Five's Legacy

CHAPTER NINE

IT’S KIND OF STRANGE HOW QUICKLY TIME GOES by after Ethan takes me under his wing. I tell myself I’ll stay a day or two, and then weeks pass like nothing. I keep thinking, “I’ll leave tomorrow.” But it’s always tomorrow and never today, and I stay.

There are no more courier assignments or picked pockets. I live in luxury.

With a place like Ethan’s it’s difficult to imagine going back to sleeping on rooftops or in a shack. His house has everything you could ever want. A library, game room, beachfront view—there’s even a little movie theater in the basement, which is where I spend a lot of my free time. Everything’s locked and unlocked with a little key card I carry around in the expensive wallet Ethan bought me. There’s a staff that cleans up after me. And there’s a cook. A cook. He’s probably my favorite person in the house. Aside from Ethan, who watches movies with me almost every night.

I like to remind myself that Rey would have wanted me safe. What could be safer than a place like Ethan’s? A compound. Ethan sets me up in a room bigger than our entire shack on the island. I practically have the whole second floor to myself. Everything I could possibly want. Things I didn’t even know I needed. We never had floss on the island, much less computers. I use the internet to try to find anything I can about the Garde—any news article or blog posts I can find that might lead me to them—but every time I think I’m getting close, the internet turns into a brick wall. I get an error message in the browser telling me the link is broken or the website is having difficulties. I figure the other Cêpans are doing this, trying to cover their tracks. If Rey were alive and we had the internet, I’m sure he’d be going around deleting things I posted too, or hacking into news sites.

That, or the other Garde are just too scared to come forward or do anything other than sit around waiting for something to happen for them to react to.

Not like Ethan. Ethan’s like a dream Cêpan. Anything I want, he gives me. And anything he wants, he just takes.

“Everything out there can be yours,” he says at least once a day, and when he does it sounds like he means it. It makes sense. What better display of strength and power is there than being able to do whatever you want when you want to. Ethan forgoes the running and weight training and instead focuses on my Legacies. I tell him I don’t know where they came from, and he says it doesn’t matter—all that matters is that we have them to use now. And he trains me, some days on the precision of my telekinesis, and other days on its strength. Flying comes easier and easier, until I can lift off with hardly a thought. His staff is well paid and wouldn’t dare speak of anything they see. And he assures me he’s definitely not telling anyone about what I can do. I’m his secret weapon. He has incredible things for my future. When I’m ready.

It’s a future I’m excited to discover.

Ethan believes in power. I think he’s obsessed with it. It’s not hard to see how happy he gets when he takes us to a fancy restaurant or some incredibly expensive boutique and the servers and employees treat him like a god who’s come down to Earth to order a filet mignon. I get it. I feel that way, too, when I’m with him. The thrill of being looked up to, of being envied even.

It’s like an addiction.

But envy and money aren’t the only aspects of power that Ethan values. His trade requires intimidation.

It’s not something I’m good at.

A few months after the incident at the warehouse, one day after lunch, we walk through some trendy part of downtown Miami that’s all billboards and lights. Ethan wears his normal dark suit and I’ve got on a T-shirt and jeans that cost enough money to probably buy the entire island I lived on with Rey. Gone is my long, matted brown hair. I’ve got a buzz cut now. I wonder how I survived in the tropics so long with so much hair on my head.

As usual, I keep an eye out for Emma. I don’t know if I really want to see her again, but I don’t want to just run into her on the street by surprise.

The last thing I need is another concussion.

We pass by a handful of kids a little older than me sitting outside a coffee shop—two guys and two girls. I don’t notice the dog at their feet until it barks at me, and I jump back, startled, half knocking Ethan into the street.

The table erupts in laughter. One of the girls apologizes and pulls the dog back on its leash.

“Pansy-ass douche bag,” one of the guys mutters to his friend.

“What was that?” Ethan asks, stepping up to the table.

I can see all of them begin to look uncomfortable.

“Nothing,” the guy says.

“Did you hear what he called you?” Ethan asks me. I recognize the tone in his voice. He’s turned on teacher mode, ready to impart some important lesson.

“Yeah . . .” I say.

“And are you a douche bag?”

“Hey, man,” the girl says. “We’re sorry. He didn’t mean anything. He’s just a jerk.”

