The Revealed (7 page)

“I’m fine,” I mumble. We just need to get out of here. My eyes scan for a way out. There has to be a way out. This is my house. If anyone can get out of this room, it’s me.

There’s movement just outside in the grass. Shadows shift as someone or something approaches the now-empty window frames. The hall falls silent and still as the uninvited visitors walk inside the room. As they step inside, a wind picks up and circles around the room as though it is alive. It whips through the crowd. My skin prickles with fear.

As my eyes adjust to the moonlight, I glance over the outfits the new visitors are wearing—black pants and black tanks tops. Something shiny is embroidered over their hearts. It’s the silver symbol.

These people are The Revealed.

I’m not the only person that seems to have noticed.

Stunned gasps fill the room.

My father stands at the front of the crowd. Always the brave leader. “What do you want?” he shouts.

Is this it? Are they going to take me right now? In front of everyone?

A striking woman stands at the front of the group, and I can tell she isn’t someone you want to mess with. She holds herself high, not the least bit afraid of anyone in the room—including security with their guns drawn, only waiting for the command. Her eyes scan the crowd.

“Stay where you are or we’ll shoot,” Jeremy warns.

The woman stops and gives him a stern, disapproving gaze. She flings out her hand and the gun is torn from Jeremy’s grip and slides across the floor. There is the sharp succession of cracks as weapons fire, but not one of the people in black fall to the ground. Instead, there is a light
ping, ping
as the bullets fall to the floor like rain, stopped mid-flight.

I feel my limbs begin to shake all over again. Everyone’s heard stories about The Revealed’s abilities. But to see them used like this—as though they are simply an extension of their own bodies—is as stunning as it is terrifying.

A hand reaches out to my face in the dark. “Look at me.” My eyes connect with Kai’s green-gold gaze. “Breathe.”

Shakily, I nod and begin taking quick, shallow breaths.

A man tries to make a run for it, sprinting through the broken glass. One of The Revealed reacts. He flicks out his wrist and a plant from outside comes twisting in through the broken pane. It wraps around the man’s waist and pulls him to the floor.

Someone screams.

They are controlling the plants, making them grow and move.

“How—”

Kai places a hand over my mouth, silencing me. He positions himself so that his body is in front of me, shielding me from view as much as possible. Sure he’s taller and broader, but I’m like a beacon in this dress.

The woman’s attention snaps, and her gaze connects with mine. She tilts her head, staring at me. Suddenly I’m frozen.

This is it. I’ve waited for this moment. Since the notes started arriving, I knew this time would come. I wish I could stand and be brave. But I can hardly remember how to breathe, let alone be valiant.

But then her gaze moves past me to the rest of the crowd, scanning over everyone.

“We’re only here for one,” she says. She doesn’t seem even the least bit fazed by the security. Their weapons are gone or out of bullets. They’re just as defenseless as the rest of us.

Two of The Revealed break off, turning to the sides of the room and scanning the guests. They move quickly through the crowd, sweeping the room before returning to the others’ sides.

My muscles tense until they ache. Kai, still standing in front of me, is gently pushing me back against the wall. The Revealed whip past us without stopping, and I know that despite Kai’s efforts, they see me.

If it isn’t me, then who are they after?

“I have to find Rory,” I say in Kai’s ear. His arm doesn’t give. “She’s eighteen, too.”

I push against him but his grip is firm.

“Kai.” My voice is foreign and cracked.

“Gone,” one of The Revealed says to the woman at the front.

“It appears so,” she says, and nods. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see us,” the blonde leader warns. “Let’s go,” she says to the rest of her group and they retreat out the windows again, quickly disappearing into the night.

As they leave, the ice on the doors recedes. People yank them open and begin sprinting madly from the house. Security tries to follow The Revealed out into the night but can’t find their trail. Patrols are immediately dispatched to search the area, but I know they too will come up empty-handed. The Revealed never leave evidence.

“Someone call the police,” my father orders.

The media begin snapping pictures of the destruction. Jeremy finds me and grabs my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

I look around the room. “This is not okay.” I try to keep my thoughts straight. “Rory. I need to find Rory.”

“She’s fine,” Jeremy promises. “I just saw her in the kitchen. Ilan’s a mess though,” Jeremy’s ill-timed attempt at humor falls flat. He clears his throat and straightens out his shoulders. “Here,” he says, shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders.

I glance back at Kai. My eye contact is the only thanks I can muster before Jeremy takes me from the room.

The night is clearly over.

There are tabloid stories: at least a dozen of them the next day. Each one a front-page headline screaming different sensational tales.

I willingly stay inside, not wishing to be hounded by the press. Jeremy’s security team has managed to keep them off the estate so far.

I didn’t think tightening security was possible, but my mother has found a way. She’s doubled the number of personnel assigned to the house and has detectives in and out for the next week, investigating every inch of the property. Not that they’ll find anything.

No fingerprints. The Revealed didn’t touch anything, though they somehow managed to lock the doors, melt the barrels of heavy metal weapons, and shatter every piece of glass in the room. No footprints. There isn’t a single mark in the dirt outside the window. The cameras around the house went out during their entrance, so no footage of their break-in was collected. Their abilities make them ghosts.

