That's how she knew, Connor thought. He'd been so focused on his feelings that he'd forgotten to control his body language. A warrior never reveals what he's thinking, he remembered his grandmother telling him and his sister when they were little. They had just started training and Lorelai always looked at the spot she was planning to hit next. Idiot.
"You have a duty," Aeryn went on."A mission. You can't change that. It's in your blood. On top of that mission, you also have to protect Iris. If you can't keep a clear mind, you will fail at both. And you know what that means."
"We're all going to die."
2
Sometimes I Hate Being Right
Marion hopped over the pools of water gathered in the shallow indentations in the concrete pavement of her driveway like a professional ballerina in the middle of a stage performance—all that on stiletto heels, balancing a stack of flower pots in one hand, an oversized bag on her shoulder and a huge dark blue umbrella with a multicolored classic book title pattern in the other hand. And even so, Iris was ready to bet her entire month's allowance that when her friend got in the car, she wouldn't have a drop of water on her. She opened the door on the passenger side and grabbed the pots that Marion nearly threw at her.
"My God. Is it ever going to stop raining? What is this? The second Great Flood?" She jumped in the car and slammed the door. If ever there was something that could disrupt Marion's constant cheerfulness, it was rain. She hated it with a vengeance for one reason and one reason only—because it ruined her otherwise perfect outfits. She had a rather peculiar dress style, a sort of punk-meets-preppy-meets-animé, which only Marion—and probably Lady Gaga—could get away with, and she was loyal to it come hell or high water.
"What happened to 'not hiding from it?'" Iris tapped her index finger on the wheel, waiting to find an open window to enter Main Street. She only had a few seconds between windshield wipes and the traffic was terribly busy at seven thirty in the morning.
"That was to get you out of the house," Marion said as she adjusted her seatbelt. "Me and rain have a different kind of hate relationship."
Iris inspected her friend's outfit. That morning she was wearing a beautiful black multi-layered skirt of cotton, tulle and lace, with ribbons to adjust the length of the outer layer, and a corset top made from heavy cotton with red floral design and buckles on the front. Marion swiped the back of her hand over her skirt as if to wipe away the raindrops, although, just as Iris had suspected, there were no drops to wipe away. The only sign that the deluge outside had touched her friend were the red high-heeled platform boots with black buttons on the side, sparkling like tree leaves under the weight of the morning dew.
"Nice outfit," Iris said as she finally managed to enter Main Street. Marion smiled with the confidence of someone who expected that kind of praise.
"So is yours," she replied, clearly trying not to curl her nose as she pointed at Iris' T-shirt, the butterfly pattern visible underneath her open coat.
"Hey, it was a birthday present from my grandmother," Iris protested.
"Yeah, from when you turned twelve."
"Fifteen actually."
Marion frowned, closed her eyes and shook her head. "You're a sixteen-year-old. A hot sixteen-year-old. With a hot boyfriend. Dress accordingly."
"Connor is not my boyfriend."
"Oh, please. Have you seen the way he looks at you? And it's been like that since the moment he laid eyes on you back in second grade."
"Second grade? We've known each other since kindergarten."
"What?"
"Don't you remember Connor and Lorelai? They played with us all the time in Ms. Lively's class."
Marion's eyes narrowed as she tried to retrieve some distant memories hidden in the back of her mind. After a few seconds, she shook her head. "Sorry, no. The first memory I have of them is in Mr. Horowitz's science class. They'd been homeschooled before that. I remember because Connor was surprisingly smart and Lorelai, no surprise there, treated everyone like garbage, just because she and her brother were a year older than us. But anyways, my point is that he's had his eye on you for a long time and I think it's about time you did something about it."
Iris remained silent for a while, thinking about what Marion had just said. She and Connor were friends and, while there had been moments when she wondered about the possibility of them as a couple, she wasn't ready to jeopardize their friendship. She looked at Marion, who was staring at the waves of umbrellas on the sidewalk.
"I don't know, Marion," she said, taking a left turn to enter Amber Avenue, one of the most popular areas in Forest Hills for shopping enthusiasts. Home to dozens of outlets, ranging from do-it-yourself shops and fast foods to designer clothing stores, two malls and even an artisan market, with Marion's mother's flower shop right in the middle of them, its wide sidewalks were always full of curious eyes, eager to at least admire if not purchase the beautiful wonders behind the inviting windows.
"Look, I'm not saying you should marry him or anything. Just… If you like him, don't get stuck on the idea that just because you're friends, you can never be more. Even if it doesn't work out, it doesn't necessarily mean you can't go back to being friends."
"Like you did with Logan?"
"Honey, Logan is a selfish, narcissistic little spoiled brat who likes all the girls. Connor is a nice, sensitive guy who only has eyes for you. He always sits next to you when we all go out, he brings you a copy of his notes and homework when you're sick—he literally makes a copy himself so you wouldn't strain your wrist rewriting everything—and he knows everything you like and dislike, from food to music, books and even perfume scents. Now I'm gonna stop because I think you got the point and if I go any further with this advertizing pitch I'm afraid I'm gonna make him out to be a stalker rather than a guy with a crush on you the size of KK's generous behind."