Ethan ignores her. Instead, he talks to me.

“That boy disrespected you.”

“I guess.” I shrug.

Ethan looks around for a moment. We’re off to the side of the shop. There are not many people on the street. No one near us, at least.

“Then show him he should respect you.”

The guy at the table stands up. He’s twice my height, and at least two heads taller than Ethan.

“Leave it,” the guy says.

I look over at Ethan hesitantly.

“You have to start at the bottom of the food chain and work your way up,” Ethan says quietly. He turns to meet my eyes. “If you don’t teach them that you’re more powerful than they are, they’ll never fear you. It’s time for you to take action.”

I nod to him.

“Look,” the guy says, “I said—”

I raise my hand out in front of me and suddenly the boy flies three feet backwards, crashing into the wall of the coffee shop. He starts cursing and frantically trying to move, but I’ve got him a foot off the ground. He has no leverage. I’m in control.

The others at the table gasp and start to freak out.

“The girl’s got a phone out,” Ethan says calmly.

With my other hand I use my Legacy to rip it from her fingers and throw it to the ground. The screen shatters.

“The boy is going to run for it.”

One of the other guys at the table is heading towards the side entrance. I take his legs out from under him with a flick of my wrist.

“There’s someone behind you.”

I swing around, both palms out, ready to fight.

But there’s no one there.

I turn to Ethan. He’s smiling.

“Perfection,” he says. Then he glances around quickly. “We should go.”

I let the boy drop to the ground. He’s shaking and gasping for air as we walk away as if nothing has happened. His friends gather around him. My heart is thumping in my chest. I feel dizzy and light and weirdly satisfied.

I can’t help but grin.

“You look pleased with yourself,” Ethan says. “How did that feel?”

“Wonderful,” I say.

It felt wonderful.

A year after being at Ethan’s—almost down to the day—I’m pulled out of sleep in the middle of the night. My calf is on fire. I yelp, howling at the pain as I knock half the things off the nightstand trying to find the light. Even before it’s switched on, I know what the burning means.

Death.

Another one is gone.

A swirling, reddish symbol has appeared on my leg above two similar ones. Three is dead. This red mark is likely the only kind of tombstone he or she will get. Another Garde sacrificed for the Lorien cause. Only one person rests between me and death now, if what Rey always told me was true about the order in which we had to be killed.

Number Four.

I stagger out of bed, wincing a bit every time I put weight down on my ankle. And it’s more weight than usual. After a year of meals served up in Ethan’s house any time of day I might be hungry, I look nothing like the sunburned, skinny kid from the island. I’m built like a tank now. Solid. Maybe a little on the chubby side. Definitely a lot pastier than I was a year ago. I’ve been focusing much more on my Legacies than keeping my body in shape.

The death of Three takes me completely by surprise. I haven’t necessarily forgotten about Lorien and the Garde, but without Rey constantly badgering me about them, all that has kind of lived in the back of my mind. I’ve spent so much time lately living things up with Ethan that the Garde have once again become stories. I’ve forgotten that they’re actual people. I’ve tried to ignore the fact that I may end up the next target on death’s numerical list.

One more way I tell lies, I guess. Only these are told to myself.

My mind is finally catching up with my body’s wakefulness, and I start to think of all the implications this new development might have. Maybe Four’s death isn’t that far away. There’s always the chance that Three and Four were together. I do always imagine the other Garde working together without me.

I walk around the room holding my breath, waiting for a new searing burn to take over my leg. But after a few minutes nothing comes. Still, if another scar does appear, it means I’m next. I’m the new big target.

Me, and anyone else I’m around.

I stop pacing.

I could leave right now. Ethan would never be any wiser to what’s actually going on. I could fly away to a different city. A different country. Finally up to Canada—just a while later than I’d planned.

But I don’t want to be on my own again. Maybe Ethan would want to go with me. For someone who doesn’t like big groups of people, the thought of not having one person to rely on scares me.

Even then, though, the Mogs might track me back to him. We haven’t necessarily been subtle with the use of my powers. I feel so stupid all of the sudden. As good as it felt displaying my superiority over people like that asshat at the coffee shop, I never should have let Ethan talk me into it.

I have to tell him about what’s happening. It’s the least I can do for how good he’s been to me.

