Fingers in the Mist

by O'Dell Hutchison

  “Of course not.”

  “Then do as I say. Stop acting out. Stop trying to play the hero. You have to trust me.”

  I stare at her, unable to answer. How can I possibly trust her when she is one of them?

  “I need you to go to bed. Get up and attend the morning service as usual and do not speak to anyone. I have done my best to cover your tracks. The Council believes I have effectively dealt with you. You must do as I say, understood?”

  I stare at her, unable to agree.

  “This is no time for defiance, Caitlyn. You are walking a very thin line right now. Do exactly as I say and you may stand a chance of saving Mitch and putting an end to all this. One misstep and it’s over—for all of us.”

  I nod in response. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize the lives of Mitch and Chas. I’ll do whatever it takes to save them.

  “Tomorrow night we’ll meet after the Council has finished patrolling. We don’t have a lot of time, but I’ve figured out how to help you manage your power so you can beat them.”

  “How?” I ask, sitting forward. I would love nothing more than to understand how to control my … uniqueness.

  “We’ll do this tomorrow. Tonight, you must rest.”

  She turns and exits out the front door without another word, leaving me alone and exhausted.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning I do as I’m told. I attend the Gathering and avoid all contact with Trevor and Jeb. It pains me to see Abby’s mother sobbing alone on the church steps. I can’t get the image of Abby’s terrified face as she was ripped away by the Redeemers, or the way they shredded her father, out of my head.

  I offer Jeb a small wave on my way back to my house. I know they’ll be paying him a visit soon. I add him to my mental list of people to save.

  When we get home I have every intention of going upstairs for a long nap, but my feet carry me down the hall and into Mitch’s bedroom.

  It’s still a mess, or as I like to call it, organized chaos. His bed is unmade, left the way it was the night they took him. Simon, his tattered old bear, the one he refuses to admit he still sleeps with, lies wedged between the bed and his nightstand. The room smells like him. I know it’s only been a couple of days, but it seems like forever since I last heard his infectious laugh.

  I pick up Simon and hold him against my chest, breathing in the sweet smell of dust, laundry detergent, and little boy. I wait for the tears to fall, but they don’t come. Instead, I’m filled with more determination than ever. Something smolders in the pit of my stomach, and I feel it spread down my legs to my toes. It continues up through my chest and down my arms until my entire body tingles with anticipation.

  “I’m going to bring you back, Mitch. I promise. I will.”

  “You okay?”

  I hadn’t even heard my father. His wet hair stands on end, his face bushy and unshaven. He looks like a mountain man.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I say, forcing a smile.

  “I miss him, too.” His eyes glisten with tears as he sits on the bed next to me. “It sure is quiet around here without him and Judith.” His voice catches when he says her name. “What are we going to do without them?”

  “I don’t know.” I want to tell him that I know I can’t bring Judy back, but one way or another Mitch will be home soon. I just can’t figure out a way to tell him without freaking him out. Does he know his mother is only half human, and that I, his loving but severely dysfunctional daughter, am some type of powerful bird thing? I want to ask him what he saw the night they came for Mitch—the night I made the Redeemer explode in the living room. He hasn’t brought it up, and I’m not sure how to.

  “At least I have you,” he says, patting me on the leg. “We’ll get through this, kiddo. We’ll move on.”

  “Yeah,” I say softly. “We will.”

  I lean over and kiss his scruffy cheek and then move to the door. “I’m going to go get some rest. I’m exhausted.”

  “Okay.” He picks up the teddy bear and stares at it.

  I close the door behind me, allowing my father some alone time to grieve. I have no idea what will happen Sunday night. I have to face the fact that I may not survive whatever happens, but I hope and pray that Mitch is okay and can return to my father. Losing all of us will kill him.

  I pass the day napping on the sofa. We have two more nights of this, and according to my grandmother, I have to stop—something—on the third night or risk losing Mitch and my friends forever.

