Soul Stone

by Gladden, DelSheree

  “No,” he says without looking away. I don’t know why his answer causes a pain in my chest, but he isn’t finished yet. One corner of his mouth turns up. “Because it hasn’t happened yet.”

  For some reason, I feel relieved at his answer. “Really?”

  “Is that so surprising?”

  “Well, to be honest, yeah.”

  Bas scowls at me, and I hurry to explain.

  “I don’t mean that I think you’re the kind of guy who sleeps around, but just about any girl in town would probably be thrilled if you paid attention to them as more than just a friend.”

  “Any girl but you,” Bas says with a grin.

  I roll my eyes at him. “Seriously, why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  “Wow, you go right for the jugular, don’t you?” Bas says with a laugh.

  “Sorry, I guess that was kind of rude.” I laugh as well, blaming it on Bas’s bad influence. He always seems to bring out the worst in me for some reason.

  Bumping into my shoulder, Bas smiles. “I’m just kidding, it’s fine.” His eyes drop down to his shoes. “I guess I’m just not the kind of guy who dates someone for fun. If I don’t feel a real connection, what’s the point?”

  I hate it when he does this! The serious, sweet side of him comes out and surprises me so much I can’t seem to form a coherent thought. I mean, what teenage boy says stuff like that? Luckily, Bas doesn’t seem to expect me to respond. We cross the last stretch of sidewalk to his house and stop.

  “Thanks for walking with me,” Bas says. “You really didn’t have to.”

  Scoffing, I say, “No, I’m sure my dad was somehow watching me the whole way.” I’m only partly joking. “But seriously, it was a nice walk. Thanks for the registration forms.”

  “No problem.”

  I am about to walk away, but I turn back. “Are you really going to ask your parents about Portland?”

  “I don’t think your dad is going to let me out of asking, but I can always tell him they said no if you want.”

  Again, it’s so tempting to push him away. After what my dad pulled, I want to do it just to spite him, but reality kicks me in the shin before I can do something stupid. “Actually, it would be great if you could come.”

  “Really?” Bas asks.

  “Well, there’s really no chance of either of my parents agreeing to Tanner coming, and to be honest, the idea of driving on the interstate does freak me out a little. And if someone doesn’t drive with me, I won’t get to see my brother and I’ve really missed him, so you’d be doing me a big favor.”

  The surprise on Bas’s face is almost laughable. “Okay, well I guess I’ll ask then. I’m sure they’ll be fine with it. I’ve driven to Portland by myself a few times.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. And tell your mom thanks for dinner for me, if you don’t mind.”

  I smile. “I will. Have a good night, Bas. I better get back before my dad sneaks away and I don’t get to yell at him.”

  Bas holds up his hands and takes a step back. “I feel sorry for your dad.”

  “You should,” I say, only sort of serious.

  We say our goodbyes and I head back toward my house. My irritation rebuilds as I walk, and I am once again fuming by the time I reach my front door.

  Chapter Ten

  When I march through the front door, my dad is waiting for me on the couch. My mom is nowhere to be seen. I walk over and stand right in front of him.

  “That was a dirty trick, Dad.”

  “What?” he says innocently, “offering to let you go pick up your brother and making sure you’re safe on the drive?”

  My hands ball up into fists. “That is not what you were trying to do! Stop trying to push me away from Tanner!”

  “Tanner is not the only young man in this town,” he says calmly.

  “He’s the only one I want! What is your problem with him? So what, he kissed me in front of you. Is that really such a crime? Are you going to react like this every time a guy is interested in me?”

  My dad sets down the newspaper he had been reading and stands up. His slow approach is maddening, but I force myself to stand still and face him. “If it had just been a kiss, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. That was not a kiss. That was a declaration of his intentions. It was a kiss that was meant to lead somewhere.”

  “It was just a kiss, Dad!”

  “No it wasn’t. And it was disrespectful to do that here in our house.”