As I slip out of my room, I can almost hear Rey’s voice in the back of my head. Tell no one who you are. Tell no one what you know. Secrecy is your greatest weapon. But Rey’s not actually here now, and the world hasn’t exactly been the labyrinth of fear and persecution that he always said it would be. I’ve been in Miami for over a year and I haven’t even heard so much as a whisper of the word “Lorien.” If Rey were still alive, we’d probably be fishing sea snails out of their shells with bamboo shoots while we sweated and half-starved on some tropic island.

No, I have to tell Ethan. Maybe he can help somehow. He’s smart and rich—maybe there’s some titanium-plated safe house he can take me to. Or weapons. Maybe he knows someone in the military who can nuke Mogadore.

Or something.

I slink through the dark house. Ethan’s bedroom door is cracked, but he’s not inside. No lights are on in the bathroom or closet. He’s not there.

Gone.

My heart skips a beat.

They’ve already come. They’ve taken him. It’s too late, and I’m fucked.

Then I notice Ethan’s bed. It’s still made. He hasn’t gone to sleep yet.

Maybe he’s still awake.

I make my way downstairs cautiously, looking for lights in the kitchen and den, but there are none. I’m about to go outside when I hear the faintest strains of music floating through the air from somewhere farther inside the house. One swelling measure, and then it’s gone.

Tiptoeing through the halls, I figure out where it’s coming from. The door to Ethan’s private study—the room that shall not be entered—is cracked open. There’s a sliver of light shining through.

No way.

I’ve been over every inch of this house for the past year and this is the only room my key card won’t open. I even tried to jimmy the lock with my telekinesis one day when Ethan was out, with no luck. It’s always been an impenetrable fortress.

Until now, I guess.

I push the door open just a little more and am surprised by how heavy it is. The thing must be made of metal or something. I peer in.

There’s a wall of bookshelves on one side, but most of the rest of the room is covered in charts and graphs. A big circular desk in the center of the floor has a map spread across it covered in pins and little flags. Ethan sits at his workstation. There are three—no, make that four—computer monitors hooked up to a couple of PC towers, and a laptop opened off to the side. Music pours out of speakers hidden around the room, the volume just above a whisper. Beethoven, I think, but I only know that because Ethan dragged me to a symphony once thinking I might take a liking to a bunch of violins or something.

Ethan’s back is to me, but I can hear him. He’s talking to someone. It looks like a video call. I can almost make out the person on the screen.

My body freezes. “Person” might be the wrong word.

The figure on the screen has black hair, slicked back, with some other black marks—birthmarks? Tattoos?—peeking out at the sides. His eyes are dark orbs. On the sides of his nose are shining little slivers of flesh, like monstrous gills standing out against his ashen skin.

I’ve seen faces like that before. Only once. In Canada.

A Mogadorian.

Before I can wrap my head around anything that’s going on, Ethan speaks.

“What about Four? Have you got a lock on him?”

My head pounds.

What’s going on?

“We have a few leads.” The Mog grins, exposing rows of gray teeth. “It shouldn’t be long now. It’s only a matter of waiting for him to slip up now that Number Three has been taken off the board. We’d had leads connecting him to Florida, but it seems like those were probably all pointing to your charge.”

No, no, no, none of this is right.

“More than likely.” Ethan nods. “None of our eyes in Miami have reported anything, at least.”

His charge. The Mog is talking about me. My heart leaps into my throat. They know where I am.

Is Ethan working for them? Is he one of them?

Nothing’s making sense. My thoughts race. The red mark on my calf burns.

“And Number Five?” the Mog bastard asks. “I trust his training continues as planned.”

My hands tremble.

“He remains well,” Ethan says. He cocks his head to the side just a bit. “In fact, he’s here right now.”

A little cry escapes through my lips.

“I’ll have to call you back,” Ethan says, tapping on the keyboard. The Mog disappears.

So do I.

I have to get out of this house. Whatever is happening, my cover’s been blown, and I can’t afford to stick around and try to figure things out.

I dart for the front door, but it’s locked. My key card is upstairs, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t do any good.

I head to the back door—the sliding one that opens up to the patio, the one that’s never locked—but it won’t budge. I pick up a nearby chair and slam it into the glass. It should be more than enough force to shatter it. Instead, the chair just bounces off.

This house suddenly seems like one big prison.

