Wraith

by Edie Claire

  He smiled. "Cool. We’ll check out the competition, then. Are you Catholic?"

  "Partially," I answered.

  He chuckled. "That’ll be good enough for Saint Anthony’s."

  A few minutes later we arrived at the school in question, which I had enough sense not to compliment on its comparatively larger buildings or more spacious grounds. Matt was right about the athletic field, though. It wasn’t flooded at the moment, but the ducks that meandered about on its outskirts looked distinctly hopeful.

  I drew a breath of relief. There was less traffic here, living or otherwise.

  "So, what’s the real reason you don’t like Saint Anthony’s?" I asked teasingly.

  He smirked. "Well, mainly because they kick our butts at football," he admitted. "Aside from that, I’m just kidding. It’s okay. As good as anywhere. Oahu can be a rough place if you haven’t heard—long history of racial tension. Nobody’s a majority here. White, Asian, and Hawaiian all have to get along, not to mention the whole local-versus-military thing. But it can be pretty cool, too. I’ve got friends of all shades here—not like some of the backward, racist holes I got stuck in when I was a kid."

  "I hear that," I muttered thoughtfully.

  "We can swing by some of the public schools near the base if you want," he suggested. "Does your dad want to stick close to work?"

  I looked over his shoulder to notice a guy—a living one, this time—emerging from a side door of what was probably the school’s gym. Notable in that he was built remarkably like Matt, including the thick neck, I watched him absently as I answered.

  "I doubt it. My dad doesn’t mind driving. He’s more concerned with finding a house my mother will like. I think they’re leaning toward private school for me, though, since I’ve only got a year left and it’s going to be tricky transferring everything before I apply to college. School administrators tend to be more understanding about that sort of thing when you're paying tuition."

  "I bet," he agreed with a laugh.

  The guy had spotted our car and stopped cold. He was of indeterminate origin, possibly part Hawaiian or part Asian, but also possibly not—his generically dark features could have come from any continent. He would have been quite good looking, had his narrowed eyes not been radiating such intense dislike I could feel a chill sliding up my backbone.

  "Matt," I said warningly. "Who is that guy staring at us? Do you know him?"

  Matt whirled around. To my surprise, he leaned out the window and threw the still scowling guy a friendly wave.

  "Hey, Rod," he called amiably.

  Rod’s lips broke into a smirking half smile. He offered a begrudging, barely perceptible nod.

  "My nemesis," Matt said jokingly, turning to me. "Guy plays every sport I play, and he’s awesome at all of them. We crushed them in our last polo match, though. He’s probably still ticked."

  I tried to relax as I looked again at the figure on the sidewalk. "Ticked" did not begin describe the blatant hostility that flowed from him—nor did a loss at water polo.

  Matt turned his attention back to me, seemingly unfazed. "You ready to go?"

  "He really looks angry," I commented.

  Matt glanced over his shoulder as he pulled the car away from the curb, threw Rod another wave, and drove on. "He’s never a barrel of laughs," he said with a shrug, "but he’s okay. Where to next, then?"

  I started to say something else, but stopped myself. Matt’s lack of concern was incomprehensible to me. Could he really not see…

  A thought struck. A painful, gut-wrenching thought.

  I needed to talk to Zane. But I couldn’t say a word. There was no way I could communicate with him with Matt right there. My question would have to wait.

  I tried hard to put it out of my mind.

  The sun began to set.

  The climax of this natural spectacle played out for us just as we reached the North Shore town of Haleiwa, and Matt pulled off the main road to take in the view at the nearest beach park. Zane made himself conspicuously absent as Matt and I walked to Pauena Point, enjoying the symphony of colors that danced over the water’s edge, illuminating the clusters of puffy, low-slung clouds that moved lazily across the darkening sky.

  "Welcome to Hawaii. Are you sold yet?" Matt asked with a grin, throwing an arm around my shoulders again. I wasn’t a fan of handsy guys—not that, if you must know, I’d had much experience with them—but Matt managed to come off more like a giant teddy bear.

  I had to admit, it worked for him. I didn’t feel in the least bit threatened by his touch; instead, it felt comforting.

