Vendetta (18 page)

"Genesis?"

"I just want to see. . . ." I trail off, not finishing.

And it's like I'm being drawn toward that clubhouse, to the entrance of the subdivision
, where a police officer directs traffic. The road is blocked by squad cars. No one is allowed through.

I slip around the barricades anyway.

"Excuse me, Miss?" the officer calls.

But the flashing lights captivate me, beckoning me closer. The sky is full o
f them. Reds. Blues. They punch holes in the night, and a headache pulses behind my eyes watching them. I pick up speed, feet hammering the pavement, focusing only on those lights swirling in the distance. A string of flares curves along the road, sparking
. The more ground I gain the further away it all seems. Until I can make out individual rescue vehicles, then people milling about, then voices.

And the cars in the middle of it all.

I break into a
run, feeling the heat lift off the asphalt, breaths heavy in my ears. Despite the chaos that's what I hear above everything else: short, raspy pants and my heart's staggered beating, reminding me that I'm still alive. I'm alive. I'm alive. A bead of sweat
runs down my cheek, trembling along my skin.

Seth calls out to me. "Genesis!"

"Selena!" I yell.

I reach the edge of the scene, where a white BMW sits crumpled in the middle of the street, its hood smashed accordion-style. And it's like the car itself has
exploded. Entire pieces missing. Debris littering the street, the glass from mirrors and windows sparkling, bouncing with light.

"Selena!"

I search the faces of people working, desperate for a glimpse of her. For some sign that she's okay.

A firefighter s
tops me before I can get any closer, his thick fingers binding my arms, pushing me back. "No! I know her! There was a girl. In the white car. Blonde hair. She's my friend!"

Seth wraps an arm around me, hooking my waist, pulling me away.

And just before I l
ose sight completely, I catch the firefighter's blue eyes in mine. And the moment they meet I see it. I see it all. Everything he sees and more. The car speeding down the highway, slipping into the opposite lane. Metal crunching as the cars collide. Tangli
ng together. The bodies of the victims as they're removed.

I swallow back a scream and stop fighting. My shoulders heave, the air hot, too thick to breathe. My throat constricts as I try to swallow. And in the next moment I'm on my hands and knees, bent ov
er in the grass on the side of the road, puking up hamburger and chocolate cake and marshmallows and everything that was wonderful about this night.

Because it's too much: one happy night.  It's too much to ask of anyone, anymore. And now Selena's paid th
e price.

My eyes tighten, tears squeezing from the corners, stinging.  

The road stretches empty behind us, cars rushing to get home before curfew stopped and forced to turn around. I rise, the entire world spinning, and wipe my mouth with the back of my
hand, choking against the knot in my throat, desperate to keep the tears at bay.

T
WENTY-ONE

There's something inherently wrong about the midday sun shining down on a funeral. Clouds seem more appropriate. Dark clouds. A cold, quiet drizzle. Instea
d, the sky is a bright, summer blue. My shoulders burn, and the black tank dress I bought for the occasion is warm against my skin. I'm sandwiched between Carter and Kitty Fleming, sitting toward the rear of the section reserved for family and close friend
s, dozens more standing behind us.

Between fanning herself with the program from the service at the church, Mrs. Fleming dabs at her eyes, a large-brimmed, black hat shielding her face. She pulled me into a tight hug earlier. She felt so small. So fragile.

"That could've been you. Or Carter," she whispered.

And it surprised me, that thin veil draped between hopeful and hopeless. That subtle twinge of gratefulness tucked among the sorrow, that, while a tragedy of this magnitude should never happen to anyon
e, it's always better if it happens to someone else.

Beside me, Carter sits. Stoic. Expressionless. I reach over and take his hand, locking his fingers in mine. He studies them for a moment, tracing my thumb in circles, and then slants a look sideways, ca
sting a small, sad smile.

A quick glance to my right and I spot Seth. He's leaning against a large oak tree, shaded from the midday sun, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his dark suit. My eyes drift further, to a wrought-iron fence, metal spikes like
soldiers cordoning off a small parcel of the cemetery. A great stone angel rises from the outside, arms outstretched, watching over the tombs below, protecting them.  

The minister speaks, but his voice disappears, fading into the background. Behind him,
Selena's beautiful, mahogany casket is draped in violet roses. I can smell them. And the dirt. And the freshly-mowed grass. Grief hanging suspended in the air, pressing against our shoulders. 

And suddenly
everyone is praying. Heads are bowed. And in front of us I can hear the gentle weeping coming from her family. Her mother. Her little sister. I forgot she had a sister.

My throat tries to close and I swallow, forcing back the tears threatening to surface.

"
Where there is hatred, let me sow love
." Lips move in murmured prayers. "
Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy
."

Carter squeezes my hand.

"
For it is in giving that we receiv
e, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life. Amen
."

"Amen," I whisper.

The family rises, accepting hugs from one another, and disperses, the black assembly traipsing through a sea of gray headstones. Kit
ty Fleming stands with them, clutching her mascara-stained tissue in her hand. She leans toward Carter, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek, careful not to displace her hat.

