03 Saints Page 7

  One group in particular caught my attention, mainly because they were the largest of the groups. They sat at the table closest to the door. Out of all the Watchers in the room they were the most relaxed; I sensed it was because they were the most capable. They were playing poker; playing with a lot of cash on the table. I didn’t need River to tell me they were part of the ‘general’ crowd. It was as obvious as the dawn.

  I scanned the faces of the group in curiosity, wondering what it took to be one of Reaper’s top ten. I was more than a little startled when I recognized a face in the group. The neon blue eyes, the tattoo of the King of Spades, and, certainly his face, were familiar. It was the man who had taken me from Anna and given me to Master Limp. He was one of Lorian’s.

  My body tensed from the urge to either fight or flee. I choose to fight. I took out the knife I had placed in my boot for safekeeping and crouched into a ready stance. He saw me, saw my reaction to him, and immediately stood. His face was apologetic, and his hands rose in a peaceful gesture. The others in the room stopped their merrymaking, so they could stare at me.

  I ignored the stares and focused on the man. His eyes were the only ones I cared about. I wanted to rip them from his skull. River put her hand out as I glared at the man.

  “Whoa! Hold your horses!” River told me. “What’s your deal?”

  “She thinks I work for Lorian,” the man told her. “She saw me there. I took her to the holding cell.”

  River’s face flooded with understanding. “Oh, I see. Clare, meet King. King here is the reason we were at Lorian’s, on the night we rescued you. We sent him there to spy on the organization…but he was discovered. We went there to get him out.”

  “Sorry about turning you over to…” King started to say.

  “Master Limp?” I said.

  He laughed at my description, but I wasn’t in the mood for laughs.

  “Sorry for allowing that creature to hurt innocent people? To hurt me?” I demanded.

  “I was just doing my job,” he said.

  “When you pretend to be evil, you learn to be evil. Pretending caves way to being,” I said. “You are the way you act.”

  “That’s a very astute thought,” another man at the table said. “We should talk about it.”

  “This is Preacher,” River said, trying to deflect away from King.

  The man was black, with a large amount of curly hair pulled away from his face by a rubber band. His beautiful face was marred by a single scar just under his eye. His eyes were a dark orange. They were the most peaceful eyes I had ever seen; they were eyes that had spent days upon days in deep thought. I nodded at him politely, but kept my eyes on King.

  King was fuming at my words. His face was full of anger; his neon eyes swirled with black.

  “You don’t know me!” he said. “I didn’t like what I had to do, but it saved a lot of people’s lives. The information I was able to get…”

  “King…” River warned.

  He clamped his mouth shut and glared at me.

  “I’m done playing.” He threw his cards on the table and stormed out.

  A girl with long brown hair reached across the table and picked up his cards, to look at his hand. “Damn. I had him, too…”

  “He would have out-bluffed you,” a blonde girl said.

  “We need to talk for a moment,” River hissed in my ear.

  She pulled me out of the room, down the remaining flight of stairs, and out to the back of the school.

  “You need to be careful,” River warned, once we were outside.

  “I saw him at Lorian’s! What was I supposed to think?!” I asked.

  “That Reaper would know if his people were spying on him or not,” she replied.

  “I don’t know Reaper, either!” I said. “I don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  “Fine. Fair enough. Here’s a warning for the future: Reaper doesn’t babysit us. There is no martial law here. You got a problem here you take it to the pit and fight it out. If you say ‘no’ you gotta leave. What we’re doing is too big to worry about everyone getting in fights for stupid reasons. People don’t say things here unless they want a fight…and let me assure you of something: everyone here is capable. Don’t doubt it for a moment.”

  “I will take your warning under consideration,” I said dryly, sticking my knife back into my boot.

  I wouldn’t let her warning scare me. I would always say what I thought. That was just me.

  “You are a very peculiar person,” she said after a moment.

  I smiled; the smile hurt from dozen of memories I didn’t want to face. Memories of Daniel.

  “True,” I said.

  “I would apologize to King. He’s very sensitive,” River added. She started to walk back inside. “Best not to have any enemies, even if you are just staying for a couple of weeks.”

  “Yeah…maybe,” I said.

  Apologizing felt impossible. He had been there in one of my darkest hours and had done nothing to prevent my fate. I could rationalize the fact that he was operating on orders, but that didn’t change the memory.

  When River was gone, I leaned against the brick wall and watched the landscape in front of me. I was on the opposite side of the school than my room. On this side there was nothing beyond the barren mountains. The farther away the mountains were, the less they were covered in vegetation. I thought I recognized the mountain chain, but it was hard to be sure. I realized I hadn’t even asked where I was, though I doubted we had left California.

  Two weeks, I told myself, readjusting the arm that had been shot. Two weeks until I knew the truth of what had become of my family. It would be two weeks of avoiding the others, to avoid any more encounters like the one I had just faced. I didn’t need the tension or the attention. I had other things to worry about. I had plans to make and healing to do. Getting close to people who I would inevitably leave wasn’t on the to-do list.

