by Kresley Cole
My entire destiny had been shaped by a drunken sectaire. Would I pay the ultimate price for another man's mistake?
"Exalted One . . . ?"
I snapped my gaze to the high sectaire. "I am ready," I lied again. Though I'd spent my life preparing for this, I was most decidedly not ready to free fall a mile to the ground.
If I made the leap of faith too far in advance of the game, my wings wouldn't be fully formed.
The others parted the way for me to reach the ledge. As I trudged through the cavern, sectaires tried to catch my eye for tonight's closing ritual, reaching out to touch my chest and back. "Choose me," they whispered.
Was I the only one who doubted my survival? Each step brought me closer to my probable death.
I swallowed when the edge of the cliff came into view, but I kept walking.
Closer.
If I was the Archangel and the game truly began today, my wings and claws would burst from my skin as I fell. My senses and healing would be heightened.
I would fly over lands I didn't know, loosed from the Mount for the first time.
Closer.
As the sun set, I would return with fire, a ceremonial light, all part of the ritual. Then the colony would drink strong spirits and celebrate into the night, the great cavern ringing with cheer.
I would be expected to choose four bedmates among the sectaires, the most beautiful and handsome among them. Having never so much as kissed, I was nearly as nervous about that part as I was about the fall!
Gods, I'd never wanted to live more.
Closer.
I emerged from under the rock overhang, blinking my eyes against the sun.
Closer. What if they had the date wrong?
The brilliant skies were cloudless. Far above, an aeroplane--one of those mysterious crafts!--crossed the blue expanse. Hardly an apocalyptic day.
Closer . . . Here. At the cliffside, I gazed down at the jagged snow-covered rocks below, fear choking me. My heart thundered as I replayed the high sectaire's answer to my query all those years ago: "'Tis our duty to ensure you become the Archangel. Should your instinct for self-preservation overcome you, we shall see to it that you leap."
In other words, all of the sectaires at my back would push me.
My fate was fixed; somehow I would leave this ledge. Would I do so proudly or with shame? As soon as the high sectaire signaled, I would go quickly. Before I lost my nerve. Fists clenched, I inhaled quick bursts of air, biting back yells of terror.
He turned to me. "Whenever you are r--"
I stepped off into nothing.
The air shrilled over my ears. My long hair whipped around my face.
Falling . . .
Falling!
Nothing had happened! Which meant I was dying--
Pain!
Stabbing agony spread over my back. Can't breathe. Barely conscious. I must've landed, breaking on the rocks.
So why was I still falling?
PAIN.
I raised my hands in front of my face, gnashing my teeth as talons burst from my fingertips! Disbelieving, I craned my head from side to side--silky blackness fluttered behind me. Wings! I concentrated on expanding them--using them to survive.
The ground rushed ever closer.
I tried flapping my new wings. Swooping? Flying in general?? None of the elders had passed down practical tips on flight!
New muscles in my back contracted. My wings extended, shocking me with their size! With all my might, I strained my new muscles--
My wings caught the air; my body jerked as if I'd jumped with a tether attached to me.
Too much pressure! "Ahhhh!" The bones would surely snap. Heart about to explode, I let instinct take over. Without thinking, I maneuvered into a dive.
As I shot headfirst through the sky, my wings seemed to act on their own. They dug into the air like paddles in water, propelling me forward. And again. My speed remained constant, but now I was flying parallel to the ground.
I was . . . flying.
The pain from before gave way to euphoria. All my life, I'd waited to soar!
And my senses! I heard ice cracking in a distant glacier, and the cries of jubilant sectaires all the way up at the Mount. Far to the north I spied a white arctic hare, huddled down amid miles of snow. The sight of prey affected me; my talons extended even more from my altered fingertips.
Euphoria. Ecstasy. Air slipped over my wings like a caress from heaven.
As I glided, I blinked at a shadow sliding over the snow below me. Black on white. Fearsome, bold.
My lips parted. That terrifying shadow was . . . mine.
The image was forever burned into my mind; a reminder of why I had grown these wings.
To kill.