  My eyes roll up to the ceiling. “It’s not like he knew anyone was watching, for crying out loud,” I snap.

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know it was the worst possible thing I could have said. The look on my dad’s face can only be described as livid. Suddenly, he is right in front of me. “If that is any indication of what the two of you are doing when no one is watching …”

  “It’s not!” I practically yell at him. “That’s not what I meant! I just meant that he wasn’t purposely trying to piss you off. He just kissed me, Dad. No secret motivations, no grand intentions, nothing like that!”

  “I have a very hard time believing that.” My dad folds his arms across his chest.

  I shake my head, so angry I can barely contain myself. “Tanner is a gentleman, Dad. He has never pressured me or tried to convince me to do anything. He is respectful and sweet. He treats me like I am the most important thing in the world to him. He does his best to protect me even when I don’t need it. He is everything you’ve ever told me to look for in a guy, but all you see is one kiss that was maybe a little overenthusiastic. You aren’t even willing to get to know him and give him a chance.”

  “Like you did with Bas, or any of the boys in town?” Dad counters. “Tanner was the first boy here to flirt with you and you lost all interest in anyone else. You’re only sixteen, Arrabella. I am not comfortable with you dating so exclusively so young. I just want you to open your eyes and see that you have a whole world full of people to meet and a lifetime to experience real love.”

  “No,” I say firmly, “you want me to open my eyes and see the one guy you approve of. You want to see me give Bas a chance. You don’t care about anyone else in town. Why? He brings out the worst in me, and I seem to bring out the worst in him, too. We’re not good together.”

  For a moment, my dad is quiet. Finally he says, “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Arra, because Bas has only ever said nice things about you.”

  Really? I have to push my doubts aside and get back to this argument. “That’s only because he knows you’re my dad. He not going to tell you he thinks I’m a whiney brat to your face. He’s not going to tell you what he really thinks about me because he respects you too much.”

  “Arra,” my dad says slowly, “I am very serious about this. You and Tanner have gotten so close so fast. I’m not comfortable at all with your relationship. I want you to take a step back and consider why the two of you are pushing this so much.”

  My shoulders droop, feeling utterly helpless. Short of telling him about the curse and Kivera and nearly dying, I don’t know what else to say to him. Nothing I can actually say will convince him that he doesn’t need to worry about Tanner.

  “Dad, why can’t you just trust me?”

  He rests his hands on my shoulders, as if it’s somehow supposed to make me feel better. “Because you’re too young to understand …”

  “Is this about sex?” I blurt out.

  I have to give my dad credit. He doesn’t go all bug-eyed or have a panic attack at hearing that word come out of my mouth. Instead, he nods slowly. “That’s definitely part of it.”

  “Well, let me assure you that Tanner and I have not been sleeping together. We haven’t even talked about. It’s not happening any time soon. I know I’m not ready for that,” I say plainly. “As for whatever else this is about, you pushing me toward someone else isn’t going to make me change my mind about Tanner. All it’s going to do is ruin our relationship.”<
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  I am done with this argument. My dad doesn’t stop me when I walk away. No one comes to tell me not to slam the door after I escape to my bedroom. My only comfort is the quiet of being alone. And that’s exactly what I want to be right now. It’s probably only seven o’clock at the latest, but I lie on my bed and pull a blanket over my body. I know I should be doing homework right now. Focusing seems impossible, though, so I let my mind wander into a deep sleep.

  ***

  Her golden hair looks pale in the moonlight. The gentle quiver of her curls betrays the fact that she is crying. Curled up at the base of her bedroom door, sorrow spills out of her. She trembles as she tries to pull herself up from the floor.

  The physical injuries that mar her skin are nothing compared to the wounds not so easily seen. Her broken heart and spirit make her slow and hesitant. Fear coils around her as she reaches for the door knob. The spark of hope in her eyes fails completely as it refuses to turn. Tears fall again. Her fists pound at the door, but no one answers her pleas.

