Lore, Pittacus - Lorien 02 - The Power of Six by Lore Pittacus

Author:Lore, Pittacus [Lore, Pittacus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061974557
Google: qPIqKQEACAAJ
Amazon: 0061974552
Barnesnoble: 0061974552
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

THE WIND CARRIES US NORTH TO AN ALABAMA motel where we stay two nights, again thanks to Sam using one of my identities. From there we drive west and spend a night beneath the stars in an open field in Oklahoma, which we follow up with two more nights in a Holiday Inn on the outskirts of Omaha, Nebraska. And from there, for no apparent reason—at least for no reason she’ll admit to—Six drives one thousand miles east to rent a log cabin nestled in the mountains of the Maryland panhandle, a mere five-minute drive to the West Virginia border, and three short hours from the Mogadorian cave. We’re exactly 197 miles from Paradise, Ohio, where our journey first began. Half a tank of gas from Sarah.

Before my eyes even open, I can already feel it’s going to be a tough day, one of those days when the reality of Henri’s death will hit me like a sledgehammer and no matter what I do, the pain won’t leave. I’ve been having these days more often. Days filled with remorse. Filled with guilt. Filled with a genuine sadness to know I’ll never talk to him again. The thought cripples me. I wish I could change it. But as Henri once said, “Some things can never be undone.” And then there’s Sarah, and the terrible guilt that’s crept in since leaving Florida for allowing myself to get so close to Six that I almost kissed her.

I take a deep breath, finally opening my eyes. The pale morning light enters the room. Henri’s letter, I think. I have no choice but to read it now. It’s too dangerous to delay it any longer. Not after almost losing it in Florida.

I slip my hand beneath the pillow and remove the diamond-bladed dagger and the letter. I’ve been keeping both of them close to me. I stare at the envelope for a moment, trying to imagine under what circumstances the letter was written. Then I sigh, knowing it doesn’t really matter and that I’m just wasting time, and with the dagger I make a clean cut along the envelope’s seal and remove the pages. Henri’s perfect handwriting fills five yellow legal-sized sheets with thick black ink. I take a deep breath, and then let my eyes fall upon the top sheet.

January 19

J —

I’ve written this letter many times over the years, never knowing whether it might be my last, but if you’re reading this now, then surely the answer is yes. I’m sorry, John. I truly am. We Cêpans who came, our duty was to protect you nine at all costs, including our lives. But as I put down these words at our kitchen table, mere hours after you saved me in Athens, I know it’s never been duty that has kept you and me together, but rather love that will always be a stronger bond than any obligation. The truth is that my death was always going to happen. The only variables were when and how, and if it hadn’t been for you, then I would have certainly died today.

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