Perennial

by Potter, Ryan

  “Yes!” William snaps, breaking his arms free from mine. “I know who Face is, okay, Alix? Not many people do, but I’m one of the unlucky few.”

  “Then you know what he really is, right?” I ask, curious as to how much he knows about Fire and Light.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “All I know is that Face is a goddamn freak of nature who took away Aruna. She got me clean, Alix.”

  “She got you clean and then Face kidnapped her,” I say. “You know Face’s true identity, and that’s why he killed you. He couldn’t take any chances. You were off Perennial and thinking clearly for the first time in who knows how long. Face is the only one with the power and skills to make it look like a suicide. Face killed you, William. I’m sure of it.”

  “But you can’t prove it yet, can you?”

  “No!” I shout. “It’s not like the courts allow psychic visions as evidence.” I put my hands on my hips and groan. “It goes way beyond that anyway.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind,” I say, looking down and shaking my head. “There are things you can’t tell me, and I’ve learned some things I can’t tell you.”

  “I’m sorry, Alix,” he says, “but I have to go soon.”

  “I know,” I say, calming myself and taking his hands again. “Look, I’m sorry about how Vagabond is treating you, but I’ll figure it all out by the end of Friday. I’ll prove Face killed you, and I’ll put him out of business forever.” I think about my conversation with Vagabond and Face’s possible grand plan. “I have to put him out of business forever.”

  “I know Vagabond’s using me to test you,” William says. “And I’m okay with it. I just want to know who killed me. If it was Face, then take his ass down, Alix, but don’t get yourself killed doing it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I say. “Look, you do know Aruna’s still alive, right?”

  “And still with Face,” William says, nodding. “I know. And I know she’s been back on Perennial since right after I died.”

  I think about my vision of her impending death and find it hard to look at William.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, unable to bring myself to tell him the truth. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but can you two ever be together again? She misses you, William. She told me so herself. I saw her today.”

  “You saw Aruna today?” William says, squeezing my hands hard. “How is she?”

  “Not good,” I say. “Face sent her to scare me out of investigating Perennial.” I pause. “It didn’t work.”

  “It’s official,” he says. “You’ve definitely gained some confidence.”

  “Can you answer my question?” I say. “Can you and Aruna ever be together again?”

  “Did she look that bad?”

  “You wouldn’t want to see her like she is.”

  “I’m not positive how it works,” he says. “And I’m not saying I want her to die anytime soon, but yes, I guess there’s a chance that we can be together when she dies.” He pauses. “It’s just that …”

  “Just what?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s been so long. Two years. I’ll always care for Aruna, and I definitely hope she gets away from Face, but I’m not sure we could ever have what we had when I was alive.” He shrugs. “What I’m saying is that I don’t think I’m in love with Aruna anymore.”

  There’s a long silence. We’re still holding hands. My gorgeous Dream Guy is being candid in his last moments with me. I feel so bad for William. It must be so lonely wherever he is, not knowing who killed you and realizing you’ve grown apart from somebody you once loved. His life ended violently. William never even had a chance to say good-bye to anybody.

  “I understand,” I say, rubbing his muscular forearms. “I really do.”

  “I know you do,” he says. “I’d much rather stay here with you, but it’s time for me to go.”

  “Are you sure this is your last visit?”

  “Yes,” he says. “According to Vagabond it is anyway.”

  I feel heat building behind me eyes. “Maybe I can figure out how to channel you and we can talk again someday.”

  “I would love it,” he says. “I don’t know if I should say this, but if I wasn’t dead I have a feeling I could fall pretty hard for you.”

  “Thank you for saying it, William.” And it does feel wonderful knowing he feels that way about me. My knees seem to melt, but despite my smile and all the happiness his kind words bring, I fail to hold back tears. I don’t want William to leave, but I know the time has come. “You know something, William?” I say. “You’re the sweetest, hottest ghost I know.”

  William laughs. “If I don’t do this, I’ll always regret it.”

