Prophecy Girl

by Cecily White

  “I screwed this up, didn’t I?” he asked softly. “Us, I mean.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Was there still an us? That seemed to be the million dollar question…not that he’d helped clarify things.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I replied. “It was mine. I needed someone to open the channel and you were there. Wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.”

  “Amelie.”

  “I mean, it could have been anyone,” I prattled on. “Matt, Kel…even Lyle, I guess. It’s not your fault I had a crush on you.” My cheeks flushed with heat. I hadn’t meant to say that.

  He squinted. “Crush?”

  “It was stupid, I know,” I admitted. “The flowers, the cookies. I probably drove you up a wall. You were just too nice to tell me to buzz off.”

  “I did tell you to buzz off,” he pointed out. “Several times.”

  “I’m not the best with feedback.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you want to know the truth, I didn’t mind that much. Actually, I kind of liked it.”

  Okay, either my hearing was shot or I was hallucinating. Or he was trying to make me feel like less of a ginormous loser. “Jack, you don’t have to say that. I already told you, you’re off the hook.”

  “I heard. Thanks.”

  Jack lifted a hand to push the bright tangles back from my face, his eyes searching mine. I’d gotten so used to seeing that guarded look of his, the one that kept the world at bay. But when I stared up at him now, it was gone.

  “You know, Omelet, I could have taken a bolt to the heart. I would have happily given up my soul. But this?” His fingers trailed down my wrist, sending off yellow sparks of power. “Do you have any idea how awful this week has been? Not the beatings and impending death—that wasn’t your fault,” he cut me off before I could get defensive. “I’m talking about everything else. The sightseeing and the hand-holding and—oh yeah—the singing in the shower? What was that, anyway? Justin Bieber?”

  “Don’t even start.” In a fit of drama, I grabbed the cell phone off my bedside table. The call log told me Luc had been trying to get me, but I hit the icon to ignore his messages. Whatever the vampire wanted, it could be dealt with later.

  “Here.” I handed the phone to Jack. “Why don’t you record your complaints, then whenever the lecture-urge arises, just hit play. Save your breath.”

  “Great idea.” He took the phone and held it to his mouth. “Amelie Bennett, you’re the most annoying girl on the planet. You make me want to throw myself off a bridge. And, unfortunately, I am one hundred percent, head-over-heels, crazy in love with you. There. Satisfied?” He hit the stop icon and tossed it back in my lap.

  I stared at the fallen rectangle like it might bite me. Okay, hallucination check. Did he just say what I thought he said? I hit the play icon and listened carefully.

  Yup, there it was. One hundred percent, head-over-heels, crazy in love. I did it again, just to be sure.

  “Jackson,” I asked carefully, “are you on any illegal substances I should know about?”

  “Nope.”

  “Eaten any strange looking mushrooms?”

  “Not lately.”

  “Any near brushes with eternal damnation that might be affecting your judgment?”

  He grinned. “That hard to believe, huh?”

  I hit the play icon again.

  You know those moments where something amazing happens and you swear you’re going to remember it forever? Like the first time you see a rainbow for real, after years of staring at rainclouds, thinking there’s color hidden there when really it’s just pollution? It wasn’t like that.

  I didn’t think I would remember this forever. I knew I would.

  After the fourth or fifth replay, he pried the phone out of my hands and tossed it on the bed. Then he sank to his knees in front of me.

  “You’re such an idiot. I’ve loved you since the day you showed up at my stupid piano recital with flowers you picked out of Smalley’s private garden. Or maybe it was the animal crackers, I don’t even know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “That night at the PTA meeting, you didn’t force me to bond. I could have run away like the other kids. I came back because I was looking for you. Amelie, I’m crazy about you. I always have been. I’m pretty sure I always will be.”

  Then he kissed me.

  Which is a bit like saying, “Then the sun exploded and the walls started melting.”

  As intense as our kisses were before, they always had a sense of desperation attached to them, like everything could fall apart in an instant. This was different; there was no anger, no secret. He was oxygen after being underwater for years. All coherent thought exited my head as I melted into him.

