I Am Number Four

“How do you like Ohio so far?” Sarah asks.



“It’s okay. I could have used a better first day of school.”



She smiles. “What happened, anyway? I was worried about you.”



“Would you believe it if I told you I was an alien?”



“Shut up,” she says playfully. “What really happened?”



I laugh. “I have really bad asthma. For some reason I had an attack yesterday,” I say, and feel regret at having to lie. I don’t want her to see weakness within me, especially weakness that is untrue.



“Well, I’m glad you feel better.”



We make four pancakes. Sarah stacks all of them onto one plate. She dumps an absurd amount of maple syrup over them and hands me a fork. I look at the other students. Most are eating off of two plates. I reach over and cut a bite.



“Not bad,” I say while chewing.



I’m not hungry in the least, but I help her eat all of them. We alternate bites until the plate is empty. I have a stomachache when we finish. After, she cleans the dishes and I dry them. When the bell rings, we walk out of the room together.



“You know, you’re not so bad for a sophomore,” she says, and nudges me. “I don’t care what they say.”



“Thanks, and you’re not so bad yourself for a—whatever you are.”



“I’m a junior.”



We walk in silence for a few steps.



“You’re not really going to fight Mark at the end of the day, are you?



“I need my phone back. Besides, look at me,” I say, and motion to my shirt.



She shrugs. I stop at my locker. She takes note of the number.



“Well, you shouldn’t,” she says.



“I don’t want to.”



She rolls her eyes. “Boys and their fights. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”



“Have a good rest of the day,” I say.



After my ninth-period class, American history, I take slow steps to my locker. I think of just leaving the school quietly, without looking for Mark. But then I realize I will forever be labeled a coward.



I get to my locker and empty my bag of the books I don’t need. Then I just stand there and feel the nervousness that begins to course through me. My hands are still normal. I think of throwing the gloves on as a precaution, but I don’t. I take a deep breath and close the locker door.



“Hi,” I hear, the voice startling me. It’s Sarah. She glances behind her, and looks back at me. “I have something for you.”



“It’s not more pancakes, is it? I still feel like I’m about to burst.”



She laughs nervously.



“It’s not pancakes. But if I give it to you, you have to promise me you won’t fight.”



“Okay,” I say.



She looks behind her again and quickly reaches into the front pocket of her bag. She pulls out my phone and gives it to me.



“How did you get this?”



She shrugs.



“Does Mark know?”



“Nope. So are you still going to be a tough guy?” she asks.



“I guess not.”



“Good.”



“Thank you,” I say. I can’t believe she went to such lengths to help me—she barely knows me. But I’m not complaining.



“You’re welcome,” she says, then turns and rushes down the hall. I watch her the whole way, unable to stop smiling. When I head out, Mark James and eight of his friends meet me in the lobby.



“Well, well, well,” Mark says. “Actually made it through the day, huh?”



“Sure did. And look what I found,” I say, holding my phone up for him to see. His jaw drops. I pass by him, head down the hall and walk out of the building.



CHAPTER EIGHT



HENRI IS PARKED EXACTLY WHERE HE SAID HE would be. I jump in the truck, still smiling.



“Good day?” he asks.



“Not bad. Got my phone back.”



“No fighting?”



“Nothing major.”



He looks at me suspiciously. “Do I even want to know what that means?”



“Probably not.”



“Did your hands come on at all?”



“No,” I lie. “How was your day?”



He follows the driveway around the school. “It was good. I drove an hour and a half to Columbus after dropping you off.”



“Why Columbus?”



“Big banks there. I didn’t want to draw suspicion by requesting a transfer for an amount of money larger than what is collectively contained within the entire town.”



I nod. “Smart thinking.”



He pulls onto the road.



“So are you going to tell me her name?”



“Huh?” I ask.



“There has to be a reason for that ridiculous smile of yours. The most obvious reason is a girl.”



“How’d you know?”



“John, my friend, back on Lorien this ol’ Cêpan was quite the ladies’ man.”



“Get out of here,” I say. “There is no such thing as a ladies’ man on Lorien.”



He nods approvingly. “You’ve been paying attention.”



The Loric are a monogamous people. When we fall in love, it’s for life. Marriage comes around the age of twenty-five, give or take, and has nothing to do with law. It’s based more on promise and commitment than anything else. Henri was married for twenty years before he left with me. Ten years have passed but I know he still misses his wife every single day.



“So who is she?” he asks.



“Her name is Sarah Hart. She’s the daughter of the real-estate agent you got the house from. She’s in two of my classes. She’s a junior.”



