AMANI: Reveal

by Marie, Lydhia

Mary checked the time on her cell phone, her face back to its normal color. “We have only five minutes left. Where’s your guy?”

  I jogged to the end of the parking lot and saw Xander approaching. He was only half a mile away. “Come on! Hurry! We don’t have much time!”

  Unaware of my next and last task, he sprinted to join me. I was just glancing at the rest of the group to make sure they were looking when I heard “Ooohs” and “aaahs.”

  And there in the middle of a semi-circle was Kristin, her mouth firmly set on shell-shocked, petrified Vivian’s lips. Everyone around started clapping and laughing hysterically, while Vivian, after the initial surprise had dissolved, pushed the twin far away from her and wiped her mouth with her sleeve before she quickly hid her hands behind her back.

  Chapter XXIII

  Amya Priam

  “WE WON! We won, we won, wewonwewonwewon!!” Kristin sang, dancing around everyone. “Hey!” she yelled two inches from her sister. “Have you heard? WE WON!”

  “What did she win exactly?” Xander asked, frowning, but plainly entertained.

  I shrugged. I had wanted to win, but seeing the expression on Vivian’s face was worth it. Plus, Kristin seemed so happy, even her twin had a wide smile stamped on her face.

  “The initiation. No idea what she—well, the other girl, the one who’s about to punch someone in the face—won.”

  “Why isn’t she happy? Her girlfriend looks elated.”

  I chuckled. “She’s not her girlfriend.”

  I explained to him what the last task was and mentioned that Vivian had been reticent to ask anyone to do it.

  “Is that why you wanted me to come down?” Xander said, an unreadable expression on his face.

  For the first time, I noticed that Xander’s hair and beard had been trimmed. Probably Madame M.’s doing. He looked very handsome, his blue eyes shimmering more clearly on a clean face.

  Fortunately I was saved from answering when Patrick leaped beside me. “You must know by now that Kristin is very competitive.”

  “Told you we’d win!” I heard her shout.

  “If anyone hadn’t noticed before,” I replied, “then it’s pretty obvious right now.”

  Ultimately, there was nothing to win or lose because, according to Patrick, the club did not value the best ability or the strongest member, but our efforts and personal accomplishments. I was only glad I didn’t have to dive into the cold river or have ketchup and mustard thrown in my face. I had heard such horrible stories about initiations that I’d been imagining the worst punishments for losing.

  I introduced Xander to everyone, and only Vivian didn’t seem interested in the fact that he was a Rascal. She kept looking at her watch and eventually left, muttering to herself. The rest of the group, however, asked lots of questions. They’d never seen a Rascal—not that they knew of anyway—and they were curious about the fact that Xander hadn’t turned into a monster during his transformation. I told them how we thought it was because becoming a Rascal merely enhanced your own personality and Xander had always been such an honest and caring person. Then Kristin wondered how we’d met and the conversation became a little uncomfortable, so I suggested that it was getting late, and Xander and I headed back to Madame M.’s.

  “Why did you call me, Amya?” Xander asked after a few minutes of walking, breaking the silence of the dark, cloudy night.

  “I told you. I wanted to win and there was this last task I needed to accomplish…”

  He gently grabbed my arm, forcing me to face him. “I know that. What I don’t understand is why you called me. You had two guys to choose from, which would have been a much faster choice, and you could’ve actually won.”

  “B—but why are you asking me this right now?” I managed to say, while my head was spinning with Xander’s odor: fresh mint and aftershave. He was standing so close to me, I could almost feel heat radiating from his body.

  His eyes became serious and… was there a hint of shame in them?

  “I need to know, Amya. I need to know if there is hope…”

  I glanced down at my feet. Not because I couldn’t face him, but because I needed to look away from his kind blue eyes in order to put my thoughts in order.

  “I kissed you at Headquarters after the explosions. Doesn’t that count as hope?”

  “Hope cannot be scaled down to an impulsion. You were scared then. Your emotions could have clouded your judgment.”