“Bulletproof,” Ethan says from behind me.

I whirl around, holding up my fists, ready to punch him or use my telekinesis against him. He just stands there unarmed with his hands out in front of him, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“Explain yourself!” I shout with a fury I didn’t even know I had in me. I’m running on pure adrenaline now.

“Look, there’s no reason for us to fight. I don’t want to, and we both know there’s no way I could even attempt to match you if—” He takes a step forward and I blast him back, sending him toppling over a gray couch in the living room, crashing through a glass coffee table.

When he looks up, he seems oddly pleased.

“I deserved that.”

“Explain yourself,” I say again. Not as loud, but more earnestly.

What has he done? What have I done?

Ethan gets up slowly and sits on the edge of the couch. He pulls a piece of glass out of his palm, wincing slightly.

“All right,” he says. “Let’s be honest with each other for once.”

I nod. He takes a deep breath and then starts to talk.

“I am not a thief or playboy criminal or anything like that. Not originally, at least. That was just a persona that was created for me. We have so many ties to the people that run this city—both the criminals and the politicians—that it was easy to plant me here.”

“How did you even find me?” is all I can manage to sputter.

“You flew to shore last year. That sort of thing gets noticed. Maybe not by the media or the police, but people talk. And we were listening.”

“Who are you? You don’t look like a Mog.”

“Do you know about the Greeters?”

That word brings up memories of Rey talking. An image of us in Canada flashes in my mind, me tucked into bed and my Cêpan telling me about our escape from Lorien. Ethan just keeps on talking.

“The Greeters were humans who met the Cêpans when you first arrived on Earth. They helped the Garde transition into life here. That sort of thing.”

Garde. Cêpan. It’s so strange to hear these words coming out of Ethan’s mouth—words I’ve kept hidden for so long.

“Right,” I say. “So what does that have to do with you?”

“I was supposed to be one of them.”

“You’re a Greeter?”

“I was a part of this message board that a man named Malcolm . . . You know what, that part doesn’t matter. What matters is that I predicted the future. I know power—know potential—when I see it. That part of me is true. And I could see that there was no way that Lorien’s squad of children could ever hope to stand up to the Mogadorians. So when the Mogs came to Earth looking for you, I struck a deal with them. In exchange for my service, I will be spared. Earth’s future belongs to the Mogadorians, and when they take over they’ll remember that I was the one who helped them.” He slumps a little, and when he talks again it’s more to himself than to me. “I chose correctly too. The Greeters haven’t necessarily had a great life since then.”

“You sold me out so you could live,” I say quietly, backing up against the door. My eyes dart outside. Suddenly I realize what this means. “They’re here to kill me already, aren’t they?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Ethan says, raising his hands again, one of them bloody from the glass. “You misunderstand. I’m not helping them by handing you over to them so they can kill you. They don’t want to hurt you at all. I’m helping them by training you. You’re going to rule here, Cody. The Mogadorians want you to reign alongside them.”

My mouth drops open.

“What?” I ask again dumbly, but it’s the only word I can summon right now.

“The Garde are done for,” Ethan says. “You’ve got another scar, right? That leaves six of you. The Mogadorians have an entire army—hell, entire worlds at their disposal. Do you really think Lorien poses any threat? That Earth could stop them?”

I don’t answer, just stand there trying to make sense of everything that’s happening.

“Why me?”

“They have others. Number Nine is in their custody right now, but he’s not leadership material. I know, because I’ve met him. You’re the one that’s got what it takes. The power and the hunger. All this—this house, the staff, me teaching you—everything was put together for you. To make you stronger.”

“You have Nine?” My mind races. For so long the other Garde have just been stories and scars—it’s almost shocking to hear that Ethan’s actually met one of them.

“Oh yes,” Ethan says. “You wouldn’t like him. He’s arrogant and cocky. A pretty boy. And do you know where he and his Cêpan were while you were picking pockets on the beach to stay alive? In a giant apartment in Chicago. Living a life of luxury. The life you should have been leading—and have been leading since you’ve been in my care.”

The last year of my life has been a lie. No wonder I haven’t felt like I’ve been hunted while in Miami—I’ve been in their care the whole time.

“But . . .” I struggle for words. “Rey . . . my destiny . . .”

