries running through your body. Providing, you know, you could die," I add, smiling. I lift the focus mitts, but Joshua hesitates, refusing to come closer.

  I turn to Seth. "Tell him it's okay."

  Seth's shoulders fall in a resigned exhale. "Pay attention to what you're doing this time."

  * * *

  "It might have been a mistake to focus solely on combat skills. They're important, obviously, but you won't always have the advantage in fights," Mara says.

  "I thought the knives . . ."

  "The knives are essential," she interrupts, voice stern, "but there may come a time when you don't have access to them. If this happens, you should be prepared to fight and defend yourself without them. Carter?" she calls.

  He stands, rising from the couch. "Lucky me. I get to be the dummy."

  A small smile pulls at my lips. "At least we got the right guy for the job."

  "Oh, you're going down," he replies.

  "Focus, you two," Mara says. "Okay, Carter. I want you to throw a punch."

  He hesitates, eyeing Mara carefully. "Yeah. Seth almost killed Joshua for doing that."

  Joshua's frown reaches us from across the room. "I said I was sorry! How many times do I have to apologize?"

  "I wouldn't have killed him," Seth assures us. "Not totally, anyway. Just . . . very nearly."

  "I'm not concerned with Seth right now," Mara says. "Don't make contact, just pretend to."

  Carter moves in. He pulls his arm back and punches the air slowly. Mara stops his hand inches from my face. "This, right here, is where you need to react. Take your arm, and push his hand away. His body will automatically move forward. When this happens, grab the back of his neck and pull him down. Try it."

  Carter throws another slow, deliberate punch. This time I shove it aside. Just as Mara predicted, he leans in. I push down on his neck.

  "You have him in one of the most compromising positions, now. You can knee him in the face. You can go for the nose, or turn his head, aiming for the temple."

  I lift my knee, stopping short of Carter's chin.

  "It never matters the number of punches thrown. The winner is always the last person left standing."

  Carter tries to punch me again, moving faster this time. I block him, bringing him down. We practice this a few more times before Mara is ready to move on.

  "If someone is choking you from the front, you can try several tactics. You can punch him, or strike his nose with the palm of your hand, but to break the grip, you'll need to clasp your hands together, bend at your knees, and push all of your weight into separating his arms. I'll demonstrate."

  Carter wraps his fingers around her neck. "You'll want to push all the way through. Use your strength to your advantage and throw off the opponents' balance. At that point, they can only react to what you're doing to them. Now grab me from behind," she tells Carter. "If he's choking you like this, twist your body, put your arm between the two of you, and use your weight to force his arm away. Try to maneuver around him. Like this."

  We practice until I'm comfortable with the techniques, and then Carter and I switch places. I do the attacking, and he tries to fend me off. Mara stands on the sidelines, scrutinizing, evaluating, content to break in only when she feels we're doing something wrong. The more we train, the more confident we are. We're swinging faster, pushing harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.

  Carter cocks his arm and punches through. I block him, forcing his fist away.

  "Whoa," I say, recoiling, heart beating heavy in my ears.

  "Sorry. Just letting off some steam." He shakes his hands, releasing the tension in his fists.

  "I don't have any problem killing you, Carter," Seth says, an icy edge to his tone.

  "You'd have to get through me, first," I warn, wiping the sheen of sweat off my cheek with the back of my hand.

  Carter smiles, lifting an eyebrow. "Good luck with that."

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Seth strips off the focus mitts and tosses them to the floor. I remove a glass from the cupboard, set it on the counter, then pull open the freezer door. I close my eyes, feeling the arctic air cool my body. Seth reaches around me and grabs the tray of ice cubes. I pull at my sports bra and yoga pants. They're stuck to my damp skin.

  "Water?" Seth asks.

  "Please."

  He works around me, pulling a bottled water from the refrigerator, uncapping it, and pouring it into the glass. I shut the freezer door.

  "That wasn't half bad," he says, passing the glass to me. I take a swig, lungs burning, waiting for my breaths to return to normal.

  "I know. You're improving."

  Behind us, Joshua and Mara are on the couch. Mara is reading. Joshua is watching TV, flicking from channel to channel.

  "Ouch. I could always call Carter back over. You could spar with him, you know, if he presents more of a challenge."

  A subtle
swipe, less of a blow and more of an acknowledgement that he's noticed something in the last few weeks. Carter spending more time around the pool house. Training. Being with me.

