The Fallen Legacies

CHAPTER 18

Streaming into the room behind Ivan are half a dozen Mogadorian warriors. Two of them stay posted at the door; the others fan out, covering the windows, cutting off any possible escape route. They’re a well-oiled machine, the protocol in this situation clear. Contain the Garde at all costs.

I’m frozen in place. I’m not armed, having forgotten to grab so much as a dagger on my way out of the Mogadorian headquarters. Even if I did try to fight-against my own people, a concept I still haven’t come to terms with-I wouldn’t stand a chance. At least that’s how I justify my cowardice.

Maggie doesn’t suffer from any of my uncertainties. She might have given me the benefit of the doubt, but not Ivan and his strike team. She knows she’s in danger.

She executes a gymnast-caliber somersault towards the table where she set down her gun. Maggie moves more quickly than I expected, her fingers nearly closing around the weapon.

But Ivan is quicker.

Before Maggie can grab the gun, he boots the table towards her. The edge hits her right in the stomach, audibly knocking the wind out of her. Maggie, the gun and the table all go crashing to the floor.

Maggie recovers quickly, already desperately scrambling for the weapon when Ivan kicks it out of her reach. It skitters to a stop just inches from my feet.

Ivan steps on the back of Maggie’s neck, grinding her face into the dusty floor. He must outweigh her by more than a hundred pounds. Maggie thrashes, screaming in frustration and pain, but Ivan keeps her pinned as he lifts up his shirt, examining his rib cage.

At first I don’t understand what he’s doing. But then I realize he’s looking for bruises. If Maggie was still protected by the Loric charm, then the damage from when Ivan kicked the table into her would have been done to him. Unless she’s next in line.

Ivan just confirmed that Maggie is Number Two.

“Number Two,” he says, a note of gruesome satisfaction in his voice. “My lucky day.”

While Ivan has his shirt up, I notice a wound on his side. It looks like a bullet graze. Blood runs down his body, collecting in the waistband of his pants. He sees me looking and smiles proudly.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Ivan says. “You should see the other guy.” He winks.

That’s when it hits me. Ivan doesn’t know what I was doing here. All he cares about is that the protocol of his mission has just changed from apprehend to eliminate.

Understanding that Ivan was referring to her Cepan, Maggie begins struggling with renewed vigor. She manages to slip from under Ivan’s boot, but only gets a hard kick in the chest for her trouble. The way Ivan kicks Maggie is as casual as the way I watched my sister build and snuff out a piken.

Maggie’s down again, and this time Ivan presses a foot onto her back. She coughs raggedly, then cranes her neck up to look at me. One of the lenses of her glasses is shattered.

“You said you’d help me,” she gasps.

Ivan laughs. Some of the other Mogadorians in the room crack smiles.

“Is that what he told you?” exclaims Ivan, amused. “Crafty Adamus! You always were the smart one. Come rushing over here all by yourself to claim all the glory, while the rest of us are out fighting.”

Ivan waves his hand at the gun at my feet.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Help her.” Sarcasm drips from his words.

I pick up the gun in a shaky hand and hold it loosely at my side. None of the Mogadorians in the room have weapons drawn. They really have no idea what I was doing here. Of course they don’t believe Number Two. Why would they trust her over one of their own?

I glance around the room and force a smile. Ivan thinks he’s just handed me a gift, and I know I need to play along. But what I’m really trying to figure out is how many I’d be able to kill before they returned fire? Two? Maybe three?

I’d start with Ivan, that much I’m sure of.

The small gun feels impossibly heavy. It’s now or never.

But I can’t do it. I can’t kill my own people any more than I could kill Maggie. I meet her eyes, large and pleading. I wish I could at least tell her how sorry I am, but the words won’t come. I’m too afraid to even speak.

I drop the gun and look away.

“Don’t have the stomach for it?” sneers Ivan, unsheathing his dagger. “Whatever. You did your part.”

Ivan reaches down and grabs a handful of Maggie’s hair, jerking her head back to expose her throat. I see a metallic glint around her neck: her pendant. A grin spreads across Ivan’s face as he sees it too. He raises his dagger, and I can feel him staring at me. Does he think I’m a coward, or worse, a traitor?

“For Mogadorian progress,” Ivan shouts.