“Your destiny is whatever you make of it,” Ethan says. He pats at something in his pants pocket and I can hear a metallic click in the door behind me. “You’re free to go if you want. But think about what that would mean. Three have fallen. The rest will fall in time. You can die with them, for some fight that you inherited, a fight that was forced upon you, or you can live like a king. The Mogs will give you Earth. They’ll give you anything you want. You were raised to think of them as the enemy, but that’s just because it’s all you knew. It’s a weird form of brainwashing. Try to put things in perspective. The Mogs are not your enemy. They’re your only chance for survival.”

No.

Before Ethan can say anything else I’ve used my telekinesis to push open the back door and am soaring through the sky. I worry for a moment that something might shoot me down—that there are guns or lasers hidden in the trees around Ethan’s compound—but nothing stops me from going.

I fly out over the water, low enough that no one should be able to see me. The Garde. Ethan. The Mogs. My mind is a mess and I can’t think straight. It doesn’t help that I’m surrounded by nothing but ocean now, bringing back memories of Rey’s little sailboat and being lost out at sea, near death.

How is it possible that everything I’ve done has been so wrong?

I fly back to the mainland—miles and miles away from Ethan’s home—to try to calm down and think rationally. I land on the top of the tallest building in downtown Miami, perch on the edge of the roof. And there I sit, trying to make sense of it all.

Everything about my life after I crash-landed on the beach might have been arranged by the Mogs. Well, not everything. It would have taken a while for word to spread about me. Everything after meeting Ethan on the beach has probably been staged, but things before that might not have been.

Like Emma. Did she know about me? Was she just a plant to get me into Ethan’s sights? Part of the plan all along? For some reason, the answers to these questions nag at my brain. When she called me a monster, was it because she really thought I was one or because she was told to do so?

I take the little rubber ball from my pocket and roll it over the backs of my knuckles. It’s the only little piece of my past I have left. That and . . .

Shit.

My Loric Chest is back in my room at Ethan’s. Of course I forgot it. I’m such an idiot. Rey would be furious if he were alive to know I’d left it like I did during his fake Mog attack back on the island.

But Rey’s not here. It wasn’t even a Mogadorian that killed him. It was this planet. Or his own body.

Rey’s not here. No one is. It’s just me.

I’m alone again.

My thoughts flash to the other Garde. The Mogs have Nine. That means there are only five of us alive and free. Five of us against the world. Against several worlds.

I wonder if Ethan might be right. Maybe Lorien’s last-chance plan of enchanting a bunch of little kids and sending them to another planet never had any hope of success. We never even got to question whether that was what we wanted to do or not. No one asked us if we wanted to be the chosen ones.

I’m suddenly reminded of a movie Emma and I saw together before everything went to hell—some horror flick we’d laughed our way through. There was an island inhabited by a cult and a man was stranded on it. He and the rest of the audience knew that the people in the cult were crazy, but they didn’t. They’d been a part of the cult their whole lives and just couldn’t see that they were the bad guys.

Was that my story too?

I wish Rey were here to make sense of things. Already he’s fading from my memory. And the things I do remember vividly are his rules, or his disappointment, or his failed training.

And his last words. Do whatever it takes to survive.

I stay on the roof all night. By morning, I still don’t know what my next move should be. And even though I know I shouldn’t—that it’s probably being watched—I go to the beach where I first met Emma.

I find the arepa stand where I bought us snacks.

It takes the owner a few moments to recognize me with a few extra pounds and close-cropped hair. When he finally does, he looks spooked.

“Have you seen Emma around?” I ask him.

He shakes his head a little.

“She’s gone.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” I ask. My heart races. If the Mogs killed her . . .

“Her family moved a few months ago. Her brother had been in the hospital for a while, but when he finally got out, they wanted to start over somewhere new. They hightailed it out of here.”

His face is going pale. At first I think the Mogs have shown up behind me or something, but then I realize it’s me. Emma must have told him, or the other locals, what she’d seen. About what a freak I was.

The man crosses his hand over his head and chest. He keeps talking, but I walk away.

I wander aimlessly, frustration growing inside me. Four other Garde are free, but hidden away. Probably living in high-rises or penthouses like Nine was. And here I am alone again. Forgotten. Having to start over.

Something hot boils up inside me. I slam my fist against the brick wall of a store beside me. And then, something strange starts to happen.

