Five's Legacy by Pittacus Lore Read Free Book Online Page A

and with a wad of cash in my pocket, I’m just another kid in Miami whose parents have given him too much allowance.
    I stay careful when it comes to my powers. They could easily give me away. That and my bulky, heavy Chest, which I carry with me everywhere I go.
    I think about the Garde quite a bit at first. About maybe seeking them out and trying to find them. But how would I even go about doing that? Post “Missing” ads or something? For all I know they could be in shacks in Africa or Indonesia or Antarctica. And if they’re not—if they’re banding together . . . well, no one ever came to find me .
    So I think of them less and less. Every time I discover something new about the city, part of me curses Rey. We could have been doing this all the time instead of being stuck in the middle of nowhere. I spend my days exploring or playing in arcades or reading books on the beach—doing all the things I didn’t get a chance to do on our island where there were no bookstores or electrical outlets. I feel like I could probably play video games or watch movies forever. I eat up all the stories. I wish I could create them myself.
    I make up for lost time.
    I know what Rey would say. He’d call me lazy. He’d trot out parables about ants and grasshoppers. But I refuse to feel bad about actually living my life for once instead of cowering in fear.
    It’s almost too easy here. I get comfortable.
    Maybe even careless.
    And that’s how she finds me.
    Normally any wallets I lift go straight into my duffel bag, and I go through them later when it’s dark and I’m not in a crowded area. But I’m hungry and low on cash and end up leaning against a palm tree on a nice, quiet section of beach. I’m rifling through my haul when she speaks from behind me.
    “You’re just looking to get busted, aren’t you?”
    I flinch and twist around, pulling my bag closer to me as I get a good look at the person this high, slightly raspy voice has come from. She looks like she’s a few years older than me, with deeply tanned skin and shiny black hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a lot of dark eye makeup and a gray tank top over cutoff jean shorts.
    I stammer the beginnings of a few words and scramble to my feet. She laughs a little.
    “Don’t worry,” she says with a shrug. “I’ve got enough reasons of my own to avoid the cops.”
    She stares at me with dark brown eyes, waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what to do. I’ve been avoiding people the whole time I’ve been here—old habits—and no one’s really gone out of their way to talk to me. But this girl seems . . . nice.
    “Okay, so do you not talk or something?” she asks. “What’s your name?”
    I open my mouth, and then stop. It’s a simple question, but of course I have no answer. At least not one I can give her truthfully. So I think back to a person I liked being.
    “Cody,” I finally say. The name I used in Canada.
    “Cody,” she repeats. “It’s nice to meet you finally. I’m Emma.”
    Shit. What does she mean by “finally”? I stare at her face, analyzing it, looking for signs that she might be a Mog—ready to fight or fly at a moment’s notice if it comes to that.
    “Oh, please. I’ve seen you lurking around. It’s impossible not to. I’m surprised the police haven’t picked you up yet. You look totally sketch when you’re on the prowl. It’s crazy that you even get close enough to people to lift off them.”
    Oh. Well, the good news is, she doesn’t seem to notice that I’m able to pick pockets because of my Legacy. The bad news is, apparently I’m not nearly as stealthy as I thought I was.
    “No offense,” she continues, squinting at me a little. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
    “I guess not,” I say. I’ve never really thought about it. “I used to talk a lot when I was younger and then it was just me and . . .” I don’t know how to finish the sentence—realize that I’ve said too