by Potter, Ryan
“Light and Fire,” I say. “Good and evil.”
“Exactly.”
“Heaven and hell.”
“All synonyms for the same two things,” he confirms. “Fire and Light.”
“What are you, then? Some sort of angel warrior?”
“I suppose you could say that,” he says. “Although I prefer the title of messenger.”
“Fine,” I say. “So what’s the huge advantage Fire has over Light?”
“This is what it all comes down to,” he says. “Listen very carefully, because our time is almost up and you won’t see me or your mother again unless you pass your test.” He clears his throat. “Unlike demons, the Army of Light is unable to cross over into the human realm. That’s why we rely on humans with strong paranormal abilities to fight the demons that have crossed over and destroy their active portals. That’s why you’re special to us. Do you understand how important you are? There are very few people like you. Light is counting on you, Alix. With your growing abilities, you can do so much good in the world.” He steps forward and takes my hands, squeezing gently and sending wonderful warmth through me. “This is not a dream, Alix. This is serious business. It’s a lot to throw at you, yes, but we don’t have time to waste. Do you understand what I’m saying to you and how important it is?”
“Yes,” I say, wishing it all were a dream and that I would awaken in the comfort of my own bed. “I need to tell you something, though. I already told you I sensed evil beneath Oval City.”
“Correct,” he says. “The answers you seek are all there.”
“But the visions,” I say. “They don’t always follow the same pattern. They almost always begin with a blast of white light, but I’ve had two where the light changes to fire, and I can’t get any sort of reading on the person. Does that mean anything to you?”
“I’m afraid not,” he says. “It’s still a new and developing ability in you. My advice is to just let it happen. Don’t fight it. You’ll figure it out eventually.”
“And you’ll keep your promise about my mom?” I squeeze his hands hard.
“I will,” he says. “I promise. But you have to solve William’s murder first.”
“This is a lot bigger than solving William’s murder,” I say. “We both know that now, so you don’t need to keep it so simple. I’m starting to see why William and the others don’t like you. What started as me solving a murder now has me battling demon scouts and trying to kill a leader demon on his home turf. What happens if I fail?”
Vagabond doesn’t respond. Still holding my hands, he stares over my shoulder. Another troubled look crosses his face. It’s as if he’s having a vision of his own. A scary one.
“What is it?” I ask. “What are you seeing?”
“Alix,” he says, “you’ve already seen and learned things that have changed your life forever, but there’s more to come. There always is. It’s vital that you take your father’s advice and try to remain calm in any situation you find yourself in. You have the abilities. You have the knife. That’s all you need. Understand?”
“Yes.” I let go of his hands and remove the silver knife from my pocket, liking the feel of it in my hand and enjoying the way the beautiful white light reflects off of the shiny steel blade. “The cat-beast I killed in my living room,” I say, rotating the knife from side to side. “I didn’t really kill it, did I?”
“No,” Vagabond says, a slight smile on his face now. “You can’t kill a demon, Alix. You can just destroy the bastards and send their negative energy back where it belongs.”
“And the fireball thing it did when I stabbed it,” I say, lowering the knife. “Do they all do that?”
“They do,” he says. “We simply call those Fires. You scored your first one tonight. Try to keep track of them. Warriors like London and Roman have a friendly contest going over who can get the most.”
“And what about these symbols?” I offer him the knife handle for inspection. “All the lines and triangles. What do they mean?”
“Hmm,” he says, taking the knife into his large, strong hands and examining the handle closely. “Interesting. It’s good news, actually, but I’ll let you do the homework. In the meantime, I do know something about you.”
Vagabond steadies his playful gaze on me.
“What are you talking about?”
“Clasp your hands together in front of your chest as if you’re praying.”
“What?” I say. “Why?”
“Just do it,” he says. “Trust me.”