"Where is all this coming from?"
"I was working on the invitation design for the Winter Dance last night and it got me thinking. Since you politely turned down every guy who invited you and Connor didn't even bother to invite anyone, yet you're both going anyways, why not go as a couple?"
"You don't think it will be awkward?"
"Love is never awkward, honey," Marion reassured her. "Unless you're my parents, kissing and hugging like a couple of teenagers in the kitchen, with their daughter having breakfast three feet away. In that case it's all sorts of awkward."
They laughed. Marion's parents were famous for their happy marriage and their incredible ability to keep the flame burning even with Mr. Young's frequent business trips abroad. Every time he came home it was like he'd only been gone for a few hours and the two of them were always in such syntony that, according to their only beloved daughter, Marion, they had never had one fight.
"However," Marion said on a more serious tone, "now more than ever you should consider going through that god-awful wardrobe of yours."
"I don't think Connor cares much about my clothes."
"Darling, I fully support loving someone for who they are on the inside, but just because he doesn't mind that," she waved her open palm in a circular motion in front of Iris' T-shirt, "doesn't mean he wouldn't appreciate this," she swept her hands from her neck to her knees and back as if she was showcasing a priceless object at an auction.
Iris laughed and parked in front of Sarah Young's flower shop. The woman was rearranging some samples in the window but, as soon as she heard the car pull over, she dropped everything and ran outside.
"Hi, girls," she chimed, shielding her beautiful brown curls with her hands so the rain wouldn't ruin them. She had a big smile that revealed a set of impeccable teeth and Iris remembered where Marion got her unwavering optimism from.
The girls greeted her as Marion opened the car door and handed the flower containers to her mother. As soon as she freed her hands, she closed back the door and rolled down the window just a few inches, enough to hear Sarah's voice but not enough to let the raindrops in.
&n
bsp; "Thanks, honey. You're a lifesaver."
"You, on the other hand, should try to be less forgetful, Mother. Now go inside. Your hair is going to get ruined and we're going to be late for school."
Sarah laughed. Iris touched her bracelet wondering what her own mother would be like if she were alive. Would she also be dreamy and even a bit childish at times, or would she be serious and authoritative? Would they have the same close, friendly relationship that Marion and Sarah had, where sometimes the roles of mother and daughter were reversed, or would they be respectful of each other's status but distant and cold? Would they get along or would they fight constantly?
Sarah wished them a good day and warned them to drive carefully. For the second time that morning, Iris felt her stomach churn under the weight of a bad feeling. Marion was still waiving back at her mother, now safe behind the store window again, when Iris started the car and launched herself into the pouring rain again.
"My mother can be such an airhead sometimes," Marion said, shaking her head. They'd stopped at a red light and she was now looking through the blurry windshield at the multicolored sea of umbrellas clashing on the white stripes crossing the street. Iris kept her eyes on the traffic signal. "Please tell me you're not taking Chestnut Road," Marion said as soon as she realized they were on the second lane and Iris was signaling a left turn on Elmwood Street. "Come on, Iris, we're already late."
"Exactly. A ten minute delay won't matter."
"Ten minutes? Try forty."
"Okay. It's a forty-minute detour but, you know…" Marion sighed and, after a few seconds, Iris went on. "Would you rather we get to Pine Brook Bridge, stop and turn around, or just take Chestnut Road from the start and avoid the headache altogether?"
"I'd rather we get to Pine Brook Bridge and cross it. We still have two whole years of high-school left and River Road is the shortest way to get there. You can't avoid it forever. Sooner or later you're going to have to cross that bridge. Literally."
"One, as long as Chestnut Road is open, I'm pretty sure I can avoid Pine Brook Bridge. And two, if I really have to cross it, I'd rather not have to do it on this weather."
"The best way to conquer your fears—"
"Is to face them. I know that, Marion. Can we please not fight about this now?"
"Please…"
"Oh, fine," Iris surrendered and, instead of heading left, she drove straight ahead. Maybe Marion was right. She had to face her fear of water someday and maybe that was the day. Marion clapped her hands and then pulled out a pocket mirror. She started inspecting her pink hair, meticulously coiffed with an outward bend in the ends, just under her ears. It was perfect, as always, but she still tapped it lightly at the edges.
Then it happened. A black object materialized in front of them and Marion's mirror went flying against the windshield as Iris locked her foot on the brake pedal. The car stopped just a few inches away from the obstacle, pushing them forward with such force that Iris felt the seatbelt cutting into her chest. As she was propelled back against the seat, she raised her eyes and looked through the blurry windshield. Her head was spinning and she couldn't tell if her vision was unclear because of the rain or the shock. She narrowed her eyes to get a better focus and, in between wipes, she could finally distinguish a dark figure on a black motorcycle. He'd stopped crossways in front of their car, his head turned towards them, although Iris couldn't tell where exactly he was looking, because of the pitch black shield of his helmet.
Then her heart skipped a beat and all of a sudden she had the feeling that she knew him, not from earlier that morning but a lot longer than that. Years. And the more she looked at him the stronger that feeling got. For a few seconds, time slowed down and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Every noise around her became distorted and far away. She could hear her own heart beat—or was it his?—slow, regular, close, so close as if she was listening to it through a stethoscope. Then, slowly, everything began to come back to normal as he rushed away and got lost in traffic while the other drivers behind her started honking at her to move out of the way.
