Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,31

court in earnest, and in earnest played to lose, just as Tyger had. Was this how it would always be? Was he now such an intimidating presence that even his own friends would be afraid to truly challenge him? The only one who ever challenged him in any way now was Citra.

Rowan quickly lost interest in the game and left with Tyger, who found it all amusing. “Dude, you’re not lettuce anymore, you’re deadly nightshade. You’re the mean greens now!”

Tyger was right. If Rowan had told those other kids to get down on all fours and lick the pavement, they would have. It was heady, and horrible, and he didn’t want to think about it.

Rowan didn’t know what possessed him to do what he did next. Frustration at his isolation maybe—or maybe just wanting to bring a sliver of his old life into his new one.

“Wanna come over and see the scythe’s place?”

Tyger was a little dubious. “Will he mind?”

“He’s not there,” Rowan told him. “He’s gleaning in another city today. He won’t be home till late.” He knew that Scythe Faraday would blow a brainstem if he found out Rowan had someone over. It made the desire to do it even more enticing. He had been so good, so obedient; it was about time he did something that he wanted to do.

When they arrived, the house was empty. Citra, who also was granted a free afternoon by Scythe Faraday, was out. He had wanted Tyger to meet her, but then thought, What if they happen to like each other? What if Tyger charms her? He always had a way with girls. He had even convinced a girl to splat with him once, just so he could say, “Girls fall for me—literally.”

“It’ll be like Romeo and Juliet,” he had told her. “Except we get to come back.”

Needless to say, the girl’s parents were livid, and after she was revived, they forbade her to see Tyger ever again.

Tyger shrugged it off. “What can I say? Her life is a tale told by idiots,” which, Rowan believed, was a very bad Shakespeare misquote.

The thought of Citra falling for Tyger—even just figuratively—made Rowan a bit nauseated.

“This is it?” Tyger said as he looked around the place. “It’s just a house.”

“What did you expect? A secret underground lair?”

“Actually, yeah. Or something like it. I mean, look at this furniture—I can’t believe he makes you live in this hell hole.”

“It’s not so bad. C’mon, I’ll show you something cool.”

He took Tyger to the weapons den, which, as expected, Tyger found truly impressive.

“This is so edge! I’ve never seen so many knives—and are those guns? I’ve only seen pictures!” He took a pistol off the wall and looked in the barrel.

“Don’t do that!”

“Calm down—I’m a splatter, not a blaster.”

Rowan took it away from him anyway, and in the time it took to put it back on the wall, Tyger had taken down a machete and was swishing it through the air.

“Think I could borrow this?”

“Absolutely not!”

“C’mon—he’s got so many, he’ll never miss it.”

Tyger, Rowan knew, was the very definition of “bad idea.” That had always been part of the fun of being his friend. But now that was a major liability. Rowan grabbed Tyger’s arm, kicked him behind the knee to buckle his leg, and spun him to the ground—all in a single Bokator move. Then he held Tyger’s arm at an unnatural angle, with just enough leverage for it to hurt.

“What the hell!” Tyger said through gritted teeth.

“Drop the machete. Now!”

Tyger did—and just then, they heard the front door being opened. Rowan let go. “Be quiet,” he said in a power-whisper.

He peeked out the door, but couldn’t see who had come in. “Stay here,” he told Tyger, then he slipped out to find Citra closing the front door behind her. She must have been running, because she wore a workout outfit that was much more revealing than Rowan needed at the moment—it drained far too much blood from his brain. So he focused on her apprentice armband to remind himself that hormonal responses were strictly forbidden. Citra looked up and gave him an obligatory greeting.

“Hey, Rowan.”

“Hey.”

“Something wrong?”

“No.”

“Why are you just standing there?”

“Where should I be standing?”

She rolled her eyes and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Rowan slipped back into the weapons den.

“Who is it?” asked Tyger. “Is it what’s-her-name? I want to meet your competition. Maybe she’ll give me immunity. Or something else.”

“No,” Rowan told him. “It’s Scythe Faraday, and he’ll glean you