Inquest

Inquest Chapter 28

My left hand darts up, right in front of his face so my pure black diktats are glaring at him. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really. You had a few years to prepare for what was going to happen at your Inquest. You knew what was coming. It sucked, but at least you knew what was going to happen.” Milo takes my hand and lowers it to his leg, where he holds it tightly. “Everything I thought was important was ripped away from me that night. I was convinced I was going to become something great, only to find out I was nothing. I’ve learned to live with what I am. I don’t want false hope for something I’m never, ever going to have.”

My frustrated growl surprises both him and Celia. “It’s not false hope, Milo! You have talents. They’re there. Somewhere! We just have to find them. Let me do this, please.”

In the face of my rant he says nothing. Celia, though, is incapable of losing either her voice or her opinion. “Milo, for crying out loud, just let her do it. If it doesn’t work, nothing changes. Like you said, you’ve already made your peace with being talentless. But if it does work, kudos! You really don’t have anything to lose. Let Libby try.”

Long moments of silence stretch between us.

“Fine,” he says quietly.

My whole being lights up with excitement. Celia bounces off the bed and lands next to her brother. “This is going to be awesome.”

Milo glares at her.

“Okay,” I say, “give me your hands.”

Milo reaches out tentatively. “Are you sure you know how to do this?”

“Yes,” I say drily. “I spent my entire childhood watching my dad practice with the most talented Inquisitor in the state. I memorized the ritual years ago. I can do this.”

He nods, looking less than convinced. He’s seen me do ridiculous things like sprint faster than a car, knock trees down with a single kick, and turn concrete into soup. He doubts I can do this? This is the talent I have spent more time on than any other. Maybe it has more to do with watching me fail day after day at the one talent I need the most. I have to shake off the frustration of the week and remind myself that Spiritualism has nothing to do with an Inquest.

“Okay,” I say, “let’s get started. We still have to get ready for the ballet tonight.”

Milo groans more about that than going through with the Inquest. I tune him out and send all my focus into awakening my Perception to its fullest. Slowly, my consciousness spreads into the whole of my body. Every molecule of my structure hums with power. The effort to push that power into Milo is tremendous. I can feel his hands trembling as I force it away from me and into him. When the last of my awareness rests in him, I sigh in relief.

“Milo Hanover, the Inquest to discover your true identity and purpose has begun,” I say with pleasure. Nothing horrible happens, proving Celia’s theory about the first one not counting to be true. If it had counted Milo would probably be writhing on the ground in pain right now. Milo seems to relax as well—at least as much as anyone in the middle of their own Inquest can relax, anyway.

“Milo, it is now time to uncover your talents so you may use them to benefit those with whom you come in contact.”

With my Perception firmly planted in Milo, I start examining him. My smile spreads immediately because I know exactly what to look for. Right away I recognize the straining elements of both Speed and Strength locked inside every muscle cell, begging to be released just as my dad described to me. More subtle is the outward pulse of Milo’s consciousness, Perception attempting to assert itself and search those around him for information. In opposition, his Concealment is focused inward, constantly attempting to hide him from those he has been running from.