"Are you okay?" Marion spoke first and her voice reached Iris from far away as she was struggling to gather her thoughts. Eventually, she managed to start the car again. Slowly, like a beginner for the first time behind the wheel, she pulled over and stopped the engine. "Iris?"
"Yeah. I'm okay," she said, her hands still tight on the wheel, her heart pounding in her chest.
"What the hell was that?"
Iris realized she'd been wrong. That was not the day to deviate from the routine and experiment. Forget about the nagging feeling in your stomach, she told herself. If what just happened isn't a warning sign, I don't know what is.
She started the car and turned towards Elmwood Street. "I don't know," she said, inspecting the traffic around her, "but we're taking Chestnut Road and it's not up for debate."
Connor leaned against the trunk of an oak tree listening to the crackling of the rain as it hit the dying foliage of the old forest. The thick branches were wet and slippery but he had no trouble keeping his balance. The view from thirty feet up was overwhelming and the monotonous pitter-patter quite relaxing, yet his heart was heavy and pumping faster than normal. It wasn't because of his state of alert as he waited for his sister to return with news from the morgue, but because of that nagging feeling that something big was about to hit them and they weren't prepared enough to face it.
He scouted the depths of the forest around him. There was hardly any movement at all but the hundreds of heartbeats, each following a different rhythm, told him that the little inhabitants whose home he was invading were preparing for the challenges of a new day. For the dwellers of the woods, every day was all about survival—finding enough food and a shelter from bad weather, avoiding the enemy, which in most cases was nothing more than the boot of a hiker—and Connor had never felt closer to nature than in those moments under the weight of that uneasy feeling that kept lingering in his chest ever since he'd read the newspaper that morning.
He heard Lorelai coming long before he could see her, flying over the wet blanket of dead leaves with the grace of a gazelle barely grazing the sunburned grassland. He held his breath and waited for her to get close enough, then jumped off the branch and launched himself at her with the speed and agility of a cheetah. The girl saw him a second too late and, although her instincts were sharp, she didn't manage to dodge him in time and they tumbled to the ground, leaving in their trail a deep furrow, like a plane hitting the ground at five hundred miles per hour. They slid together for a good twenty feet and then Connor rolled to his feet while his sister kept going and stopped only when she hit the trunk of a hundred-year-old giant oak tree.
"Come on, Lorelai, at least pretend you're making an effort," Connor said, putting out his hand to help her get up.
"I'm sorry, I hadn't realized we were already training," the girl replied, ignoring his hand and jumping to her feet. "I thought we were gonna talk about my findings at the morgue first and then throw each other around on this atrocious weather." She ran her hands over her clothes in an effort to remove the dirt but she soon gave up when she realized it was pointless. "God, I hate the rain."
"We've trained and fought in much worse conditions."
"That was a long time ago."
"All the more reason to sharpen those skills."
The girl sighed and rolled her eyes, removing a few wet strains of her golden hair that had attached to her cheek. She was afraid to think what her natural curls, which normally cascaded along her back in perfect glossy ringlets, looked like in that moment.
Anxious, Connor got to the point. "So? What did you find out?"
"Well, as much as it pains me to admit it, you may have been right."
Connor managed not to show his satisfaction but he wasn't as successful with the shivers that he felt as the blood turned into ice water coursing through his veins when his sister gave a valid reason to that feeling that had been tormenting him
all morning.
His muscles tightened as Lorelai went on. "It's impossible that a wild beast did that. The remains are practically nothing but a pile of shredded, burnt meat." She curled her nose and shook her head to chase away the memory, although she and Connor had been confronted with such gruesome imagery several times before.
"What do you think it was? Vampire? Werewolf?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I've never see this kind of damage in the human world."
Connor remained silent. He imagined all the possible ways things could end up in a disaster with fatal consequences.
"What about you? What did you find?" Lorelai said, bringing him back to reality.
"Nothing really, but the rain probably washed away all traces of the attack. I searched the area around the spot where they found the remains and nothing. Other than the indistinctive scent of human blood and a wide patch of burnt ground, nothing."
They looked at each other for a while, without saying a word. They both knew that there was trouble ahead and that they had to avoid it at all costs. But to do that they needed to find whoever or whatever was causing it and their only lead was a pile of shredded human remains.
"Wouldn't it be great if we could live like regular people?" Lorelai said, leaning against a tree and gathering her dripping locks in a tail at the back of her head. "Imagine what it would be like if Mom and Dad were still alive and there would be no mission, and my only worries would be what to wear at the prom and how to find new ways to one-up the most popular girl in school."
"There's no point in dwelling on things we can't change, Lorelai. Now let's train!"
The girl straightened her back and took a few steps forward. She looked up at the grey sky and then back at her brother, with the most loving and imploring look she could conjure, knowing he had a soft spot for doe eyes. "Can't you do something about those clouds?"
The Fountain of Truth (Tales of the Dark Fae Book 1) Page 3