  I take another hard swallow. "It’s not like that," I tell him. "He's not himself. Ever since Selena. . . ." A loud exhale.

  "Look, if you want to hang out with Carter . . . ," he teases.

  But I'm in no mood to joke around. Not about Carter. Or Selena. Or anything. "I don't. I mean, I do, but not like you're saying." My voice lifts instinctively, defensive. "It's not like that. You know that."

  "I'm just saying that if you ever find yourself wanting to go back to him, I won't hold it against you."

  Joshua continues changing channels. Flick. Flick. Flick. The screen flashes.

  My eyes narrow. "Do you even listen to yourself? Do you even hear what you say, sometimes?" I shout. Across the room I feel Mara and Joshua. They've stopped, listening, but I don't care. "It's like you don't believe me," I go on. "You don't want to believe me. I don't want Carter, but I'm not going to get on my hands and knees and beg you to stay around if you'd rather me be with him."

  "Genesis, that's not what I meant," he replies, eyes weighted with regret.

  I open my mouth, ready to ask him what, exactly, he meant and why it always keeps coming to this when words, spoken from across the room, capture my attention.

  "Police are searching for a local boy tonight . . ."

  They echo, whispered directly into my ear. My eyes find the TV just as Joshua lifts the remote, preparing to change the channel.

  Something deep inside—some kind of primal instinct—moves me to speak. "Don't," I growl, low under my breath. The word barely makes it past my lips, but it's enough. Three heads swing in my direction. Seth. Mara. Joshua.

  My eyes fix on the anchorwoman. Unflinching. Listening.

  No.

  My body goes rigid, a shiver rippling across my skin.

  No.

  With each new piece of information my heart inches further to my throat.

  "Genesis?" Mara calls, not understanding.

  I close my eyes and see the chubby face. The sandy blonde hair. Those eyes. I see them in my head like it was yesterday.

  "Are you an angel?"

  His tiny voice sings, reverberating, screaming at me.

  I cover my ears, trying to rid them of the sound.

  No. No. No. No.

  But something inside already knows.

  The muscles in my stomach tighten in a spike of panic, legs unsteady under my own weight, and when my eyes open the most recent photo of the young boy gone missing flashes across the screen.

  I swing my fist, sending the glass of water sailing across the kitchen. It hits a cabinet, shattering on contact, exploding.

  And Seth is there, wrapping his arms around me.

  "No!" I scream, voice raw. "No!" I thrash against him, kicking my legs as he drags me out of the room, away from the splintered glass. I find my footing and spin around, hammering my elbow against his broad chest.

  "I have to—I have to go! You have to let me go!" I beg. "I have to help him!" The words, severing my throat, come out as shrieks, more animal than human.

  Seth holds me tighter, crushing me. "Genesis, stop. Stop it!"

  "Let me go!" I demand, teeth clenched.

  "Genesis!"

  "I have to help him! You're not letting me!" I pound furiously, a sobering awareness seeping through my veins. He grabs my hands, clasping them between his. I struggle to wrench free.

  "He said I was his angel! His angel!"

  His voice lowers. "Genesis."

  I stop fighting against him and study our hands locked together, chest heaving, feeling the string of tears gathering along my lashes. His eyes fix on mine and he blurs, disappearing with them. I gasp, grappling for air. "It's too late, isn't it?"

  Nothing.

  It's her. She's doing it on purpose. Undoing it. The little boy. And Selena. She's undoing everything I've done. All of it.

  "It's all my fault," I whisper, the words etched with a lingering pain.

  Seth's face pinches. His hand relaxes, releasing me. He wipes the tears from beneath my eyes with his thumbs, swallowing hard. "It's not your fault," he assures me. "It's not. . . ."

  I inhale, lungs shuddering.

  How could I ever think I would get away with this? That I could win?

  He tries to draw me closer, but I shrink back, pulling away, leaving him.

  * * *

  I refuse to get out of bed the following morning. And the next. By day three Mara is hovering over me, desperate to get me moving again. I haven't the gall to tell her I quit. That I quit it all. Training. Fighting. And so I ignore her. In the afternoons I can hear Carter in the other room, working with her. He enters my bedroom a few times, tempting me with the pool. Trips to the beach. A night out. I hide beneath the comforter, pretending to sleep. Seth brings me breakfast, lunch, dinner. I don't touch it. I don't want to see it or smell it. I send it back uneaten.

  I just want them to leave me alone.

  When sleep finally comes there are nightmares. New. Old. I'm always searching for something. Chasing something. Running from something. Fighting something. I wake up sweating and out of breath, unable to fall back asleep for hours.

