by Tamar Sloan
Tess is worried.
And that’s never happened before.
Tristan pushes himself to a sitting position, the covers falling to his waist. “Fate had better hurry up or I’m going to kick its ass.”
Tess grins. “I’ve seen your new moves, but I’d put my money on fate.” She heads to the door. “Breakfast in ten. You don’t want to be late.”
Tristan flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This is one of the nicer places they’ve stayed at. The paint isn’t peeling. You can’t hear the neighbors through the walls. It’s actually a house and not an apartment. And it’s not because they can’t afford it. The pod Tristan arrived in was loaded with precious metals and gems. If they wanted, they could live off the radar the rest of their days.
But they can’t.
They have twelve other Zodiac Heirs to find, considering two are Gemini twins. The Universe depends on it.
So they move from one place to another, taking whatever accommodation is easy and convenient. Searching. Hoping.
So far failing.
The sweet smell of hot sugar has Tristan hauling himself out of bed. Tess always makes waffles on the first day of school. She says it’s so he can start on a positive note. Throwing on a shirt, Tristan heads for the stairs. First days no longer make him nervous. He’s seen too many plus he’s learned they’re more of a recon mission. But there’s no way he’s messing with this tradition.
Waffles are waffles.
He’s just at the top of the narrow stairs when he grips the bannister, his head spinning. Tristan frowns, his other hand coming to his temple. Maybe he got up too fast.
He hasn’t had a vision in ages…
The cream walls and stained carpet fade away like they were never real. He locks every muscle, knowing what’s coming next is impossible to stop.
“Tristan?” It’s Tess, her voice full of concern.
But it’s too late. A new reality has gripped him.
One painting a future that has yet to come.
It must be night time because everywhere he looks, it’s black, right down to the mist at his feet.
There are two girls. One, a blonde, is sprawled on the floor, the other girl, this one a brunette, has collapsed on all fours. It’s clear she’s distressed. For a split second she looks up and it feels like their eyes meet. Tristan gasps. She can’t see him, can she? But then her mouth is moving as if she’s talking to someone. Someone who must be standing right where he is.
Glancing over his shoulder, Tristan is met by nothing but darkness. When he turns back, he scans the area, knowing there’s more. The visions are always about Skins.
And if there are too many of them, it could mean they’ve already been found. If that’s the case, they’ll be leaving sooner than he thought.
But when he sees them, Tristan’s eyes widen with horror and he has to stop himself from taking a step forward and plunging down the stairs. He doesn’t get to change what happens. He’s nothing but a spectator.
There are many of them, littered around like statues. Frozen. He can tell they’re Skins. He always can in the visions. A black aura surrounds them, the evil stain that is Chardis.
The brunette lifts her arm only to collapse as if a weight was just pressed on her. She struggles, but it’s obvious that whatever it is, it’s too strong. Her hand reaches out as if he’s there, but before Tristan can scream, she stills. A pool of blood blooms on the ground around her head, forming a crimson halo.
The vision dissolves, leaving him surrounded by black and his own heavy breathing. But Tristan waits, heart battering his ribs. There will be a second vision.
There’s always a second.
This scene unfolds like the first. The brunette on the ground, talking to whoever’s in front of her. But this time, when she raises her hand, something changes. The mist recedes. She pushes to her feet.
The vision evaporates just as quickly as the first. The darkness falls away, the morning light suddenly feeling foreign. What the hell just happened?
As consciousness filters in, Tristan finds he’s still standing at the top of the stairs. He has to unclench his hand from the bannister, the skin on his knuckles white and stretched.
“Tristan.” Tess reaches out carefully. She knows it’s hard to shift back to the present. “Are you okay?”
Tristan nods even though his gut is churning. It’s always like this—the disorientation, the jumble in his head, the nausea. It will pass...eventually.
And then he’ll have to decide what they’re going to do with the two alternate realities he just witnessed.
Zarius is halfway up the stairs, watching them. Everything about him says he’s on alert and ready to move if needed. Zarius was sent to Earth along with baby Tristan. His role is that of protector, and he takes his job seriously.
Tristan pulls up a shaky grin. “I haven’t vision-walked in years, you know.”
Although, if he’d taken the step forward that he’d wanted to in the vision, the tumble down the stairs would’ve been inevitable.
Zarius relaxes. “You don’t remember the time you almost ran into traffic because you saw that Skins were about to find us.”
Tristan jogs down the last of the steps. “Good thing the first vision wasn’t the one that came true that time, huh?” He slaps Zarius on the shoulder as he trots past.
Heading to the kitchen, he imagines the head shake Zarius is probably still engaging in. Then he’ll glance at Tess. She’ll smile. And everything will be right for him again.
His heart rate already dropping, Tristan draws in a deep breath. Someone died in the first vision. Death hung in the air.
He shudders. He’s never seen anyone die before, let alone several.
Unless it’s the second vision that’s the true one…
That’s the crux of Tristan’s visions. Two futures. Only one that comes true. And he never knows which one it is.
Trying to find some equilibrium, Tristan flops onto the chair, drawing the stack of waffles toward him. Tess’s right. This is definitely a perk in a life that involves a revolving door of first days at school.