  Tonight, I will learn what these powers are and how to control them. It’s now or never.

  After another meal of dry sandwiches, my dad retreats to his recliner and I doze off again, waking to a stinging pain in my skull.

  The windows begin to rattle, and the walls shake. This isn’t happening. They’ve taken what they wanted. They can’t come back.

  I sit up just as the door bursts open. A silvery mist swirls around the potted plants, the occasional hand reaching for me. I step toward the door, my heart hammering with fear and adrenaline. My father snores in the recliner, completely unfazed by the commotion.

  From behind the mist, I see a hooded figure walking toward me. The black hood is pulled low so all I can see is a light, golden stubble surrounding the man’s mouth.

  “Who is here with you?” he asks as he steps through the door.

  I ignore him, searching inside myself for my latent power. Come on. Cooperate.

  “I asked you a question.” His voice is vaguely familiar, but it comes at me in deep, echoed waves, much like Monique’s did the night I saw her outside my window, making it difficult to place.

  I raise a hand to him, palm facing out. “Don’t come any closer.”

  He stops mid-stride, like I’d glued his feet to the floor. “So, the little girl with all the power thinks she can stop me, does she?” He laughs a deep, echoing chortle, and the familiar sensation of a thousand bees stings my brain. Worst. Feeling. Ever.

  My vision begins to waver, but I push back, imagining that I am pulling every single needle out of my head simultaneously. The pressure slowly recedes. I push harder. I feel my concentration break as the man takes another step toward me. Whatever I had done to stop the pain is no longer working. I feel the man’s gloved hand wrap around my throat. They’ve grown smart and added gloves to their ensemble. I wonder if Reverend Carter mandated this after I touched him the other morning.

  The leather glove is freezing cold, and it feels as if tiny shards of ice have lodged themselves inside my throat, cutting off my airflow. The man lifts me off the ground as I struggle to breathe. I beat at him, but he doesn’t let go.

  “Too bad you don’t know how to use your powers. You might actually be able to give me a run for my money. As it stands, this is actually kind of boring. Why don’t you tell me who is here with you, and I’ll let you go.”

  What is he talking about? There’s no one here but me and my father.

  “Was it your boyfriend? Is he still here?” he asks when I don’t answer his first question. “Is he using the tunnels?”

  I slap at him, my vision blurring from the lack of oxygen. It feels as if he froze the inside of my throat. I try to summon my powers. I can turn his ice trick around on him if I could just tap in. My fists are useless against him, so I kick up with as much force as I can, kneeing him right in the balls. He doesn’t even flinch.

  “If I were completely human, that would have really hurt,” he says, dropping me to the floor. “I guess it’s time to pay Trevor a visit. I’m going to enjoy ripping him to shreds.”

  “He … wasn’t … here … ” I gasp, trying to replenish my lungs with oxygen.

  “You’re a horrible liar.” He smiles smugly; the curve of his lips peaking from beneath the hood sickens me.

  “Leave him alone. He didn’t do anything.” I find the strength to stand, and fire burns in my gut. The fear and uncertainty recedes, and determination kicks in. He
will not hurt Trevor.

  “We’ll see about that,” he says as he turns to walk out the door.

  Wrath burns within me, and all at once my chest fills, exploding into a burst of wind and wings. The man flies out the door; no doubt from my own freewill. He soars over the porch and lands on his back, disappearing behind silvery wisps of fog.

  I glide out the door, no longer afraid of being torn to shreds by the Redeemers hiding in the thick haze around me. My ears immediately fill with the hollow moans hanging in the air, and I can feel icy fingers reaching for me. Open mouths and sharp claws roll past, but they know better than to attack. I know Malahas is probably watching this. I also know my grandmother is going to murder me when she finds out.

  I left the house—again. So sue me.

  I imagine a wall of stone surrounding me, and I push it outward with my mind. Shrieks and gasps pierce the night as the fog and its creepy inhabitants retreat outward, rolling into the air and back to the ground away from me.