I do as he asks, but for the first time tonight I don’t trust him. In fact, my heart pounds as I hold my clasped hands out in front of me. Then Vagabond’s enormous left hand comes up with blinding speed as he grasps both of my hands in his palm. His strength is inhuman. My hands are prisoners to his palm, unable to move. I don’t feel any pain, just the uneasy feeling of knowing I’m not going anywhere until he decides to release my hands.
He raises the silver knife in his right hand and stares at me.
“What are you doing?” I say, wide eyed. “Let me go. Please!”
“Easy now,” he says. “Relax and observe, remember?”
“What’s going on?”
“I need to show you just how special you are,” he says, smiling. “Just breathe. This won’t hurt a bit.”
I’m helpless as Vagabond raises my joined hands until they’re level with his chest, which puts them directly in front of my own eyes. He tightens his grip on the knife, white light glinting off of the blade as he does so.
“Alix Keener,” he whispers, a blank look on his face now. “You, my friend, are pure Light.”
“No!” I yell, seeing it in my mind just before it happens.
Again, I’m too late.
A blur of silver as Vagabond slices expertly through both of my wrists. I watch in horror as my severed hands fall into the white light and vanish, leaving two bloody stumps at my wrists. I close my eyes and scream, but then I realize there’s no pain.
When I open my eyes, Vagabond is gone. It’s just me surrounded by the beautiful white light. I feel the knife in my pocket, back where it belongs, but when I look at my hands, they’re not there. Instead, two softball-sized orbs of white light shine brilliantly from my wrists. A feeling of immense power surges through me. It’s as if the orbs are generators of immortality.
Moments later, flaring white light blinds me like an Alaskan blizzard. Moments after that, the light clears and I find myself back home, sitting on the cold living-room floor and staring into space on a Wednesday night.
It occurs to me to check my hands. They’re both there, attached and healthy.
Chapter 19
William Weed makes dream contact for the third consecutive night. I don’t even remember falling asleep. All I recall is being exhausted after my memorable little field trip with Vagabond and sitting there on the living-room floor, wondering if maybe it was all a dream but knowing it wasn’t. It took everything I had just to get myself up the stairs and into my bedroom. I’d planned on using my tablet to research the knife symbols, and I remember sitting down at my small desk and opening my favorite browser, but everything’s blank after that.
I must have crashed at my desk, because right now I’m back in the clear, crisp white light, surrounded by the smells of spring rain and delicate flowers. The setting might be the same, but rain and flowers are William’s smells, not Vagabond’s.
So many things race through my mind as I await his appearance. Despite the fatigue from such an eventful evening, I feel my powers getting stronger and remember the overwhelming energy boost I experienced when the orbs of light replaced my hands. Visions and blurry word clouds slice through my mind like a film montage. I sense this is the last time I’ll see William. I feel bad for how Vagabond has treated him, and as much as I try to fight it I realize at this moment that I still have strong feelings for William Weed. He’s my Dream Guy, a fantasy that happens to be all too real. I need to make the most of
our last encounter.
I also feel guilty. It seems like I’m cheating on Lewis, but I haven’t even done anything with William. I just happen to have an epic crush on a bad-boy ghost while at the same time having my first real boyfriend. What’s strange is that I didn’t think about William romantically at all when I was with Lewis tonight. Yes, I’m committed to solving William’s murder and taking down Face and Oval City, but tonight I felt like I’d gotten over the stronger feelings I had for William during our first two dream encounters.
But right now butterflies swarm through my stomach as I anticipate his arrival. I feel like some weak, awkward middle-school girl who has a crush on the teacher. Seriously, it’s like this place has some sort of William Weed pheromone that renders me helpless and makes me long for his presence.