Tess and Zarius join him, sliding in across the table. Tristan focuses on picking up the maple syrup and pouring it over the waffles like it’s ketchup.
Zarius’s chair scrapes as he pulls himself in. “He’s not talking. It must’ve been a big one.”
Tess rests a hand on her husband’s arm. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”
The first bite of fluffy, crunchy waffle has Tristan closing his eyes. Honeyed sweetness floods his senses, sweeping away the remaining horror of the vision.
Although, this one was more of a nightmare. There was blood, and wide, frightened eyes.
Another few mouthfuls and Tristan’s ready to talk. A person’s death is something they need to prevent.
As succinctly as he can, and with as little emotion as possible, he tells Tess and Zarius what he saw. Two girls, one possibly already dead. In the first vision it looks like it becomes two fatalities. In the second vision, something changes. He doesn’t know how it ends, but it sure as hell feels more hopeful than the first.
Zarius and Tess glance at each other. Zarius frowns. “Was there anyone else there? Did you get a look at the Skin?”
Tristan shoves another forkful of dripping waffle into his mouth, shaking his head as he chews and swallows. “That’s a negative on both counts. You know how the visions are. They’re like tunnel vision, only showing me a slice of what’s going on.”
Zarius strokes his chin. “Skins don’t usually work alone.”
“There were others there, but they weren’t moving.” Tristan chews on another mouthful. “The brunette, she was talking to someone, but I couldn’t see who. Maybe it was another Skin.”
“This vision was different,” Tess says quietly. “More dangerous. Deadly.” She lifts startled eyes to Zarius, then Tristan. “Do you think one of them was a Zodiac?”
Tristan rocks back in his
chair. “That would explain why the blonde girl was on the ground.” Possibly dead. “Skins don’t usually attack humans in plain sight like that.”
Zarius pushes to his feet, pacing across the kitchen and then back to the table. “The only way we can know for sure is if we find them.”
This time, Tristan loads up his fork. Training with Zarius most days means having a hearty appetite isn’t an issue for him. The hours of running and weights and self-defense mean he can eat what he likes when he likes. On top of being able to kick a Skin’s ass, it’s a nice little bonus.
It also means with his mouth full, he won’t point out that trying to find the other Zodiac Heirs is what they’ve been doing for years.
Tess draws in a breath. “What if she’s the Gemini Twin?”
The waffle turns to dust in Tristan’s mouth. His soulmate. The other half of him.
Quite possibly the key to defeating Chardis.
Zarius starts pacing again. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, love. We need to find these girls first, then we can see if a stone glows in their hands.”
Tristan starts chewing again, but the sweet, crispy goodness in his mouth has lost its appeal. He puts his knife and fork down, starting to think strategically. “I’ll scout around school. Then afterward, I’ll find out where the local hangouts are and check those out, too.”
Zarius nods. “It’s a start. The girls could be at any school in this area, though. The visions are always of somewhere nearby.”
“I’ll transfer next week if I don’t find them,” Tristan adds, consciously working to not grit his teeth.
Suddenly the haystack this needle is hidden in doesn’t feel any smaller. So far all they know is that some poor girls are going to be lying on a dark floor somewhere, their lives hanging in the balance.
“And there was nothing about the location that jumped out?” Zarius strokes his chin. “That could be a place to start.”
Tristan’s hands grip the table in frustration. “No. It was black as night.”
Of course, it was. So far their hit rate has been zero. And that’s in over seventeen years.
Why would this be any different?
“We’ll have to keep an eye out then, my guess is you’ll know it when you see it,” Zarius says, frustration grinding his words out.
Tess begins clearing the plates and cutlery. “I’ll start wandering the malls, see if anyone fits the bill.” She smiles brightly. “We have the description of the two girls, that’s something.”
Zarius slips a finger through the loophole on her jeans, tugging her onto his lap. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Tess giggles, holding the plates up high but not making a move to stand up. She leans in, the intent to kiss obvious.
Tristan makes a point of scraping his chair back as loudly as he can. “Way to make the waffles come back up, guys.” He throws his hands in the air as he heads to the stairs, grinning to himself when their chuckles follow him up to his room.
He makes an issue of their loved-up ways, but they know it’s a token objection. Zarius and Tess became his carers when they were quite young, and their life has focused on keeping him safe whilst finding others like him. They deserve the joy they find in each other.
Plus, it’s meant he’s grown up surrounded by their love. Nurtured by it. Inspired by it.
It gives Tristan hope that he’ll find his own soulmate. The second Gemini Twin…
Grabbing his clothes out of his suitcase—he decided long ago there’s little point in unpacking—Tristan pauses. Could one of the girls in his vision be a Zodiac Heir? Could she be the other Gemini?
What other reason would there be for a Skin to so blatantly murder someone?
Telling his heart to calm the farm, Tristan quickly gets dressed. A cursory glance in the mirror has him combing his fingers through his hair, which is more than he usually does. But it is his first day, which means he has to make a good impression.
And for the first time in as long as he can remember, it feels like fate might be on his side.
Maybe he won’t have to kick its ass after all.
