The Rebel

EIGHT

"I can see you're having a wild Saturday night," the scruffy twenty-something guy behind the counter of the minimart said. He dropped the bottle of vanilla in a little brown bag and handed Liz her change.

Oh, great, she thought. You know your life has hit a new low when the minimart guy finds you pathetic.

"I'm just about to head over to a party my friends are giving at the UFO museum," Liz lied.

The guy gave her a knowing smile, and Liz felt her face get hot.

She didn't think there was any lower she could sink, but it turned out there was-trying to convince the minimart guy you had a life. And failing.

"Thanks," she muttered. She snatched up her bag and got out of the place as fast as she could.

But as soon as she was clear of the guy's sight, she slowed down. She was in no hurry to get home.

I wonder if Max will have called while I was gone, she thought. She'd expected him to call hours ago, but nothing. Like it would have killed him to tear himself away from the party for a few minutes?

Liz knew she had entered the self-pity zone, but she just didn't care. She figured she should just move in-pitch a tent or something. It wasn't like her life was going to get better anytime soon.

She turned onto her street. When she saw the porch light on at her house, she tried to remember if she'd flipped on the light when she left. She didn't think so.

Just as Liz reached the sidewalk, her front door swung open. Her papa stood there, glaring at her. His arms were folded across his chest, blocking out most of the line of dancing teddy bears printed on the front of his T-shirt.

"You were told not to leave the house," he said before she was halfway across the lawn.

White-hot anger erupted inside Liz. She strode up to her father and thrust the bag into his hands so hard, he almost dropped it.

"I was out scoring some drugs," she told him. She'd never said anything like that to her papa before, but it just came spewing out. And she was glad it had.

Her father took a quick look into the bag. His grim expression didn't soften.

"That isn't funny," he snapped.

"You know what else isn't funny?" Liz demanded, taking a step closer so she was right in his face. "It isn't funny that my own father doesn't trust me enough to let me leave the house."

The front door opened again, and Liz's mama appeared. "I asked Liz to go to the store for me," she said. "I forgot I didn't have enough vanilla to finish my cake, and I have to deliver it first thing in the morning."

Liz's papa jerked around to face her mother. "I don't want Liz leaving the house except for school or work unless she's with one of us," he informed her, his voice as harsh as when he'd been talking to Liz.

"All I did was-" Liz began, her anger still hotter than lava.

"Let's discuss this inside," Liz's mama interrupted. "Unless you two want to ask the neighbors for an opinion poll." She brushed distractedly at the flour covering the bib of her well-worn overalls as she led the way inside.

"There's nothing to discuss." But Mr. Ortecho followed his wife into the house. Liz took a deep breath, trying to get some kind of control over her temper, and headed after them.

"I agree that Liz should be punished for lying to us about the trip to the caverns," Mrs. Ortecho said as she closed the door.

"Of course she should be punished!" Liz's papa exploded.

The foyer was small, and his angry voice bounced off the walls. Liz felt bombarded, as if his words had physical weight.

Liz's mother made little patting, smoothing gestures in the air, as if she were trying to shape a loaf of bread. Not going to happen, Mama, Liz thought. There's no way to turn this situation into something Martha Stewart nice and neat.

"But not to let her go to the library or the store or even for a walk seems excessive," Mrs. Ortecho continued.

"Excessive?" Liz's papa repeated. "I'm trying to save our child's life, and you call it excessive?"

Liz's mama gave a little gasp, so soft Liz almost didn't hear it. Then she turned away and started to run down the hall.

As Liz watched her mother leave, she felt something tearing inside her, something that ripped away as her mother disappeared into her bedroom.

She pressed her hands over her abdomen, as if her body had actually been torn open.

It was the first time any of the three of them had even alluded to Rosa's death, even in such a roundabout way-at least in front of each other.

"I have something to tell you, and I want you both to listen," Liz announced, her voice strong and steady. Her mama didn't open the bedroom door, but Liz knew she was listening. Liz waited until her papa locked his eyes on hers.

And then she said the thing she thought she could never say. The thing that had been eating away at her like acid for years.

"I'm not Rosa."

"No one left but us," Michael said, looking around at his friends. He locked the museum's front door.

