“Annie…” I glanced back as Zoe led me toward the cottage with an arm around my shoulders and a hand latched onto my elbow. My little wild child had abandoned her hunt for earthworms in favor of a game of tag with Jack and Cooper. And I was pretty sure a pair of ravens had joined the fun.
The ghost of a smile touched my lips.
“Becca made chicken noodle soup and biscuits for lunch,” Zoe said as we entered the cottage. We both removed our muddy boots just inside the door. I was quickly escorted to the table, where Zoe all but forced me down into a chair. “Want me to bring you some?” She hustled around the small kitchen taking up one corner of the cottage’s front room, filling up a teapot from one of the gallon water jugs on the tile counter and hanging it on one of the iron hooks Jason had affixed to the inside of the hearth in the attached living room.
“I tasted the broth right before I came outside.” Zoe knelt in front of the fireplace, taking pieces of firewood from the stack piled high against the wall and arranging them on the embers still burning from the fire I’d started earlier that morning. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes lingering on me just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of her anguish. “It’s really good. You should try it.”
“I don’t think—” But I cut my refusal short when Zoe bowed her head after setting one final piece of firewood on the burgeoning blaze. “Sure. Soup sounds good.”
But despite my acquiescence, Zoe’s head remained bowed. “Listen, D…I wanted to talk to you about, well—I think there’s something you’re forgetting.”
I frowned.
“Your memory of what happened that day…of what happened to Jason.” Slowly, she turned on her knees, her hands tangled together. “I was talking to my dad and Gabe about Abilities and how the mind works, and it got me thinking—I think that maybe you’ve blocked something from your mind, something important.” She took a deep breath. “Sort of like how my memories shut down to protect my mind from Clara, you know? It seems only natural, given your duress and the circumstances, that your mind might go into protective mode, saving you from something you’re not ready to deal with yet, and maybe you don’t remember all the details.”
She paused, gauging my reaction, but she couldn’t see it. My heart clenched, and my stomach twisted.
“But, we need to know, or at least, we need to find out if I’m right, if there really is something you’re forgetting or blocking.” Her blue-green eyes, brilliant with unshed tears, searched mine. “It could be a way for us to get some answers, and that’s something we all desperately need. What if you’ve forgotten something important—like maybe the woman said something we could use. Maybe Jason wasn’t as bad off as you thought, maybe—”
Shaking, I stood and started pacing around the room. I felt trapped, a wild animal caged.
“We can’t just keep going like this…not knowing. I can’t.”
I wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember. We were opposites in this, Zoe and I. She needed certainty; I needed possibility. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” I repeated under my breath.
“D.”
“I can’t.” I wove a chaotic path around the room. My breathing was quick and shallow, and my head was suddenly pounding. My eyes darted here and there, but I couldn’t manage to focus on a single thing. Nothing seemed real. Nothing felt tangible. Nothing was worth this desperation…this agony…this dread. “I can’t do this. I can’t go through it again, even—”
“D!” Zoe stepped in front of me and grabbed my shoulders. “Stop this!” When I shook my head and attempted to break out of her hold, her hands only gripped me more tightly. “You have to stop! You’re scaring the shit out of me.”
“I can’t!” I practically shrieked. “I don’t want to remember!”
“So you’re saying you won’t help?” Zoe’s words were sharp, pointed, tactical. They cut a path straight to my heart.
My mouth opened and closed several times. I wanted to appease her, wanted to give in. I wanted to do something—anything—that would wash the terror clear from her eyes. I wanted to be strong so badly. My shoulders slumped. “I can’t do it.”
Zoe’s face, her entire demeanor, softened. “Because you’re afraid of what you’ll remember?”
I blinked rapidly and stared up at the ceiling. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” I took a deep breath. “I see him, his blood, every time I close my eyes. Going through it all again, even just in my mind, I just—” I shook my head, desperate for her to understand. “I’m barely hanging on now, Zo…if you’re right and I’m repressing something worse, if I actually saw him die…” I inhaled shakily and squeezed my eyes shut. “Knowing he’s gone is one thing, but seeing it again…” Opening my eyes, I looked at her. “It’ll be too much.”