I switch off the news report on the television in my room. It’s almost over, and after the news ends the programming goes static until the next run of reports. I sink down onto my bed, shut my eyes, and slump back onto the pillows. My fingers trace along the tiny scabs all over my arms. They weren’t bad enough to warrant stitches, but they are a stark reminder of yesterday.

Why didn’t The Revealed take me?

I was right there. The blonde woman definitely saw me. The ones searching the crowd definitely saw me.

The answers aren’t in my room so I head down the hall. My father’s home office is in the east wing. He stayed home today to manage the investigation. There is a high risk the destruction caused at the gala will cost him a few points in the polls, and my father is doing everything in his power to ensure that doesn’t happen. With the investigation pouring through every nook and cranny, any shred of evidence will help, but we don’t know much.

His office is decorated with mahogany bookshelves. My father loves books. He has quite the collection of rare novels. During the war, saving books was the last thing on most peoples’ minds. Novels that were once available everywhere are now prized possessions. My father spent a small fortune on a few of the works in his collection. The dusty, sharp smell of paper hangs in the air.

My father sits in his leather chair behind his hand-carved desk, concentrating on something on his computer. It’s one of those rare times when he’s alone, which means he’s working on something important. His eyes are narrowed on the screen and every few minutes he types something out rapidly. He doesn’t even look up from his computer, though I know he must have caught my movement.

I know better than to interrupt him when he has that look in his eyes. His eyes are so light, the document on the computer screen reflects in them. I almost think that if I got close enough, I could read the words in his eyes.

“Is it
suppose to
or
supposed to
?” he asks without looking up.

“Supposed to,” I tell him leaning against the doorframe. “With a
D
.”

“Right.” He nods, types, and then clicks before looking up at me. “What can I do for you, Lil?”

“Just wondering if you’ve had any leads?”

He sighs, and I know he’s a bit perturbed at the interruption though he’s holding back from admitting it. “None.”

“What are you working on?”

“Going over the notes Jeremy sent from the investigation. It seems like The Revealed exited the property to the south. We found evidence of tire tracks from some kind of Jeep or Range Rover that didn’t match the guest vehicles. The trail goes cold once they reach the main road. We took plaster casts of the treads and some dirt samples, hoping we might be able to pinpoint the car based on its tread or at least track where it has been. It’s a shot in the dark.”

“What about the woman? The one at the front of the group? Who is she?” I ask.

He shakes his head and says with a wave of his hand, “No one knows. It isn’t the first time we’ve seen her though. She appears to be some kind of leader. If we had records like we used to, we would have found these bastards by now.” My father never swears in public, and I always feel like I’m seeing this secret, real side of him when he slips around me. “As it is, everything is outdated since the war. We’ve depended on people to come forward to reregister of their own volition. She could be someone that was declared dead long ago. If I find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

I know my father too well to believe that’s true. I’m always the last to know anything important. But this isn’t just about the gala or The Revealed. It’s about me. The Revealed had a clear shot at taking me last night so why leave all those inky black notes and then pass up an opportunity like that? It surely would have drawn attention, and The Revealed have made it clear they love attention. The theatrics make me sick.

“Do you still think they want to take me?” I ask my dad hesitantly.

His eyes sharply flit to mine, then back to the computer, and finally rest on me again. He sighs. “I’m not taking any chances.”

“But they could have taken me last night if they wanted, right? Maybe it’s a mistake and those notes weren’t serious or something.”

My father’s dark eyebrows pull together. “That sounds like a stretch, Lil.”

He types something on the computer and then looks back at me expectantly. Conversation over. I turn from my father’s office but am surprised when I hear his voice calling me back. “Lily.” He’s even taken his hands entirely off the keyboard this time.

I move back toward him until I’m standing in the center of the room.

“They can’t have you,” he says and stares at me hard.

Looking in my father’s eyes has always been a bit like looking in a mirror. We have eyes that can’t seem to settle on a color. Officially it’s hazel, but there are blues and grays with the greens, golds, and browns, too. The colors can’t seem to make up their minds, unlike my father, who is resolute.

“They can’t take you.” He says each word in a cold, clipped voice.

I don’t know what to say, how to comfort him when I’m just as afraid. “I’ll always be your daughter,” I say.

He nods once, then is back to business on his keyboard. The moment has passed.

I walk back down the hall, but instead of going back to my room I head down the stairs and out the side door. I tromp onto the grass and make my way down to the guesthouse below the main quarters.

I knock on the back door. “Jeremy?” I continue knocking. “Jeremy, it’s Lily.”

After a few more knocks, the door opens.

He’s wearing jeans and a simple white T-shirt, not his usual crisp white button-down shirt and dark-suit uniform. “What do you know?” I ask him.

“I’ve been at home all morning, Lily. I don’t know anything.”

“I don’t believe you.” I step around him and walk inside.

Jeremy adjusts his shoulders so he’s standing squarely. I’ve bothered him, I know, but I’m too curious about the investigation to care. I need information.

“Maybe you’re working from home,” I say pointedly. “I just talked to my father and he’s going over
your
notes.”

The familiarity of his house always strikes me. My mother gave him all of our old furniture and decorations from the house in Arizona. It’s a southwestern style, with rustic leather couches and pictures of cacti and sunsets on the wall.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” He turns. “Want some tea?” His words are curt, as rigid as his stance.