"Should we start cleaning now?" Maria asked, checking out the empty soda cans and pizza boxes scattered around the floor. "Or be lazy and-"

"There's something we need to talk about," Max announced, cutting her off.

The sharp edge to his voice instantly had everyone gathering around him.

"What's going on?" Michael demanded. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed how messed up Max's aura was.

Max shoved his hands through his hair. "Here's the deal," he said, his eyes locked on Michael's. "Alex felt something follow him through the wormhole, something that wanted to kill him."

"But it turned out that he was wrong," Maria protested. "It was just Trevor." A few of the silver sparkles in Maria's aura winked out.

"Alex and I thought there might be a third being in the hole with him. He asked me if I could get some information from the consciousness."

Michael's teeth squeaked as he ground them together. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"I sent out sort of a feeler about Trevor because that was the starting place we had." Max jammed his hands in his pockets and glanced around the circle without actually meeting anyone's eyes.

"You did what?" Michael demanded, although Max had said what Michael had been afraid he was going to say. He shot a look at Trevor. His brother's face was impassive, his aura a perfect, even beige.

"What I got back was-" Max continued, as if Michael hadn't even said anything.

"I don't want to hear it," Michael interrupted again. "If there's anything Trevor wants us to know about him, he'll tell us himself." He glanced from Maria, to Isabel, to Adam, to Alex, looking for some backup.

"Usually I'd agree with you," Alex told him. "But not this time. All our lives could be at stake. That's why I asked Max to check Trevor out."

Michael felt like punching something. Something he could whale on until his hands were bruised and bloody, until he was so exhausted that's all he could think about.

"I can't believe you're saying this," he burst out. "You're talking about my brother."

"I realize he's your brother, but we don't really know anything about him," Max answered.

"Right, we don't know anything about him at all," Maria jumped in. "Good or bad."

But Michael noticed that she had backed up half a step away from Trevor, and he saw that threads of sickly yellow had begun twining through her aura. She was scared.

"What possible reason would Trevor have for trying to kill you?" Isabel asked Alex.

Isabel's question hadn't sounded challenging. It hadn't sounded like she was defending Trevor, either. It was more like she was staying neutral until she had all the facts.

Which was the same as siding against Michael's brother. The same as siding against Michael. Was Michael the only one who knew that there was no way his brother could be some kind of potential murderer? This was total insanity.

Michael positioned himself at Trevor's side, wanting him to know that at least Michael was with him however this thing shook down. He wished he had some clue what Trevor was thinking, but his brother still had that blank look on his face, and he hadn't said a word.

"Show them," Alex told Max.

Max reached into his pocket and pulled out a stone that was filled with a pulsing blue-green light. The glow distorted the planes of his face, making him look like a stranger to Michael.

"A Stone?" Isabel breathed.

"What does that thing prove?" Michael demanded.

Alex ignored him and nailed Trevor with a hard look. "You're not going to try to pretend you don't know what that is, are you?"

"Of course I know what it is. I doubt you could find anyone on my planet who doesn't," Trevor answered, his voice flat. "It's one of the Stones of Midnight." He stretched his hand toward it, then caught himself and jammed his fingers into his pocket instead.

"It's power, pure power," Isabel said. "I can see someone killing for that." Her tone was still neutral, as if she were talking about the weather or something.

Michael felt like shaking her.

"I can tell you for sure that someone was searching my room last night," Alex jumped in again. "I didn't see their face. But they teleported out, so that kind of narrows things down." He turned to Michael. "I mean, that does narrow things down, right?"

It's like he was begging Michael to understand that… that this wasn't personal or something. Michael looked away. He didn't know what he'd end up doing if he didn't. That I'm-sorry-but-I've-got-to-do-this expression on Alex's face was about to make Michael go ballistic.

"Max, I think we need to hear what the consciousness told you," Maria said. She shot an apologetic glance at Michael.

Oh, so she was sorry, too. Well, that made this witch-hunt just fine, didn't it? As long as everybody felt bad, it didn't matter that they were accusing Michael's brother of something heinous.

"Just as, you know, a precaution," Maria added. She bent down and picked up a soda can off the floor, then stared at it as if she'd never seen one before.

"I think you'd all be more comfortable discussing me if I wasn't here," Trevor said suddenly. Then he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

"I'm coming with you," Michael called after him. But Max grabbed his arm before he could move.