  There was nothing hurried this time. His lips pressed, cool and sweet, against mine, with just a hint of salt from a cut at the corner of his lip. One of his hands slid up my spine to circle the back of my neck, guiding me closer, fitting my body to his. And it did fit, perfectly, like we’d been molded out of the same clay. With every touch, I felt something I’d lost being given back to me, some piece of me that I hadn’t known was missing.

  His fingers wound into my tank top as I scooted backward on the bed, pulling his weight down on top of me. He couldn’t seem to stop touching me and I didn’t want him to. The feel of his fingers skating over my ribs, under my shirt, lighting up my skin like a bonfire—it hurt, but not in a bad way. I felt my heart expanding, making room for him to move in permanently.

  “Jack.” I touched his broken lip with my finger. “Do you want me to heal you?”

  He shook his head. “No more healing, I promised your dad.”

  “You care what my dad thinks?”

  “Well,” Jack frowned, his eyes troubled, “he’s kind of my father-in-law. Granted, I’ll be dead soon, but for the moment, it seems wrong to disrespect him.”

  I tried to nod, but it was more of a Bobblehead move. Maybe it was a mistake to bring up my dad…or anything about the future, really. Jack hadn’t given up the notion that he would die, yet here he was, with me. Strange as it was, it didn’t exactly feel like an ending.

  “You know I won’t let you die,” I said.

  “It’s not your choice.”

  “I’m your Channeler, Jack. ‘Wither thou goest—’”

  He shut me up with another kiss that sent explosions to my toes and made me forget my middle name. Every nerve in my body lit up like a power station. My legs twined through his, my hands pulling his shirt up over his head, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get close enough to him. In all the times I’d watched him fight, it never occurred to me how that physical power might translate to…other stuff. Now all I could think was that I couldn’t wait to find out. The problem was, I didn’t just want him for one night. I wanted him forever.

  We kissed until my lips felt frosted and worn and my hair was damp with sweat. It was like every dream I’d had about him, only this time I knew I wouldn’t wake up. His hands stroked my back with urgent tenderness as I trailed my fingers over the scar on his chest. Scary how close I’d come to losing him.

  “What are you thinking?” I whispered.

  “About weapons,” he admitted, sheepish. “Whether you have any here.”

  “Well, the toilet brush is probably the most lethal thing we own. You can call Luc. I’m sure he has a spare surface-to-air missile you could borrow.”

  Jack grinned. “Thanks, but it’s not for me. I meant for you. They’ll come soon, once I’m gone. Luc will help you if he can but, Ami, they won’t give up. You’re too dangerous.”

  “I still seem dangerous to you?”

  “Well, maybe not now, while you’re all warm and…” He made a vague gesture at my body, pajamas clinging in rumpled disarray. “This version of you is terrifying in a completely different way.”

  I pinched him hard on the belly. “Watch it, buddy. I am dangerous, and don’t you forget it. Now hold still.”

  My intent was just
to heal him, maybe patch up the rough spots before we headed off to face the enemy…again. No way could I have known what would happen when I opened the healing channel.

  Or tried to.

  It was like pulling on a tug-of-war rope, only there was no one on the other side of the ditch and the ground behind me was an endless pit of ice cold fire. I felt my grip slide off the power strands, vertigo slamming into me. The first thing to hit was confusion. It made no sense why such a small healing channel should make me so sick. Every muscle went rigid. Blackness ripped through my head like gunfire.

  “Amelie, no! Shut it off! Close the channel!”

  I heard him in the back of my head, yelling for help, but I couldn’t stop it. My head flopped backward, a cacophony of shouts rising as people hurtled into the room. The air oozed fire, hot and musty at the same time, with a metallic tinge that turned my stomach. I could smell it, like wet, burning leaves. It stung my senses.

  I tried to give the darkness to Jack, the same way I had at assembly, but for every rohm of power he drained off me, five more flowed in. I couldn’t shut the channel.

  “Henry! Bud!” Jack shouted. “I need help!”