  “Do what?”

  “This.”

  His soft, moist lips are on mine before I can react. Part of me wants to pull back, but I’m in William’s world, and he simply has too much power over me. He kisses just as well if not better than Lewis, something I never dreamed possible. My whole body relaxes as William’s strong arms wrap around my waist. He smells and tastes like spearmint, and there’s a brief but funny moment where I consider the possibility that William and Lewis might use the same soap and toothpaste.

  Warm tingles rocket through my body, hitting all the right places as William begins gently kissing my neck. I wrap my arms tightly around his upper back, eyes closed, my breathing heavier now. I’m aware of his hands moving further up alongside my ribs, and as much as I tell myself that this is okay because it’s just a dream, I can’t help but feel increasing guilt about Lewis. I have to do something quick, because as much as I want William to keep this up I know we’re minutes away from going too far.

  “Aruna,” I say, pulling away but allowing my hands to rest on his wide shoulders.

  “What about her?” William says, now looking at me through his dark sunglasses.

  “She said something else,” I say, catching my breath. “When she was talking about you today, she said she was sorry for losing something. I asked her what she’d lost, but she didn’t answer.” William continues staring at me, not a hint of emotion on his face. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No,” he says. “Maybe she meant me. She was sorry for losing me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Good-bye, Alix,” he says, placing his palms on either side of my face. “You’re an incredible person. Thank you for helping me. I know you’ll figure it all out.” He gives me a quick kiss on the lips and removes his hands. Smiling, he says, “And I sure hope you figure out a way to channel me, because I think we’d both like to see each other again.”

  I nod and reach forward, longing for one last touch of his amazing body. But William Weed vanishes just as quickly as he appeared, his physical form flaring and joining the brilliant white light just before my fingers touch his dragon tattoos.

  Chapter 20

  I awaken at my desk with a loud gasp and nearly fall off my rolling swivel chair. It’s as if I can still smell, feel, and taste William all around me. I rub my eyes and scan the dark bedroom just to make sure he hasn’t crossed over like he did after the second dream.

  As much as I secretly wish he had crossed, I’m relieved he hasn’t. There’s no sign of him, just his wonderful smell and the lingering feeling of his lips against my neck. I reach up and touch the spots where he kissed me, part of me feeling guilty, another part looking forward to Lewis kissing me in the same places.

  It’s nearly midnight. Dad isn’t home yet, and again I worry that he saw me inside of Lewis’s truck in Oval City. I check my phone for messages. There are none, not even a text from Lewis, which I find slightly disappointing. The good news is that the more time passes without me hearing from Dad, the less likely it is he saw me with Lewis tonight.

  I remove the silver knife from my pocket and lay it on the desk beside my tablet. What a day! Events pass through my mind
quickly. Lewis. Aruna. The silver knife. London. An envelope of Perennial. A car accident. Oval City. Dad in Oval City. Vagabond’s revelations about Fire and Light. Face is a leader demon. A portal beneath Oval City that I’m somehow supposed to close. Vagabond cutting off my hands and revealing wonderful orbs of white light. A final and quite memorable visit with William.

  And his murder still to solve!

  Whew. I should pass out from exhaustion right now, but I’ve felt incredibly alert and strong since my meeting with Vagabond. Somehow I’m still running on a full tank and sense that I’ll continue feeling this way until my mission is complete.

  Vagabond is correct. My abilities are new and developing. I shouldn’t question or fight them and should just let them happen.

  I turn on the desk lamp and find myself staring at a framed photo of Mom, Dad, and me in Niagara Falls two years ago. We’d just finished the Maid of the Mist ride, the one I told Lewis about earlier tonight. The three of us are soaked and still wearing our blue Maid of the Mist ponchos, huge smiles on our faces as we stand on the jetty. Mom’s long brown hair sticks to the sides of her face in giant clumps, her brown eyes full of life. She was the kind of person you think will never die. That’s why part of me died the day she did. And now Vagabond comes out of nowhere and promises me one last visit with her.

