by Debra Kristi
I forget about Ry and our frustrating conversation. I imagine I can actually hear the group’s conversation. And then, somehow I can.
Skylar leans across the table toward her friend Paige. “I want to go over the top this time. Cut her where it hurts most.”
“Easier said than done. They pulled her from swim, and the locker room held the best possibilities.” Paige pops a raisin in her mouth.
Skylar leans into Jaden. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
Jaden puts his arm around her and rubs her side. “Why not show how high-class you ladies are and lay off Ana? She has not done anything to you.”
My heart stalls, and my breath catches. Now I know what I’m hearing has to be my imagination. I can’t possibly be hearing Jaden all the way over here, can I? He peeks over his shoulder at me, and the air in my lungs escapes.
“Oh, you.” Skylar throws a limp hand into his chest. “You’re so funny!”
Ripping me out of my hypnotic state, Ry gingerly wraps his hand around mine and tugs it away from my chin. I didn’t even hear him return. “Time to go. Didn’t you hear the bell?”
“Huh, no.” What the hell? I glance around and see everyone leaving for class. “I must have been lost in thought.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what it was.” Ry chuckles.
I step away from the table and am suddenly woozy. My hand slams on the table’s surface for balance.
Ry studies my shaking arm and attempts to hold me steady. “Everything all right there?”
I take a deep breath before answering. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
Pictures flash through my head. Classroom windows move past on my left, and I follow Skylar down the corridor through a stream of people. Skylar prattles on, and I’m only half-listening, aware of someone else’s presence. She turns toward the classroom door, guided by the hand at her back. Jaden’s hand. At the door she gazes over her shoulder, and it’s his reflection looking back at me in her sunglasses.
Day two at the flower shop, and I’m so busy cutting and arranging flowers that it’s dark outside before I get a chance to dig for the journal. Eager to pore through its pages, I shift and remove at all the supplies blocking my path. And then—it’s not there.
I sit on the floor behind the counter shelves, staring at the empty space, feeling twenty pounds heavier. A void has opened in my chest, and through it my energy drains away. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, just sitting here. My guilt for having read Mom’s personal journal to evaporate, maybe?
The door chimes, and I jump to my feet. I come face to face with Joanna, a short, round, bubbly lady who sets up next to us at every Farmer’s Market.
She bats her thick black lashes at me. “What were you doing down there, sugar?”
“Just straightening a few things. What can I do for you, Mrs. Garvis?”
She sets a brown paper bag on the counter. “Is your mother here, dear?”
“Gave her the night off. Is there something I can help you with?”
“That’s terribly sweet of you. See that she gets this, hon.” She slides the bag across the counter. It’s been securely stapled multiple times.
“Sure. Is she expecting it? Should I tell her what’s in it?”
“She’ll know what it is. Just a little something Doug whipped up for her.” She prims her hair. “Thanks so much, sugar. I best get going. Doug is planning on me being back in time for dinner.” Doug is her husband, and he happens to look like an ex-member of Hell’s Angels. He’s cool, though.
I wave goodbye, and she ducks out the door.
It looks like an ordinary brown bag. It’s light and doesn’t make much noise when I shake it. I can’t image there’s much inside. Maybe leaves? I have a vision of Doug tending an illegal garden.
Given the way the bag is sealed, I can’t open and reseal it without it being noticed, so I take it to the back refrigerator and place it inside, just in case. I attach a sticky note to the front so Mom will know exactly what it is when she sees it.
Then I go back to Mom’s desk. I quickly check all the drawers for the journal. Nothing. There isn’t much else back here besides the bathroom, oversized sink, and the large refrigerators. The gleaming steel and glass of the refrigerators beacon me. It seems like as good a place as any. I grip the stepladder and climb to the top, take a peek. Except, the stepladder isn’t tall enough, and I can’t see, so I stretch onto my toes, wobbling as I pull up to the brim of my nose.
