I'm confused.
I sit for a while, pondering, trying to remember. I finally decide I can’t stay cooped up in here forever and waste the eternity I don’t have.
I stand up with help from the sink and check out my face in the mirror that was shaped like an ink blot. My bronzer has worn off, and my hair is a little frizzy from the hot day. I need to pull myself together. I run some water through my locks to tame them and wipe off the black eyeliner that has run away from my lash line. I open the door and walk back into the kitchen; Cross and Justice are playing cards across the granite island top.
“Well the prodigal Empath emerges.” Cross smirks.
“Good to see the two of you making nice.” I say snidely. “How long was I in there for?”
“A while.” Justice tells me. His voice is calm and soothing again. Much more pleasant than the tone he had in the bathroom.
“Well?” He asks his eyes soft but inquiring.
“Just one thing,” I hesitate. “I remember feeling a draft?” I say unsure.
Both of our eyes measure Cross. We wait for his reaction to see if that was the right answer.
“Close enough.” He shrugs.
“So are you going to explain now?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Thank goodness.” I sigh, “the suspense is killing me."
“You should be careful with what you let kill you,” he warns.
“So what’s with the draft?” Justice quickly interrupts our banter.
“That draft” Cross peers “is called an Argyraigis charm or silver shield in simple terms. Sometimes when a magical being feels threatened by power, they evoke this protective blockade to keep from internally combusting. It’s important because it’s the first time you embraced the magic inside you. Albeit you didn’t do a very good job conjuring it since it wasn’t successful, but at least you tried.” He pouts his lower lip like he’s applauding my attempt. “I’ve seen this tactic used many times by Empath’s and Telepaths alike; it’s a defensive reflex.”
I snicker, “and what; my abilities are the offense?”
Cross glares down at me. “You know what your biggest problem is? You hide out in a bunker avoiding the grenades.”
“How so?”
“It’s your own fault your powers are eating you alive. You suppress them and resist them, when all they’re trying to do is get your attention.” His tone has a familiar reprimand to it. “Liv- when you accept what’s a natural part of you, you will be able to control it. Simple as that.” He glowers deeply into my face. “Or else Justice won’t have to worry so much about a Stalker taking your last breath.”
And that’s exactly what the energies feel like; every time an emotion penetrates my essence it feels like it’s trying to steal my last breath, and Cross knows it. It’s disconcerting. Even with all the doctors I’ve seen, I’ve never felt so itemized. He exposed me for what I really am and the veritable reason for my regression. Ugh now I really hate him. Can he exhume any more skeletons today? I’ve been stripped by a man I hardly know, and through myself denial, he is able to lay me out on the table like an un-shuffled deck of playing cards.
“What about her aura?” Justice asks, can he feel my hankering for a subject change? Cross stares at him blankly then answers his question.
“The etheric energy around her is almost impenetrable.”
“The what?” I give him a puzzled look, so many new words in so little time.
“Etheric, it's another kind of shield of sorts, a much more powerful one. It’s usually used to make someone physically invisible, but in your case, it’s making your power invisible. That’s why Justice can’t see your aura. It lets you blend into the natural world. Only when you use your power does it become identifiable. Unfortunately, for you, Justice isn’t the only one who saw it; the Stalker sensed it to. I was only able to a glimpse past it, but your lineage has great preeminence, its centuries old.”
“You got all that from a glimpse?” I ask.
“You’d be surprised what a glimpse can tell me.”
“So what is she then? Where does her power stem from?” Justice is overly intrigued. He’s just as eager to find out the answers to my riddled existence as I am, except he knew the right questions to ask.
Cross gave both of us a look like he was an archeologist who just uncovered some rare species of dinosaur.
“Justice, are you familiar with a race called the Vis Vires?” He raises an eyebrow.
“A little, why? Their extinct; they were killed off in the Great War.”
“Or so they would like you to think” he raises both eyebrows.
Justice stares at Cross curiously.
“What? Who are they?” I flash my amethyst eyes back and forth between them.
“They were like a supernatural royalty.” Justice informs me.
“Supernatural royalty!” He has to be joking. The closest I’ve ever come to royalty is being called an Italian princess.
“About four centuries ago there was an uprising,” Cross starts to explain as he makes his was back over to the stove and attends to his simmering soup. “Good and evil clashed for supremacy. Entities like Sprit Stalkers went on a murderous rampage to eliminate the magic ones who suppressed them. Vis Vires’ were a main target.”
He did a taste test and then added some salt.
“They were revered as all knowing beings sought out by the magical and human world alike. They were healers and spiritualists who guided mankind. They were also fierce warriors whose powers spanned across planes. Their only real downfall was their numbers.
When evil rebelled, inducing The Great War, it attacked swiftly and furiously. The waylay prevented any warning. During the turmoil, the Vis Vires were eradicated.” He pulled out a white porcelain soup bowl with painted flowers from the cabinets. “Or, at least that’s what we thought.” He glances at me through the corner of his eye. “It was rumored that some may have survived, but it was only speculation; no one has ever seen or heard from a Vis Vires since the carnage.”
“And you think I’m one of these Vis Vires?”