Selena's father, mother, sister, grandparents gather around the limousine that wi
ll take them home, and every luxury vehicle in the city pulls away from the curbs, until Carter's SUV is the only one left. Until we're the only ones left. 

Our hands remain clasped together, and I can feel the moisture gathering between them, my nose and
cheeks turning pink in the sun. But he doesn't leave. So I don't leave.

A few graveyard workers move in, speaking in hushed tones as they prepare to lower Selena's casket into the ground. It's final destination. They work quickly, quietly, until violet fl
owers blanket the mound of soft dirt, and a temporary placard marks the spot where her headstone will rest. Loving Daughter. Sister. Friend. They wipe the sweat from their brows with their sleeves, pick up their shovels, and we're alone again.

"I keep thi
nking about that night," Carter finally says, breaking the perfect stillness. "Wondering what I could've done differently."

"Nothing," I reply. "You did everything right."

"I could've . . . I don't know . . . taken her home. Made her stay behind. Another
five minutes and it never would've happened."

"You'll sit here the rest of your life playing out the 'what ifs,'" I tell him. "And it's not going to make any kind of difference. It wasn't you, Carter. It was just . . . one of those things."

He clears his t
hroat, eyes cleaving to the fresh grave. "'One of those things' just killed my friend," he reminds me.

The mass of flowers distorts beneath my lingering gaze, blurring, swelling to a muddied blotch in shades of purple. 

"I know."

T
WENTY-TWO

I re
main absolutely still, concentrating behind closed eyes, poised. I throw a punch. It hits the focus mitt. I throw another. Hit. I spin around and right cross. A hand clenches my fist, stopping me. I yank off the blindfold, blinking as my eyes adjust to the
afternoon light flooding the pool house.

"Good form," Seth says, smiling.

I
heave
a weary sigh, jerking my hand from his, moving toward the kitchen counter.

"You knew he was behind you, Genesis," Mara says, energized. "That's incredible progress."

I reach for my bottled water, forcing my eyes to remain steady, to keep them from rolling. I take a swig, replace the cap, and set it back down. "I need a break."

Joshua's mitts fall, defeated.

"Ten minutes," she says.

"No. More than ten minutes. I've had
enough." My tone is sharper than I intend, voice clipped and heated.

"Genesis," Mara says. "Now is not the time to . . ."

"I really don't give a shit what time it is right now," I interrupt. "I'm exhausted. I'm tired of this. All of it. All day. Every day
."

"I’m trying to prepare you," she says, her eyes hardening, trained to mine. "That's what the Council sent me to do."

"Why?" I demand to know, voice growing louder. "To kill a demon who refuses to show her face? Who's God knows where? It’s not working, M
ara! I'm seeing things that don't make sense! I'm not seeing things I
should
be seeing! I don't know what the hell is going on anymore!" 

"I understand you're upset about Selena," Mara says. "It was unfortunate . . ."

I stifle a bitter laugh. "
Unfortunate
? You don't know
shit
about what I'm feeling right now," I reply, words breaking in my throat.

I wait for one of them—any of them—to deny this. But they don't. They don't because they can't. Because they don't understand. Because none of this makes sense.
And so they just stand there watching me, me on the verge of tears.
Always
on the verge of tears. 

"Why didn't I see it happen?" I finally ask, voice quieter. "
What
was so different about this time?"

"The difference is that Viola knows who you are. Of w
hat you're capable," Mara answers.

"And she's
that
powerful," I declare. "This one demon is so mighty she can crawl inside my head and control everything I see. Or don't see."

She glances at Seth, and a look passes between them.

"What?" I ask.

"We don't k
now," Mara replies.

"Isn't it your responsibility to know? To figure this out?"

"You have to understand our position, Genesis. It's not often that people with a gift such as yours comes along, and those who have were never tapped to help us in any way," Ma
ra explains. "This is uncharted territory, even for the most experienced of us. We don't know the extent of Viola's interest in you. We don't know what she wants, or what she has planned."

"Two people," I say, matter of fact. "Two people connected to me ar
e dead now. Who'd be alive if it weren't for me."

"You can't blame yourself for any of this. You don't know that this wouldn't have happened anyway," Mara says.

"And you don't know that it would've," I counter.

I snatch my bottled water and move around th
em, heading for the French doors leading to the patio. I pull them open, the humid, summer air sucking the life straight out of my pores. I glance at the sky as I cross the pathway by the pool. It's clear. A beautiful, cloudless blue.

I crawl onto a wooden
lounge chair, the branches above protecting me from the midday sun. The air is moist, too heavy to breathe. It's no cooler in the shadows, but it's quiet. And that's all I need. I close my eyes, listening to cicadas hum in the distance.

Time slows, and I'
m not sure if minutes or hours have passed when I hear it—the sound of footsteps treading softly across the concrete. They pause at the foot of the chair. 

"I know you're standing there," I say, not bothering to open my eyes.

Carter apologizes. "I though
t you might've fallen asleep."

I sling my arm over my face, hiding from him. "I don't sleep anymore," I mutter. "You know that."

"Bad day?"

A slow smile works its way to the surface. "Possibly."

"Is there room for one more?"

I pull my arm
away from my eyes, squinting back the sunlight. Carter watches me closely, serious. I slide over, making room.