by Amber Lynn
If Ophelia was here, I hope she’d be proud of the fact I’m using my head. It only happens once in a missing moon. Yeah, not an expression used often, so go ahead and look it up. You get maybe four of those a century. I’d say that’s about how often I don’t jump to action.
“Is that really all you got?”
I’ll admit, I was a little hesitant to taunt before, but now, now I feel empowered. Movement makes any spellcasting better. Don’t ask me why that is.
Anyway, if she zaps me again, that force is the only thing in this vacuum, so I want to see if I can harness it and turn it back at her. I won’t say it’s exactly wishful thinking, but it’s close.
When I’m making plans to thwart someone who’s said she wants to kill me, and possibly has the power to do it, I like to be on a little better footing with a plan. Of course, all my planning means nothing when I blink and find my kidnapper is suddenly pinned against the wall with a hand around her throat.
I guess the simple second slap wasn’t enough for Michael to come rushing in, but the zillion volts to my body got him a little wound up. I should probably be happy he’s finally showed up. I mean, there have been moments in my captive time that I cursed him for not doing his job, according to all those involved.
That doesn’t change the fact that I was just about to get the upper hand and wanted to prove I didn’t need a guardian angel lurking around. Okay, I’ll concede that upper hand is probably a little generous. Something was going to happen, though, and I was going to make it epic.
“I should tear your head from your shoulders,” Michael barks in her face.
The general idea has my full support. If he’d move out of the way so I could participate in the fun, I’d like it even more.
As it is, I’m stuck staring at his blue shirt clinging to his back as his deep ragged breaths shake his whole body. It’s not a horrible view. I never realized how muscular he was, which isn’t where my thoughts should be right now. Sometimes you just have to admire works of art even if the timing isn’t the best.
“Let me go.”
Mrs. Kline is obviously defiant, but her voice lacks any power behind it. I’d say that has something to do with the hands around her throat squeezing. It should be my hands. I just got done thinking about how I want to strangle her.
My attention on what’s going on with the angels is so focused that I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder, moving me to get me off the ground. Whether I’ve fully fought through the power holding me still or it’s gone now that Mrs. Kline is a little distracted, something makes it so I can turn my head and see that Mr. Hamilton is there trying to set me right.
Both instinct and confusion tell my body to pull away from the touch. There are a million questions I need to ask, starting with why his eyes look a little frantic, but there all going to have to wait. As soon as I’m upright, my full body shivers as I feel my nerves are all back online.
“Tell me who you’re working with. Is there someone else here who’s going to come after her?”
There is power behind the words. I wish I knew whether it was just persuasion or if Michael was inflicting some pain. A fifty-fifty split would be perfect. Or, maybe the pain side could win out just a little. I know he’s not going to let the idea of there being others go, but the fake principal needs to at least feel some voltage going through her body after she hit me a couple of times.
“You’re not going to get anything out of me, Michael. You know how this works. You know she has to die.”
Things move fast in my world, like blink and you’re going to miss it fast. One second, they’re against the brown wall I’m very used to after staring at it for a while. The next, Mrs. Kline is flying through the air as Michael flashes across the room to catch her by the throat and slam her against the concrete floor.
I should maybe try to get my bearings and figure out where we are, but seeing the concrete give and a person-shaped indent become a new feature is intoxicating. You know by now that I think I’m pretty hot stuff as far as power, but the sheer force behind Michael’s action is electric.
Brute strength has never been my thing. It has always seemed unnecessary. Seeing it in action, not just in a preset fighting match, makes me want to get a punching bag to play with. Whether that’s an actual punching bag or a person standing in for one is a decision to make at a different time.
“Tell me who else is coming for her.”
The demand comes as he picks her up by the throat and throws her back to the wall he pinned her against. Yeah, this whole brute strength thing is really doing something for me. The fact that he’s still wearing those dorky glasses of his and his hair is only slightly disheveled adds to the kind of superhero vibe he’s putting off.
That’s never been a turn-on for me before. I’m going to have to blame the attraction suddenly clouding my mind on some damsel in distress hormone I’m sure the body puts out when you’ve been kidnapped. Yeah, that’s what we’re going with.
Mrs. Kline spits out some blood on the floor. Really? She’s bleeding. That seems weird to me.
Her eyes are wild, wide and darting around for something. I don’t think finding a pipe or something to hit Michael over the head is going to help her much. He hasn’t gone back to squeezing her throat, but she doesn’t seem to be moving to get away. I’m guessing there’s a reason for that.
“You have no idea what you’re going to be up against. She told me she’s already activated, which means you’ve been hiding it from everyone. When they figure it out, you’re not going to be able to protect her.”
I don’t know who they are, but the words just aggravate Michael more. It’s hard to believe that’s possible, but the way Mrs. Kline’s body starts flying around the room, crushing into every surface it meets, makes it clear. After ten throws, I’m starting to wonder if the structural integrity of the building will hold up. Chunks of concrete and plaster keep shooting across the room. I even have to duck a few times to keep from losing an eye.