  That bald bastard better keep his promise.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, touching her face with my index finger. “I know you’re out there, and I know you can hear me. I don’t know if you realize it yet, but we’re going to see each other soon. I promise, okay?” I sit there, finger pressed against the picture frame, biting my lower lip and hoping for some kind of vision of her. That doesn’t happen, but I know she’s in the Light world. She was the nicest, most generous person one could imagine. “By now you probably know I’m different,” I continue, finding surprising comfort in speaking to her picture. “There’s a lot of weight on my shoulders right now. I didn’t ask for any of it, but I’m different, and that’s something I have to live with now—and forever. We’re not a religious family, but right now I feel like I need to pray. And I’m not praying to God, Mom. I’m praying to you. Please, I need your help. Over the next forty-eight hours, I’m going to experience hell. You and Dad are the smartest people I know, but Dad can’t know about this, so I’m praying to you to guide me and bless me with the strength, courage, and wisdom I need.”

  I pull my finger away and clasp my hands to my chest in prayer.

  “You’re the reason I’m doing this, Mom,” I say, glancing at the silver knife before returning my gaze to her picture. “Helping William find peace and destroying a demon bent on possessing the world are pretty damn important, but Vagabond didn’t have me until he said I could see you.” I unclasp my hands, kiss my fingertips, and press them against the picture frame. “I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad.”

  I turn my attention to the knife and the network of triangles and lines on the handle. The more I look at the weapon, the more I appreciate its craftsmanship. The knife doesn’t weigh much—less than a can of soda—and the pristine condition of the silver makes it look brand new. Even after today’s events, there isn’t a single smudge or stray mark on the blade. It’s as if the weapon heals itself after every encounter.

  The symbols on the handle remind me of dozens of tiny golf tees arranged neatly in horizontal and vertical patterns. Every line has a triangle connected to one end, and every triangle except for one has a line connected to it. Viewed as a whole it’s a cool design, but I know there’s meaning to the symbols.

  I decide to snap a photo of the knife with my phone and run the picture through Google Goggles to see if I get any visual search hits.

  That’s when something weird happens. The knife doesn’t appear in the pictures.

  I take four photos of the thing, two with the flash on and two without, and all that shows up in the pictures is my desk. According to my phone’s camera, the knife is either invisible or doesn’t exist.

  “Unbelievable,” I say, rubbing my forehead out of frustration.

  I raise the knife in my right hand and stare at it. People talk about clothing that has a perfect fit. It’s like that with this knife. It’s a perfect fit for my hand. Vagabond said Face gave me the knife through Aruna to test me. Now that Face knows I can use it, he wants me out of the picture, and he wants the knife back. He even sent one of his freaky demon Brawlers to get it.

  Which means he’ll likely send more, because Vagabond said I would meet other scouts called Heaters and Crawlers.

  Great.

  Not wanting to think about that, I lay the knife on the desk and take a picture of it with my tablet just to be sure my phone camera isn’t acting weird. It isn’t. The tablet’s camera produces the same result. There’s no knife in the picture.

  So if my dad walked in right now, would he be able to see the knife? Yes, I decide, because Lewis and Aruna saw it, and they’re not paranormal demon warriors like London Steel and … me.

  If the knife symbols are indeed a form of writing, I should be able to find an Internet keyword match fairly quickly, and I’m getting ready to conduct that research when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the knife moving.

  It’s barely perceptible, the blade moving less than an inch clockwise. I’m lucky I noticed it. I didn’t accidentally bump the desk, so I figure it’s one of those “house settling” movements Dad says are common in old homes. Regardless, I check beneath the desk, relieved not to find some hideous demon scout lurking at my feet.

  My desk rests along the wall opposite the bedroom window. I turn to look. The window is halfway open. A gentle breeze blows through the screen, so the wind probably moved the knife.

