The Lost Saint
Page 23

I hung up from the last call, expecting to feel drained, but all I felt was anxiety. That was because there was one number I’d dialed seven times without getting an answer—Daniel’s.
Why wouldn’t he pick up the phone?
He’s probably just sleeping, I tried to tell myself. If he’s still sick, then he needs rest and I shouldn’t bother him.
However, tension tingled in my muscles every time my mind drifted to the image of that motorcycle that looked like his parked only a few blocks from The Depot. But it couldn’t have been his bike, could it? What would he have been doing in the city?
No, it wasn’t Daniel’s bike. He was sick in bed—that’s what he said, anyway.
I mean, why would he lie?
I tried to read a book for English class for a while and then tackled the mountain of chores Mom forced on Charity and me even though it was Sunday. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t shake the restlessness in my body. I wanted out of my house. I wanted to go to Daniel.
I wanted to run.
That was one of the things I still hadn’t gotten used to in all of this being-infected stuff—the need to run. I’d never been a runner before. In fact, our tenth-grade gym teacher dubbed April and me the “turtle twins” because we always came in last during the daily mile: April because she didn’t care for sweating, and me because I didn’t care for running. But now I often craved a good run, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax all day if I didn’t pound out the aching in my muscles on the pavement—and check on Daniel in the process.
Mom was dressing James in his jacket for an evening trip out to the senior center to visit Mrs. Ludwig and a couple of the other widows from the parish (one of Dad’s Sunday tasks) when I came downstairs in my running clothes and shoes.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“I really need a run, Mom. I’ve finished all my homework and cleaned all the bathrooms and organized the laundry room, like you asked.” More like demanded, but whatever. “I won’t be gone too long, I promise.”
The pinched look on her face convinced me she wasn’t going to let me out of the house. But she snapped the last button on James’s jacket and hooked her purse on her shoulder. “Very well, then. But do not go too far from home,” she said. “It will be dark soon, and you never know who’s out there these days.”
“Okay.” I didn’t tell her I was planning on running all the way to Oak Park, and slipped out the door before she could change her mind.
I stopped at the walnut tree and rested my hand against it while I stretched my quads, then started out in a light jog. All day long, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what had happened the night before. I’d had my powers in my grasp, reined them in for once, and used them for a moment. I’d sparred with Daniel time and again, but actually using my powers to really fight that guy off and protect someone I cared about was absolutely exhilarating.
And I wanted more.
I was a mile from home when the familiar aching of my powers began to well inside my body, pooling in my muscles, making my shoulders shake and my legs throb. I increased my speed to a flat-out sprint.
The sun was sinking behind the hills of Rose Crest, and I knew Mom would want me to turn back toward home. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how frustrating it had been when my powers had dissipated last night and I’d had to rely on someone else to come to my aid. If I’d had better control, then I could have taken those guys on without any help. And even more frustrating was the realization that I really did need my powers if I was going to find Jude. Last night’s debacle had proven that to me.
I concentrated on the pain engulfing my body. Tried to embrace it. Tried to will my legs to run faster and harder than ever before.
But nothing happened.
I couldn’t break through whatever barrier stood between me and my being able to use my powers fully.
LATER
My legs were about as stable as putty erasers when I jogged into Daniel’s neighborhood, toward Maryanne Duke’s old house. I’d been hoping to be able to share good news with Daniel—tell him how I’d finally gotten a handle on my speed and agility—but instead my shoulders sagged with frustration. I didn’t understand it. Why had I been able to use my powers last night, but not right now? What was the difference?
But my frustration shifted into curiosity as I approached Maryanne’s house and saw Daniel out front, strapping down a duffel bag on the back of his Honda Shadow.
“Hey,” I called as I jogged up the driveway.
Daniel crouched and adjusted one of the straps holding down his bag. “What’re you doing here?”
“Checking up on … Um, just stopping by to say hi.” I gave him a slight wave. “So, um, hi.”
“Hi.” Daniel scratched at the bandage on his forearm, then tested the hold of a second strap that secured his bag. He hadn’t even looked at me yet.
“What’s going on?” I fingered the zipper on his duffel. “Are you going somewhere?”
Daniel grunted, but before he could answer we both turned at the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway behind us. Not just any car—the sheriff’s patrol truck. Daniel stiffened and straightened up. His dark eyes finally flicked in my direction for half a second and then returned to his duffel bag on the back of his bike. He stepped in front of it as Sheriff Ford and Deputy Marsh got out of the truck.
“Hello, there, sir,” he said to the sheriff. “Is there a problem, or something I can help you with?” He sounded like someone who’d been pulled over for speeding many times—which I didn’t doubt. Daniel had always had a thing for moving fast. But the pale look on Sheriff Ford’s face made me pretty sure he had something much more serious than traffic tickets on his mind.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Either of you know a Tyler Whitney?” Ford asked.
“No,” Daniel said. “Pretty sure I don’t.”
“Well, I have a witness who says you do.” He pointed at the bandage on Daniel’s arm. “Someone says you got into an altercation with Tyler and a couple of his friends the other night.”
“Wait. Tyler?” I looked up at Daniel. His expression was like stone. “I think he means Pete Bradshaw’s friend Ty.” The one I saw at the club last night. “This is totally bogus,” I said to the sheriff. “Because if they’re pressing charges, then you should know that Daniel and I were minding our own business when they approached us. Daniel only acted in self-defense.”