  The thing about intention is that it never goes to plan. Something always comes along to bend ‘intention’ to its will.

  The next morning I woke up as suddenly as a door snapping shut.

  Had a door snapped shut?

  I rolled over on my bed and saw that I wasn’t alone. King had come to find me. I tensed, thinking he had come for a fight, but his mood was far different. He sat in the chair near my bed and looked at me solemnly. His piercing eyes were extremely disconcerting. Even though they were hard to look into, I stared into them, searching for a reason for his unorthodox visit.

  “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I’m not sorry for doing my job, but I am sorry you were hurt because of it.”

  “You’re sorry, but you’re not?” I asked sarcastically. “That means a lot.”

  “This was a waste of time,” he muttered, standing.

  I shook my head at his words. I was being stupid and childish. It took a lot for him to come and apologize. I knew that.

  “Apology accepted,” I said, before he could leave. “I’m also sorry for calling you evil, and for wanting to use my knife on you.”

  He smiled at my apology and sat back down on the chair. He made a temple with his fingers in front of chest. He thoughtfully touched the temple to his lips.

  “There was so much chaos that night; do you know what happened to, uh…‘Master Limp’ and Mama Dot?”

  “Dead,” I told him.

  His face showed his approval. “Good. Did you do it?” he asked.

  “Master Limp was killed by a group of Nightstalkers…Mama Dot...was all me.”

  I still couldn’t believe I had killed her. I couldn’t believe how easy it had been and how little I regretted it. It was very different than my last kill. My official count was up to five, though I wondered if I could claim Master Limp and his helper…Having the Nightstalkers commit the murder still felt as if it was on my shoulders.

  “I wish I had seen it,” King said.

  “It didn’t feel as good as I thought it would,” I admitted. “More
like I had given them what they wanted all along.”

  He nodded. “I know the feeling.”

  “What happened to the others who escaped?”

  “Some left to go find their families…others are hanging around, until they figure out what they want to do. Most of them don’t have the courage to commit to our cause,” he said.

  “The prison had a way of sucking out courage,” I said.

  “Or building it up,” he said thoughtfully.

  I shrugged noncommittally and went back to avoiding his eyes. I wondered which group I belonged to. Neither really seemed to fit me.

  “River said you were hanging around, until you got your strength back. Then, you’re gonna find your friends or something?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Why do ask?”

  “We have a weight room here…it could help you with the first part, if you were willing to take advantage of it…”

  I consider his offer. I was so out of shape that even walking up stairs took a bit of effort. How was I going to search for my family when I could barely manage walking? I was weak. Working out – working to reclaim my strength – felt like a better way to spend my weeks.

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  “I’ll show you…” he offered.

  I followed him out of the room, feeling my opinion of him shift. It wasn’t trust, but it was the beginning of not hating everyone even remotely associated with my imprisonment. It was as good a place as any to start.

  The weight room was on the second floor, and was full of people when we entered. Various work-out machines decorated the space; heavy bags were in the far corner, and a space for sparring was in the middle of the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing when I entered and stared as if they hadn’t seen a person before. The only sounds I heard, though, were of the machines, and other sounds from around the school. There were no thoughts being forced on me. There was just the eerie silence of cold-blooded killers looking at me. It was only thing different in a situation that felt entirely too familiar.

  “Talk about déjà vu,” I said.

  “How do you mean?” King asked, waving at a few of the people.

  “This happened to me the last, first day of high school. I just can’t escape being stared at,” I said.

  “Well, if you hadn’t threatened me with a knife, they probably wouldn’t care about you,” King said. “They just want to know if we came here to fight.”

  “Oh! The answer is ‘no,’” I told the room.

  The people around us started lifting their weights, punching on bags, and otherwise pretending to ignore us. King laughed a laugh that spilled over into the space. It was infectious. My lips lifted into a reluctant grin. He winked at a pair of girls in the corner of the room and plopped down on a resistance machine. He started using it, still chuckling over my reaction to the stares.

  I went over to a leg lift machine, figuring my legs would be an easier place to start than my arms. My arm throbbed in pain every time I even thought about moving it; I would have to take it easy. As I pumped my legs on the machine, I was surprised at how glad I was for King’s visit. He was the first person to offer me a way to escape drowning in my thoughts. Perhaps, he had known this all along; it was why he had come to visit me.

  I worked out until I was exhausted – which didn’t take very long. I knew it would take time until I was back to full strength, but I enjoyed the work more than I had ever enjoyed work before. It was another new beginning for my new self. It was a step to build up the rebirth of my body. King stayed with me for the entre workout, his words and his presence a steady comfort to the mission I had placed on my body.

  Our exercise time would become a ritual. It was the only thing that kept me from submitting to the idea that no matter the amount of planning I did, it wouldn’t stop the fact that Daniel and the others were dead.

  It was the only thing that kept the two weeks of waiting manageable. It was the light that shone in the darkest of places.