So you can imagine the sheer joy I feel when William appears in his physical form tonight. He materializes out of nowhere, William Weed standing three feet away from me, again appearing as the William from the Vagabond’s Warrior blog photo. He’s shirtless and heavily muscled. Black cargo shorts. Sunglasses. Black baseball cap backwards on his head. A dazzling Japanese dragon tattoo runs down the length of each arm. My earlier vision of the tattoos—the one where I also discovered William and Aruna had a sexual relationship—proves dead accurate. The dragons burst with fresh greens, purples, oranges, blues, and reds, their ornate mouths opening at his wrists as if preparing to swallow his hands.
“William,” I whisper, fighting a strong urge to reach out and touch his statuesque body.
“Hey,” he says, smiling and revealing a perfect set of snow-white teeth. “Something tells me you’ve had an eventful day.”
“You’re actually talking,” I say, thrilled to hear his voice emerge from his mouth. “I mean, it’s you speaking through your mouth this time.” I realize how dumb that sounds and try to recover. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just nice to hear and see you at the same time.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking himself over as if he can’t believe it himself. “I wasn’t expecting this either. Maybe Vagabond allowed it. This is my last visit, Alix.”
“I know,” I say. “I sensed it.”
“You know how this works,” he says. “I can’t confirm or deny any information you give me, but I’m curious as to what you’ve learned. Do you think you know who killed me yet?”
“Yes,” I say. “Face.”
He considers that for a few moments.
“And why would Face want to kill me?”
“Because he was jealous of you having Aruna,” I say. “I know you two were close.” I pause. “Very close.” William smiles at that, a reaction that sends pangs of jealousy through me. “And I know Aruna was helping you quit Perennial, so I obviously know all about the purple powder and how it’s the lifeblood of Oval City.”
“Sounds like you’ve made progress,” he says, stepping closer and looking me over from head to toe. “Those jeans look great on you.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, thanks. My mom bought them for …” I trail off, totally flustered. “Never mind. Look, William.”
“It’s Willis,” he says. “People close to me called me Willis.”
“I like William better.”
“Fine. Call me William.” He smiles. “Something’s different about you, Alix. Besides the jeans, I mean.” He takes another step, William less than a foot away as he leans in and smells the air around me. “You seem a lot more confident tonight. That’s pretty damn impressive for an innocent girl who’s in real danger for the first time in her life.” He brushes his fingertips against the side of my face. I don’t fight it. “Personally, I think it’s sexy as hell,” he adds, slowly removing his hand from my cheek.
“Right,” I say, still shocked with how helpless I am around him. “Truth is, Lewis has been a big help.”
“Lewis,” William says, shaking his head and looking down at his feet. “I bet he’s been a big help.”
“I thought you two were good friends,” I say. “He told me about freshman year and the alternative academy.”
“We were good friends,” he says, “but I resented him for getting clean. I never understood how he was strong enough to quit Perennial. That powder, Alix—it’s incredible. Lewis reached out more than once to try and help me, but I made it clear I didn’t want him around.” He pauses. “We lost touch toward the end. It’s how addicts are. We push everybody away. All we care about is figuring out how to score more drugs.”
“Let me ask you a question that has nothing to do with your murder,” I say. “Were you clean when you died, or were you still using?”
He thinks about it, surely not wanting to break any of Vagabond’s rules. Then he holds his hands out, palms up, a clear signal he wants my hands to join his. I don’t hesitate. His hands feel wonderful. They’re strong hands, but also soft, gentle, and warm. As my hands venture up to his wrists I find myself fascinated with the beauty of the colorful dragon mouths. I wrap my fingers around them, knowing instantly that William wants me to read him. He can’t talk to me about anything relating to his murder, but he’s discovered a loophole that he thinks might work.
“I want to help you, William,” I say, not wanting to let go of him. “But I don’t know if this will work. I mean, you’re already … well, you know.”
“Dead?” he says. “I’m aware of that. Just try, okay? This is the one and only chance you’ll get with me. Vagabond will never know.” He smiles. “Think of it as testing your powers on the deceased.”