Michael jerked his arm away. He stumbled backward, ramming into one of the glass display cases.

"I can't believe that you just did that. I can't believe that you all-" He stopped. There were no words that could explain how he felt right now. They'd all betrayed him, and they didn't even know it.

"We didn't say that Trevor had done anything wrong. We just need to talk it through," Maria said softly, talking to Michael as if he were some kind of wild animal that needed to be coaxed back into its cage.

"No!" Michael shouted. "No!" He slammed his fist down onto the case, and the top shattered. Shards of glass speared into his skin. Michael squeezed his fingers even tighter against his palm, forcing the glass in deeper, welcoming the pain.

"Let me heal that for you," Max said, in the same soft voice Maria had been using.

"I don't need anything from you," Michael shot back. He'd never thought he'd say those words to Max, Max, who'd always been there for him. But Michael meant the words, every one of them.

There was a choice to be made here, and he was making it. He turned on his heel and started toward the door.

"Don't," Max ordered. "The consciousness said Trevor was dangerous. He could turn on you the second you're alone."

Michael shot a glance at Max over his shoulder. "You don't get it, do you?" he asked. "He's my brother."

He sprinted out the door into the dark night. Trevor was already more than a block away. Without hesitation Michael took off after him.

Adam swept the floor of the empty museum. He wasn't sure what he was going to do when he was finished.

Should he go look for Michael? He'd been gone for more than three hours. Adam grabbed the dustpan out of the waistband of his jeans, then pushed the pile of dirt into the pan.

I haven't felt any pain or fear or anything from Michael. Or from Trevor, Adam thought. He emptied the dustpan into the garbage can behind the information counter. So they're probably okay.

He did a scan of the museum, hoping there was some other party cleanup task to keep him busy. When his eyes passed over the big front window, he felt an itchy sensation go from the top of his neck all the way to the base of his spine. Windows still sort of gave him the creeps sometimes. Gave him that feeling of huge amounts of space out there, waiting to bear down on him.

Adam touched the sunglasses in his pocket but didn't put them on. They'd been a present from Liz when he first got out of the compound. She'd thought they'd help cut down on the bewildering and dazzling stimuli that was part of everyday life aboveground. And they'd worked. But Adam liked the dazzle, even when it made him feel a little nuts.

He put the broom and the dustpan in the little closet behind the counter, then hesitated. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should be doing something-like maybe going to talk to Max and Isabel and see if the three of them could figure out some course of action to deal with the Trevor situation. Adam figured it was better than going upstairs and sitting on his butt, just hoping everything was okay with Michael.

He hurried to the front door and realized there was someone standing on the other side. Liz.

Adam's fingers shook as he fumbled with the lock and opened the door for her. His heart contracted as he saw that her eyes were red from crying and that her aura had crimson splotches of anger almost completely obscured by a thick webbing of the dark purple that signified deep grief.

"I guess you heard about Michael and Trevor," he began.

Liz dropped a gym bag on the floor. "Do you think I could stay here with you guys for a while? I'd go to Maria's, but I'm sure my father would find me and drag me home."

Obviously this wasn't about Michael and Trevor. "Of course you can stay," Adam told her. "Stay as long as you want. But Liz, what's wrong?"

"I had a fight with my papa," she answered, twisting her long dark hair into a knot on top of her head. "A fight. That sounds so minor." Her voice broke, and Adam saw fresh tears begin to fall down her cheeks. "I don't know if he'll ever talk to me again. I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to go home."

She covered her face with her hands, but she couldn't hide the fact that her shoulders were heaving with sobs, sobs Adam could almost feel shaking his own body.

What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? A guy who hadn't lived his life underground would know. A guy who wasn't a total freakazoid would know exactly how to comfort her.

He took a tentative step toward Liz, and then she flung herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face against the front of his T-shirt. He could feel her warm tears soaking through the material to his skin.

"It's okay," he whispered, feeling totally helpless and useless. "Everything is going to be okay."

She shook her head, her face still pressed against him, and her hair tumbled back down. Adam reached out and combed his fingers through it in long, even strokes. "It really is going to be okay," he repeated.