  Pressure bears down on me, and I notice that the man is no longer lying on the ground. He stands before me, the hood no longer covering his face. The moment I see who it is, I’m not surprised.

  “Mason, why are you doing this?”

  The last word has barely brushed past my lips when I feel my power slip and the pinpricks invade my head. The fog surrounds me, and the pounding in my ears merges with the shrieks and moans of the Redeemers as they rush forward.

  Push back.

  The voice enters my head, crystal clear against the pounding in my ears.

  You know the Unbounds can’t touch you. Focus on Mason. Push back. It’s been a few days since I last heard my mother’s voice, and it takes me by surprise.

  “I can’t.” I scream as the tension in my head grows more intense. It feels like Mason is trying to pull my brain out of my nose, and if the pain is any indication of how things are going, he just might succeed. My body jerks forward like someone pulled on an invisible rope tied around my waist.

  Push back!

  I feel another tug, pulling me forward, causing me to drop to my knees at Mason’s feet. The pain in my head subsides a bit, leaving my mind a foggy mess.

  “Traci, get over here.”

  Footsteps walk toward us, and I glance up as another black-robed figure appears through the mist. The feet stop inches from me, and I tilt my head back just as Miss Simmons removes her hood.

  What the ever-living hell? She’s supposed to be on my side.

  “What are you doing, Mason?” I can tell she’s trying to speak with authority, but something in her tone tells me she’s nervous.

  “She tried to kill me,” he says. The pain that had started to recede quickly pierces at me again and I scream out.

  “Stop torturing her. We’re not supposed to hurt her,” she says.

  “There was someone in the house with her. I could sense them when I was doing my rounds. I think it was Trevor.”

  “Do you have proof?” she asks him.

  I start to stand, but another pain slices through me, dropping me to my knees. This is really getting old.

  “Stay down,” Mason commands.

  “We can’t harm Trevor if we aren’t certain it was him,” Miss Simmons says, completely ignoring the fact that I’m writhing in pain beneath her.

  “It was him. I know it was. He told me this morning that there are tunnels below the town. He’s used them. He’s breaking the rules and he needs to be punished.”

  “Leave Trevor alone.” I begin to stand, fighting back against the receding pain in my head. “I told him about the tunnels. I’m the one who’s used them.”

  Mason sends another wave of hurt at me, but this time I’m ready and instantly push it away. I watch as Mason curls in on himself, falling to the ground.

  “How do you like that, asshole?” My power swirls around me, but this time I somehow manage to clamp down with my mind, ignoring his screams of pain.

  “Caitlyn, stop,” Miss Simmons says.

  Before she can put her own mental vice-grip around my head, I send a wave of what I’m dishing out to Mason in her direction, but nothing happens. I push again, tightening my grip on Mason as I send another wave toward her. The ground begins to rumble and fog swirls around me as the wind I’ve conjured sweeps in.

  Despite my best efforts, Miss Simmons is completely unfazed by what I’ve thrown at her. She must be much more powerful than Mason.

  She lifts her hand as Mason screams again, and I instinctively prepare myself to block her. Before she can do anything, a branch from the large oak tree behind her bends down and wraps itself around her wrist. She looks at me, her eyes full of wonder as the tree pulls her upward.

  “Caitlyn, you can’t do this,” she says, struggling against the branch wrapped around her.

  “Watch me.” I lift my hand, pulling Mason unwillingly to his feet. Pissed off me is obviously much more dangerous than passive me.

  My vision automatically shifts into scan mode. I see Mason’s body before me, but I can also see two different swirling vapors writhing within his body—one blue, one red. They pulse with life. I can feel their energy. Unlike Nana’s tightly wound souls, Mason’s barely cling in random spots. They don’t seem to like each other very much. I feel an intense surge of conflicting emotion as I reach in and connect with the red and blue energies swirling within him. It’s a mix of extreme sadness, anger and fear. I focus on the red energy and pick at it with my mind. Mason screams, and I give it another tug, enjoying his pain. I can touch them. I can touch his souls. I wonder what would happen if I pulled a little harder?