Zoe was quiet for a long moment. “But what if you remember something that’ll help us find him?” She paused again. “I could help you remember, if you want.”
Slowly, I lowered my gaze, forcing myself to look at her. “I—” My chin trembled. “I’m not ready to find out if…” I took another deep breath. “I’m not ready. Not yet.”
“Okay. We’ll talk about it later.” I could hear the disappointment in her voice, but a high-pitched whistle came from the fireplace, and Zoe released me to retrieve the teapot. “Let’s get you cleaned up and something warm in your belly, okay?”
I nodded, unable to look her in the eye. I was too ashamed.
10
ZOE
DECEMBER 8, 1AE
The Farm, California
I was running in a dew-dampened field. The brisk morning air whipped through my hair, across my face. I felt the muscles in my legs growing weary and my lungs pushing and pulling for breath, greedy as my heart pumped. The rolling hills were my solace, the sound of muted thudding a methodic, soothing drum. I felt alive.
But my hair was a mane of white and caramel, my body strong and built for exertion I’d never experienced before; my legs were long and…hooved. I wasn’t me. I was Wings.
I was Dani.
“Are you there?” The words were a whisper, not on the breeze that whooshed by my ears, but a voice inside my head, stirring me from an existence so foreign and liberating, I could almost ignore it.
“Can you hear me?” The voice grew louder. “I can feel you…”
I sat up in bed, disoriented as I registered my surroundings: the raw wood dresser across from me; the matching nightstand to my left, a full glass of water right where I’d left it; my robe in a heap on the floor beside me. I was in the cottage, in Dani’s bedroom, the first rays of morning illuminating the room.
I tried to catch my breath. My mind was reeling from the dream, and I was a little shaken by the voice that had punctuated it. What just happened? I was certain I’d been drifting, or that I’d experienced Dani drifting as she lay beside me. It was an amazing feeling—primal and uninhibited. I could see why she no longer wanted to fight the urge, even if she had little choice.
But the voice…it hadn’t been Dani’s. It had been a foreign voice, an unnerving, haunting voice that seemed too real to be a dream; it was a stranger’s whisper.
I scoured the room, my mind seeking a presence in the house. A trail of chills roamed over my skin and a sinking feeling settled in my stomach, but there was no one in the cottage but Dani, Annie, Jack, and me.
Letting out a deep breath, I reached my hand between the mattress and the box spring to retrieve the knife I’d stowed there, just in case. Although I’d never felt unsafe on the farm, I’d learned a long time ago that things could change far too quickly and unexpectedly to allow myself to ever be completely unprepared. Tucking my sheathed knife beneath my pillow for peace of mind, I glanced back down at Dani, lying beside me, and noticed she was glowing again.
My eyes widened at first, then narrowed while I tried to embrace this new skill of mine. Rubbing my eyes, I focused on what looked like two different colors shimmering around her. I was still getting used to seeing one aura
around her, so trying to comprehend two left me breathless and a little anxious.
Beneath Dani’s pale golden glow was a fine, concentrated line of chartreuse, a green so vivid I could almost feel its freshness, its purity. With a sigh, I leaned back against the oak headboard, determined to understand and wrap my mind around the whole aura thing. Are they really emotions that I’m seeing? Intensifying, changing emotions? But Dani’s aura had never changed until now, and the colors in her aura hadn’t changed as much as separated from one color into two. There was no fading or brightening in shade. There were two completely different colors surrounding her.
Dani let out a quiet groan and stirred in her sleep. She rolled over onto her side and pulled her knees in closer to her, hugging herself, almost like she was intuitively trying to keep herself safe. Her dainty hand settled on her stomach, rubbing it ever so slightly.
