Chapter 1
Imagined Perfection
I never thought someone I loved would try to kill me. But when you know you’re going to do something worse, does that make it okay? Should you hope for that person to succeed?
The numbers on my phone glare back at me, reminding me that I only have six hours left to live. Guardian law is absolute. Another minute passes and the urge to hide grows. It’s a familiar feeling. One I’ve quietly obeyed most of my life. Hide my talents, my power, my destiny. Lie when I’m questioned. Do whatever it takes to keep my secret safe. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, but it won’t matter in six hours. I will be revealed for who and what I am, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I just wish my best friend, Jen, would stop talking about it so I can put it out of my mind. Not that she knows what is going to happen tonight, of course, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to snatch the hot pink daisy right out of her bouncy blond hair and stuff it in her mouth. Keeping myself from breaking down into a trembling puddle of fear is hard enough without her non-stop jabbering.
“I can’t believe in a few hours you’ll have a new name, Libby.”
Neither can I, but I say, “What’s the big deal, Jen? It’s just my Inquest. Everyone goes through theirs. It’s the law. Everyone gets a new name they never even use. Everyone goes on with their lives like nothing happened. It’s not a big deal.”
“What about your talents being unlocked, and the diktats? Those are definitely a big deal.”
My fingers subconsciously rub the smooth skin of my left wrist. It won’t stay smooth for much longer. After my Inquest, the diktats will mar me for the rest of my life, however short that might be.
Jen notices me poking at my skin and raises a smug eyebrow. I turn away from her before she thinks too hard about what wrist I was fiddling with and shove a book back into my locker. When I slam the door shut, irritated that she’s seeing through my false confidence, her expression is even haughtier. Her green eyes pierce me in a way that makes me look away. Despite the fact that I wish she’d just leave me alone right now, Jen’s ability to see through my bravado is why she’s my best friend. I need someone who can keep me grounded.
“Well, I can’t wait for my Inquest,” Jen says. “I think getting a new name and finding out what my talents are and what job they’ll assign me to is going to be awesome.”
“I already know what my talents are. Painting, sketching, give me a pencil or a brush and I’ll do whatever you want with it. Those are my only talents.” At least as far as anyone else knows those are my only talents. And I am praying my guts out that it will stay that way. The Inquisitor is old, really old. Maybe he won’t see anything in me tonight. That’s my only hope now, and it’s a pretty slim one. “Why do I need some old man to tell me I’m going to be an artist? My school schedule isn’t even going to change. Nothing is going to change. The whole thing is just a big waste of time.”
“Those aren’t the talents I’m talking about, and you know it.”
Now it’s my turn to feel superior. My dark eyebrows lift in a smirk. “Oh really? Why do you think I prefer organic oil paints, or why I use natural horsehair brushes over synthetic? Why don’t I ever wear fabrics that aren’t made of natural fibers?”
Jen’s berry colored lips pop open in excitement. “You think Naturalism is going to be one of your talents? That’s great, Libby. You’ll be in the Creator class, then. If you have a Common name you’ll be screwed, stuck in some boring job like a gardener or something. A Warrior name would be a little better, but not much. An Iconic name, though, you’d be scooped up as a state-funded artist for sure. That would be so awesome!” She pauses, her enthusiasm waning. “Knowing so much already kind of ruins the surprise, though, doesn’t it?”
“My thoughts exactly. I already know what the Inquisitor is going to tell me. Why go?”
“Why? Because the Guardians will hunt you down and drag you back to the Inquisitor if you try to run away from your Inquest, that’s why. Besides, you don’t know everything,” Jen reminds me. “You still have to find out your name. There’s no way you can know that already.”
I roll my eyes and lean against my locker. Two bulky guys from the football team rumble down the hall, pausing in their heckling of each other to look over at us. After seeing that my boyfriend, Lance, isn’t around, they turn away without acknowledging me. I frown at them before reluctantly turning my attention back to Jen. I really wish she would just drop the subject all together and let me focus on trying not to throw up. “Who cares what my name is going to be? Like I said before, nobody ever actually uses their true name. I don’t see the point in even getting one.”
“You of all people should want a new name.”
“It will probably be awful, anyway.”
Flopping against the locker next to me, Jen lets out an exasperated breath. “Your parents already covered that one. I mean, seriously, who would ever choose Libitina? You’re named after a roman death goddess, for crying out loud! Like any kid wants that following them through school. Creepy. It sounds like some kind of Goth ballerina freak. Your parents must have been high, or something.”
