by Lily Cahill
She backed away, widening the water swirling around them until she stood five feet away. It still seemed too close. Anywhere near him was too close. He was an open wire, ready to zap her if they both weren’t careful.
But what was he supposed to do? She was threatening to put herself in harm’s way if he didn’t do what she asked. And how long could he hold on to his resolve if she did? It was all he could do to keep from sweeping her into a kiss right now. At least like this it would be temporary. A week. Then she would have to keep her promise.
“Okay,” he said, against his better judgment.
“Okay,” she said. She flicked her fingers. In an instant, the thick twist of water that had been surrounding them arced over their heads and back into the stream, not a drop spilled on the ground. “Then let’s get started.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Cora
Cora drove them a little farther up the road, away from the campsite. They hiked into the woods for close to a mile without speaking, using the stream to guide them as it diverted from the road. Eventually, it led to a secluded spot: a small meadow of prairie grasses surrounded by towering pines. They were far enough away from the campsite that they could no longer hear the revelry—just the soft whisper of the grass as it swished around their legs.
Cora watched Clayton carefully as she considered how to start. He was agitated, a jumpy mess. She had to be careful, or she knew he’d just run again, and she wasn’t about to let him do that. Instead, she decided to approach the issue as logically as possible.
“As I see it, you have two problems,” Cora said. She walked beside him, trying to keep her tone light as she swished over the top of the grass with her palms. “The first is how to keep from pulling energy you don’t want to. That one is harder, and it’s going to take more to control, so we’ll hold off on it for now.”
“I can’t control that, Cora. If I could, what happened with you wouldn’t have happened at all.”
“I know you didn’t mean to. But that doesn’t mean you can’t. You can’t control it yet because you haven’t tried to control it at all. Not really. But that’s not what we’re going to worry about right now. We’re going worry about your second problem: what to do with the energy once you’ve pulled it.”
“I can’t put it back. I’ve tried.”
She had hoped that wouldn’t be the case, but so be it.
“Have you figured out any other ways to get rid of it?” she asked.
“The minute I throw it at something, it’s gone. But then I destroy whatever I throw it at.”
“Is there anything that seems to be immune to the power? Like, anything you’ve thrown it at that it doesn’t hurt?”
“Nothing yet. Boulders, trees, dirt—it’s all destroyed.”
“How about something man made? What about metal?”
“I don’t know.”
Cora nodded. “Then let’s start there and see if it works. Do you have anything metal?”
She knew he did. She could see the flask hanging out of his pocket. He followed her eyes and pulled it out, then set it on the ground.
“Good. That should do it.”
But he wasn’t moving.
“Go on,” she said. “You promised to try.”
“You’re standing too close,” he said.
Cora sighed. This whole situation was ridiculous. Now that he knew he could hurt her, she doubted he’d ever do it again. But she’d made an agreement and she’d keep her word. She tromped over to an open spot in the meadow about ten feet away.
“Is that better?” she asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” He shook out his hands and stretched his fingers several times—too many times. He was stalling.
“Just try it,” Cora said.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reached for a blade of grass. Seconds later, there was a shining blue orb in his hand. Cora had seen him do it before at the lake, but she was still mesmerized. The thing glowing in his hand looked like it came from another world. Her ability felt so mundane compared to his. The possibilities of what he could do—how he could protect people or prevent crime—were overwhelming. She had to find a way to show him the good in his new talents.
Clayton threw the ball at the flask, but Cora wasn’t close enough to see what had happened.
“Did it work?” she asked.
“No.”
Cora came closer. The flask was gone. Just a pile of dust within a singed circle of ground—the grass having been destroyed right along with the flask.
“Okay,” she said. “Then we try something else. What happens if you throw the energy up into the air? Have you tried that yet?”
Clayton’s brow furrowed. “No. I haven’t.”
“It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t seem entirely convinced.
She moved back to her place and watched as Clayton created another blue sphere of energy.
He bounced it once, and it came back to his hand. He bounced it again, and the same thing happened. It looked almost magnetized to his palm. Then he gave it a harder toss. It went about ten feet up, then dropped back down.
“Harder,” Cora said.
“I don’t like it. I don’t know what it’s going to do.”
“And you won’t know until you try.”
“If I throw it harder, it could land anywhere.” She heard the meaning between his words: it could land on you.
“Every time it’s come down before, it’s gone straight back into your hands.”
“It’s not worth the risk.”
How the hell was she going to convince him she’d be fine? Especially when she didn’t really know if she would be fine. She only had one weapon in her arsenal: his own sense of honor.
“You promised,” she said. “Please just try it?”
“Fine. But move back. Over there.” He gestured to a tree that was at least another thirty feet past where she was standing.
“Fine,” Cora said, and walked under the branches of the tree. “Now do it,” she called. “I’m perfectly safe.” Of course, if the ball was going to be attracted to her, it would shear right though her shelter. But she wasn’t about to bring that up. Not when he was finally willing to try.