It felt like a bolt of lightning came out of the sky and struck me where I sat. Some of the scattered pieces composed of the past handful of days began to fall into place—Dani’s ongoing nausea and trips to the bathroom, her fatigue and spiraling hormones, her dividing aura…all of it was more than a grief-stricken, broken heart.
With a veil of tears blurring my vision, I reached out, gently shaking Dani back to her body. “D,” I said, uncertain whether the tightness in my chest was happiness or sadness, or a mixture of both. “Dani.” I shook her more vehemently. I didn’t want her waking up to me in hysterics. “Dani, come back.”
Like she’d been stirred from sleep instead of from the mind of her equine friend, Dani blinked her eyes open and peered up at me. Her expression quickly pinched with worry. She sat up. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Her eyes searched my face in the dim light, quickly filling with dread.
“D…” I breathed, trying to gauge what her reaction would be. I couldn’t help my smile or my tears, just as I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “I think you’re pregnant.”
11
DANI
DECEMBER 8, 1AE
The Farm, California
“I think you’re pregnant.”
My heart stumbled for a couple beats. I opened my mouth, drew in a breath slowly, then pressed my lips together and frowned. “Zo…what are you talking about?” Yawning, I rubbed my eyes and flopped onto my back, grateful Zoe was just being ridiculous and wasn’t waking me up to deliver more bad news. Annie was locked in a snuggle ball with Jack on my right and, trying not to disturb them, I stretched my arms over my head and pointed my toes in as unobtrusive of a stretch as I could manage.
“The nausea flare-ups, your wild emotions, your exhaustion…” Zoe’s voice was little more than a whisper.
I squinted up at her; she was hovering over me, her face both flushed and tensed. She looked like she was holding back both tears and laughter simultaneously. “I don’t see why any of that means I’m pregnant,” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “Harper says it’s normal for a grieving person to experience—”
“Your aura,” Zoe interrupted, shaking her head adamantly. “It’s split. And I heard a voice.” She struggled to keep her own voice down.
My eyebrows rose. “My aura—” I studied her face, a mask of contradictions. “My aura’s split? And you heard a voice?” I couldn’t help the thick threads of skepticism laced throughout my words. “Since when are you into metaphysical aura stuff? I thought that was all too woo-woo for you.”
Zoe pulled back, propping herself up in a somewhat sitting position with one hand. “I never said that.”
I reached over and twirled one of Annie’s blonde ringlets around my index finger. “When we were in tenth grade and Grams told you your energy was out of balance and making your aura all whack-a-doo, I believe your exact words were, ‘No offense, Grams, but isn’t that a little woo-woo, even for you?’”
Zoe scoffed. “I did not!”
Pursing my lips, I speared her with my most level Grams-like stare.
Zoe ran her fingers through her disheveled hair and exhaled in exasperation. “Well, I didn’t say it like that.”
I snorted.
“And it’s not like I can ignore the fact that you’re constantly glowing,” Zoe said, her gaze flicking to what I assumed was the glimmer around me. She took a deep breath. “For the past week or so, I’ve been seeing auras around you guys—or at least some of you.” A small, self-effacing smile touched her lips. “Well, it’s really only been you and Gabe, and maybe Jake and Sanchez, but still…yours was a golden glow—that’s all, just a steady, single golden glow—but now there’s another color underneath—green. It’s still surrounding you, but it’s more vibrant and defined. It’s just…different.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m pregnant.”
It was Zoe’s turn to settle a level stare on me.
“I’m not pregnant!” My shrill denial roused the dog and little girl sleeping beside me, and I tossed them an apologetic smile. “Go on and snuggle up in your room, sweetie.”
Jack and Annie groggily crawled off the bed and made their way down the hall.
Lowering my voice and pitch, I looked at Zoe and repeated, “I’m not pregnant.”
Curling her legs under herself, Zoe turned to face me fully and raised a single eyebrow. “Our cycles have been synced up almost perfectly for the past few months,” she said matter-of-factly. It was true and hardly surprising; with the close living and working proximity, the ladies of the farm had all slipped into the same monthly cycle.
