I take a nap and then make myself a sandwich. After tomorrow night, I will never eat another sandwich again. Once my father goes to bed, I sneak down to the basement to practice my superhero moves. It’s the quietest place I can think of. The moment I step into the dark room, a pair of strong arms embrace me.
“You didn’t say goodbye this morning,” Trevor says, his body pressed to mine.
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to see my grandmother. She’s pissed at me.”
“You’re right. I am.”
Trevor and I spin toward the door to find Nana standing there staring at us.
“What is wrong with you two? Trevor, do I need to tie you to your bed? You cannot be here. What is it going to take to make you understand that?”
He looks between us. “I have the necklace,” he says sheepishly.
“You have to go home. Now.” She beckons to him, and he looks at me, expecting me to do something to stop her from making him go.
“I’m coming with you,” I say, defiantly. If she wants to be difficult, then I will too.
“You can only come as far as my house. I want you to wait in my basement.” She starts out the door, Trevor and I lagging behind.
“Why can’t—”
“Caitlyn, do not argue with me,” she says in a fierce whisper. “You will wait in my basement.”
“What’s going on? You seem agitated.” My boyfriend—always so good at stating the obvious.
“The Associates—one of whom is your brother—are doing another round while the Council takes Mr. Anderson to the holding area. If they find you’re missing, I’m not going to be able to cover for you again.”
Nana moves so quickly I find myself stumbling to keep up with her. She’s fast for an old broad. When we pass by the tunnel leading to her basement, she gives me a stern look and points in that direction, letting me know my stop is here. I watch them retreat down the tunnels until the light from her candle is nothing more than a tiny pinprick in the distance.
I make my way to the door leading to Nana’s basement. I give a slight push, but nothing happens. I wonder if she forgot to unlock the door. I press my shoulder against it and give another heave, pushing it open enough for me to enter the room.
I leave the door open since Nana shouldn’t be long and make my way over to the bookshelf on the far side of the room. I shiver against the cool, stale breeze that blows in from the tunnels. I use my own candle to light the large pillar candles that stand on the table.
I make my way around the room, taking in everything that’s down here. The room looks part library and part alchemists’ workspace. Books fill two tall bookcases along one wall. A long table with stacks of parchment paper, notebooks, and pens sits against the back wall. On a shelf above it stand several bottles holding various liquids and powders.
I notice the children’s book Nana showed to me the other night in the library lying on top of several old tomes. I flip through it, glancing at the colorful artwork inside. So, this is my story, huh? Maybe I should take it for research. I don’t see how a children’s book could possibly give me any sort of insight, but I’ll take what I can get.
I pick up one of the heavy, old books lying on the table. The leather cover reminds me of a huge piece of jerky. Leather laces hold it together, and when I pull back the cover, I notice the pages are yellowed with age. Curly handwriting muddled with ink spots fills the pages. It appears to be a journal of some sort. Hand-drawn pictures appear throughout the book—horrifying pictures of people killing other people, another of some type of monstrous person biting someone, and another of some sort of ritual. I continue flipping through the book and stop a little more than halfway through when I see another drawing, this time of a Redeemer. Whoever drew this had first-hand knowledge of what they look like. The drawing is extremely detailed, perfectly capturing the vacant eyes, jagged teeth and elongated, clawed hands.
I place the old journal aside and reach for another, bound in a similar way. More journal entries and a few more drawings adorn the pages. I pick up another book; this one bound like a real book, though it still appears to be very old. The same handwriting fills the pages. I wonder if these all belong to Nana. A photo falls from between the pages, and I pick it up. The photo is very old, creased from wear, and slightly blurry. A very solemn woman stands next to the old church in the mountains. She wears a black dress, her hair in a tight bun on top of her head. The face is familiar, but not recognizable. The photo is too blurry and the lighting bad.
I pick up the photo to take it to the table so I can see it under the candlelight when a noise stops me. My senses automatically shift into place of their own accord, putting me on high alert. A draft from the tunnel tickles my ankles, curling its way upward to fill my nose with the scent of dull air and a hint of lavender. Someone’s in the tunnel. It’s not Nana. I would have recognized the scent earlier.
I place the photo back in the journal, keeping my back to the door, pretending I haven’t noticed anything as the fluttering in my chest begins to spread upward. All my senses are on point, and I’m ready. Light footsteps fill my ears, growing closer. If they think they can sneak up on me, they are severely mistaken.
One, two, three steps. It’s a woman, her gait soft and hesitant.
Four, five, six more steps. She’s almost to the door.
Seven, eight—
I turn and pulse in one fluid movement, pushing my energy outward, sending my protective wall away from me.
A roaring heat pushes back at me as a fireball erupts inches from my face. The wind pouring from me douses it, leaving behind a thick wall of smoke.
The haze stings my eyes and causes my throat to tickle. I try to conjure up my old friend, Mr. Wind, to push it away, but it just grows thicker, causing my eyes to water. Suddenly, the smoke pulls away from me, like it was sucked away by a vacuum cleaner. I wipe the tears from my stinging eyes and notice Miss Simmons standing just inside the door. Instead of her cloak, she now sports a pair of jeans, black boots, and a form-fitting T-shirt. She looks kind of badass—like she belongs in an action movie.