The World (XXI)
Tess Quinn, This Unearthly One
"Trapped in the palm of my hand."
A.k.a.: Quintessence, Miracle
Powers: Levitation, teleportation, astral projection, time manipulation, intangibility, Arcana visitation.
Special Skills: Spying.
Weapons: A wooden staff.
Tableau: A bare-chested maiden with a swath of white cloth around her hips, framed by symbols of the four elements.
Icon: A globe.
Unique Arcana Characteristics: When the World utilizes her powers, her reactorlike body quickly burns calories. Inefficient use of her abilities will result in sudden, massive weight loss.
Before Flash: Honors high school student and service award recipient.
Broken Bow, Oklahoma
Day 0
I'll die before I ever get my first kiss.
I sprawled on my bed, biting my nails, miserable. Here I was, sweet seventeen (going on eighteen) and never been kissed. How pitiful was that?
I had all these new abilities, but I'd kill for a kiss. And once I got it, I'd hit the play button for my life. Things might actually start to happen for me--exciting things.
My phone rang. Expecting one of the fussbudgety officers of my service club, I sighed, taking my time to roll over and answer.
I blinked at the caller ID: "T-Tony Trovato?" Was calling me? I had the hugest crush on him. I started to do my usual anxiety trembling, only this time I began to float upward--without even touching my staff.
Tony T. was Sicilian but also a punk skateboarder, like a supercute hybrid. He wasn't the guy every girl in school wanted.
Only the smart girls.
I cleared my throat to answer, but he'd already hung up. Nooo! I slowly drifted back down to sit on the bed. "Why would he call me?" I asked my empty room. For tutoring. Surely.
I wished I could see him right now. Did he have his books cracked open? Was he panicking about class tomorrow?
I glanced at the staff on my bed. I could astral-project to him and see what he was up to. . . .
No, Tess. Don't you do it. Spying was wrong.
When I'd found that beat-up old staff in Gramps's attic and discovered my abilities, I'd realized I was a superhero. I wanted to be a good one. So I'd outlined rules.
1) Don't use powers unless absolutely necessary. This was tough because I liked myself whenever I was actively using them. I felt confident and witty.
Not that anyone could see or hear me.
2) Don't spy. Even tougher.
3) Don't tell parents. To convince them of my powers, I'd have to demonstrate; Dad might legit have a heart attack.
4) Don't rob banks.
I was rethinking my last rule. My parents were closing in on retirement age, but they were strapped. Dad still worked two jobs. Nineteen years ago they'd spent a fortune on assisted reproduction to have me--their little miracle--and still hadn't caught up.
They'd given up everything just to bring me into the world.
I gazed at my phone. Maybe I could bend my rules in case of an emergency--like finding out why Tony had called! I'd only go to him for a second, sneak a peek, then project myself right back home.
I couldn't go for much longer anyway. I'd di
scovered the hard way that each astral projection, levitation, and teleportation burned fat, leaving my body skeletal. I'd plump back up again once I'd scarfed down a few thousand calories, but I didn't want to find out my limit on fat loss.
I set the phone away and laid my hands on the staff. Though it didn't look like much, energy thrummed through it.
I didn't look like much either, but my powers were unreal. Last week, I'd dreamed I was at one with the ether, just an atom among atoms, and I'd gone freaking intangible! I'd floated through my bed, through the floor, and down into the kitchen. Thank goodness my parents hadn't been there.
Closing my eyes, I imagined myself near Tony. Like a shot, I projected to a room. His room? I came to rest horizontally--right above his bed.
His face was, like, six feet below mine! He was shirtless, lying with the comforter at his waist. No books were open. He was texting someone. Or trying to. He typed, erased, then typed again.
Then he tossed the phone away, and threw his arm over his face, like he felt hopeless. Could he possibly have been nervous about texting me?
Yeah, right, Tess.
He reached for his laptop, then clicked a key. His one-click pulled up . . .
My picture.
Tony liked me! Me, me, me!
Then I frowned. That picture had accompanied an article about the service organization I'd started, and I'd always thought the pic made me look hella fat. When that article ran, I'd cried in front of a mirror, calling myself Fatty MacFatterson. I'd just known that everyone else at school had called me that as well.