  Focusing on the tablet again, I’m typing the phrase “written languages with symbols” into Google when I hear a faint hissing sound from outside. The knife moves again too, faster and longer this time, doing a complete one-eighty and stopping when the handle faces me, symbol side up. The hissing stops as well.

  “Okay,” I say, sliding the tablet away and staring at the knife.

  Fear ripples through me. I turn quickly in my chair in an attempt to surprise anything that might be waiting for me. The room is empty. I exhale deeply and even manage a smile.

  “You can relax, Blade,” I say, swiveling back to the knife and liking the nickname I just gave it. “It’s a possum or something. Besides, we’re on the second floor. Don’t worry.”

  I reach for the tablet and hear it again, the hissing louder and closer now, sounding as if it’s just outside my window. There’s a rustling sound too, like an animal is moving through the shrubs in the front yard.

  The knife begins vibrating on the desk in the exact same way it did in my pocket during my encounter with the Brawler. The movements make sense now. The knife is more than just an awesome weapon. It’s also a type of warning system. It lets me know when trouble is near and when it’s ready for action.

  The hissing and rustling stop outside, but my heart pounds rapidly as the knife’s movements intensify. It’s going bonkers on the desk, vibrating like it’s in the middle of a violent earthquake.

  White light slices through my mind. My body reacts as if it’s on autopilot. I know what to do. Somehow I just know, and it all goes back to Vagabond cutting off my hands and revealing the white light.

  Light.

  I open my right hand and lay it palm up on the desk about a foot away from the knife. I stare at the weapon and smile as it rockets toward my open hand under its own power and secures its handle in my palm. I wrap my fingers around it, enjoying the pleasing warmth it sends through my hand and arm.

  I feel invincible. Yes, my abilities are definitely growing.

  Another blast of white light.

  Something that looks like a goat face flashes through my mind, followed by what resembles a starfish spinning like a fast-moving helicopter. Weird.

  I stand and kick the chair under the desk, knife held in front of me at chest level
as I turn and walk toward the window, squinting from the annoying yellow streetlight glare slicing into the room.

  I’m three feet away from the window. It’s still silent outside, just the soft, cool breeze hitting me as I approach the screen. It smells like late summer out there—dead leaves, freshly cut grass, and a bonfire somewhere nearby.

  I reach the window. Nothing happens. It’s a large window that slides open horizontally. The ledge is at my knees. Keeping the knife in front of me and ready to strike, I lean toward the screen for a look at the front yard below, shielding my eyes from the streetlight glare with my opposite hand. There’s nothing evil down there, just impeccable landscaping, an emerald-green lawn, and a large maple tree off to my right.

  The knife hasn’t moved on its own since landing in my hand, so I consider the fact that this might be a false alarm. After all, my abilities are still in the beta stage, so I figure a bug is bound to pop up every now and then.

  “I’m telling you, Blade,” I say, scanning the yard, “there’s nothing out—”

  Heaters. The word cloud shoots through my mind, but I’m too late.

  The obnoxious streetlight prevents me from seeing it. Chaos as something hisses and shrieks loudly from the maple tree area and smashes through the window screen with incredible speed and momentum. Everything goes black. I’m falling backwards and can’t breathe.

  It’s on my face. Something hot, stinky, and slimy is on my face, screeching with delight as it wraps what feel like short, muscular arms around the back of my head and squeezes, applying the kind of pressure that makes your skull feel like it’s about to shatter.

  The knife. Going berserk in my right hand. It wants to strike, but I’m on the verge of blacking out from pain and can’t see anything. If I attempt a wild, blind strike on this thing, there’s a chance I’ll end up stabbing my face.

  I drop to my knees and try screaming. No sound comes out. The smell is disgusting, like rotten meat in a desert. It feels like some high-powered suction device from hell is removing my face. I bring my free hand up in an attempt to pry the creature off of me. I get a brief grasp of what feels like a hot, fleshy horn, but then something sharp clamps down on my fingers, sending a searing pain through my hand.