3
Brielle
It’s a sunny, clove-scented day as Brielle rides her bike to school. Mirror Point is a quaint little suburb on the outskirts of New York City. Brielle’s often grateful she didn’t end up in a group home in the city. She’s heard awful rumors about those places. Grace Orphanage is one of the last nun run orphanages in the country, and given her curse, she prefers the company of nuns.
On many mornings like this, she imagines how different her life would be if she’d grown up in the city. She’d likely have ended up in a nut house. New York’s full of shady people. She’d be plagued with visions everywhere she went, and probably so overrun with guilt that she’d…
She pushes the thought out of her mind as she stops at the intersection. Yes, Mirror Point is comparably a great place for someone like her. Simple people with simple lives. And enough parks and even a lovely cliffside where she can escape the crowds when she feels overwhelmed.
The light turns green and she rides forward, hoping the school day passes quickly and without a hitch so she can get to her meeting. This is her last chance to get adopted. So much hangs on her making the best second impression she can.
She just has to act normal.
The parking lot of Mirror Point High is flooded with the usual vehicles full of parents dropping off kids who are eager not to be seen with them. Brielle envies those kids. What she wouldn’t give for that kind of life. Something so simple, so ordinary. Something that just about everyone takes for granted.
As she rides up, she lets herself fall into the daydream of a morning in the Pierces’ home. Having breakfast with them. Being dropped off before they head to work, wherever that is. Unlike her fellow students, she wouldn’t fight off any hugs or kisses or whatever form of affection they’d like to give her. She’d savor it, and probably end up late to class for it repeatedly.
A loud screech from behind jerks her out of her fantasy, and she looks over her shoulder just in time to see a shiny silver Mercedes rapidly coming toward her, frantically attempting to swerve. She hastily tries to steer out of harm’s way as the driver blares the horn. The bike topples over and Brielle crashes against the curb.
The Mercedes slams to a halt and the passenger window slides down.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Ride your bike on the sidewalk like a normal person!” Cassandra Sinclair yells at her from the driver’s seat, her cell phone firmly in one hand propped above the steering wheel.
“The sidewalk is for pedestrians,” Brielle yells back. “Maybe if you weren’t on your phone all the time, you’d see when you’re about to run someone over!” But her words are wasted, as Cassandra rolls up the window and speeds into the parking lot.
Brielle pushes herself up, the action making her realize that her palms are scraped and her favorite pair of jeans ripped at the knee. Great. So much for making a good impression.
The first bell rings, and Brielle pushes her bike to the stand to lock it in place. At least it made it through with less damage than she did. She knows she should get to class, but she’s not going to let Cassandra get away with almost killing her that easily. That girl is the definition of a spoiled brat, and more people need to stand up to her.
Cassandra gets out of her car, and Brielle stomps toward her.
“You do realize that you almost flattened me,” Brielle accuses.
Cassandra rolls her expertly mascara-ed blue eyes and slings her purse over her shoulder, her perfect golden curls falling around her beautiful doll face like a lion’s mane. Then she fixes a sneer on Brielle, looking like a feral cat about to strike.
“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re fine, aren’t you?” she retorts. “Besides, if you were driving a car instead of a bike like a normal person, that wouldn’t have happened.” She tilts her head and pouts her glossed lips. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t have parents to buy you
one.”
Brielle’s hands ball into fists. Cassandra loves to remind her that she’s still an orphan. The irony is, Cassandra used to be one, too, at the same orphanage. It’s hard to believe now, but they used to be good friends.
Before Cassandra got adopted.
Brielle lets Cassandra pass, muttering only to herself, “I guess the grass isn’t always greener on the family side of the fence.” She shakes her head, feeling sorry for her former friend. There are worse things than being an orphan.
The second bell rings, and Brielle tries to shake the bitter taste of the altercation as she rushes to class.
Her first period is English. Mr. Brown begins to read Macbeth, and his monotone soon lulls half the class to sleep. But Brielle has too much going through her mind to either sleep or listen to the story. With the parental visit this afternoon, and the confrontation with Cassandra, she can’t keep the memories from invading her mind.
They were eleven, all primped up for the annual Meet and Greet. The Sinclairs had turned up. Sister Agatha had said they were rich and prominent. Brielle had no idea what that second word meant, but she knew it was a good thing from Sister Agatha's tone. At first sight, they were beautiful, like the bride and groom on top of a wedding cake. But up close, even at eleven she could see that they were just as plastic, and just as hollow.
They’d asked to take a stroll through the garden with Brielle, and she was so excited at the prospect of a family that she eagerly agreed. Mr. Sinclair was charming and well-dressed, and Mrs. Sinclair looked like a supermodel, with fine glittering jewelry hanging from her ears and around her neck.
But as soon as Brielle got close, it happened.
Horrible images flashed in her mind. Mr. Sinclair beating one woman after another. Brielle saw it all from his youth to now in a flood of brutal scenes. The first time he hit his high school girlfriend. Then college girlfriends. Worst of all was the stripper he’d left for dead on a bender in Vegas.
Brielle returned to reality with a gasp, hopping away from Mr. Sinclair as if he were about to strike her next. What would happen to her if he adopted her?