He gave her one last worried glance before tossing the orb skyward again.
This time, he launched the thing into the air so hard it left a blue streak in her vision. The orb was moving fast, like a comet. It seemed to be using its own energy and Clayton’s energy to propel it. It was so high in the sky that Cora could no longer tell how far away it was.
Then, just as she was squinting to see if it was still there at all, the orb burst into a web of tiny lines—like a soundless spiderweb of fireworks. Just as quickly, it seemed to suck back in toward the center, and then it was gone.
“You did it!” she said, coming out from under the branches.
“Don’t you dare move. Not yet.” He pointed back under the tree’s canopy and Cora rolled her eyes as she ducked back under.
Clayton waited, watching the sky for another full minute. But nothing happened.
“Come on,” Cora said. “It’s gone. You have to admit it’s gone.”
“We can’t be sure yet.”
“Yes, we can. You saw it just as well as I did. You got rid of it. I’m coming out.”
“Cora, don’t.” He raced over to her, his features flushed with concern.
“Clayton. It’s fine. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“I could have hit something. Maybe a bird.”
“That wasn’t a bird.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you showed me before, at the lake, and it didn’t look like that. This was different. Has it ever looked like that before?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a fluke.”
“Then do it again. If the same thing happens, then you have to admit it works.”
He stood there, unmoving. She too
k a few steps backward.
“See? I’m going back under the tree.”
He scowled at her—he was handsome even when his eyebrows knit together like that—and tromped back to where he’d been standing before.
Again, he created an orb from a blade of grass. Again, he hurled it into the sky. And again, it soared upwards—up and up and up—until it burst into a fisherman’s net of electric blue.
This time, Cora came running out from under the trees, jumping and cheering.
“See! I knew you could do it!”
Clayton was not jumping or cheering. He was taking one step away from her with every step closer she got. But his face had gone from murderous to wary, and it seemed like an accomplishment. He wasn’t exactly happy—but she’d take it.
She wanted to jump into his arms and smother him with kisses, but she was pretty sure it would push him back toward the murderous side of the scale, so she restrained herself.
“Okay, so we know what you can do if you’re outdoors. But let’s keep testing.”
Immediately, Cora looked over and summoned a bucket’s worth of water from the stream they’d followed. It shimmered in the moonlight and landed in a perfectly round ball near Clayton’s feet. It was so easy now, controlling it. She hardly even had to think about it. She just wanted the water to move, flicked her wrist, and it did. That’s what she hoped to teach him.
“Let’s see if your power works on water.”
“There’s no life force to pull from it. I can feel it.”
“Just do the same thing as the flask. See what happens.”
Again, he stared at her.
“What?”
“Too close,” he said.
She huffed but did as he asked—walking back to the spot under that useless tree.
“Farther,” he said.
“This is as far as I can go and still keep control,” she said. It was a lie—she could control it as long as she could see it, no matter the distance—but he didn’t need to know that just yet.
He scowled, but stopped protesting. Then he created another sphere, and tossed it into the glistening ball of water.
This time, it did something entirely different. Instead of shattering, the water glowed in a glorious shift of colors. It seemed to undulate as it phased through bright pinks and deep blues and vivid purples—like the film strip of the Aurora Borealis that a touring speaker had shown at the library last year. It was mesmerizing.
Cora walked slowly forward. She wanted to get a better look.
“Stay back,” Clayton warned.
But it was so beautiful. She could sense it—the water was still there, under her control, but something had changed about it. Something had grown—but it wasn’t bad, it was good.
And how could they know for certain what would happen unless it was her? He was immune to it.
She reached out a hand and touched it.
“Cora, no!”
Her hand slipped it into the center of the water. It glided through easily—no zap of electricity, no draining of energy, no shattering it to pieces. The water felt like it had always felt—but warmer, more alive.
Clayton’s arms were around her then, pulling her back. They felt so good—so warm and so strong. She wanted to melt into those arms, to return to the way things had been only days before. But almost as soon as he’d touched her, he pulled away.
“It didn’t hurt,” she said. “I could feel it. It was fine.”
“You promised me this would be on my terms. My terms, Cora.”
“I know, but—”
“I can’t—” he said. He was shaking. His voice had become ragged, torn. “I won’t let that happen to you again.”
Something in her stirred. Maybe she hadn’t fully understood what it had done to him—seeing her like that. She had been so focused on her own feelings of guilt that she hadn’t dwelt on it at all. She tried to picture what it would feel like if he was hurt, and she couldn’t imagine the pain it would cause. Even seeing him like this—so on edge, so tormented—made her heart ache. If staying away was what he needed, she’d do it. At least for now. She raised her palms and backed away.