“Who is they?” Michael asks the question every time he launches her across the room.
He’s probably not looking for suggestions, but if he wants her to answer, it might be smart to give a little break in the throwing. I’m barely able to follow it all, while avoiding shrapnel, so I doubt she’s able to even catch a breath. The impact must be knocking the wind out of her.
I don’t know if he hears the thought and acts or just tires out, but after two more throws, Mrs. Kline is pinned against the wall again. Blood is dripping out of her mouth and nose. A few of the impacts were face first, so they left a mark. If she was human, her body would be covered from head to toe with bruises. Since she’s not, I’m a little surprised by the obvious signs of the beating. I shouldn’t be when the room looks like a bomb just detonated in it.
“If you aren’t going to answer who else is on your team, call them off. That’s the only chance you have of making it out of here alive,” Michael says.
Wait, who in the world made that decision. He does realize that if he lets her go, she’s not just going to slink away. I don’t care how many times he uses her as a jackhammer. That woman wants me dead, and him showing he cares about my well-being is only going to push that further. The crazy angel has made it obvious she’s got at least a healthy crush on him.
I look over to where he’s standing five feet away, sort of between me and his target. He doesn’t turn around, but I see his head shake slightly and his left hand push back. Both are signs I take to mean not now, but I’m sure I’m just reading into it.
Opening my mouth, I try to speak. My lips move, but not a sound comes out. It’s different than when Ophelia and Mrs. Kline slapped a gag over my mouth. It’s like my vocal chords are completely gone.
Son of a seafaring goat. What is up with people taking away my ability to speak. Am I really that obnoxious?
“There is no calling them off now. That’s your fault, not mine. How could you let it start? You know what that means for us.”
I notice that one of her front teeth is missing as she speaks. I can’t imagine that’s going to be easy to find in the rubble.
“It means we’re going to finally right a wrong. It means, this ends with her.”
Michael turns and points in my direction. I’m pretty sure no one in the room needs the her in the situation spelled out, but it does give me a chance to get a look at my guardian angel. I thought it was weird seeing Mrs. Kline’s eyes turn red.
I haven’t spent long looking into Michael’s blue eyes, but the rich lava color of them, is jarring. At some point, he lost his glasses and the superhero look is a little more of an avenging angel. I suppose that’s exactly what he is.
“The Petravich line must die. We can’t let her live.”
Michael’s attention goes back to her. If she thinks Mr. Hamilton is really part of that line, whether he’s been cursed to be a bloodsucker or not, I’d think she’d focus on him being around. She claims I was somehow miraculously born after he was turned, so logic says it could happen again.
“You know what,” Michael hisses. “With your dying breath, why don’t you give a little message to your friends. She is mine, and anyone who comes for her won’t be able to fight us.”
If the goal was to let her give the message to someone, I don’t know how that’s supposed to work out. The second Michael finishes speaking, he appears in front of Mrs. Kline and rips her head off, tossing it across the room. Green flames like I’ve never seen before ignite both her body and head.
I don’t know what just happened, but I have a feeling my life just got more complicated. That’s saying something given what people have been throwing at me lately.
Chapter Thirty-six
“Why couldn’t you just listen to me?” Michael asks.
The battle fury hasn’t worn off. His words are tight and tense, much like every muscle in his body if I had to guess. His eyes also give it away as he turns around. I almost duck to make sure I don’t cross their path. Chances are good that they could cut a person in half.
I don’t have an answer, so I’m hoping his question is rhetorical. He wasn’t here in the moment. He couldn’t see what I saw and know that egging her on would have been the right move. The more I did it, the more she said things no one else had told me. I’m sure eventually she would’ve gotten to the force of people she worked with. She’d already mentioned them breathing down my neck.
“No, egging her on was not the answer, especially not with the fact that you are without a doubt the truthseer. They’ve assumed there had to be a missing child because all their other options were gone. I’ve been trying to make them question those assumptions.”
“Why?” I ask.
The question applies to so many things. I haven’t even looked at the man who is supposedly my father. The questions I have about that are basically endless. I’d really appreciate if someone would tell me that part of things is just a joke.
“It’s not, but that’s beside the point.” There’s no time for me to process that before he continues. “Why they knew there was someone else with in the line is because they just do. I know that isn’t the answer you’re looking for, but those charged with tasks on both sides of this can feel it.”
“Okay. Why was she surprised that I’d started seeing things? That threw her off, but I figured that’s why she grabbed me. She knew I’d be able to see through her lies soon.”
“Yeah, well, they’ve killed truthseers before, but it’s always been prior to the transition starting. It has to be.”
“Maybe we should take this conversation somewhere else.” Mr. Hamilton suggests.
His voice is the last thing I want to hear right now. Michael needs to explain what in the hell he’s talking about. They’ve told me about the truthseers, but it sure sounded like all the deaths they mentioned were after they were full-fledged lie detectors.