“I know it. It explains why your aura is veiled. They were a shrewd race, there’s no doubt in my mind that they would be smart enough hide themselves and future bloodlines in plain sight.”
Justice stares down at me; it was as if there were twelve thousand thoughts running through his head. I’m thankful for his silence; I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what he’s thinking.
“Why if I’m so powerful, and this race is so important why am I just finding out about this now?” My tone bubbles with anger. I don’t know why, but I suddenly feel enraged, like there’s some pent-up aggression scratching to surface. As the hostile feelings take over, my esophagus burns like I need an antacid. “My whole life I have been walking around thinking I have mental problems when it turns out I just have some weird supernatural suppressed gene?!”
“In a nut shell.” Justice confirms.
The corners of my mouth quiver.
“Magic has its own agenda, it reveals itself in its own time, and in its own ways. You were meant to experience life the way you have. I wouldn’t waste time being angry about it.” Cross adds casually.
“Some agenda!”
I can’t help feeling betrayed, like my life is just one big joke for the cosmos to enjoy. I thought about all the nights I spent alone, in my closet, battling the anxiety and depression, and good God, all the drugs. I’m so mad I just want to blow something up.
“Liv?” Justice pulls me out of my internal tirade. I look up at him with heated eyes. “I know you’re upset, but Cross is right,” he says sourly, not trying to hide the fact he dislikes agreeing with him. “It won’t get you anywhere by being angry about the past.”
“How could you possibly know?” I snap. “My whole life has been smoke and mirrors. I’ve spent all this time thinking I’m one thing, just to find out I’m something so completely different.” My words are rigid, and they burn me up
inside.
“I can empathize,” he tells me with soft marshmallow eyes. “I have a little experience with the universe and its surprises.”
“Don’t we all.” Cross chimes in.
“Whatever.” I huff, and turn my head away from them.
I try to hold onto my anger, but it’s difficult; it slips away like an ice cube dissolving in my hand. I hate the fact that Cross and Justice’s words actually console me. However, they’re right, there’s no use crying over spilled milk. Storing angry feelings will get me nowhere. I know that better than anyone. I’ve been a receptacle for emotions my entire life, and I’ve learned what hate and anger can do to a person. It creates a wall that isolates you and eats away at your soul. I don’t want to be one of those people. I’ve separated myself from so much already.
I breathe out my anger and press my lips; I wanted to release a flood of tears but fight them back.
Justice pulls at my frizzy ponytail gliding it through his fingers. He looks at me with reassuring eyes; they sparkle even without sunlight hitting them.
His subtle comfort works as I look past my searing hostility.
On the Run
A small feeble voice yells down from the second floor, “Alex?”
Cross’ attention is immediately drawn away and solely focuses on the crippled sound. His insides go completely numb except for a tiny pang in his heart that he tries desperately to hide.
I look up at him surprised. I was unaware he was capable of such an emotion. “Why Cross?” I say rapt.
He knew exactly what I was getting at.
“You hush,” he scolds, impaling me with his beady eyes.
Justice’s wonder flickers between us.
“You’re not the only one who can have private conversations.” I smirk.
The voice comes closer. “Alex? Are you down there?” She calls again.
“Darling!” Cross rushes out of the kitchen, his tiny pain getting bigger with every footstep.
“Go back to bed! I’ll bring you some soup.” We hear him tell her. His consoling tone is reminiscent of Justice’s from just moments earlier.
“I don’t think soup is going to help her.” I say wearily. She’s sick, and I don’t mean the kind of sick where you ‘take two aspirins and call me in the morning.’ Her frail energy barely makes it to the kitchen, but it is enough for me to know what’s wrong.
She is dying.
And Cross knows it.
We watch as Cross rushes around the kitchen creating a tray fit for a queen. He painstakingly places every piece of dining ware on the serving dish. The salver is beautiful; it’s as if he is serving high tea. He picks up the masterpiece and dashes towards the foyer. As he passes, he abruptly stops to gaze down at Justice, who is still sitting on the flower-patterned stool next to me. He asks, “Do you know what the worst part about mortal love is?”
“No.” Justice answers naively.
“It’s got an expiration date,” he tells him and then hurries out the door. The pain that is in his heart just flowed right out through his mouth.
I find myself feeling profoundly sorry for Cross, not only can I feel his suffering; it’s making me crash into a nose-diving depression, for the first time today; I feel his soul.
Justice looks over at me with trouble hiding behind his eyes. “I think it’s time for us to go.”
I agree. I’ve had just about all I can take for one day and am ready to go home. There’s so much information to mull over it’s going to take years to process it.
Justice leaves a note on the counter.
“I guess Cross isn’t the big fat jerk I thought he was.” I say once we were safely outside. Justice doesn’t seem convinced. “I still have my doubts. I’ve known him way longer than you.”
He may know him longer, but I know him intimately. He isn’t much different than most other people trying to hide who they truly are. Or what they truly feel. He just does it more convincingly. It’s a common thing for the heart to stifle and suppress painful emotions.
The heat is blistering outside, and storm clouds loom in the distance, just like they had over Red River it’s as if they are chasing us.