  “Caitlyn, don’t!” Miss Simmons screams. She sounds terrified. She should be. She’s next.

  I pull Mason toward me until his face is inches from mine. Sweat covers his brow. Blood runs from his nose. His eyes look as though they could explode from his head at any second.

  “Not so tough now, are you?” I growl.

  “I’m … sorry,” he stammers. “P-p-please don’t k-kill me.”

  Before I can respond, I’m flung backward. The grip I had on Mason releases, and he drops to the ground. The tree immediately drops Miss Simmons, and the wind and rattling earth subside.

  “Stop this. Now.” Nana’s voice comes from behind me as she cuts across the lawn, seemingly from her house. The air is suddenly still, the Redeemers silent.

  “What is going on here, Mr. Perkins?” Nana pushes past me as if I’m not even there.

  “She had someone in the house with her,” Mason says, cowering like a schoolboy about to be punished.

  “Her father lives here with her. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  Speaking of my father, where the hell is he? He can’t possibly still be asleep. I glance at the open door and find it empty, the flame of the fireplace flickering in the distance.

  “There was someone else inside. I know there was,” Mason says.

  “Are you absolutely positive of that?”

  “Y-yes?” Mason says, suddenly unsure of himself.

  “We should go, Mason,” Miss Simmons says as she walks up beside him, placing her cloak back over her head. “It’s almost time for them to take the Chapman boy. We need to be there.”

  “What about her?” Mason asks, his voice filled with hatred.

  “I’ll take care of her. If anyone asks what happened, you send them to me for a full report. Understood? I’ll be sure to leave out the part where you made a grave mistake by provoking and almost killing my granddaughter,” Nana says pointedly. “You coerced her outside. I don’t think the Council would be happy to know you almost killed the one they’ve been waiting on for years. Unless, of course, you’d like for me to throw that in.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Foster,” Miss Simmons says as she leads Mason away.

  The moment their footsteps have faded, the vice-grip in my head relaxes. I stand up and wipe the grass and leaves from my hair. “Where were you wh
en I needed you earlier? Did you know Miss Simmons isn’t really on our side?”

  Nana glares at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of rage and fear. “Go to your room and stay there until I come for you.”

  “I thought you were going to help—”

  “I was, but now I have to go clean up yet another mess before our plans are completely ruined.” She grabs my arm and leads me back to the door. “Go up to your room and wait for me.”

  Before I can respond, she closes the door in my face, leaving me alone with my snoring father.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Once I’m back in the house, my adrenaline wears off, taking my energy with it. My stomach grumbles and my mouth is dry. I grab another sandwich and open a fresh bottle of water, draining it in just a few gulps.

  I tear into the sandwich, glancing over at my father, wondering how in the hell he managed to sleep through all that. He hasn’t even moved. His head still lolls to the side; a fresh drop of drool glistens on his beard. I fight the urge to walk over and close his mouth.

  He finally stirs and looks over at me.

  “Hey, pumpkin,” he says, stretching. “Wow, I was out.”

  “Yeah. I noticed.”

  “Did you have a good nap?” He walks over and steals a drink from the bottle of water I just opened.

  “Not as good as yours.”

  “And I’m still tired,” he says through a yawn. “I’m going to bed.”

  I know I should probably go up to my room, but I can’t. I won’t be able to sleep. My body is weak after all the action outside, but my mind is still very much awake.

  “Hey.” The sound of Trevor’s voice hits me like a dropped pan, scaring the crap out of me.

  “Whoa, it’s just me,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  “You really shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.” I breathe deep to calm the pounding in my chest.

  “You’re probably right. I don’t need you losing control and throwing me across the room again,” he says, leaning in for a kiss.