He tried to keep his thoughts away from the fact that Liz's body was touching his. This was so not the time. But his skin turned to fire at every contact point, and Adam could hardly breathe with wanting her. His hands longed to explore the curves of her body, experience the texture of her skin. Adam denied them. He kept lightly brushing Liz's hair.

He remembered having a nightmare when he was a little boy in the compound. One of the guards, a woman, had come into his glass cell and sat on his bed. She'd stroked his hair until he'd fallen back asleep. That was what Liz needed from him right now. Warmth, not heat.

Gradually the sobs shuddering through her body grew gentler, then stopped. Liz lifted her head.

"Sorry," she mumbled without looking at him. She brushed at the wet spot on the front of his T-shirt, the light pressure of her fingers sending jolts through his body. "Sorry I bawled all over you."

He gently pulled her hand away from his shirt. "Don't worry about it." He started to release her, but her fingers twined around his. Adam marveled at how he could feel that touch all the way down to the arches of his feet.

"You're so sweet," Liz said, finally looking at him. They were almost exactly the same height, so her dark brown eyes met his evenly. She leaned closer and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Adam didn't have a chance to react before it was over, before his first kiss ever was over.

"You're sweet, too," Adam answered, although the word was totally inadequate to describe Liz. His eyes dropped to her lips, her beautifully shaped, beautifully full lips. Michael said it's okay for friends to kiss, he thought.

It was as if the thought propelled him forward. He hesitated with his lips a fraction of an inch away from hers. She didn't pull away, so he kissed her, a kiss only seconds longer than hers had been.

Or at least it would have been that short if Liz hadn't cupped the back of his head with one hand, keeping his mouth on hers. It's like all my molecules are… dancing, Adam thought fuzzily.

Then he felt Liz's tongue teasing open his lips, and all thought slammed to a halt. Adam was thrown into a universe of pure sensation-hot, wet, sweet.

Liz.

Adam pulled Liz closer, greedy for even more. She responded by sliding her hands up under his shirt, her palms running across his bare back.

He pushed her thick hair to one side so his fingers could taste the skin at the base of her neck. He felt a little shiver rip through her, and he was awed by the realization that he could have that effect on her. On Liz.

Adam wrenched his lips away from her mouth, hating to leave it but needing to continue discovering her, needing to make her shiver again. He traced the line of her jaw with his tongue, then moved down and concentrated on the hollow of her throat, sucking at the tender center, scraping his teeth lightly against her collarbone.

Liz shivered again, then she slowly eased herself away from him. "We can't… We have to stop."

Adam's ability to think slowly returned. "Why?" he asked, his body screaming to return to hers.

"Max," Liz said simply.

The name was like a gallon of ice water thrown over Adam.

"Right. Max," he repeated.

"I used to hang out here a lot, when things got too intense at one of my homes. It's the cave where our pods were left until it was time for us to break free," Michael told Trevor. "There's a sleeping bag over there." He pointed to the back of the cave. "And there are some canteens and food stashed in that hole I carved out of the limestone."

"Thanks," Trevor said. He walked over and sat down on the bag. Michael sat down next to him and leaned back against the hard, cool wall.

What if Trevor is dangerous?

The thought flashed through Michael's head so fast, he didn't have time to stop it. He glanced over at Trevor. He hoped his brother hadn't seen any trace of suspicion in Michael's aura.

"Sorry about what happened back at the museum," Michael said. They hadn't talked about it during the drive out to the cave. They'd just listened to the radio and pretended everything was normal.

"I guess I should have said something, defended myself. I was just too blown away," Trevor said. He gave a harsh bark of laugher. "No one's ever called me a killer before."

"You've got to get out more," Michael joked. Or tried to. It sounded funnier in his head. That seemed to happen a lot with Trevor, the sounded-better-in-the-head phenomenon.

"I almost could see the humans being suspicious of me, but…" Trevor let his words trail off.

"It's not a nonhuman-human thing," Michael explained. He shifted slightly, trying to find a position where the cave wall wouldn't dig into his spine. "If you'd asked me six months ago, I'd have told you that there was no way a human could be trusted not to murder you in your sleep."

The word murder seemed to come out of his mouth louder than the others. What if Max is right about Trevor? Michael thought again.

Michael squeezed his hand into a fist, grinding the bits of glass deeper, hoping the pain would bring back his righteous anger, his absolute certainty that Max and Alex had no clue what Trevor was really about. It didn't.