  On that third night a scream pierces the dark, filling my ears, reverberating in the shadows. I thrash against an invisible force pushing against me.

  "Genesis!"

  The screaming intensifies, growing louder.

  Someone is calling, yelling my name. I struggle against him, legs tangling, arms cemented in place.

  "Genesis! Wake up!"

  It's me. The screams are mine. My eyes fly open and Seth is on top of me, holding me by the wrists, pinning me down.

  "Wake up!" he demands, dark hair falling into his eyes.

  I gasp, and my lungs spasm, desperate for air. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, and my pillow is damp with sweat, the room on fire.

  The moonlight falls across Seth's face. His eyes are wide, face haunted.

  My body shakes as he lets go. Shivering. My head feels light, the room swirling around me as I pull myself upright. I work to steady my breathing, but no matter how hard I try, I still feel like I'm drowning. Suffocating. I bury my face in my hands, a wave of panic washing over me.

  "I . . . I saw. . . ." But I can't find the words. They won't come.

  "Deep breaths, Genesis," Seth urges.

  I suck in a lungful of air, then blow it out.

  "Another one." He leans across me, sliding open the nightstand drawer. He fishes around in the darkness, then pulls out my inhaler.

  "I don't want this," I tell him, tears spilling over the edges. "I can't do this. I can't. I don't want the nightmares. I don't want the visions. I want her to leave me alone."

  He slips his arms around my shoulders, hushing me, whispering. "I know. We'll figure something out. You won't have to do this anymore, I promise."

  I press myself against his warm body, letting him hold me.

  "I saw it," I finally confess. "I know what happens. How it ends."

  "What?" He pulls away from me, eyes searching mine. "What did you see?"

  "A battle. Angels. Demons. Angels against angels and demons against demons. People were . . . dying."

  "Was it a dream or a vision?" he asks, traces of panic clouding his eyes.

  If it's a dream, then it could be nothing. An overactive imagination. My innermost fears playing with my subconscious. If it's not, all Hell is going to break loose.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. "I don't know. I can't tell the difference anymore."

  * * *

  "You have to speak to them, Mara." Seth's voice carries into my bedroom, urgent, desperate. The door is cracked, a sliver of light slipping through. "You've seen her. She can't keep doing this."

  "They won't allow it." Mara's voice is quieter, more determined, but I know they're talking about the Council. Me.

  "She's of no use
to them like this. There's too much interference from Viola. She's not predicting anything. It's as if she's only seeing what Viola wants her to see, and if something's coming. . . ."

  I listen to them, eyes trained on that perfect white rose muted in darkness, still in its vase on the dresser. The one constant through all of this. The only thing left unchanged.

  "Exactly. There's no way to know what her latest vision was about. The battles foretold are against angels and demons."

  "Maybe this wasn't foretold."

  "You expect me to believe this fight has us pitted against ourselves? How would a revolution of this magnitude play out without the Council knowing? It's impossible, Seth. Guardians, Powers . . . we're not capable of rebellion."

  "At one time, yes, we were."

  I know he's speaking of the fallen. The demons. The angels cast out of Heaven.

  "Even if there was a faction willing to rise up and act against us, how would they not be stopped immediately? The Council . . ."

  "The Council is not omniscient," Seth breaks in. "There's only One with that power. The Council is no better than you or me. They're self-appointed, self-indulgent. And I'm not convinced they know what's best for us."

  "When did this happen?" she whispers, accusing. "This defiance? This attitude toward the Council?"

  "When it didn't matter anymore."

  "You won't get away with this."

  "My only concern is sleeping in that room right now dreaming about God knows what because of me. I'm begging you, Mara. Please. Talk to the Council. If they can step in and eliminate Viola. . . ." He trails off, and a heavy quiet settles between them.

  "Fine," Mara relents. "I'll go to them. I'll tell them what's happened. That things have changed. Viola is out of control," she agrees. "We're still unaware of her motives. . . . If we can get Genesis back to where she's able to predict . . ."

  "No," Seth says, interrupting. "She's done."

  "The Council will not agree to this, Seth. She's too important to let go."

  "Then I'll find another way."

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I sink deeper into the bathtub, letting the water envelope me, but I don't feel it. I don't feel anything. I wait for the vanilla-scented soap to reach my nose. But it doesn't. The heat of the water to warm the blood in my veins as it turns my skin pink. Nothing.