No journal, but I spy something else of interest. Something that looks like it’s recently been moved. Scrapes in the dust show a pattern where it’s been pushed into place. I pick it up—a book—and take it to Mom’s desk to study closer.
The book is similar to the journal, aside from being slightly larger. It’s bound in black, rather than brown, leather and has fancy etching along the edge. Outlined in the center is what looks like a pair of angel’s wings. I run my fingers along the imprint, taking in the ridged design.
I open to the first page and am bewildered to see my name written in the middle.
Anala Danika Raine
Birthing November 20th
The Awaited Phoenix Resurrected of Scorpio
Touched by Sagittarius’s Fire
The only thing that makes any sense is my first and middle name. My birthday is wrong, and I haven’t got a clue what the rest of it means.
A quick flip through the pages, and it becomes clear the book contains a report about me. One time, when I was three, I was found talking to an invisible friend in the park. In kindergarten, it says I ran faster than any other classmate. Still can. In first grade, I climbed on top of the house by myself. Training began at age five. Training? What training? More recent entries include my speed in the water and a blood-bond contact during R.E.M., whatever that is.
The front bell chimes. I close the book, laying my hands across the front and wishing I could absorb all the information through touch.
“Hey.”
Alarm streaks through me. I glance up, see Ry standing in the door. Sliding the book off the desk in the most casual manner possible, I let it fall into the closest drawer. “Hey, yourself. I’m surprised to see you here. I thought Crystia was picking me up.”
“Yeah, about that. She’s a bit upset. She’s at home with your mom. Your mom asked if I could come get you. So here I am.” He throws his arms wide in a grand gesture.
“What do you mean, she’s a bit upset? Did something happen? Did she wreck the car?” Crystia dropped me off so she could borrow the Explorer. She’s not used to that much car. I rise from my seat, feeling the sudden need to get home.
He makes a face, looking uncertain. “Nah. Said something about a cat.”
I snatch the keys, rushing to lock the shop. “Do you know which cat has her so upset?”
“No. It’s just a cat.” He watches me, hands in his pockets.
“For the love of Gaea, Ry. Sometimes you can be so insensitive.”
“What?”
I shake my head, snag my bag, and head for the door. He follows as we hurry to his car. Thank goodness the drive home isn’t long. The car no sooner comes to a stop in our driveway than I’m out and running for the house. When I glance back, Ry’s still sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Aren’t you coming?” I call out.
“I don’t think this is the place for me right now. I’ll just wait to make sure you get inside safely.” He rests his arm in the open window.
I glance around at the empty yard. “What, you don’t think my yard is safe?”
He cocks his head to the side, peering into the darkness. “You never know.”
I shake my head and walk into the dim house. The only sounds are Crystia’s sobs coming from her room, so I make my way back. Crystia is lying in Mom’s arms, weeping. A pale light whispers through the room, a mild breeze invades through the open window, and Oscar is pushing his way into the Mom-daughter cuddle, like an outsider trying to invade. Gent
ly brushing Crystia’s hair back, Mom looks to me, her face tired and drawn, with a tiny hint of gratitude in her eyes.
I’m raw, exposed, and completely unprepared for the task before me. I’ve never been good with emotions and don’t know what to do. But it’s obvious my sister needs me, so I step into the room.
“Hey,” I whisper, tiptoeing toward them.
Crystia wipes the tears from her face, then fails miserably at her feeble attempt to smile. I want to make her feel better, so I return a meek grin just the same. Sitting beside her, I take her hand in mine. “What can I do to make things better?”
She lays her head on the pillow, her lip quivering. “There isn’t anything anyone can do.”
“I think I’ll leave you two alone for a while.” Mom runs her hand down Crystia’s arm. “I’ll be back with some hot tea, honey.” She rubs Crystia’s back, kissing her cheek gingerly before slipping out of the room.
I watch her leave, and then turn my attention back to Crystia. She looks numb. “Is it Caesar?”