Justice opens the passenger-side door and I slip into the hot seat. “Ouch!” My shoulder gets burned. “We should have cracked some windows.” I try to adjust myself to where none of my exposed skin is touching the scorching leather. I look awkward trying to support my body with the arm rest and the door handle, but I don’t want any more superficial burns.
Justice rests one hand on my seat, and it unexpectedly begins to cool. Within seconds, I am able to rub my bare skin against the tan chair.
“Better?” He asks.
“Much.” I smile.
I didn’t realize how tired I am until my body was allowed to relax. I thought about everything that’s happened over the last two days as I stare at the world passing by in the window. It is a changed place now. The street, the trees, the cars, they’re all the same, yet different. Just like me. I look down at my hands; they are small and manicured with pink polish, but the veins hold a new mystery now, a magical DNA, I know nothing about. Surprisingly, I’m not scared. My life has never been stable and with Justice here, I’ve never felt safer. Even though, one would think having your world turned magically inside out while being hunted by a psychic vampire killer would be enough for anyone to opt for witness protection.
I wake up to Justice lightly nudging me. “Liv, get up” his ear pleasing voice beckons.
I open my eyes; I didn’t even realize I fell asleep. I look out the window to find we have stopped for gas.
“You should go get something to eat,” he tells me as he pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. “Your stomach was growling.”
Oh, how embarrassing.
I get out of the car and look at him oddly.
“Why are you pumping the gas?”
“I hate waiting.” He reminds me.
“Really, why so impatient?” I ask as I walk by him. “You’re immortal, what’s the rush?”
It is a rhetorical question.
Door bells jingle as I enter the gas station convenient store. I head straight for the Snapple case and grab a lemon iced tea. I peruse the cereal bar aisle trying to talk myself into something healthy when really all I want is Ring Dings.
I look out the large glass window next to the cash register to see Justice leaning against my car, waiting with his arms impatiently folded across his chest. The picture is nothing to write home about, but it is still able to rouse something inside me. It’s unbelievable at what just looking at him can do.
The attendant’s young face is submerged in a car magazine, but I know better; he’s too excited in all the wrong way just to be reading about mufflers and exhausts. When I draw his attention he places the ‘magazine’ under the massive cigarette display behind him.
He rings up my iced tea and energy bar unenthusiastically as I rummage through my Marc Jacobs looking for the twenty I threw in there somewhere. I hear the door bells jingle, but pay them no mind as I continue to fumble through my bag.
The air in the store suddenly becomes thick like someone puffed cigarette smoke right in my face. I look up to find the attendant’s dark eyes wide with fear. I didn’t have time to process much more before I feel a strong agitated sensation pierce me from behind. Then, I unexpectedly feel a heavy metal object rest on my right shoulder. A strange clicking sound echoes in my ear. I slide my eyes down to the intrusion.
You have got to be kidding me. Haven’t I been through enough today?
The barrel of a gun is pointed at the young petrified boy from my motionless shoulder.
“Give me the money.” Desperation rumbles through a man’s voice.
The boy doesn’t move. It was purely out of fear and not insubordination.
“Now!” The man yells, his recklessness vibrating through my body. He grabs the nape of my racer back top, and I hear a slight tearing sound as he shakes me back and forth, the gun
flailing.
The panic-stricken boy pounds at the ancient cash register, until it finally opens. He stands back as the man violently drags me behind the counter. He throws the boy a tiny plastic bag.
“Fill it up” he orders, still clutching me.
I wince as his grip gets tighter and his energy angrier. Inside he is desperate. Erratic. That frightened me most. He was more than capable of cold-blooded murder, and he has a trigger-happy finger to prove it. My body tenses as he confines me. When the register is empty, the quivering boy hands him the money. Then the man then pushes me without warning. I lose my footing and fall into the wide-eyed boy who stops my descent to the ground. The man, whose face I have yet to see, startles us by decapitating the cigarette display. Boxes of Lucky Strike and Marlboro’s fly through the air creating a mosaic of tobacco on the floor beyond the counter.
“Open it!” The agitated man bites. His teeth clenched. I turn to see what he’s talking about, but the boy already knows. There’s a metal safe behind the display. Someone’s been casing the place.
“I can’t.” The boy’s voice cracks. “My dad never told me the combination! I don’t ever go in there!” Panic laces his tone.
“Liar! Open it!” He orders again. His erratic insides feel as if they are a ticking time bomb seconds away from detention.
“I ca-can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t!” The boy grows more frantic. I can feel his knees become weak from the life-threatening situation he’s in.
“AHH,” the grungy looking man waives the gun around; his eyes crazed. He zeroes in on the wall safe and begins smashing it with the butt of the firearm nearly shattering my face in the process.
I pin myself between the terrified boy and the maniac with the gun shielding him with my body. I watch as the man impales the wall safe, getting more and more desperate with every thrash. All I wanted was that stupid safe to open and this lunatic to be gone. Suddenly, the small black dial pops off and the safe door slowly swings open, the way you would see in a horror movie. It was almost unreal.
iFeel Page 7