“Okay. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
His breathing became more even with every step she took. Silence closed in between them. She could sense his indecision—his teetering on the edge of putting an end to this right then and there. And so she waited. She gave him space.
An owl hooted from the treetops. Clouds passed over the moon. The wind rustled the grass into a swirling mass—like long tendrils of hair blowing in the breeze. The trees moved with the wind too, kicking up the smell of pine needles and thick sap and wood wet with the summer dew. Finally, he spoke again.
“You have to promise to stay back.” He looked into her eyes, his own hazel eyes shifting like wheat in autumn from gray to amber to gray. “You have to promise to do what I say until I know it won’t hurt you. I mean it, Cora. You do something like that again and our deal is over.”
“I promise,” she said. Her voice was smaller this time, quiet. She meant what she said. She wouldn’t risk it again.
He nodded, then turned his attention back to the water.
It was still shimmering, still glowing and phasing through colors—plumes of yellow and green and orange danced inside of it. But it had grown dimmer, as though whatever was fueling the light show had begun to fade.
Clayton touched it, dipping his hand in wrist-deep. Then he withdrew it and stepped back.
“Let it go, please,” he said.
She released her control of the water and it splashed to the ground. Clayton knelt over the spot.
“May I look, too?”
He nodded, and she joined him at his side.
The grass there was fine—like it had just been through a rainstorm, but otherwise unchanged. If anything, it was a bit taller, a bit stronger than its neighbors.
“So now you have two ways to dissipate the power,” Cora said. “Air and water. I know it’s not a solution for everything, but it’s a start.”
He looked over at her and gave her a smile. Well, it wasn’t a smile, really, but he had stopped frowning and his eyes were warm again.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s a start.”
They stood. The sky was beginning to lighten. They’d been there all night. Soon the sun would raise its bright halo into the sky and a new day would begin.
“Let’s get you home,” Clayton said.
She followed him back to the stream, staying as close as she could. She could feel the energy between them—feel how little distance separated his hand from reaching out for hers as they walked back toward the road. She was certain he wanted it too—wanted to touch her the way she wanted to touch him.
For the moment, that was enough.
“Have fun?” Butch asked as she walked through the door. The sun was just barely up. It appeared that, like her, he hadn’t gone to bed yet. His clothes were rumpled and he was nursing a beer at the kitchen table. Cora couldn’t tell if he was mad, or tired, or just bored.
“Where have you been?”
“With some friends,” she said.
“What friends? You don’t have friends.”
“You don’t know everything about my life, Butch.”
“So what were you doing with these friends?”
“Camping.”
“Is that so?” he said. “Then why are you home so early?”
“You want breakfast, don’t you?” Cora went straight to the Frigidaire and pulled out the eggs. Food was usually a good defense against Butch. If his mouth was full, he couldn’t speak.
He got up from the table and sauntered over to her as she lit the range and put butter in the frying pan.
“So sick the other night that you had to sneak off to the doctor. Then last night you’re out camping with friends. That’s a pretty fast recovery.”
“I was in good hands,” she said, cracking an egg into the sizzling pan.
; “Who were you with last night?” he asked.
“I told you, I was out with friends.”
“Who?”
She knew she had to come up with something, so she reached for the only name she could muster. “June Powell.”
“June Powell? Pretty girl?”
“Yes,” she said.
“No. June Powell wouldn’t be friends with you. She’s one of them.”
“Ask her yourself.”
“Maybe I will. And maybe she’d tell me that she did see you last night. But I wouldn’t believe her, either.”
Cora sighed. He was probably just bored—just trying to goad her to amuse himself. She wouldn’t give in to it.
“Doesn’t she work at the bank with your boyfriend?”
“I told you. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”
“You really think he ever was? You’re such a sap, Cora. Sometimes I actually feel sorry for you.”
“So which is it, Butch? Am I a sap or was I sneaking out with him last night?”
Quick as a flash, he had the pan off the burner and into the air. The raw egg splatted onto the stove top as hot grease spattered all over—flicking Cora’s arms in flaming little sting marks.
“Ow!”
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” he said, holding the hot pan above his head. “You show me respect.”
He would use it against her. She could see it in his eyes. There was something there, something rotten that had been brewing for a long time—maybe their whole lives.
But hadn’t she and Butch been close once, before their mother died? Before their father got his hooks into him? She tried to remember the good parts of him—how he used to tell her jokes, how he used to laugh. She hadn’t heard him laugh in years, at least not the way he used to. His laughter always felt more like a sneer these days. She peered into his eyes and hoped the part of him that could laugh for real was still in there. But all she saw was hate.
“Put the pan down,” she said. “Please.”
He was fuming. Like always, his temper went from wet match to bonfire with no in-between. But something behind his eyes relaxed at her calm tone. Slowly, he placed the pan back down on the flame curling from the stove.
She let out the breath she’d been holding and switched off the burner with trembling fingers.