  The despair in her heart threatens to break her. She is on the verge of giving up, but a shift of her hand catches the moonlight and draws her attention. Her eyes take in the simple silver bracelet and seem to find strength in its presence.

  She gingerly crawls up on her bed and sits with crossed legs in the very center. Pain radiates through her bruised body, but she slowly straightens her back and closes her eyes. Despite her weakness a few moments earlier, a sense of peace settles over her. The heaviness of the room begins to lessen.

  Slowly, her lips begin to move. No sounds emerge, but they move nonetheless, chanting words she finds comfort in. The anxiety in her face works itself free as she speaks quietly to herself. Then piece by piece, her body accepts the silent words and lets go of its pain and distraction.

  Peace enters the room, yet it is not the only change. Splotches of red and purple begin to fade, lightening to browns and yellows, then disappearing altogether. As the wounds begin to vanish, strength returns to her limbs. Her eyes open languidly and turn to stare at the locked door. Her eyes close again and the room disappears entirely.

  She now stands at a new door. The windows reveal a night-darkened landscape of stone houses and hills lit by the moon. As her eyes peer out into the darkness, a fierce smile spreads across her pink lips. Her clothing and makeup are subdued, but the glint in her eyes holds malicious plans. Whispering quietly as she stands next to the door, her hands waits patiently, poised above a heavy lock for which she has no key to open.

  The barred door does not unhinge her mood. She simply whispers and waits. The seconds pass slowly, until at last the arch of the lock slips out of the body and welcomes her to remove it from the latch. She does so with pleasure, grinning her wicked smile as she opens the door and plunges into the night.

  ***

  I wake up from the dream not only more confused than ever, but completely freaked out as well. I groan as the questions start tumbling through my mind. I want to call Tanner and tell him everything about the dream, see if he can make more sense of it than I can right now, but when I look over at my nightstand clock, it’s ugly green letters inform me that it is after eleven o’clock and too late to call Tanner.

  Forced to settle for my own questionable reasoning power, I flip on my lamp and dig around in my backpack for a notepad and pencil. As fast as I can, I scribble down every detail of the dream. The moonlight, the difference in the bad Sibeal’s makeup and clothes despite the sameness of her creepy smile to the bad girl in the other dream, the hills and houses that looked like they belonged in the country and not Boston, the weird padlock on the door, Sibeal being locked in her room covered in bruises. I write everything down that I can remember no matter how insignificant it seems.

  When I finish, I stare down at five pages of notes in disbelief. If only I had done this after the first dream, I chide myself, maybe I would be able to remember what the symbol on the stone looked like. There’s no point in crying about it now.

  I flip to a new page and start writing again, but this time I am writing questions. Questions that really need answers if I’m ever going to figure this out. Along with the questions, I jot down the few things I have figured out. Well, things I think I’ve figured out, until I stop and think about them. When I do, I realize they only bring up more questions.

  For instance, the most logical guess on the source of the power behind the dreams seems to be Sibeal herself. When I first think this, I have a moment of excitement. Right after that, I realize that doesn’t explain anything. Sibeal certainly seemed to have some kind of crazy power in the dream that could heal bruises and unlock doors, but why would she be sending me the dreams?

  Sibeal doesn’t appear to be in trouble, but even if she was, she could just come right out and tell me. Her being the source of the power doesn’t make any sense. The dreams are telling me Sibeal’s secrets. I fear they will be very dark when I finally learn the truth, not something she would willingly give up.

  In the end, the only answer I can write next to this question is to wonder if there is someone else like Sibeal, someone she hurt.

  My other questions, about why Sibeal was locked in her room, and even worse, padlocked inside her own house, get me nowhere. We already tried searching for information about her online and came up empty. The only conclusion I can come to is that Sibeal not only has some kind of power I can’t even begin to understand, but she is also a very disturbed and violent young woman. It seems so contrary to what we have seen of Sibeal so far, but it goes a long way in explaining her parents’ desire for privacy and Sibeal’s complete lack on online presence.

