The black eyes were back again, sucking up the whites of his eyes. His red irises looked like disks of fire flaming in his eye sockets, and his smile was so wide and vicious that he looked more animal than human.
The woman kept her hood pulled over her face; the only part of her I could see was her hand as it reached out from beneath the sleeve to touch itself to the glass case that had—just moments ago—encased the sword in my hands.
I wanted so badly to rush this girl and get rid of her, and take down Skylar, too, but I would kill myself first before I even laid a finger on either of them. I had zero experience with a sword, and I wasn’t ready to lose my life just yet.
The golden case rumbled in protest against the touch of the young woman’s hand, but she ignored it. She pressed her hand harder upon the glass.
“Come to me, Yamikage,” she said, and within a split second, the golden case was gone, replaced by a case engraved with onyx. Inside the case was a beautiful scythe, its curved blade reminding me of the Grim Reaper. The handle was silver filigree, and all down the length of it there were sacred markings, looking very similar to the carvings I had seen upon the walls of that ancient forbidden room.
There was a black ribbon travelling loosely down the entire length of the scythe—so I guessed she could never lose her grip on this one either—and it wound itself gently around her hands as she grabbed onto the scythe’s handle.
“Finally,” she breathed. “Finally after all this time, I can hold you again.”
The weapon in her hands seemed to vibrate at her words, and she giggled.
“Are we finished here?” Skylar asked uneasily, looking around erratically, almost as if he knew just how many people were watching him at this moment.
“Just one last thing. I need to give this back. She’ll be wondering where it’s gone off to.” The girl brought her hands up to her neck. Her fingers moved quickly and she pulled her hands away. I couldn’t see what it was she was holding, for she had it clasped tightly in her hand, but whatever it was she placed it near the display case. “Now we can leave,” she said. Skylar nodded, his hand resting upon Haikai, and put his hand on the small of the woman’s back, leading her out.
The large doors closed with a clang. I was visible again, and the earthen cave Ricky had built to hide them disappeared to reveal all three of them sitting there, wide-eyed and shocked.
“What did she leave us?” Chris asked stiffly, his eyes guarded. I walked up to the display case and my first reaction directed my hands to my neckline. There, sitting near the glass, was the locket Chris had given me upon his arrival here. The clasp was opened to reveal the quartz interior, and the chain was undone.
“How the hell did she get that?” I asked in bewilderment, looking from Ricky to Pa to Chris to Pa . . . Ricky’s face looked worried, and Pa’s just confused. Chris seemed extremely paranoid about something, so I turned to him.
“Could she have taken it when I was asleep?” I asked him, suddenly feeling weak and vulnerable. I quickly put the locket back on and the feeling of power returned to me.
He shrugged woodenly. “Possibly. I find it very disturbing that she sounded so much like me, though.”
“Like you?” I heard Pa ask. “She sounded like me . . .”
“No,” Ricky interjected. “She sounded just like me, only sharper . . .”
I swallowed. “She sounded . . . like me . . .”
Chris put up his hands. “Okay, look. This woman, whoever she is, obviously is one of us.”
“No, she isn’t,” Ricky argued softly. “Yeah, she’s a Keeper because she was able to get that creepy Grim Reaper stick thing—”
“Scythe,” Pa inserted helpfully.
“Yeah, that,” Ricky continued. “But she doesn’t seem to like a lot of us. And another thing, this ritual that Dess saw in her vision woke her up. So whoever this chick is, she’s the one we need to be fighting here, not Skylar.”
“We have both of them against us,” Pa said, and for once, her voice had lost its happy, cheery tone. Now it was hard, determined. “Skylar’s in league with this woman because he woke her soul. You saw his eyes.”
Ricky nodded once. “Like in the vision,” he recalled. “His eyes looked the same then, didn’t they, Dess?”
I nodded. “Yeah. That’s exactly what they looked like. It's super creepy . . . But guys,” I said quickly before they could speak, “He’s not the only one I’ve seen like that.”