My body changes.

I can feel it stiffening and growing heavy. My skin grows dry and looks brittle.

I take a few steps away from the wall and back into a stop sign on the street. I wrap my fingers around it for balance—my head is spinning—and squeeze. The metal crumples under my touch.

Then my skin changes again. It takes on a silvery sheen. I stumble forward, pulse quickening. I lean against a storefront window. Again I change. I raise my hand. I can see through it.

Glass. I’ve turned into glass.

At first I think I’m dying—maybe I’ve been poisoned somehow. But with every step I take and every different material my fingers graze, it becomes more apparent what’s happening.

I’m turning into the things I touch.

My hands shake. My eyes grow wide and dry. It’s everything I can do just to keep breathing at a normal pace.

It’s early in the morning, and there aren’t many people around, but that will change. Soon, there’ll be crowds everywhere. Whatever is happening to me, I can’t stay out in the open.

I have to get to safety. To shelter.

I don’t want to be alone.

There’s only one person I know who can help me. Only one person I know, period.

I somehow manage to turn into a normal, fleshy human again, and then I’m in the air, flying faster than I ever have before, throwing caution to the wind as I soar high over the city. When I crash onto the beach at the back of Ethan’s property, one of the maids sees me and runs inside.

I try to stand on the beach, but suddenly I’m sinking—no, not sinking, I’m falling apart as my legs disintegrate, breaking up and turning into tiny pieces of earth. I’m becoming one with the beach. I scream as I start to collapse in on myself.

What’s happening? I wonder frantically. And then another, more pressing thought appears. I’m going to die a pile of beach.

“Cody!” someone shouts. It’s Ethan. The maid must have found him.

My torso’s falling apart now. I try to shout to Ethan but the only thing that escapes my throat is a dry wheeze. I reach forward, but my arm is already starting to break down.

He runs straight for me, grabbing my hand as best as he can, but half of it slips through his fingers. Part of me touches his watch and I start to solidify again, this time taking on a gold, metallic sheen. The rest of my body follows suit.

I hyperventilate. My heart thumps in my chest, and I swear for a moment it sounds like metal, clanging against my rib cage. That makes me freak out even more, and I can’t catch my breath.

“Calm down,” Ethan says. “This is . . .” He struggles to find the right word. “I guess you’re developing new powers or something.”

Calm down? Is he joking?

“Breathe, Cody,” he says.

I almost shout “You know that’s not my name” but stop myself.

The maid reappears. She hands a little black bag to Ethan. He says something back to her that I don’t hear while I continue to have the panic attack to end all panic attacks.

He pulls out a little vial of something from the bag. He snaps it in two and holds it up to my face.

“What—” I start.

“Just something to help you relax,” he says.

Some kind of white smoke drifts out of the vial and I start to feel light and dizzy.

“There you go,” Ethan says.

He grabs my hand to help me to my feet, and I don’t know if it’s the weird smoke or touching real human flesh, but suddenly I’m me again—flesh and bone and not looking like some kind of gold robot.

Before I know it I find it hard to think of anything—to even feel anything—and all I see is black.

When I wake up, I expect to be restrained or locked up somehow, but I’m still just lying on top of the covers. The window is even open. My duffel bag is on the bed beside me, my Loric Chest still inside.

Ethan sits in a chair at the foot of the bed.

“Good afternoon,” he says. There’s hesitancy in his voice, like he’s unsure how to act. Or how I’ll act.

I glance around, looping my arm through the straps of my bag.

“What did you give me?” I ask, thinking back to the strange white smoke.

“Nothing harmful,” Ethan says. “Just a little tranquilizer. I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself if you didn’t stop changing.”

My heart starts beating furiously as I remember the feeling of breaking apart on the beach.

“No,” Ethan says in his most authoritative voice. “Calm down. Breathe deeply. You don’t want to start morphing again.”

I nod, trying to focus on taking long, slow breaths. There’s a residual numbness from whatever the drug was. I feel alert and focused, but relaxed.

Ethan’s eyebrows knit together. Either he’s genuinely worried about me or he’s a really great actor. I’m not sure which is the case at this point. He throws his hands out to his sides.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” he says. “It’s just you and me.”

“Like I’m supposed to believe you.”