  My conversation with Tanner earlier today reminds me of my promise to run if things get dangerous. I fall asleep wondering if the danger will come from whatever the dreams are trying to warn me about, or from Sibeal herself.

  Chapter Eleven

  The first thing I did when I woke up in the morning was call Tanner. I’m not sure how much he actually heard as I had my phone on speaker and I was running around my room trying to get ready for school, but I think he got the main point. Sibeal is most likely a total crazy. I knew I risked him freaking out and demanding I bail before things get dangerous, but he actually handled it better than expected.

  His response was that maybe Sibeal was being medicated now and whatever she was going through in the past was over. He thought that might be why Sibeal and her mom had moved here, to get away from any reminders of her past. I am hopeful that he’s right, but as I hurriedly eat my French toast I decide that watching Sibeal a little more closely than usual can’t hurt.

  My first chance to follow up on this comes in my second hour class. The range of electives to take at this high school was pretty slim when I was registering for classes. Since shop and office assistant didn’t sound like something I wanted to sit through, I took a risk and signed up for a beginning art class. Tanner assured me the teacher was pretty relaxed and graded more on effort than drawing ability.

  Normally, I sit across the room from Sibeal in this class, but since everyone is always up and down going for supplies or better light, the seating arrangements are pretty fluid. I trek across the classroom and slide into the seat next to her.

  “Hey, Sibeal, how’s it going?”

  She peeks out from under her long hair for a second before going back to her drawing. “Hey, Arra. I’m good. How’re you?”

  “I’m pretty good. I haven’t seen you much since the party,” I say casually. Hopefully she doesn’t realize I’ve been avoiding her for the most part. “I just wanted to see how you’re adjusting. Are your classes going okay?”

  She bobs her head. “Yeah, it’s good. I really like it here.”

  “That’s good.” My brain tries to come up with something else to say to her. Since, are you some kind of unstable, magic using freak, doesn’t seem terribly friendly, I stick to class topics. “So, are you very good at drawing? Most of what Mr. Bell tells us to do makes no sense to me.” />
  Sibeal pauses, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and lifts her tablet of paper to show me what she has been working on. I try to keep my jaw from dropping as I stare at the flawless horse frozen on her paper. The beautiful white mare is splashing through the surf. Only a corner of the beach is still unfinished.

  “Wow, Sibeal, that’s amazing,” I say.

  She smiles, but ducks her head back down. “Thanks. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

  I want to ask her more about where she learned to draw, but Mr. Bell comes in and starts class. We’re working on crosshatching today. I peak over at Sibeal’s drawing throughout class and marvel at how she manages to turn her little crisscrossing lines into an actual picture. Mine just looks like blotchy shadows. Tanner better be right about getting graded on effort.

  As class finishes, I stuff all my art gear into my bag and hustle after Sibeal. She is patient while I ask her questions about her artwork. She even tries to explain some of the concepts Mr. Bell has been teaching that have gone right over my head. When she heads for the restroom, I follow.

  Sibeal drops her bag against the wall and chooses the first empty stall she comes to. I am a bit more choosy. Casually, I slip into the stall that is directly in front of the mirrors, and then I take my time.

  It’s no surprise when Sibeal finishes first. I try not to make it obvious that I’m watching her, but luckily Sibeal is too absorbed in washing her hands to notice. At first, I think nothing unusual is going to happen. She’s just washing her hands, although, that might be unusual depending on who you’re looking at. Thinking nothing more exciting than soap and water sloshing around will transpire, I start preparing to leave.

  I stop in the middle of zipping up my jeans when Sibeal drops her paper towel in the waste basket and stares at her reflection. Her hands move up to press against the mirror. I can’t pinpoint what, but something about the movement seems off. I press my face closer to the crack between the door and the wall of the stall.