  I frowned. Was that really what he’d believed all this time?

  “What if those emotions helped me realize what was hiding deep in my soul, something I was—and I am still—too afraid to accept?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted at last, sending shivers down my spine and into every limb attached to my body.

  Those words I said were the truth. But I was afraid. I was afraid to love again. I was afraid to get hurt again. And I was afraid to let myself be happy with someone when the world was shattering around me.

  He seemed to be reading my thoughts, because he drifted his hand slowly down my arm, a blazing path running after his thumb, and slid his fingers between mine. “Hope is all I need, Amya. It’s enough to keep me going a lifetime if I have to.”

  It was difficult to concentrate with the pulse in my head going nuts. There was neither explosion nor any life-threatening crisis surrounding us, yet I felt the same urge to get as close to Xander as I could. I wanted to burry my face in his chest. I wanted to feel the warmth of his lips on mine, and the firmness of his hands on my back. I longed for the delicacy of his fingers to linger in my hair…

  But instead, he broke the silence. “You’re shivering. Let’s hurry up.”

  We each held the other’s hand as we made the rest of the way to Madame M.’s. Karl was waiting for us in the living room, sitting next to Doc, Bashful, and Sleepy. He went to bed as soon as we’d safely arrived. As for Samera, she was apparently fast asleep, but a faint light under her door convinced me otherwise. Just before Karl entered, however, the glow vanished.

  ***

  At seven in the morning, our host had prepared a rich breakfast of sausages, bacon, smashed potatoes, eggs, and bread. Xander, Samera, and I borrowed Madame M.’s car and went to the Carrefour de l’Estrie to buy winter coats. Xander kept saying he didn’t need any, but we made him understand that people would start asking questions if they saw him merely wearing a light shirt when it was five degrees out.

  At a quarter to two in the afternoon, I met with Patrick in the library and gave him his onesie and scarf. I also set the book I’d borrowed back on its shelf before we spent one hour working on my ability. At first I tried to Sojourn while he talked to me, just like Samera and I had practiced at Headquarters. It was very difficult, though after merely thirty minutes, I’d managed to remain in Patrick’s head up until he decided to touch my arm.

  “Just wanted to push it to another level,” he explained. “It’s pretty impressive, you know? I told my family about you and they’ve never heard of someone who didn’t need a physical contact to Sojourn. Let alone be able to project your soul into someone who’s not even in the same room as you!”

  I’d told him about the time when I’d Sojourned into Michelle’s body while she was on a mission to find my father. I had failed to mention that my father was actually—

  “A Rascal.”

  “Excuse me?” Patrick said, startled. “What does a Rascal have to do with your ability?”

  It was like someone had abruptly switched the light on and everything was clear at last.

  “Everything! Oh my God, why haven’t I thought of this before?”

  My mom and dad. Me. My ability. It all made sense!

  “I told you before that my mother was a Seraph, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, you inherited your gift from her.”

  “Well, I think that maybe I also inherited something from my dad.”

  Patrick’s eyebrow rose. “What are you saying, Amya?”

  “I’m saying that I j
ust learned yesterday that my dad is a Rascal,” I blurted out, and immediately held my hands in the air at his startled expression. “But he’s not dangerous or anything. Well, not that I know of. And wouldn’t it make sense that part of his—um—uniqueness was transmitted to me, in my genes, I mean? A Rascal’s eyes turn to black when they’re angry; my hair is black and I’ve never been able to dye it another color. Plus, neither of my parents have black hair. Not even my sister! And my ability is different from my mother’s and grandma’s. It is, in a way, more powerful, stronger.” I paused, panting as though I’d just run twenty miles. “And Meo, he tried to feed on my memories, tried to make them all vanish, but it didn’t work like it should have. Neither Wyatt nor Xander understand why certain events still trigger those memories he took from me. Maybe because I’m part Rascal? Maybe because, genetically, I’m sort of a little bit immunized.”

  “Wait, did you just say your dad’s a Rascal? Who’s Meo?”