“It’s an old family name, supposedly.” I’m more inclined to believe that my mom knew she’d hate me from the moment she met me.
“What, did your family pop out of a Bram Stoker novel or something? Anyway, there’s no way you’d get stuck with another name like that. Fate can’t be that cruel.”
“Clearly you don’t know me very well, then,” I say. If something bad could happen, it would happen to me. A dozen broken bones, various serious injuries, embarrassing stories, that’s me. I am a magnet for unfortunate situations. Granted, most of those mishaps were caused by either my own stupidity or some brilliant idea I had, but still.
“Well, it’s too bad the best name the Inquisitor could give you is also the worst one. Despite how horrible it would be to actually get it, I’ve always liked the name Cassia. It sounds so ancient and regal.”
I turn so I’m facing her directly. “There is nothing regal about that name,” I snap. “I can’t believe you’re even mentioning it. Please, Jen. I have some trig to finish during lunch. Let’s go already.”
“Aren’t you even a little bit nervous about tonight?” Jen asks.
I have to lie again. “No.”
I hate lying to Jen, but I can’t let her see how scared I am or she’ll know I’m hiding something. Jen can be relentless when there’s a secret nearby. There is a reason her articles on the school blog are the most read, hottest thing on the page. They might be the only thing anyone actually reads.
“Excited?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Scared?”
Before I can shake my head again I feel someone’s arms wrap around my waist. “Scared about what?” Lance asks.
“Her Inquest.”
Lance leans his head down and kisses my neck, making me sigh. His sandy blond hair tickles my skin as he moves to kiss my forehead. “There’s nothing about an Inquest to be scared of,” he says. “Unless you have a problem with pain.”
“Thanks,” I say, but my fingers wind around his where I can feel the raised, scarred flesh of the diktats that run along the inside of his wrist. His right wrist, exactly where they’re supposed to be. Feeling them makes me shiver. I have a huge problem with pain. I can handle it with the best of them, given my vast experience with it, but for that same reason even the idea of being hurt makes me start smelling hospital antiseptic. That scent sends me into a panic quicker than anything else.
The chime of Jen’s phone makes her whip it out of her pocket at lightning speed. Her fingers flash across the screen as she brings up the text message she just received. An instant later she groans and stuffs the phone back into her pocket.
“Speaking of pain, I’ve gotta go.”
I can’t help the bubble of pleasure that I won’t have to listen to her badgering me about my Inquest. Still, her mention of pain forces guilt into my mind and presses my best friend button. “Go where? We’ve still got three more classes.”
“Remember? The dentist?” I shake my head at her. She shrugs and continues. “Oh, I thought I told you my mom was checking me out for a dentist appointment. One of my fillings cracked and I haven’t been able to drink a soda in days.”
Rolling my eyes dramatically, I say, “Oh, dear, you poor thing. You’d better hurry. I wouldn’t want you to die from lack of carbonation.”
With a flip of her long, blond hair, she sticks her nose in the air. “You’ll feel really terrible if I keel over dead and miss your Inquest.”
“Actually, that might be the only thing that would get me out of my Inquest.” I almost feel like it would be worth it. Guilt for my dark thoughts crashes against my carefully controlled emotions, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold onto my composure. For once, Jen doesn’t notice my internal struggle.
“Whatever,” she says, “I’ll be at your house at five to help you get ready, if you’re still sure it’s okay Lance and I come.”
“I’m sure, Jen. I got permission from Inquisitor Moore months ago. All the paperwork saying you and Lance are allowed to attend are safely stowed in his safe. The Guardians aren’t going to arrest you for trying to crash my Inquest. I promise.”
Jen grimaces. I have to stop myself from doing the same. Just thinking about the Guardians putting their hands on me again makes me shudder. With all the times I’ve snuck out or tried to escape my mom, I’ve been dragged back way too many times by those cretins.
“You’re sure?” Jen asks again.
“I’m positive.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll be by tonight, then. Maybe we can actually do something with that blah hair of yours.”
“Good luck with that,” I say. My dark chestnut hair is staying exactly as it is.
Jen smiles optimistically—foolish girl—and hurries away from us. I can’t focus on her for very long, though, not with Lance pulling me against his chest more tightly now that she’s gone. He drops a kiss on my forehead, and I lift my chin hoping he will move down to my lips. Kissing Lance is about the only thing that will take my mind off tonight. To my satisfaction, Lance does bring his mouth to meet mine, but the brief touch does nothing to soothe me.