Chris’ head jerked immediately to look at me, and I took a few steps back at the expression of hostility I saw within his eyes.
“Who else have you seen with those eyes?” he asked, his voice clipped, controlled.
I tried to speak, but as I looked at him the darkness began to penetrate his eyes, wash away the light. I blinked several times, trying to keep the tears inside my eyes, but one spilled over and Chris lost it.
“Dessa, you need to tell me!” he shouted. He was gripping my shoulders with his strong hands, and I grimaced from the pain of his grasp.
“Chris, hang on a minute,” Ricky said calmly, putting his hand on top of Chris’ hand where it gripped my shoulder. “Let her go.”
Chris exhaled deeply and I felt his hold on my shoulders loosen enough for me to wretch into sobs.
“D,” Pa said, and I felt her soft hand touch mine where it hung uselessly at my side, “D, who else did you see with those eyes?”
I sniffed and turned my head to look at her. “I saw Chris and myself . . . all of us . . .”
“How did you see them?” Ricky asked from my other side. “It couldn’t have been through visions, because all of us are normal. So how were you able to see this?”
“Through reflections,” I said. “Like that day I puked up everything I’d eaten? Yeah, that was because I’d seen me and Chris with darkened eyes in the mirror. It freaked me out and I lost it.”
Chris’ eyes softened and he pulled me into an embrace. “Forgive me,” he said as he touched his lips to my hair. “I’m afraid of what all of this might mean. Especially if this woman was close enough to take something so precious from you.”
“How long was it missing?” Pa asked.
“I didn’t even notice she’d taken it until I walked up and saw what it was,” I said, my mind going insane.
“Look, why don’t we just get the hell out of this room?” Ricky asked. “Wouldn’t it be wise to like go where we aren’t caged in?”
“Yeah,” we all agreed simultaneously.
“Let’s go back into the living room,” Chris said. We all walked out together, and the little orb of light stayed lit on my fingertip. But for some reason, the darkness seemed thicker than before, menacing and treacherous, as we made our way back to the light.
I collapsed onto the couch out of exhaustion, and fell on top of Ricky in the process. I didn’t wake up until Chris nudged me at around 4:00, pointing studiously at his bare wrist and saying, “Come on, sleepy head, we gotta get going.”
I smiled when I saw his blue eyes the way they were supposed to be and I sat up slowly, looking around. Again, I felt that weird puking sensation spread through me, but I took a deep breath and suppressed it, afraid that Chris would notice.
“Where are the others?” I asked, rubbing my eyes to rid them of “sleepies.”
“They went on ahead of us,” he replied. “They thought it would be safer if they could scout out ahead of time. Just in case someone tried to get in with a weapon or something. Don’t worry; they’ll be prepared for pretty much anything.”
“Ah,” I said, somewhat sad that my dreams could not stay with me. I had to return to the grim reality that my life was in danger and could end at any moment.
“So are you about ready?” he asked as he snapped his fingers.
I chuckled. “Yeah, I’m ready,” I decided. “Let’s go.” Chris took my hand and whistled for the water board, which flew from upstairs and landed perfectly right beside our shins. I hopped on and Chris held my waist from behind
as the board took off.
Within a matter of minutes we were in the honors parking lot walking up to the band doors. Chris’ hand wrapped itself protectively around mine as we walked inside, ignoring the several pairs of staring, curious eyes gazing our direction. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, but Chris’ face betrayed nothing; his composure amazed me—he was calm as the water.
“Dessa,” he said, pulling me aside, “Promise me that you’ll be careful tonight.”
I looked him in the eyes and watched as the internal fires began to shine.
“I promise,” I said solemnly. Then I smiled. “Wanna sit with me on the bus?”
He smirked. “I suppose. Is that allowed?”
“It’d better be,” I retorted.
He laughed. “All right then. I’ll sit with you.”