“It’s important to them that you come of your own free will. That only makes sense. The Mogadorians don’t want someone they’ve forced to rule. They want someone who wants to be a part of their cause.”

“Free will?” I mutter. “That’s what you call all the lies you’ve told me?”

Ethan frowns.

I grip the handles of the duffel bag. I can be out the window in an instant if I need to be. But a huge part of me really wants to talk to Ethan, to find out why he’s done these things. To answer all the questions welling up inside me.

“Was Emma in on this?”

“Emma,” Ethan says with a frown. “No, she didn’t know anything that was going on. The men who attacked you at the warehouse were staged, but I honestly had no idea her brother would be one of them. They were just lackeys. I believe her family has moved to Tampa since you’ve been here. We keep tabs on them. I could have her brought here if you wanted.”

“No,” I say. All that means is that her hatred of me—her calling me a freak—was real. She was not really my friend. I wonder if that’s how all humans react to Legacies and superpowers like mine.

“You found Emma yourself. All I did was nudge you. Hell, all I did was show up on the beach and give you an opportunity. You came to us. You just didn’t know who we were.” He leans in a little. “Think about it. The Loric never gave you the choice we’re giving you. They put a spell on you and sent you away. They told you who you had to be. All I’m offering you is another way. A better way.”

“What about the other Garde?”

He shrugs.

“Maybe they’ll learn to see reason too.”

“And if I leave?”

“I’m not going to stop you,” Ethan says, looking very serious. “The last thing I want is for you to be hurt. But once you leave I can’t protect you any longer. If you turn down this offer, you’re the enemy. You won’t even be safe here. You’ve probably guessed it by now, but this isn’t my house. The Mogadorians arranged for it.”

“If I leave, you’ve failed your mission, haven’t you?” I ask.

Ethan nods. I know what this means. I’ve heard enough stories about the ruthlessness of the Mogs to know that they don’t tolerate failures. If I leave, Ethan is probably as good as dead.

I stare at him. Everything has happened so fast. Everything’s changed so quickly.

“I know you, Five,” Ethan says. “How good it makes you feel to be in control and respected. You can feel like that forever when you’re ruling with the Mogs. I’ve seen their power. It’s amazing. And they want you to be a part of it. They want you to be on their side, be one of them.”

“Everything out there can be yours,” I say, quoting Ethan’s favorite motto.

“Everything,” he says.

I close my eyes. It’s all too much to take in. But what Ethan says makes sense. At least, mostly.

The Elders left me with a dying old man to protect me. The Mogs built me up and gave me anything I wanted. Groomed me. They’re the ones who have shown me the most respect in my lifetime.

They’re the ones who can keep me alive.

I think of the other Garde. What easy lives they’ve probably had. Competent Cêpans. Homes in cities. One day in the future they will likely look at me and tell me that I’ve betrayed them. But who knows? Maybe they’ll see reason. If I can just talk to them, maybe they’ll start to see things differently. Why should we be hunted down like animals when we could be rulers? The humans don’t have powers like ours. They think we’re freaks. Monsters. We could show them what we truly are together.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “What do we do now?”

Relief washes over Ethan’s face, and his smile erupts again, the one I know so well by now.

“I’ll let them know,” he says. “Get your things together. They’ll want to talk with you as soon as possible.”

I nod, and head to the stairs.

“Hey.” Ethan turns back to me before leaving. “I’m proud of you. You’re doing the right thing. You’re doing the smart thing. That’s the biggest test of all.”

I move as if in a daze. My body functions, but it’s as if someone else is controlling it. I wonder briefly if I’m in shock. That’s what they always say on TV when someone’s been through something crazy like this.

“We’re heading up north,” Ethan yells from the stairs. “Grab a coat.”

I pull some cold-weather clothes out of the back of my closet—stuff Ethan bought me a while ago that I’ve never had reason to wear. Then I head for the door.

I pause and then turn back. I pick up my duffel bag and take my Loric Chest out, placing it on the bed. All the useless stuff is still there. I run my fingers over the items before picking up the hidden blade.

It might be smart to keep this handy, just in case we run into trouble.

I slip the bracer on over my hand and wrist, and then put a glove on over it.

Just in case we run into trouble.

There’s a chopping noise coming from outside my window. I look out and see a black helicopter landing on the sprawling yard of the house.