I apply more pressure to his wrists and stare at him. I wish I could remove his baseball cap and sunglasses, but somehow I know those are two permanent accessories of his. Nothing happens at first, and I really don’t mind. Just touching him feels incredible enough. Seconds later, though, the white light flares in my mind, causing me to squeeze William’s wrists hard. I feel him steadying me as I’m blinded by the light.
Then I squeeze my eyes shut.
The vision places me in a bedroom. It’s my bedroom. No. Wait. It’s my bedroom as it looked when William had it. I’m invisible here. It’s night, the room dark and silent. William is sleeping alone, his bed in the same spot as mine. I sense that Aruna hasn’t been here in many days. She’s gone from his life for good. That checks with what Lewis said about her disappearing before William died.
What else?
William is incredibly sad about her absence. And he’s clean. In his last few months of life, he’d broken free of Perennial’s evil grasp. This is amazing, but it’s also part of the reason he’s so sad right now. Aruna helped him beat the drug, and now that she’s gone he’s very close to relapsing.
But that won’t happen, because … oh, God … that won’t happen because this is the night he dies.
Another flare of white momentarily blinds me.
I’m back in the room. Chaos. It’s like watching movie footage somebody shot while running with a handheld camera. A large, tall, dark man is on top of William, straddling him, his back facing me. Everything is blurry. William. Lying on his stomach. He’s struggling like a trapped animal, but even somebody with his strength is helpless in this position.
The man removes what looks like a large, clear oven bag from inside his coat and places it expertly over William’s head. Then he violently pulls what looks and sounds like some sort of cord along the open end of the bag. I hear the bag seal itself around William’s throat and watch in horror as he struggles unsuccessfully to break free.
Several seconds later, the killer holds William’s motionless body in place for a few moments before turning him over onto his back and propping his corpse up, giving the eerie appearance that William suffocated himself on purpose while sitting up in bed. Just when I think the worst is over, the murderer quickly withdraws an object from his back pocket and places it into William’s lifeless right hand, the killer holding the object in place so that it doesn’t fall. It’s a handgun, I realize. William’s handgun. Somehow I know this. The murderer knew where to find the
weapon, and now he’s raising the gun in William’s hand and bringing it toward the side of his bag-covered head.
A loud cracking sound and a burst of orange from the gun barrel. William’s head slumps to the left. The killer gently lowers the gun hand.
A staged suicide. William Weed was murdered. There’s no question about it now. I just watched it happen. But why can’t I get a better view of the killer? Is it Face? It has to be. I don’t know anybody else who has a motive.
Another explosion of white. The reading is over.
A deep exhale as the vision fades, and I’m back in front of William. He’s holding me tightly, my fingers digging into his wrists.
“That was intense,” William says, massaging my forearms. “What did you see?”
“I saw your murder,” I say, wiping a tear away and catching my breath. “A man put some kind of suicide bag over your head. Then he shot you in the side of the head but made it look like you killed yourself.” I close my eyes in a failed attempt to wipe the horrible images from my mind. “It was all so planned out, William. He wanted it to seem like you tried suffocating yourself and then shot yourself in the temple just before you passed out. To the police, it looked like the gun was a backup plan and you used it because the bag took too long to do the job.” I open my eyes and shake my head. “It was awful. What kind of a deranged psychopath does that to another human being?”
“Face,” William says, squeezing me harder. “Did you see him, Alix? Was it Face?”
“I don’t …” I close my eyes, frustrated. “I don’t know, William. I can’t say for sure. It was too dark. Everything was choppy and blurry. But who else would have wanted you dead?”
He looks away but doesn’t say anything.
“What?” I say. “There’s something you want me to know, but you’re not allowed to say it. Screw Vagabond. Just tell me what I need to know!” He shakes his head and stays silent. “Who else wanted you dead?” I yell, shaking his arms but knowing he won’t cross Vagabond. “Look, even if it was Face, how would I know? Lewis says nobody even knows who Face is. Is that true? If you saw Face, would you know it?”