“Yay!” I exclaimed like a small child. Chris smiled at me and took my hand again. We both sat down in our seats behind the podium just as Ms. Altera stood on the podium.
“Make sure all the instruments and uniforms are boarded on the truck,” she instructed as the rest of us changed into our uniforms, and several students—known to many as the loading committee—left the band room and went outside to check the truck. “The rest of you I will dismiss by ranks. Generals.”
I looked at Chris. “That’s us!”
He smiled. “Lucky us, then.”
“Yeah, we get the best seats,” I said with a chuckle as I finished buttoning my uniform. He followed me studiously to the bus, carrying his mace in his right hand. We didn’t have the luxury of leaving our fragile staffs on the uniform-slash-instrument truck, so we had to leave them in the seat with us. Mine was in my left hand, and my other hand was clasping Chris’ by my side.
One of the chaperones gave us an appraising look when she saw that our hands were holding each other as we went to get onto the bus—I imagined she thought we were two love-sick teenagers who would be fighting tomorrow and making up the next day—and gave Chris a stern look as she saw the confidence brimming in his eyes.
That wasn’t us at all . . .
We weren’t love-sick. We had a connection that stretched back thousands of years, back to the beginning of civilization itself, and that bond could never be broken. Sure, it might escalate to love; but right now, it was a relationship I would not be ashamed of as I would in my normal life.
If you could really ever call that “normal” . . . I mean, yeah, I had the life of every human teenager, the pimples, the dandruff, the stress, the homework, the boys; but the thing was I never was a “normal” teen.
I had always been a Keeper. I had just needed time to come to grips with it again. I had always been a spirit of happiness and life, even though at times I myself felt dead and full of sorrow. I had always been me.
I took the seat in the back of the bus on the left side and looked behind me as I stood in the seat facing the back. Chris was walking so smoothly he could have been floating, and he smiled when he entered the seat beside me.
“I’ll keep you safe, Dessa,” he purred in my ear. “No need to worry about that.”
“I’m not worried,” I answered truthfully as I sat down beside him. His left arm wrapped itself slowly around my waist and pulled me against his body, so I could feel the cool warmth of his skin—even through the uniform I could feel it plainly.
The bus ride to Blackhawk was full of excited chatter from the freshmen, casual talk about fashion from the sophomores, broken hearts from the juniors going out with seniors who were all focused on college and getting the hell away from this town . . .
But in the back corner of the bus, there wasn’t even a whisper. Chris gazed into my eyes the entire time, and I stared straight back at him, trying to read his thoughts the way I thought I could sometimes.
As I gazed into the depths of his eyes, I felt my body cool down. I felt my nerves freezing over with a calmness that was intoxicating, and I felt a smile spread across my face from the simple pleasure of gazing into his eyes. I could sense something was troubling him—could feel it just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor—and I reached out my hand to caress his face. I heard him sigh in contentment as my hand lit the skin of his cheek, bringing the happiness back into him. As my fingers touched him, again that internal shine came from my fingertips and lit his cheek from the inside. His sigh sounded so beautiful—so invigorating that I couldn’t control myself any longer.
I read the secret desire within his eyes, the desire to taste the light on his own, and I leaned in slowly toward him. Our lips touched, and both our mouths opened in synchronization with each other, and I let the light flood into him as his tongue twisted with mine.
I pulled away and he was smiling. He sighed again and I looked into his eyes, a melted, deep sapphire. I didn’t speak, and neither did he.
His eyes were scared now . . .
As I looked into his eyes this time, I could see the fear spelled out plainly before me. He was afraid, but what was he afraid of?
I leaned my body against his and moved his hand from my waist to my neck. I figured now was as good a time to tell him as any. I’d been violently sick the past few mornings, I was extremely emotional . . .
His fingers massaged the skin of my neck softly, and I guided his hand slowly down to my stomach, where I think he knew what I was trying to tell him.