  By the time we returned to the condo we had exchanged cell phone numbers and I had committed to checking out the inside of Frederick High. I had also almost forgotten the unpleasant, lingering memories of Pali Lookout and the scowling jock at Saint Anthony’s.

  Almost.

  Matt got out of the car and walked me in, despite my warning that doing so would result in an interrogation by my father about Matt’s interest in the Air Force Academy and God only knew what else. I was right, of course. My father lay in ambush in the hallway, pretending to intercept us while taking out a half-full bag of trash. Luckily, Matt didn’t seem to mind too much, and since my existence did not, predictably, come up anywhere in their conversation, things never got too awkward. Nevertheless, as an apology, I offered to walk Matt back out to the landing afterward… around the forgotten bag of trash.

  "This has been really nice. Thanks," I said genuinely, as we lingered on the wooden platform outside. The continuous crash of the waves behind us floated on the air like music, and a sudden gust of night wind picked up my curls and lashed them across my face.

  "You’ve been great company," Matt said softly, lifting a hand to brush my hair from my eyes. "I’ll be your tour guide anytime."

  I knew then, by sheer female instinct, that if I didn’t say anything or move anywhere, he was going to kiss me. His intentions, like everything else that was going on in his uncomplicated mind, were clearly readable in his eyes.

  I just wasn't sure how I felt about them.

  I liked him a lot. Who wouldn’t? He was sweet and good-looking and honest. He was fun to be around, and he had been remarkably understanding about my meltdown at Pali Lookout.

  Still, I wasn’t sure, and I had only a split-second to decide. Because I also knew, by the same instinct, that all I had to do was make the slightest of backward movements, and Matt would abort the plan with no hard feelings. It was, after all, our first date. Not to mention the first time we ever met. He would have other opportunities.

  Conflicting feelings swirled mercilessly in my head. Kylee and Tara—neither of whom were probably speaking to me at the moment—would have different takes. Kylee would tell me I was INSANE for not jumping on such a prime dish. Tara would tell me to be careful—he could be a real player back at his school, and how would I know?

  How indeed.

  A fraction of a second—that was all I had. He looked unquestionably handsome there in the moonlight, so attentive, so hopeful…

  Does he know how many fouettés you can turn?

  The memory of Zane’s random, senseless question popped unbidden into my head, crashing through the rest of my thoughts like a freight train.

  And that matters… I had answered… why?

  The swirling conflict siphoned suddenly down into a single, unified stream. Matt didn’t even know that I was a dancer, did he? Not that I had been keeping it a secret… he had simply never asked. We had never really talked about me at all.

  I took a tiny step backward.

  "I’ll take you up on that," I said with a smile. "I do want to see your school again."

  He smiled back, his eyes a trifle disappointed, but otherwise unhurt and unfazed. "It’s a date, then," he said unequivocally, starting down the steps to his car. "I’ll text you."

  "See you!" I responded cheerfully, opening the door. Then, with a final wave, I ducked inside.

  This time b
oth my parents were waiting for me in the great room, eager to hear all about what parts of the island I had seen and whether or not I had any ideas of my own about schools—among other topics. They showed admirable restraint in not asking me specifically how I felt about Matt, but their endless questions nevertheless left me impatient and fidgety.

  I wanted to talk to Zane. I hadn’t had so much as a glimpse of him since before sunset, and I wondered if he had left me altogether.

  The thought left a pit in my stomach.

  After what seemed like an eternity, I escaped the inquisition and stepped out onto the deck. Zane was nowhere in sight, but I took the chance anyway.

  "If you can hear me," I whispered, given that some barbecuing neighbors on the next deck were within earshot, "come talk to me in my room. Please?"

  There was no response.

  I went back inside and excused myself for an early bedtime, which raised no eyebrows, seeing as how we were all, biologically, still half on Mountain Time. As soon as the bedroom door was closed behind me, I looked around hopefully. "Zane?"

  "By special invitation," he answered, lounging across the foot of my bed in nothing but board shorts, which along with the rest of him were soaking wet.