  “Excuse me,” I muttered before I ran out of the room and straight out of the library to find Samera and Xander at the bottom of the steps. Xander was reading a book and Sam was on her dad’s cell phone, smiling.

  Karl had lent it to her in case we might need a lift to come back to the house. He was spending the day with Madame M, training in the basement.

  “Has it already been an hour?” my best friend inquired, looking at the time.

  “I don’t know. Guys, I think I’m a Rascal.”

  I told them everything I’d just babbled to Patrick, but found a much more understanding audience. Samera stood there, gaping at me, while Xander was frowning and nodding, like a lawyer listening to his patient’s confession.

  “What would that imply for your ability?” he replied after I was done.

  I shook my head, clueless.

  “Do you think you can feed on people’s dreams too?” Samera went on.

  “I’ve never tried… I’ve never felt the need to, either.”

  “Let’s see what Hibiscus thinks! Holy moly—crap! This is the most exciting news! Let’s go!”

  I hadn’t seen Samera this enthusiastic since the explosion on HQ and the disappearance of my sister. She was bouncing up and down in her furry red coat, waving at us to follow her. We ran to the Molson building and up to Hibiscus’s office. Only to find out that she was absent.

  “No!” Sam burst. “Why isn’t she here?”

  “Didn’t she have a seminar today?” Xander recalled.

  “Jeez! You’re right! Can we come with you tomorrow then? We won’t take much of your time, just a few questions…”

  “No, you can’t,” Xander replied, wide-eyed. “You have to. I’m not spending one minute alone with Hibiscus. You heard what she wanted to try on me! Who knows what she’ll have in store next time?”

  We spent the rest of the morning wandering around on campus, and decided against telling Mr. Jensen about my new possible explanation for my special ability. I wasn’t certain anyway, so why bother him?

  The scenery on campus was beautiful. The white rooftops filled by the second with thick snowflakes falling relentlessly from a heavy sky, which contrasted with the red brick buildings. Students wore purple hats and scarves to match their purple sweatpants and backpacks, and lingered outside between classes, watching their classmates start snow fights or simply enjoying this eerie weather.

  As for us, lunchtime was spent at Tim Horton’s, around a warm soup and a cup of tea.

  “But have you tried the French vanilla coffee?” Samera repeated every ten minutes. “It’s soooo good! You haven’t lived properly until you’ve tried it.”

  I finally bought one just before we headed back to the house. It was pleasantly sweet and I did appreciate that it did not actually taste like coffee. At all.

  On our way up, we met a student named Daniel, who invited us to yet another party tonight. This time, however, it was happening on campus. Samera instantly stiffened and told him we would not be going. The excitement that had decreased with Hibiscus’s absence had completely vanished by the time we reached Deacon Street, and my best friend was acting weird again.

  I was about to demand an explanation when my eyes fell onto a silhouette lying on the frozen ground, facing Madame M.’s house. It was mostly covered in tree branches. Sam and Xander followed my gaze…

  There, lying half under high bushes, was an elderly woman with extremely white hair and a Hello Kitty purse.

  She appeared to be dead.

  Chapter XXIV

  Amya Priam

  As reported by the police officers, who spoke mostly French—only Samera and Madame M. understood a word they were saying—the woman’s IDs were those of a twenty-year-old Bishop student.

  And she was, in fact, dead.

  It wasn’t the first dead person I’d seen in my life, having been forced to watch Billy, Gareth’s little brother, kill himself last month because of a Rascal. And there was Nevada, Xander’s sister, who’d jumped out of a window in high school, again because of the same joy-feeding monster. But somehow, this woman’s frightened facial expression—forever printed on her face—wrinkled, white skin, and glassy eyes gave me the creeps.

  Worst yet, she had died right in front of Madame M.’s house.

  And that, according to Mr. Jensen, could not be a coincidence.

  “If this is the work of a Rascal, we are not safe here anymore,” he said when the police had gone.