A shudder runs through her. “Caesar is fine.” She cradles her pillow like a life preserver, but abandons it and sits, tucks her knees in tight—as if she’s trying to roll into a ball and disappear. “Caesar’s upset. He did what he could, but the others wouldn’t listen. He can only do so much.”
I want to rub my forehead but don’t want to appear insensitive. Instead, my fingers wiggle, trying not to wrap into fists. “I’m not following.”
She sways, holding herself in a tight ball. “Caesar looks out for the others. He sort of appointed himself protector. He’s such a good guy.”
My fingers graze her arm. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”
Tears roll down her face. “I know. It’s just, we lost Aldo today. He was so young! So headstrong. I don’t know what happened. They’re saying it was natural causes. But Caesar says differently, and none of it makes sense.” She embraces me, holds me until we hear Mom approach.
Mom glides through the door with two cups on a tray, honey on the side. She sets it on the nightstand. There’s even a cool washcloth for Crystia’s face. “Tea is served.”
When Crystia’s tucked into bed, I curl up beside her, just like when we were kids. Laying my arm across her for comfort, I hope it will keep the bad dreams away.
The night is a confusion of chain-link fencing, dirt paths, and shadows. Voices in a language I cannot fathom, yet almost comprehend. Flashes of whiskers and fur, all kinds, every color, stick to my peripheral. I don’t know where I am or what’s going on. Muttering starts to converge into an understandable language, and I realize there are two distinct types.
One is telling Aldo to be wise, back away. “Don’t be foolish and hot-headed,” it says. The voice responding must be Aldo. He insists he can handle anything. These speech styles are new to me. The others, I’ve heard before. I rack my brain to remember where. They’re creepy and ask about the girl.
I crouch and lay my hand on the unyielding earth. The ground is dry, too dry. It’s gone too many nights without water, so the soil breaks easily to the pulse vibrating on the surface. The pulse is not one, but many footsteps. All softly tread and come from multiple directions. The creosote bushes around me spin, the merry-go-round I’ve begun to grow numb to. I tuck my head into my lap and wait for it to stop.
Kaia thrusts her palm in my face. “Take my hand.”
I look up, hoping the world has stopped spinning. The brush still swings by at a nauseating pace. I grip her hand, let her drag me from the nightmare. With a stumble, I fall on unyielding gray stone and lick something wet and salty from my lip. It stings. I’ve bitten my lip.
We’re now at the top of an ancient castle, as if we’ve stepped back in time. I half-expect to see the Knights of the Round Table storm up the stairs. Standing, I face Kaia and see her in a new light. She could command this castle and all its men. She stands tall and proud, her flowing chestnut hair cascading over an emerald medieval gown fit for royalty. An intricate pattern of silk embroidery and mesh covers every inch. A large iron belt wraps her waist and drops in a twisted gold and emerald braid. At the hollow of her neck, a huge ruby sits proudly.
“Where are we?” I yell to be heard above the wind. Above, the sky churns, dark and eerie.
“This is where it began, and this is where it must end.”
Nothing but angry sea lies to my left. Waves beating against the shoreline, attempting to topple the structure upon which we stand. The vibrations rattle through me, shake my bones. To the right, a vast field of smoldering cracked land, and beyond, hills and mountains covered in dead vegetation. Ash leaves an acidic taste on my tongue. The wind carries with it the mingled stink of charred earth and rotting flora and dead fish. It burns my nose, does little to cool me.
Something dreadful happened here. So dreadful it has infected the land. I sense a change coming. The burned land is ready to ignite again. Burst into flames.
I drag my hair free from my view. “We shouldn’t be here. Why have you brought us here?”
She walks to the edge, runs her hands along the stone wall. “Because you need to know.”
I turn away, toward the demolished view. My thoughts fall into place, the land as the trigger. “This is where the first battle with Dreya took place.” I watch for Kaia’s subtle confirmation. “So…here it must end.” I follow her to the edge. “And the place with all the fur and fencing?”