  There was a clatter in the hallway, then my father’s voice erupted. “What the–? What in God’s name did you do to her?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Jack insisted. “We were just kissing—”

  “You bastard, get your hands off my daughter!”

  “Bud!” Henry cried.

  All at once, Jack lurched away from me and a popping sound like broken glass exploded against the wall. I tried to reach out for him but my arms were lead.

  “You were supposed to keep her from channeling. That was the deal,” Bud yelled.

  “Sir, I didn’t—” Jack was silenced by another crash.

  My body convulsed on the bed, and coppery blood pooled inside my mouth. I wanted to ask what “deal” they were talking about but nothing would respond. My brain had short-circuited.

  Jack scurried back to my side, his fingers trailing over my hair. “Ami, you have to close the channel. Now!”

  “She can’t,” Henry interrupted. “Jackson, you’re her conduit. She can’t close it with you here. Not with that much Otrava in her.”

  Jack’s fingers froze on my forehead, terror seeping into me through the bond. “I can’t leave her. Not like this.”

  “If you stay, she’ll die.”

  “But—”

  “Boy, you have five seconds to get out of my house.” Dad raised a fist, ready to knock Jack out the window.

  “Jackson, I’m sorry,” Henry concurred, “but you need to go. Now.”

  Jack hesitated only a moment. I could feel the conflict in him, his desperate desire to stay with me sandwiched between waves of wordless terror. I flinched as his fingertips left my forehead in a velvet sweep of pain.

  No! I wanted to shout. Come back!

  Before I could pry my mouth open, a new presence emerged beside me. It wasn’t so bright or warm as Jack, but it pulled on the darkness in steady, even tugs.

  Slowly, the pain receded and my room came back into focus. It looked like a smashed antique toy store. My Hello Kitty lamp lay in pieces on the ground; the mosquito netting over the bed had been ripped down in wide strips. My pillow lay in a blood-covered heap beside the bed.

  “Henry?” I croaked.

  “Shh.” He put a wrinkled hand over my forehead to draw out the last of the dark energy. “You have a huge dose of Otrava in your system. It’ll fade in a few days, but for the moment, you’re grounded.”

  I sat up, immediately wishing I hadn’t. “J–Jack needs me. The Graymason—”

  “Amelie, Jack was the one who gave you the Otrava,” Henry said quietly. “He didn’t want you following him tonight. He wanted you safe.”

  I stared at him, struggling to make sense of his words. No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t fit together. “That’s ridiculous. Jack would never do that.”

  “People do ridiculous things for love,” Henry sighed. “I’m beginning to think Judy was right with all her talk of destiny. There may be only one way this can end.”

  Before I could comment, one of the cell phones Luc gave us started ringing. Not a big deal, since he was the only one who had that number. Honestly, my heart was already shredded. Did I really need to add to the trauma by interacting with the undead?

  I powered it off.

  A perfect orange moon cast odd patterns through the lace curtains, like a haunted doily on the carpet. Eleven eleven p.m.

  So that was it, then? In forty-nine minutes, Jack would be dead? He’d be dead, I would be digesting poison, and there was nothing I could do about any of it?

  “You’ll be okay,” Henry assured me. “You two were only partway bonded—”

  “You were only partway bonded with Smalley,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t bother answering—just sat on the edge of the bed, holding my hand while I sent hate vibes into the world. This sucked…more than anything had ever sucked in the history of the whole sucky universe. I might have cried myself to sleep like that, too, if things hadn’t gotten so loud downstairs. Footsteps crashed, furniture cracked. My father boomed expletives.

  “Stay away from her. She’s done enough for you people!”

  I sat up straight as the door to my room exploded inward. Dane stood behind it—but not any version of Dane I’d seen before. Moonlight shimmered under his skin in a thousand glittery shards, as if he held the moon inside him. His face was mid-transformation from human to pure nightmare, teeth bared and fingers extended into knife-like claws.

  “Amelie.” My name emerged as a growl, like the things you hear on Animal Planet that make your skin crawl. If it hadn’t been Dane I might have freaked out completely. Henry and I watched as his body convulsed like a wild dog being electrocuted, and the transformation dissolved.