  Sam crossed her arms. “We cannot assume it’s a Rascal just yet. She could have died of old age… she looked to be in her nineties, after all. What if she died of a heart attack after climbing this impossible hill that is College Street? Even I feel like dying every time we come back from the university.”

  “How would you explain the Hello Kitty bag and the IDs? And why in front of Madame M.’s house?” her father said.

  “Coincidence? And maybe they’re her granddaughter’s? Or maybe she’s using the ID of a younger person to continue going to college. I don’t know! I’m not the expert! I’m just saying we shouldn’t jump to conclusions too fast.”

  Xander shook his head. “That makes no sense whatsoever. No. I agree with Karl. We need to keep in mind that it could be the work of a Rascal. What if the IDs are hers?”

  “But how could…” Sam began, but never finished her sentence.

  It became clear to all of us just then how such an incident could have happened if a Rascal was involved. Of course, we did not know if such a Rascal existed. It was one thing to feed on memories, strength, or emotions, but to live off a person’s youth… Surely, we would have heard of similar cases.

  We spent all afternoon on Madame M.’s two computers, looking for reports on people who had mysteriously grown old in a short, unnatural timespan. Madame M. called an old colleague of hers who still worked for the Protectors in Canada and Karl contacted his wife. But no one found sufficient information. There had been a few instances in Trenton, New Jersey last year where people had grown older in one day, but the police had never put much thought into it. “Stress makes a person grow white hair,” they had concluded. None had ever died, either.

  Mrs. Cohen did say she would try to communicate with Protectors from all around the world.

  “Are you back at Headquarters?” Karl asked her, changing the subject completely.

  Michelle cleared her throat. “We haven’t come up with a good enough plan. Amya’s father and I fear that if I just barged in with him by my side, Protectors will get mad at me for bringing yet another Rascal to HQ… and who knows what they’ll do then?” The mention of my father raised several questions in my head, but I kept quiet. “We’re staying at Magdalen’s for now, where no one will come looking for either of us. Sylvia is here too. She’s slowly accepting that her husband, um, hid the truth from her since the beginning…”

  I had difficulty believing my mother had never known about it. Surely she would have noticed something. Didn’t my father ever get angry? Had they never fought? Although my father’s eyes wer
e dark brown, and turning pitch black wouldn’t make such a big difference, she ought to have made some dubious observation at some point…

  Michelle hung up soon after because her deputy at Headquarters, Ian Cohen, was calling her.

  “How do you think Magda reacted to the news?” Sam inquired.

  My grandmother had always remained calm in situations where everybody tended to freak out. “I don’t know,” I said. She did have a low tolerance for those who hurt the people she loved. “But if my mother’s been crying in front of her, I doubt she took it that well.”

  Around seven-thirty, while Madame M. and Samera were preparing dinner and chatting in French, Xander found something on the Internet.

  “It was in The Telegraph this morning: Double murder in Oxfordshire. A sixty-year-old man has been arrested after two women in their nineties were found dead in the man’s front yard. The owner of the house was taken to the Cowley police station, where he remains in custody. Both of the victims and the man arrested are believed to have been known to each other, but they are not related. Police were called to the house on Bartlemas Road at eight pm on Monday. Although there were no apparent injuries, the two women were pronounced dead at eight-twenty pm. Formal identification has not taken place yet since the only ID cards found on the women are those of young student girls.

  “The next of kin will be informed as soon as the police identify the victims. Officers remain at the scene and will be speaking with residents for more information and to provide reassurance. At the moment, detectives are not seeking anyone else in connection with the investigation…”

  “Holy moly—crap. Now that can’t be a coincidence,” Samera said before Xander could finish reading. She and Madame M. had stopped cutting their vegetables and had gathered around the computer screen with us.

  “Such a Rascal does exist after all,” I muttered to myself. “But it doesn’t mean this one is after me. Who knows how many of them there are in Amani?”

  Karl firmly shook his head. “We can’t take this chance, Amya. We shall leave tomorrow morning.”