“Hello, Cait.”
Her greeting is non-threatening, but after last night, I don’t trust her. Instead of answering her, I immediately send another burst of unknown energy her way. I know it hits when my entire body begins to vibrate, but somehow it doesn’t faze her. She crosses her arms and stares at me, practically begging me to kick her ass. I pulse again, but she doesn’t even flinch.
Rage boils within me and my vision shifts as the energy builds. I pulse again, and as the energy leaves my body she raises a hand. I’m knocked backward into the table by a strong wind. As soon as I hit, I propel myself upright, but I’m immediately slammed backward again, my arms pinned to my sides.
“Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Her heels click against the floor as she walks toward me. I try to raise my head, struggling against the invisible rope that binds me to the table, but I can’t move. My body burns with frustration, and I effortlessly send another pulse in her direction, knowing it has bounced off her when I feel the knives invading my skull.
“You really shouldn’t just start randomly throwing your power around unless you know what you’re doing. This is a tight space. These things can very easily jump out of control. You could hurt yourself.”
“I’m sure that would make you very happy,” I say through pursed lips.
“I told you. I’m not here to hurt you. If you promise not to try anything, I’ll let you up.”
I stare into her sapphire eyes, refusing to agree to anything. I pull forth some of the energy roiling inside me, and my vision shifts into scan mode. Her soul is unlike any of the others I’ve seen. Instead of the standard blue and red, hers has very little blue. Her human soul is alive and well, pulsing a deep maroon throughout her body, but there’s something off about it. Strands of green, silver, copper, and turquoise swim around it. What is she, the q
ueen of the Redeemers or something? A gay pride float in the making? I unconsciously begin to prod at her soul when another brief, blinding pain shoots through my head.
“Not yet,” she says, softly.
“What do you mean not yet?”
“You are very powerful.” She ignores my question and hops onto the table, sitting next to me as if this whole situation is perfectly normal and we’re just two friends hanging out in the basement after school.
“So I’ve heard.”
“That power won’t get you anywhere if you don’t know how to use it properly. If you want your brother back then you need to listen to me.”
“Where’s Nana?” I ask. “What did you do to her? How did you know I was here?”
“She sent me to watch after you. There was a problem when she took Trevor home. She’ll be here shortly.”
My body goes on full alert. “What happened?” I struggle against whatever binding spell she’s put on me. I have to help him.
“He’s fine. Calm down. He’s safe in his bed. We fixed it.”
“Fixed what?” I ask, still struggling.
“If you’ll calm own, I’ll unbind you. You have to promise you won’t try to leave. Your grandmother will be here shortly and will tell you everything.”
As if on cue, I hear Nana enter the room, closing and barring the door behind her.
“Is everything all right?” she asks, her voice tinged with exhaustion.
“She fought against me, but now everything is fine,” Miss Simmons says.
“Let her up.” Nana grabs a bottled water from the refrigerator and takes her place at the head of the table.
“What happened to Trevor?” I ask as I feel the binding spell release its hold on me. I burn Miss Simmons a very special go-to-hell look as I sit upright and face Nana.
“Trevor is fine.” I can’t help but notice how tired Nana looks. She could drop at any minute.
“But she said there was a problem,” I say, pointing a thumb in Miss Simmons’s direction.
“He just had a lot of your essence attached to him,” Nana says. “The stone couldn’t hide it all. I had to cleanse him so it wouldn’t be spotted when the Associates do their rounds.”
“Cleanse him? How—”
“Caitlyn, please.” Nana raises a hand to silence me, obviously over my questions. “The specifics aren’t important. Trevor is fine. He’s home, he’s sleeping, he’s fine.”
“Why is she here?” I know she’s tired of my questions, but I think I deserve an explanation as to why this woman who was working with Mason just last night now sits in the basement with us like she’s part of the family.
“She’s on our side,” Nana says, rubbing her forehead.
“She didn’t seem to be on our side last night.”
“In my defense, I was undercover. I couldn’t exactly fight against Mason. Someone could have seen.” She sits next to Nana and crosses her long, thin legs.
“Undercover?” I ask with a snort. “What are you—a rogue member of the Redeemer police?”
“Something like that,” she says with a shrug. “I helped you the other night, didn’t I?”
“I’ve asked Traci to come and help you prepare for tomorrow night,” Nana says, cutting us short. “She’s significantly stronger than me, and she knows more about your other powers than I do. You’d be wise to listen to her.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. I have no desire to learn anything from little Miss Perky Boobs.
Miss Simmons stands and begins to pace. “The Council is aware that you will come to them tomorrow night to save your brother. That was the plan all along, and they trust that your grandmother has seen to it that you will arrive on schedule. However, your rebellious behavior the last several nights has them on high alert. They suspect your grandmother may be helping you, and this has placed both of you in danger. What they don’t know is that you have my help.” She walks across the floor in full teacher mode as if she’s lecturing about Shakespeare.