  “Dane, what’s going on?” I demanded.

  He shook himself once more until his face came back into focus. “The phone,” he said. “Luc called. He says it’s not the prophecy they’re after. It never was.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Peace Tenets,” Dane said, still a growl, but slightly less terrifying. “Jack’s the last living petitioner. If he dies, it’s all over.”

  I looked at Henry, waiting for translation. He looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Mr. Delinsky, are you sure?”

  Dane nodded. “This is what they wanted all along. If Jack doesn’t sign, the truce ends. It’ll be Guardians against Inferni all over again.”

  “But, Mr. Smith-Hailey is gone,” Henry said. “What choice do we have—”

  Dane shuddered again, obviously struggling to keep his form. “There’s no ch–ch–choice. Unless you want us all to die…you h–h–have to save Jack.”

  My gaze flitted from Dane to Henry, then to the window where Luc’s car had just screeched to a halt on the front lawn.

  “Well,” I stood, ignoring the newly furry Dane-creature clawing my carpet, “it’s about freaking time.”

  Chapter Twenty-one:

  End Game

  Luc hit the accelerator as we flew through another red light. Cars fishtailed behind us, swerving into each other to avoid his meteor-like path.

  “Luc, two-thirds of the people in this car are not immortal,” I yelled. “Slow the hell down before I kick your ass sideways!”

  “Silence!” he commanded. “Your blather distracts me.”

  “Don’t distract him, child,” Henry muttered from the backseat.

  Ever since we left the house, Luc had alternated pretty steadily between bouts of stony silence and spurts of wild complaint—with most of the complainy bits centered around what a pathetic excuse for a Guardian I was. Likewise, I alternated between guilt for not taking his call sooner and a burning desire to slap him silly.

  We bounced onto the sidewalk, skirting around a four-way stop sign. I screamed.

  “Newsf
lash, Luc! For some people, life consists of more than just your little problems, you know?”

  “Little problems?” he sputtered. “My people are facing extinction!”

  “Well, maybe you should have planned better.”

  “Maybe you should answer the blasted phone,” he yelled back, his fist slamming into the steering wheel.

  “Mr. Montaigne,” Henry broke in with a nervous glance at the fractured steering wheel. “If you could calm down for a moment, I think it might behoove us to discuss our strategy—”

  “That’s ‘Lord Montaigne’ to you, peon,” Luc fairly spat. “Do you even know who I am?”

  If I had to guess, I’d say yes, Henry knew, since Luc had been throwing titles around since he arrived.

  “Royal dauphin.”

  “Heir to the Immortal throne.”

  “Future Sovereign of the Southern District.”

  It sounded impressive…until the image of him and Beatrice Boudreaux squeaking around in the backseat of a Ferrari popped into my head.

  I shut my eyes as the last of Dad’s emergency Queller dose worked its detoxifying magic on my body. It wasn’t as excruciating as the first time at school. Maybe the Otrava dose wasn’t as high, or maybe I just knew what to expect. Either way, my pain had a purpose. My bondmate—the guy I would swim naked through jellyfish for—was scheduled to die in twenty-three minutes. If I wasn’t in perfect channeling shape by the time the clock struck midnight, I could lose him forever.

  Luc careened onto the I-10, nearly crashing into a concrete pillar. Not that mere concrete could have stopped him. He probably would have ordered it out of the way and kept driving.

  “This is more than a mere tragedy! This could mean death to my people, not to mention the end of our Crossworld brethren. Dane’s pack will be hunted like dogs! My people slaughtered at the hands of madmen! Do you wankers have any idea of the gravity of this situation?”

  “No. And don’t bother explaining again,” I snapped. “We’re far too feeble-minded to get it.”

  At this point, we’d have to be blind, deaf, and completely moronic not to get the “gravity of the situation.” Under threat of his mother’s wrath, Luc and his royal guard had managed to track down the last remaining Guardian petitioner for the Peace Tenets, one Vincent Fiori, former trainer at St. Michael’s.