“That was not from me. That was from another blood-bond. A warning of the shadows.”
Remembering the padded footfalls, my thoughts shift to Crystia and the cats. She’s influencing my dreams. “And all the ick from last night’s dream?”
Kaia looks me in the eye. “That was not your memory to have. That was of your blood-bond, as well. You are coming into your own now. There are many things you must learn, handle, and understand.”
“Can you be any vaguer? I mean, whose memory was it anyway? How much of the family is included in this blood-bond?” I stare at Kaia, and her gaze flickers away. “What must I handle and understand?” My hair keeps whipping in my face. I grab at it.
“The journey will teach you, and you will learn as you go. Too much at once may upset the balance.” She pats the stone wall. “It’s time to grow up, sister.”
She throws her arms around me, embraces me, and everything explodes in brilliant white light. The castle, the land beyond, diminishes from view. Even she is no longer visible, yet I can still feel her warmth around my body.
I wake in Crystia’s bed. She’s sleeping soundly, one arm wrapped around me, as Kaia’s was seconds ago.
What am I supposed to take from that vision? A castle, burnt land, an angry sea, the cryptic message, where it all began. How am I supposed to find that place?
One tender kiss to Crystia’s forehead, then I remove myself from her hold and slip silently from the bed.
“Is it morning already?” Her voice cracks.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. I hardly slept. How about you?”
“I slept okay. I was going to start my day, if you think you’ll be okay?”
“Go do your thing. I think I’ll ditch school, so take as long as you want in the shower.”
I step back and sit beside her on the bed. “Do you need me to stay with you?”
“No. I’ll be fine. Thanks though, for everything.” She squeezes my hand. “Retail therapy may be exactly what I need today.”
Ry swings the car off the road, parking in the dirt beside a small empty warehouse. The out-of-the-way location is our go-to place for my physical training. The floor is lined with pads, and several wide doors provide a good cross breeze. Old with neglect, the windows are dingy, preventing the sun from overheating the space. The walls are a mix of cinderblock and sheet metal. It smells old and musty and is now thick with the scent of our perspiration as well.
A trickle of sweat glides down my neck. I’m acutely aware of every centimeter
it travels. As if time has slowed. My fist flies straight for the pad he holds at his chest. All I see is red, red pads. Suddenly Ry is sailing backwards, like he’s been yanked from the room by an invisible force.
I run after him. “Are you all right? I don’t know what happened.”
He lies perfectly still. I can see a pained smile trying to play at his lips. Landing at his side, I touch his arm and shake him a fraction, afraid to hurt him more than I already have. “Ry? Are you okay?”
“I’ll live. That was one wicked wallop. I’m proud of you. But next time, feel free to save it for the bad guy and go easy on me, okay?”
“Sure. I don’t have any idea how I did it, though.”
Ry sits up and studies at me. There’s a sparkle in his eye. He almost looks happy about getting his butt knocked to the ground. He pats my leg and stands. “Tell you what, give me a minute, then we’ll move on to the hanbo. Sound good?”
I study him from head to toe. “If you’re really okay.”
He rubs the back of his head. “Yes, Ana. It’s all good.”
After stepping outside of our shabby warehouse, he sits in the dirt. I’ve seen him do this before, and it always baffles me. Sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed, he rubs dirt between his hands, smells it, and puts it on his face. It’s like he’s communing with Mother Earth or something.
Ry returns, walking taller, with a glint in his eye. He’s clearly changed. He takes a hanbo and throws it to me. Grabbing his own, he takes his position and immediately fakes a strike, losing no time in putting me on the defense. I block and jab back.
“I’m almost ready for Hollywood, hey?” I spin out of his reach, reposition myself for a better vantage, and strike.
“Um…sure.” His brow crinkles, and he advances.
I avoid. We go back and forth, neither getting the advantage for some time. Both blocked, both protected.