“Why are you helping us?” I ask.
“Because they have to be stopped.”
“When you say ‘they,’ you do realize that means you as well. You are both a part of their cult,” I point out.
“We were, yes, and we have partaken in things we’re not especially proud of, but we’re hoping to set things right.” She sighs and folds her arms in front of her as if she, too, is tired of all my questions.
“Why is your soul all glittery and rainbowy?”
“Caitlyn,” Nana says, stopping me. “We have approximately three hours at our disposal, after which Miss Simmons must leave and we will need to prepare you for the Gathering. Please stop being difficult and let’s get to work.”
I open my mouth to ask her what she means when she says that they need to prepare me for the Gathering, but I stop when I see the look on her face.
“Stand up.” Miss Simmons walks to the center of the basement and stands with her hip cocked to the left and her shoulders back. I immediately go on the defensive, expecting her to throw some sort of attack my way.
“Center yourself,” she says. “I can see your energy flowing. Calm down. I’m not going to attack you.”
“How did you know?”
“If we make it through the next twenty-four hours, I’ll teach you. We don’t have time for that now. We need to work on controlling your powers. You need to be able to know how to call them and control them instead of just randomly shooting about.”
I just stare at her. I have no idea what she is talking about.
“Block me,” she says.
Before I have time to think, my head fills with a billion needles, bringing me to the ground. I’m helpless.
“If you let them inside your head you’ll never be able to bring your power forth. This is your biggest weakness.”
She sends her mental daggers my way repeatedly, and each time I fail at pushing them away.
“I can’t do it,” I say, ready to give up.
“Yes, you can,” Miss Simmons says. “Block me.”
Another piercing stab hits me.
“I can’t!”
Another stab and then another poke at my eyes, my ears, and my temples.
“Do it!”
My head feels as if it might explode if she jabs me one more time.
“Stop!”
I push back, feeling the invisible spikes release from my head and hurl them back at her. She immediately drops to the ground, grabbing her head. I’m pissed. Beyond pissed. I imagine digging my fingers around in her brain and ripping it out of her ear, piece by slimy piece.
She rolls over and puts a hand up, and I feel my hold on her ease. I push forward, trying to get back inside her head. She pushes back. Slight pin-pricks tease my scalp as if someone taps a sharpened pencil against my head. We’re at a standoff now. She pushes and then I push back. I won’t let her inside. I won’t.
A ball of fire shoots from her hand and heads right for me. I immediately pull from my torso, feeling the power erupt and then thrust it forward, meeting the fireball midway, dousing it. The moment the power leaves me, I lose focus and my hold on her eases.
“That was good.” She says, standing and walking toward me.
“Did you feel how you did that? How it feels like you reached out and pushed away what was in your mind? That’s what you need to do. Now, you just need to learn how to block and fight simultaneously. Again.”
She walks to the center of the room and drops into what I’ve learned to recognize as her battle stance. This bitch has way too much energy. I’m exhausted and I seriously don’t think I can do this much longer. She should be the one fighting the Redeemers, not me. I glance over at Nana and see that she’s asleep in her chair. I quickly scan her and notice her souls are even weaker than they were two days ago. It worries me.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask Miss Simmons.
“She’s had a rough week. She
’s had to use a lot of magic the last couple of nights to set things right. It’s taken a lot out of her.”
“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” I ask. “Do you think I can get Mitch back?”
She walks over and sits on the ground next to me. “Setting Mitch free won’t be a problem. All you have to do is show up on time and they’ll let him go.”
“What if I don’t come?” I will show up. I know I will. I won’t let him down. I just need to know what the options are.
“Then they’ll take him and he’ll be gone forever.”
“So, I show up, they let Mitch go, and then what?”
“Then, they will try to make you join them. That’s when the fight will start. It has to be perfectly timed. If we can kill them before they force you inside the mountain, you’ll be safe. The loop closes at midnight and can only be opened by the Council. If we can kill all of them, there will be no one left to open it.”
“What happens once the loop closes? If the Redeemers don’t get their seven souls, does that break the deal?” I ask. The queen of a thousand questions is back.
“It does,” she says. “It’s happened before when I escaped.”
“You escaped, too? But you’re one of them.”
Her face goes white and she looks away from me, wiping her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, thoroughly confused by the waterworks. “Are you like me? Like my mother? Is that why you know so much about me? Are you half Redeemer, half Nez Perce, too?”
If that’s the case then maybe I’m not the thunderbird thing. Maybe she is. She’s much more powerful than me. The idea releases a lot of the tension that’s built inside of me.
“No, she’s not,” Nana says, startling me. I didn’t know she was awake.
“Pull yourself together,” Nana says to Miss Simmons, a warning tone to her voice. “The agreement was—”
“I don’t care about the agreement,” Miss Simmons says through her tears. “Do you have any idea how difficult this is on me? If you want me to be in full form, I have to tell her.”
Fingers in the Mist Page 22