  Glad as I was to see him, and as well as I knew—rationally—that it was all an illusion, I felt a flare of annoyance at the sight of the gritty sea water dripping onto my spread. I hated clammy sheets. "Do you mind?" I protested mildly.

  "What?" he pretended innocently, looking down. "Oh, sorry. Forgot it’s bedtime."

  He changed in a blink. This time his curls were not only dry, but perfectly coifed with slick hair gel. He was still bare chested, but now he wore blindingly bright blue oriental-silk sleep bottoms embroidered with neon orange fire and purple dragons—as if he'd stepped straight out of the seduction scene of a really bad movie.

  "Zane!"

  He dissolved into laughter, changing instantly into a suitably normal-looking tee shirt, shorts, and sandals. "Sorry," he repeated between gasps. "Couldn’t resist. What’s up?"

  I took a few centering breaths, then sat down on the bed beside him. I was pretty sure he hadn’t really left me at all this evening, but a part of me was afraid to ask. I knew he was dead and everything, but still, sitting with one gorgeous guy openly discussing one’s date with another was beyond weird.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t "the date" I wanted to discuss.

  "Did you see the guy at Saint Anthony’s?" I asked. "The one Matt called Rod?"

  "The one you were so worried about? Yeah, why?"

  I waited for more reaction. "Well, didn’t you find his attitude disturbing?"

  Zane’s brow furrowed. "I’m not sure what you mean. They didn’t look like best buds, but so what?"

  My heart began to race.

  It couldn’t be.

  "Seriously, Kali," Zane began, his voice more concerned. "What is it that’s got you so upset? I don’t get it."

  "I could feel him!" I blurted. My heart beat so hard I could hear my pulse in my ears.

  Zane said nothing for a moment. "Okay… so can you please explain that? What do you mean, you could ‘feel’ him?"

  "Like the shadows," I continued, trying hard to make more sense, but knowing that there was a limit—seeing as how nothing about the shadows ever made sense. "Some of the shadows… when I’m near to them, I can feel what they’re feeling. Like that woman at the beach. I wanted to be near her because I could feel her joy. Not just witness it… I mean, I really felt what she was feeling."

  Zane sat up straighter on the bed. "You could read her mind?"

  "No," I said quickly, "It’s not like that. I don’t pick up thoughts. There’s no language to it, no words. Just emotions."

  "You didn’t mention that before."

  I hesitated. "I didn’t always… I mean—" I broke off, unable to put into words what I had refused, for so long, to allow myself to think. "It didn’t used to be so obvious. When I was little I didn’t really pick up on the emotions. I don’t know if it was because I wasn’t paying attention, or if something about me changed as I grew up. But now, all of a sudden—"

  I faltered again. Zane waited a beat, then prompted. "All of a sudden…"

  I pulled myself up and began to pace. "All of a sudden, it’s worse than ever. There are shadows all over this island! I’ve never seen so many of them, at least not considering how few people live here—I mean, how many people have lived here. And not only that, but I’m feeling them more. Even the older ones. It’s like the whole emotion thing has kicked up a notch—and I don’t know how to handle it!"

  I plopped back down on the bed, exhausted.

  "Okay," Zane confirmed. "I get it. But what exactly does that have to do with this guy Rod?"

  I closed my eyes. Being able to tell Zane—to tell anyone—a load of seeming nonsense like I had just done without them doubting my sanity was a relief of epic proportions. If I wasn’t still so freaked out, I would be overjoyed. But there was more to my story, and the last part was definitely the worst.

  I opened my eyes and sat up. I was close enough to Zane that, if he had been alive, we would have been touching. As it was, I felt only the slightest buzz around my knee, where my bent leg grazed his extended one. "You saw Rod looking at Matt," I began carefully, "and you saw nothing except two guys who weren’t friends. You didn’t see anything… sinister?"

  Zane considered. "No. It was a stare. But he smiled later… sort of. Matt knows the guy. He obviously didn’t take it as anything threatening."

  An involuntary shudder shook my shoulders. "I saw the same thing," I explained slowly. "But I felt something, too."

