Inquest

Inquest Chapter 5

The stupidest part is that I already know everything she’s trying to tell me. I’ve been hiding my talents for longer than Ms. Hernandez has been teaching. Plus, my dad was one of the most powerful Perceptives in the Southwest before he died. I’ve known how to discern lies from truth since I was eight years old. I can feel it on my skin when someone near me has an emotional reaction to something. Reading their distress or joy to find the source is almost second nature to me. I do it without thinking most of the time and filter it out just as easily. Which I do as a force of habit to stay sane and out of other people’s business. I could perform an Inquest right now if the need were to suddenly arise, as ridiculously unlikely as that would be.

Of all the classes I don’t need an introduction to it is this one. I don’t want to look like I’m taking after Milo over there, so I studiously try to take notes while I eat my lone apple and pretend I have no clue about anything. That ends up being harder than I expect. Not only is Ms. Hernandez’s voice so piercing and irksome that I can barely stand to listen to it, Milo distracts me every few minutes by rousing from his music-induced slumber to watch me. His obvious amusement at my attempt to be a good student starts rubbing on my raw nerves very quickly.

When the bell rings, only a few decibels more shrill than Ms. Hernandez’s voice, I snap my notebook closed and hand the pencil back to Milo even though it means having to ask someone else to borrow one in my next class. Milo only huffs out a little laugh.

“No, no, keep it. You’ll get more use out of it than I will.” Leaving me hanging with the pencil dangling from my fingers, he turns and walks out of the room. Irritated more than ever, I shove the pencil in my bag and stalk out of the room as well. Any delusions I had of concentrating through the rest of my classes disappears entirely as I rush through the crowd. Perception training is the only class I have with Milo, but his irritating little smirks and remarks stay with me through my sixth and seventh hours. Only the rapid clearing of the halls after seventh hour steals enough of my tangled emotions to allow me to let most of it go. Walking into my last class of the day to find a smiling little old man beckoning me to take my seat is enough to push the rest of it away.

He obviously knows who I am since he’s teaching a class on what it means to be the Destroyer, but instead of shrinking away from me he welcomes me by taking my hands in his and shaking them gently.

“Which do you prefer to be called, Libitina or Cassia?” he asks.

“Neither. I’m Libby.”

“Pity,” he says with a shake of his head, “Cassia is a beautiful name.”

“Not when it’s yours,” I mumble.

I didn’t say it loud enough to be heard, but the man who looks like he should be relying on hearing aids to catch anything stops when I say it and turns back to me. “It’s a beautiful name regardless of what it stands for, and maybe even because of it.”

I don’t see how that could be, but I ask anyway. “What do you mean?”

He smiles knowingly, and says, “Maybe by the time you finish this class you’ll understand.”

He walks up to the front of the classroom and composes himself visibly. “Well, why don’t we get started? I am Mr. Walters and we have a lot to cover this year.”

Well, he has a lot to cover this year. I have already spent years researching the scarce information available about the Destroyer. At first I did it alone. Searching books, the internet, anything I could get my hands on that had to do with the Destroyer. It wasn’t very encouraging. After my dad figured out who I was, he helped me find out more, sharing everything he’d learned through his work with Inquisitor Moore. Between the two of us, we learned by heart every story and legend surrounding my destiny, every hint about my future—what few there were—and a small collection of secrets and warnings neither of us ever told anyone else. As much as we learned about how scary and terrible I’m supposed to be, I never really figured out what it was, specifically, I was supposed to do that was so horrible. I mean, sure, I’m supposed to destroy the world, but how? When? And most importantly, why? Those secrets are still hidden somewhere.