  It was my hope.

  Chapter 5

  King was like clockwork.

  Every morning, just as dawn was breaking, he came and got me to exercise. There were no excuses to be made. I came with him, or else.

  He stayed in the workout room with me, until I was too tired to workout anymore. He did a lot of talking during our time together, more talking than I did. Every day, his words taught me a little more about the Saints and how they operated. I learned other things as well, things I couldn’t help but notice.

  It was obvious that night was the group’s busiest time of day. Daylight saw to a packed house at the school; it bustled with people going about their lives, planning missions, working out, getting in some quality reading time, various activities that kept them occupied. But night was different. People always left at sunset, the barn’s cars emptying and refilling again as the night wore on. The peace of the day was replaced by purpose of the dark. I often sat in my room and watched the people as they came and went, allowing myself the curiosity of distance but never allowing myself the chance to really commit to their world.

  King didn’t go out like the others did. He confessed that Reaper was making him lie low for a while; Lorian’s people were looking for him. Reaper couldn’t take the chance of letting him be found.

  King also explained during our numerous workout sessions how the Saints earned their keep. It wasn’t just saving people from dungeons or spying on the enemy. They were also criminals; proud criminals who took pride in their work. They stole cars, robbed places; did anything that would help finance their operation. They were careful to only steal from places that could afford it, or places that had ties to bad Watchers. They were the Robin Hoods of our kind, but instead of giving to the poor, they kept the money for themselves to finance their fight for freedom.

  King was passionate about the fight, whenever he brought it up. His words tried to persuade me of their vision. I knew that passion wasn’t the same thing as ‘good,’ but I listened to his words with more interest each day.

  Slowly, very slowly, I started to find my strength again. My arm would take a long time to heal properly, but I started to develop muscles in my body again, strength I had lost during my imprisonment. It felt good, as if I were doing something rather than just waiting around for a deadline. At the end of the first week I started running again, wanting to push my body as hard as was prudent.

  My first run I did alone – aware King could probably outrun me and then some – but the second one I went on, he and River both joined me. From the way they let me run in front, I felt as if I were the president on a jog around the White House. I knew the second we started running, even if they didn’t want me to know, that they were keeping an eye on me. I wasn’t sure if was Reaper’s orders, or River’s concern I would try and attack my foot again, but it was obvious.

  It wasn’t until I was halfway through my two weeks that King learned I could fight. We were in the weight room again. Two men were sparring in the center area, while we lifted weights. King watched the pair, calling out occasional insults to both as they fought. The pair took his abuse with good grace, calling insults back to him familiarly. Their jibes were something I enjoyed about the weight room. There was no ego…just people enjoying their workouts as much as the company of the other people around them. It was ‘retraining’ in a whole different way. It was a reminder that not everything was a mission or a plan. Not everything had to have a purpose.

  As the pair fought, I watched with a critical eye.

  “That guy in the red is about to be hit in the face,” I told King.

  The guy in question was knocked off his feet as his opponent punched him hard in the jaw. He groaned as he hit the floor then started laughing as the first man helped him to his feet. There was no ego-stroking, and the man who had hit the floor seemed to appreciate his opponent’s skill.

  “How’d you know?” King asked.

  “He left his guard wide open. Plus, the other guy was as obvious as a
Democrat in Texas.”

  “So you can fight, huh?” King asked, looking at me as if I had purposefully not told him.

  “Uh…no?”

  “Liar! Come on…practice bout. I’ll go easy on you,” he offered.

  “I’m handicapped, remember?” I pointed at my shoulder.

  “Oh…scared, huh? It’s cool, I get it,” he said.

  My lips pursed; a dangerous sign.

  “Just don’t come crying to me when your ass is kicked so hard, you think it’s your face,” I said.

  “Big words, big words!” he said.

  I followed him to the sparring mat, cracking my knuckles in anticipation. I measured him up as we walked. I knew he would underestimate me. He would think me weak and go for the easy hit. I intended to use that to my advantage.

  We took the other side of the mat, far enough from the other pair to matter. The guys eyed us in amusement, and they stopped fighting to watch. It was obvious they doubted my skill, but were curious to see what King was up to. King smiled at me, and started swirling his hands around in a dramatic attempt to imitate bad Kung-fu movies. I waited for him to stop with a bemused expression on my face.

  Finally, he moved forward and tried to grab me around the shoulders. When he got close enough, I used my good arm to deflect his hand, used the deflection to bring him in closer to my body, and took him to the ground, using a pressure point on his hand. The entire encounter took about five seconds.

  “Would you like to try again?” I asked standing over him.

  The others in the room were laughing and clapping in appreciation; they sent insults in King’s direction and approval in mine.

  King’s expression was a lot different than the one he’d had at the beginning of our match. His eyes were wide and surprised, and his face showed his embarrassment. He laughed at my words, however, and I held a hand out to help him out.

  “No heckling the human, got it,” he said.

  “That’s right,” I agreed.