He nods. “Pretty?”



“Absolutely. And smart.”



“Yeah,” he draws out slowly. “I’ve been expecting this for a long time now. Just keep in mind that we might have to leave at a moment’s notice.”



“I know,” I say, and the rest of the trip home is made in silence.



When I get home, the Loric Chest is sitting on the kitchen table. It’s the size of a microwave oven, almost perfectly square, a foot and a half by a foot and a half. Excitement shoots through me. I walk up to it and grab the lock in my hand.



“I think I’m more excited about learning how this is unlocked than about what’s actually in it,” I say.



“Really? Well, I can show you how it’s unlocked and then we can just relock it and forget about what’s inside.”



I smile at him. “Let’s not be rash. Come on. What’s inside?”



“It’s your Inheritance.”



“What do you mean, my Inheritance?”



“It’s what’s given to each Garde at birth to be used by his or her Keeper when the Garde is coming into his or her Legacy.”



I nod with exhilaration. “So what’s in it?”



“Your Inheritance.”



His coy response frustrates me. I pick up the lock and try to force it open as I’ve always tried doing. Of course it doesn’t budge.



“You can’t open it without me, and I can’t open it without you,” Henri says.



“Well, how do we open it? There isn’t a keyhole.”



“By will.”



“Oh, come on, Henri. Quit being secretive.”



He takes the lock from me. “The lock only opens when we’re together, and only after your first Legacy appears.”



He walks to the front door and sticks his head out, then he closes and locks it. He walks back. “Press your palm against the side of the lock,” he says, and I do.



“It’s warm,” I say.



“Good. That means you’re ready.”



“Now what?”



He presses his palm against the other side of the lock and interlocks his fingers with mine. A second passes. The lock snaps open.



“Amazing!” I say.



“It’s protected by a Loric charm, just like you are. It can’t be broken. You could run over it with a steam-roller and it wouldn’t even be dented. Only the two of us can open it together. Unless I die; then you can open it yourself.”



“Well,” I say, “I hope that doesn’t happen.”



I try to lift the top of the box, but Henri reaches over and stops me.



“Not yet,” he says. “There are things in here you aren’t ready to see. Go sit on the couch.”



“Henri, come on.”



“Just trust me,” he says.



I shake my head and sit down. He opens the box and removes a rock that is probably six inches long, two inches thick. He relocks the box, then brings the rock over to me. It is perfectly smooth and oblong, clear on the outside but cloudy in the center.



“What is it?” I ask.



“A Loric crystal.”



“What’s it for?”



“Hold it,” he says, handing it to me. The second my hands come into contact with it both lights snap on in my palms. They are even brighter than the day before. The rock begins to warm. I hold it up to look more closely at it. The cloudy mass in the center is swirling, turning in on itself like a wave. I can also feel the pendant around my neck heating up. I’m thrilled by all this new development. My whole life has been spent impatiently waiting for my powers to arrive. Sure, there were times when I hoped they never would, mainly so we could finally settle somewhere and live a normal life; but for now—holding a crystal that contains what looks like a ball of smoke in its center, and knowing my hands are resistant to heat and fire, and that more Legacies are on the way that will then be followed by my major power (the power that will allow me to fight)—well, it’s all pretty cool and exciting. I can’t wipe the smile from my face.



“What is happening to it?”



“It’s tied to your Legacy. Your touch activates it. If you weren’t developing Lumen, then the crystal itself would light up the way your hands are. Instead it’s the other way around.”



I stare at the crystal, watching the smoke circle and glow.



“Shall we start?” Henri asks.



I nod my head rapidly. “Hell, yes.”



The day has turned cold. The house is silent aside from the occasional gust of wind rattling the windows. I lie on my back on top of the wooden coffee table. My hands dangle over the sides. At some point Henri will build a fire beneath them both. My breathing is slow and steady, as Henri has instructed.



“You have to keep your eyes closed,” he says. “Just listen to the wind. There might be a slight burning in your arms when I drag the crystal up them. Ignore it as best as you can.”



I listen to the wind blow through the trees outside. I can somehow feel them sway and bend.



Henri begins with my right hand. He presses the crystal against the back of it, then pushes it up my wrist and onto my forearm. There is a burn as he has predicted, but not enough of one to make me pull my arm free.



“Let your mind drift, John. Go where you need to go.”



I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I try to clear my mind and breathe slowly. All at once I feel myself drift away. From somewhere I can feel the sun’s warmth upon my face, and a wind far warmer than what is blowing beyond our walls. When I open my eyes I’m no longer in Ohio.