His eyes widened as he looked at me, and I smiled. His face was frozen in shock, but soon his mask broke to reveal the face of an exceedingly happy father. But behind that happiness, I could still see worry in his eyes. I could still see fear.
He leaned in to kiss me and his lips took all the air from my lungs as his body crushed my defenses. I couldn’t fight him; I wanted him too much.
It took me a few seconds, but then I finally realized what he was afraid of: he didn’t want to lose us.
I smiled at him, but his smile disappeared quickly. I couldn’t stay silent any longer.
“Chris,” I murmured softly, letting my breath touch the skin of his neck. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
He turned his face away from me.
“You’re . . .”
“I know,” I answered before he could say the word on the bus. “But that’s not a bad thing.”
“It could be,” he replied. “If I lose you, I lose . . .”
“You won’t lose anyone,” I promised as I clasped his hand. “No one’s going anywhere any time soon, so stop worrying.”
“If anything happened to you . . .” he began.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I interrupted him. “You can’t live in fear that I won’t be here the next day. Just remember our job here. We need to stop Skylar and that woman. If I don’t make it, then I’ll expect you to finish her.”
He swallowed, and I could see the tears swimming in his eyes.
“Promise me,” I insisted, glad that my voice was strong now. “Promise me that if something happens to me that you’ll finish what we started.”
“I . . .” he swallowed again and stared into my golden eyes. The internal fires were shining again, lighting the back corner of the bus blue and gold. “I promise.”
I smiled. “Good. Now let’s have some fun tonight, okay?”
He smiled back reluctantly. “Okay.”
I kissed him and looked out the window.
“We’re here!” I shouted to the whole bus. Everyone started jumping around like crazy monkeys at my proclamation and shouting, “Down with the Cougars!”
The rivalry between Blackhawk and Hopewell ran deep, kind of like the Greeks and the Turks, or the United States and Iran. I had a feeling quite a few fights would break out over a simple football game; that some broken bones and a few bloody noses might result.
As our bus pulled up along the guest side of the field, I spotted the cougar mascot, with his black fur shining in the field’s lighting. Beside the cougar was a young woman, but her back was to me. She looked like a cheerleader, judging from the huge pompoms in her hands, and she
had light brown hair that stretched down past her shoulders. She and the cougar were talking about something . . .
I looked away as the bus squealed to a stop and I unpacked the mace. I left the bus with Chris before everyone else and we got the loading committee all settled with unloading.
Chris pulled me aside moments later, concern clear in his eyes.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” I reminded him.
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” he retorted worriedly, putting his arms on my shoulders.
“Christopher, please,” I begged, “Relax.”
He nodded and smiled bleakly. “I’ll try.”
“If anything happens, you’ll know what to do.”
He nodded again and walked away without saying another word. I could hear him blowing the whistle telling the rest of the band to line up and get off the buses. Within five minutes we were ready to go, and I was in front of the band with Chris again, mace in hand, worry in my heart.
What if Chris’ worry wasn’t just unnecessary? What if there really was something wrong and he wasn’t telling me about it? The anxiety was threatening to spill out of my mouth and onto the sidewalk if I didn’t do something . . .
Chris and I led the band around to the visitor stands to our place in the bleachers. As they filed in, I diverted my attention back to the mascot; only he wasn’t there anymore. I shrugged and looked away toward the scoreboard. Chris followed my gaze and gave me a question-mark face.
“What're you looking at?” he asked curiously.
“The mascot,” I explained, and I finished before he could interrupt me again. “He was here earlier, talking to a girl. It just looked really suspicious to me, that’s all. And now both of them are gone.”
“Dessa,” he interjected, “The mascot’s right there.”
I turned around and followed his finger to where it was pointing, and sure enough, the mascot was there, in the spot he had been moments before. Only this time, the girl wasn’t there.
“What the hell?” I asked, grabbing my head. “Whatever. I just found it weird, that’s all.”
“Well don’t worry about it, then,” he said determinedly. “Just enjoy the game.”
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