Had I been totally off base? Tony was looking at that image with his brows drawn--like he was in LOVE!
I could've stayed there sighing over his expression for days, but I needed to get back, would burn too many calories if I lingered. My parents already suspected I was bulimic. I knew this because I'd spied--spying is wrong--on them.
The first time I'd levitated, I'd been delighted to lose all my baby fat. Then I'd realized how important every pound was. Every single calorie counted. Something had to fuel my unreal powers. . . .
One of Tony's hands started rubbing down his belly.
My eyes went wide. No. Way.
Spying is wrong, spying is wrong, SPYING IS WRONG!
His hand dipped lower and lower. The comforter shifted and revealed his navel. How could a navel be so cute? And sexy?
I was pretty sure I was in love with Tony forever.
Or in lust.
I was now DYING for my first kiss. Tomorrow I would march up to him at school and press my lips to his. My new life as a superhero and Tony's girlfriend could finally get started.
His lips were the play button to start up a new chapter. Considering his reaction to my photo, we might even . . . have sex.
When his hand reached its destination, I nearly whimpered with embarrassment and excitement. But somehow I closed my eyes and forced myself to return home.
I opened my eyes, then frowned. Not home? My new surroundings were sort of gauzy and undefined. Everything around me looked blurry, like stuff sometimes did when I dreamed.
I glanced around. A hot guy was standing not ten feet from me, wearing broken-in jeans and no shirt. Well, hellooooo there. He had ripped muscles like no tomorrow and smooth dark skin--except for some wicked scars on his chest. He should have to carry a permit for cheekbones that fine!
I wanted to see his eyes, but they were squeezed shut.
"Howdy," I said. When I was projecting like this, there was no time for shyness.
His gaze snapped to my face. "Who are you? How are you . . . here?"
"I might be dreaming. Or I might have astral-projected. Who can tell? Cool accent, by the way. Where are you from?"
In a stunned tone, he grated, "Africa." Were those ripped muscles straining? "We are Kenyan."
We? I dug through some of the mysterious ether to get closer, then glanced past him. He was hand in hand with a young woman, whose eyes remained closed as she murmured in a low tone. Of course he'd be taken. A little nightie showed off her gorgeous figure. When I gazed at her model-perfect face, I felt a rash starting on my elbow.
I scratched awkwardly. "Uh, I'm from Broken Bow." As if they would've heard of that. "It's the gateway to Beavers Bend," I said, jabbering on. "Which probably isn't an internationally recognized destination, unless one were a beaver, because then it's, like, the place--"
"Do you not see the lights?" he demanded, raising his gaze to the sky.
I squinted. "Lights?" I could kind of make out something that resembled a laser light show crossed with aurora borealis. "I'm not really there."
"You are a ghost as well?" His voice was getting weaker.
Ghost? "Do you mean intangible? I guess I can be a ghost. Well, not on purpose."
"Can you help us? We are . . . we are being killed right now!"
My eyes went wide. "Wh-what are you talking about?"
"The lights! The flames! If I can't remain . . . a ghost . . . we will burn."
No wonder he was straining! I sputtered, "How can I help? Can you teleport?" It took me a ton of calories just to teleport myself; I couldn't imagine doing it with someone else.
He murmured, "Teleport?" as if he was chewing over the idea, considering it. "I do not know."
"I want to help you!" But I felt myself fading from this place. "Do you have a wooden staff? Can you eat something?"
"Eat? Eat?" He shook his head at me. "Beware the lights and the roar, child." Then he drew that woman against him, enfolding her in his arms.
Though I fought to stay with them, I couldn't. As I disappeared from the ether, I was still calling, "Let me help!"
I woke, blinking in confusion. What a freaky dream! Wait, where was I now? "Ugh." I was floating, my face mashed against my bedroom ceiling. Great, I'd drooled on it again.
I concentrated on grounding my feet. But when I maneuvered my body from horizontal to vertical, my sweats slipped clean off.