“I think the better idea is to let the two of you talk,” Michael says.
He shuts his eyes for a long second. When he opens them they’re back to the blue color I’m used to seeing. I feel him closing up on me, and I’ve got to stop it. Pulling an Ophelia, I reach out and grab the energy that is slowly coming back to the room. Once I feel enough of it flowing through me, which sadly seems weak, I throw it at the entrance to the room, a la iron gate style.
“We’re not leaving this room until you answer my questions. You can’t give me these half answers anymore. This is my life we’re talking about.”
Michael is a few feet away, but he closes the distance in a flash, so we’re almost nose to nose. There’s a strange burning smell that I thought was from the burning body, but it gets stronger as he comes closer.
“This is our life, yours and mine we’re talking about. That’s what you don’t get about all this. It’s not just your life that’s in danger. That’s why she got scared.”
What did I just say about getting half answers about things? I wait for a second to see if he’s going to add anything, but all he does is stare at me with his intense eyes.
“You got to give me more than that. What in the world does that mean?” I ask.
The exclusivity of whose life is on the line seems a little short. I don’t know what happened to Ian, and it’s weird that Mr. Hamilton is here, and Ophelia isn’t. I don’t think she’s dead or anything, but all those people seem to be connected to me and danger lurks everywhere around me.
As important as my questions are, we should be checking to see what’s going on with Mrs. Renaud. I still think she’s involved with Mrs. Kline in some way because of how weird she was acting. If Michael wants to blow off some steam by getting questions answered, I nominate her as someone to interrogate.
“When Ian showed up at the faery mound without you, that was my first stop. Our connection was broken momentarily, so I didn’t realize you never left the building. Mrs. Renaud is not an angel. As far as your worry for your little friend, he’s alive, for now.”
“What do you mean, ‘for now.’ Did something happen to him during the move.”
Alive is a good sign, but if I wasn’t there to direct the landing, his body might have knitted back together with body parts switching places. He could have an ear for lips or something.
“It’s not what you think, so let’s get back to the questions you think are important. If you recall back to everyone’s reaction when you started seeing things you shouldn’t, no one reacted quite like me.”
I follow his line of thinking. I imagine he’s talking about the Fae who have knowledge of truthseers and not Ian, who thought it was cool. My mom was surprised enough to call Mr. Hamilton in, who denied everything. Mrs. Kline was also in denial mode.
Michael didn’t blink when he found out, at least not that I saw. He already knew about it at the dance and acted like it was obvious. Of course, the whole news about him being a guardian of the truthseers explains all that.
“True,” he says. “I knew before they did that you were going to be the first truthseer to actually activate. If you’re old enough, you know all about truthseers, or at least what people like Mrs. Kline want other Fae to know. It’s not just that they’re killed within the first year of being a truthseer like everyone thinks. Truthseers never mature to come into their full powers. They’re killed before they start to see.”
“What?”
I don’t mean to ask the question. My head just feels like it’s about to explode. I have no idea what to think. One day I’m told one thing. The next it’s something else. I swear I’ve heard about truthseers being a thing and the whole information about them dying felt real to me. Why in the world would anyone lie about that?
Even more important than that, if a person hasn’t shown they can tell the truth from a lie, how in the world do the crazy angels know they’re not killing innocent people. I don’t know my family tree, or how it works, but are they for sure everyone in the line is going to someday activate?
“Yes, they are. They have been wrong about
thinking people are in the line, though,” Michael answers.
I scrunch my head as I think about all the things I remember hearing about truthseers over the last few days. There’s something bothering me, and I’m trying to figure it out before I ask. Shaking my head, I realize it’s not making sense.
“But he said he knew the last truthseer who died a few years ago.”
I don’t bother looking at the man who’s supposed to be my father. I’m pissed that I wasn’t told any of this information, which I’m sure he has to know. He turned into a whole different species to keep from being killed himself.
“He said he had the power,” Mr. Hamilton says, confusion clear in his voice.
Well, maybe he doesn’t know as much as I thought. If he’s questioning his own memory, there’s a chance he didn’t keep everything from me. Believe me, there’s enough secrets already there that this one thing isn’t going to make a difference to easing my anger.
“You’re fifth cousin was always a bit of a charlatan,” Michael replies. “At least that’s what I heard. He wasn’t my charge, but I know they got to him before his guardian could figure out how to activate him.”
How to activate him? I thought looking at Ian’s mom is what activated me. Is he trying to claim he’s flipped some switch or something to make that happen?
“That’s something we’re not going to discuss right now. Before you throw a mental tantrum about that, it’s personal.”
So, because we have an audience, I don’t get to know what he did to me? That’s not happening. I don’t have to remove the gate to get rid of our unwanted guest. They mentioned we were still in the school, so I send Mr. Hamilton to his room. I’m nice enough to concentrate and make sure he reappears in one piece, but as long as he’s not here, I don’t really care how many pieces he’s in.