"There have been tons of times when Alex, Liz, and Maria have put their own lives in danger to save me, Max, and Isabel," Michael continued, suddenly feeling very tired. He stretched out onto his back. But it felt weird to be lying down with Trevor still sitting up, so Michael shoved himself upright again.

"So I know for sure that nothing that was said tonight had anything to do with who is human and who isn't. Actually, I don't even think Maria necessarily believed that Alex was right about you," Michael rushed on. "And Liz-Liz is totally logical. When she hears about this, I can guarantee you she won't jump to any conclusions."

Although logic might tell Liz to err on the side of caution. Logic might tell her that they should all stay very far away from Trevor if and until they were absolutely sure he wasn't a threat.

"What about Isabel?" Trevor asked, his gray eyes glittering with intensity.

"I think Izzy was withholding judgment," Michael answered. "It looked like she wanted to hear everything before she made up her mind."

"But she's willing to consider the possibility that I would have killed Alex for the Stone if I could," Trevor said, bitterness edging his voice.

Michael thought about the cool way Isabel had asked her questions back at the museum. "I'm not going to lie to you-I think Isabel is in guilty-until-proven-innocent mode." He took a deep breath. "Too much has happened to her-to all of us, I guess-to make it that easy to trust people."

"I don't have to ask what Max thought," Trevor said.

Michael reached into the hole in the cave wall, pulled down a battered metal canteen, and took a long swig. "Grape soda and soy sauce. Want some?"

Trevor took the canteen, tilted back his head, and let some of the drink pour down his throat. "Excellent," he said.

"We're pretty much the only ones who think so-not even Max, Izzy, or Adam will drink it," Michael answered.

Trevor and I are so much alike, Michael thought. Why can't Max see that?

"The thing with Max…" Michael paused, not sure exactly what he wanted to say. "Max is practically like my brother. It's just that, lately…" He shook his head. "I don't know, since he went through his akino and joined the consciousness, he's been changing. Sometimes it's like he's not even Max anymore."

"Yeah, that happens a lot," Trevor answered. "A lot of the beings come to the Kindred because they refused to join the consciousness. They didn't want to lose their sense of self. You know, their identity."

"Isn't that basically the same as committing suicide?" Michael asked.

"You mean because you'll die if you go through your akino without making the connection?" Trevor asked. He handed the canteen to Michael, and Michael shoved it back in the hole. "That's bull," Trevor continued, his voice rough with anger. "That's what the consciousness wants you to think, but it's complete bull."

"No way," Michael said. "I saw Max during his akino. He really almost died." Michael still had nightmares where he was forced to attend Max's funeral again and again.

"Do I look alive to you?" Trevor asked.

"Yeah, but-" Michael stared at Trevor. "Are you saying you've already gone through your akino?"

"You got it," Trevor answered.

"Is there any way to break the connection?" Michael demanded. "Can Max?"

"The consciousness is too strong for an individual being to break free," Trevor answered. "And I get the feeling that Max is so far along that he wouldn't want to separate himself from the consciousness even if he could."

"Maybe you're right," Michael reluctantly admitted. He shoved himself to his feet. "I've got to take off. I know it sounds stupid, but I don't want to leave Adam alone too long. Can you think of anything else you might need?"

Trevor shook his head and stood up, too. "I've slept in much worse places, that's for sure."

"I'll come by after school tomorrow with some more supplies, but I don't think you'll have to hole up here more than a few days," Michael said." I'm going to talk to Max and Alex and the others. I'm sure I'll be able to convince them you're not dangerous or anything."

I don't know how, he added to himself. But I'm going to do it. I've got to.

Trevor looked doubtful, but he didn't say anything.

"So, uh, see you," Michael said as he backed toward the mouth of the cave.

"Want me to heal your hand before you go?" Trevor volunteered. "Or do you want to keep walking around dripping blood?"

"I can do it myself," Michael told him quickly.

If he and Trevor connected, Michael would be open to attack. Trevor could just grab a vein in his head and start squeezing.

But that wouldn't happen-because Trevor isn't a killer, Michael told himself. He strode forward and stretched his hand out to his brother.

"Actually, it would be easier if you did it for me."