Oh, no. I must've lost ten, maybe even twenty pounds! Outside, the sun had set--my parents were going to be home any minute now!
All the girls at school were so concerned with losing weight. I needed it. I yanked up my sweats, cinching the tie tight, then weakly hobbled down the stairs to the kitchen.
I hit the fridge first, assessing the contents. I guzzled a gallon of whole milk, then a quart of flavored coffee creamer (my mom's favorite, but desperate times). Then I noshed my way through a package of cookie dough.
The pantry was next. I choked down a jar of peanut butter--no time for a spoon; I scooped it out with my fingers. Then I popped open a can of macadamia nuts, tucked the rim against my mouth, and tipped the can up, gobbling down its contents.
Potato chips. More peanut butter. An entire blueberry pie (Dad's favorite). A pint of ice cream. A six-pack of my parents' Ensure.
Slowly my body took on flesh again. Need more. . . .
I was microwaving a frozen lasagna while inhaling another pint of ice cream when my parents walked in.
Dad murmured, "What the . . . ?"
My goopy fingers hovered at my mouth. I gazed around, seeing the scene from their eyes. All the cabinet doors were open. The refrigerator too. Empty jars and bottles were strewn all over the kitchen. Milk spattered the floor and the front of my T-shirt.
Eyes watering, Mom sank into a chair at the kitchen table. "Tess, we're going to get you help." She removed her glasses to dab at her tears.
Dad stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Tomorrow we're taking you to a facility for teens with eating problems."
No, no. I had to be in school tomorrow. I was going to get my first kiss! "I don't have an eating problem." I swiped my face with the back of my hand. Chocolate, peanut butter, and blueberry came away.
"It's perfectly natural to deny it, honey," Mom said. "They told us you would. You're just going to have to trust us."
Dad's eyes grew misty too. "Miracle, we love you. You know you're our entire world. We can get throug
h anything together."
Past Mom and Dad, movement caught my attention. Lights were flickering in the night sky.
I frowned. Were those the kind of burning lights the Kenyan had faced? Beware the lights. I dropped the ice cream on the floor. "Mom, Dad, we need to get into the tornado shelter. Now!"
"What are you talking about, Tess?" Dad asked, turning to follow my gaze toward the window. "You guys, just look at that!" He sounded hypnotized. "It's the aurora borealis."
Mom stood and turned. "My word, it's spectacular!"
As if in a trance, they headed toward the foyer.
"No!" I rushed after them, but slipped in food, face-planting. "Oomph! W-wait . . ." I sucked in a breath. "The lights are dangerous! We have to get in the shelter!"
As I scrambled up, I heard the front door open. By the time I'd caught up to them, they were standing outside, transfixed.
I kept my gaze down, afraid I'd be mesmerized too. "Please come back inside with me!" Some kind of roar sounded. The Kenyan had warned of that too. Surely this was a twister coming?
I grabbed my parents' arms, yanking on them, but I was weak, still exhausted from using my powers. My folks didn't budge. "Please, I am begging you to come with me!"
The air kept getting hotter. I dared a glance up--just to the horizon. Over the plains came another kind of light, as if the sun were rising. My parents didn't see it, were too hypnotized by the aurora.
Rays blazed, then . . . a giant ball of flames seared everything in its reach--and it was heading for us!
Armageddon. It had to be.
Tears welled at the sight; I shook worse than I ever had. "Mommy! Daddy! P-please." The fire hurtled toward us, but they wouldn't move.
No time to get them to safety.
Could I teleport with my parents? Or go intangible with them, like the Kenyan had with that woman?
I forced myself to close my eyes--though the freaking apocalypse was bearing down on us!--and concentrated on picturing my staff. Then I imagined the three of us were atoms among other atoms, just floating around in the ether.
I opened my eyes. My parents were in that blurry place with me! I glanced past them--the wave of burning light was about to hit! Mom screamed. Dad tried to shield us.
I cried out when it passed through us. The house was an instant inferno, windows shattering. The wave was so vast, we were still engulfed in fire.
We needed to get underground, to the shelter! I imagined us teleporting there. Teleporting . . . traversing . . . crossing physical space . . .