  Zane’s eyes widened. "You mean you felt him, like he was a shadow? You think he is a shadow?"

  "No!" I protested. "He can’t possibly be. Other people see him and interact with him, he’s solid… he’s definitely alive."

  "Then what—"

  "I’m feeling living people now!" I whisper-shouted, as loudly as I dared without my parents overhearing. I needed to say it out loud; I needed to hear it. "I have to be. There were no shadows anywhere near Rod. It scares me to death to think that this… this thing I have is changing, but I can’t deny it anymore. It is. It’s getting more powerful, more sensitive. Battlefields have always bothered me, but being at Pali Lookout today… it was almost unbearable. I’ve certainly never encountered anything like you before... a ghost, I mean. I don’t know if it’s being in Oahu, or if it’s something about me, but it is happening. It’s real. I wish I could make myself believe that I was imagining what I felt with Rod today, but I know that I wasn’t!"

  My voice cracked, and Zane leaned forward instinctively, as if to reach out a comforting arm. Realizing his mistake, he fell back against the wall instead, his jaw muscles clenched in agitation. He was silent for a moment, then asked quietly, "What did you feel from Rod, then? Something that scared you?"

  I nodded. "He hates Matt, Zane. Really and truly hates him. I don’t think he did always. The hatred felt, well… fresh. Like something had just happened. Something Matt might not even be aware of."

  "Matt was just kidding about the nemesis thing," Zane agreed. "They may be competitive at sports, but I didn’t get that he had any hard feelings toward the guy. If there’s real hatred, Matt must be in the dark."

  "That’s what scares me," I said weakly. "I’m scared for Matt, first. That hatred was palpable; I don’t know Rod at all, but if I had to guess, I’d say that a feeling that strong was going to get acted on, sooner or later. What if he’s violent?"

  "He may not be," Zane offered. "Most people aren’t. Or the anger may resolve itself—maybe there was a misunderstanding of some kind."

  "Maybe," I agreed, finding it hard to imagine a guy as friendly and transparent as Matt doing anything to rouse that kind of hatred. "But until I know for sure, it’s going to keep scaring me. That… and the whole idea that this thing of mine—"

  "You mean this gift?"

  "This curs
e," I corrected. "The thought that this curse has more power over me than ever… that maybe I can’t just ignore it anymore—"

  "Then you’ll use it well," Zane interrupted. His voice was gentle, but firm, and his eyes bore into mine, their green depths sparkling with empathy even as he argued with me. "And I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I promise."

  Does he know how many fouettés you can turn?

  Zane's nearly solid face was inches from mine. For a moment, I had the very odd sensation, not entirely unpleasant, of careening off the cliff of Pali Lookout myself, spinning out into oblivion, weightless, carefree. But over my cliff, there was nothing but azure ocean, and a warm, golden sun was shining.

  I drew back, gave my head a shake, and stood up.

  It had a been a very, very long day.

  Clearly, I needed some sleep.

  Chapter 9

  It doesn’t get any better than this, I thought to myself dreamily, stretching out my legs and wiggling my toes in the sand. I couldn’t believe that any place as picture perfect as Mokuleia Beach Park could also be so deserted… but it was. Though Mokuleia was part of the North Shore, it lay at the famous surfing strip’s westernmost tip, just out of the tourist mainstream. Despite the fact that it was mid-morning on a gorgeous spring day, the wide, straight stretch of sandy beach, crashing turquoise waves, and brisk-but-warm tropical breeze were being enjoyed by only a handful of surfers out on the water, two middle-aged women sitting under a beach umbrella about fifty yards away, Zane (who was currently hanging with the surfers), and me. A few shadows flitted about too, of course, but none with emotions strong enough to disturb me. For once, I could be alone with my own thoughts.

  I had quite a few of them.

  My parents had been surprised when I declined to join them on today’s house tour with the real estate agent, but the opportunity to have the car to myself all day was just too good to pass up. My Wyoming-raised spirit couldn’t resist the chance to be behind the wheel again, exploring new territory, enjoying sweet control. My sense of direction left a lot to be desired, true, but I had something better than a GPS. I had Zane.