“What’s wrong with your hair?” Lance asks.
Hair, I can talk about hair. Maybe.
“It’s not curled and hairsprayed and poofed a mile off my head like hers.”
Lance twists a lock of my long hair around his finger and smiles. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your hair how it is, but would curls really be such a bad thing? It’s been a long time.”
“Don’t,” I warn him, my tone making it perfectly clear that we are done talking about hair. Lance sighs and lets the strand fall. There’s still a gentle pressure in his eyes, like there always is when this topic comes up, but this is not an argument I’m willing to have. Seeing that, Lance switches topics.
He reaches into his jeans pocket for something hidden there, and says, “By the way, happy sixteenth birthday, Libby.”
“I suppose it was too much to hope for that you’d forget,” I say.
Lance shakes his head with the mischievous smile I adore. I wish I could skip this day entirely, but my eyes wander down to his hand as he slides it from his pocket. The hint of something sparkly sets my insides fluttering wildly. I can barely suppress the excited giggle rising in my chest. He always knows just how to make me smile. He has since we were little.
The silver chain pulls free and dangles in front of me. I watch the pendant dance. Its two blades of wheat, single butterfly, and a sinuous snake that wraps around the other two glitter in the muted light. The sign for Naturalism. Like Jen, he believes my assertion that it is my talent, my only talent. A faint flash of guilt runs through me before I can smother it and put on an enthusiastic smile that isn’t totally false. Lance grins at my reaction and fastens the necklace around my neck. His hands stay there and pull me closer for a kiss. The heat of his lips on mine burns away my fear and anxiety, replacing it with warmth and comfort.
I want more. I want to stay locked in this sphere of imagined perfection for the rest of my life. The need to breathe pulls Lance back too soon. I slump against my locker in disappointment despite how wonderful his kisses make me feel. Lingering with his head touched lightly against mine, his hands stay behind my neck as well. My eyes stray to the blade strapped to his left wrist. The only weapons allowed on campus, the sign that he is a member of the Guardian class always makes me shiver.
Not wanting to dwell on what that knife is meant to do, I turn my head and find myself staring at the perfectly even and symmetrical row of scarred flesh on his right wrist. The diktats look like scars, but scars would never be so perfect. And no one would survive having their wrist sliced vertically so many times. Without meaning to, my fingers stray to the diktats and gently brush across the seven marks. Two for his talents, Speed and Strength. Two for being given a Warrior name. And three for belonging to the Guardian class.
“I was just teasing about the pain. You know that, right?” Lance asks softly, his bright blue eyes filled with concern. He is intimately aware of my feelings on the subject. Friends since childhood, Lance has seen almost every one of my dozen broken bones firsthand. He was even involved in a few of the unfortunate exploits.
The tender concern in his voice is endearing, but not in the least bit reassuring. Regardless, I still nod and try to smile. Lance isn’t convinced.
“Really, Libby, it’s not that bad. It stings more than anything. You’ll be fine.” He holds his right wrist next to mine and rubs his thumb across my skin. “Everything will be okay. You’ll forget the pain as soon as it’s over, and in a few hours we’ll match.”
That’s what he thinks. I tuck my left arm behind my back, not wanting to think about it.
“What did your mom give you for your birthday, anyway?” Lance asks, changing the subject.
Taking my new keys out of my pocket, I dangle them with a scowl. “Not the one I wanted, of course.”
He laughs. “Did you really expect your mom to buy you a twenty-year-old Ford Bronco? She would never allow you to be seen driving something like that. Which one did she get you, the Audi or the Lexus?”
“The Audi.” The venom in my voice doesn’t keep Lance from grinning. He’d been hoping for the Audi. It is much faster than the Lexus. And Lance loves to go fast.
“Maybe we can take it out after your Inquest,” he suggests. The eager shine in his eyes is very nearly catching. The last word of his sentence sours any hope of my reciprocating his enthusiasm.
I offer him the best smile I can manage, which isn’t much, and say, “Yeah, maybe. Let’s go to lunch. I’ve got some homework to finish.”
Lance’s arm wraps around my waist and guides me down the hall. I try to focus on the feel of his touch, but all I can think of is how stupid it is that I’m worrying about my homework. My chances of not being murdered after my Inquest are pretty slim, which means this assignment is the last one I will ever turn in. At least there’s one upside to dying.