“And my period started three days ago.” Zoe cocked her head to the side. “Did yours?”
My breath caught, and I slowly pushed myself up onto my elbows. “I—” I shook my head. “No.” My hands settled on my lower abdomen, the fingers of my right hand twisting the smooth wooden band on my left ring finger. “No, it didn’t.”
Frantically, my mind started calculating how long it had been since my last period, trying to find some twisted version of the theory of relativity that would stretch out the days for me…that would explain why my period was late, when the other women on the farm were right in the heart of theirs. “It could be the stress,” I said numbly. My gaze sought out Zoe’s. “And that I haven’t been eating much…or sleeping. Maybe all the drifting…and the stress and the lack of food and the—”
“D…” Zoe’s voice was soft, kind. She reached out, placing her hand over mine. “When we were sleeping, I picked up on your mind…sort of drifted with you for a while…and then this unfamiliar voice called out to me. It was really weird, actually.” She shook her head for about the millionth time. “Look, the point is, I think it might’ve been the baby.” She frowned. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
“Sure,” I said, shaking my head.
“D…” Zoe leaned in, squeezing my hand. “Trust me, you’re pregnant. I know it.”
“I—I don’t—” I opened my mouth. Shook my head. Closed my mouth. Shook my head again. “I—”
Tears welled in my eyes as joy, pure and unexpected, became a gathering storm in my chest. Jason had been gone for almost two weeks now, and it was as though I suddenly carried a piece of him—a real, physical, tangible piece of him—inside me. Because if Zoe was right, I did.
And deep down, I knew she was right.
Then, panic flared. I’d been spending the days since Jason’s disappearance in a state of near-starvation, stressed out to the point of being catatonic. And I’d been drifting every time I fell asleep. I’d been doing everything I shouldn’t be doing to support another growing life.
“Zo,” I said, lurching to a sitting position. “All the drifting…” I felt instantly ill, my stomach twisting and knotting and my heart beating so quickly it was practically tripping over itself. “That can’t be good for it—”
“The baby,” Zoe said with a slightly troubled smile.
“And all the not eating.” I clutched her hand hard enough that she winced, but I couldn’t let go. “I’m starving it! And oh my God, what about the genetic instability and all of that crap
that Dr. Wes—your mom wrote about?” The tears streaking down my face that had been born in a moment of unbridled joy were instantly soured by my sudden terror. “Am I going to lose it?” Because according to Dr. Wesley’s research, that was the inevitable result of a pregnancy conceived within the first several years of the genetic mutation. I’d seen the charts myself, the data collected from dozens—maybe hundreds—of women and their miscarriages. “Am I going to lose Jason’s baby?”
Zoe’s smile faltered, then faded completely. “Come on.” She pulled me up and off the side of the bed with her. “I’m taking you to Harper. And Gabe. And Chris. And my dad.” She practically dragged me out of the room, not pausing when she called to the other bedroom, “Stay here, Annie. I’ll send someone out to watch you in a few minutes.”
My stomach tossed and turned. “Zo,” I said as my best friend pulled me outside. “Zo,” I repeated, jogging on shaking limbs to keep up with her long strides down the stone pathway that connected the cottage to the farmhouse. “Zo!” I planted my bare heels on the pathway before we reached the farmhouse’s porch steps.
Zoe turned, eyes brilliant and wild in the pale morning light. “What?”
“I need to—”
I pressed my free hand to my stomach as my inner muscles gave an enthusiastic heave. Bending double, I vomited up a liquidy mess of water, bile, and what remained of the few crackers I’d managed to keep down the previous night. I gagged a few more times, coughed, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Slowly, I straightened, feeling like I was about a thousand years old.
“Puke,” I finally finished.
And then my knees buckled, and the lights went out.
~~~~~
I lay in the twin bed Harper used as an exam table and shut my eyes while I listened to the others. Zoe reclined beside me on the bed, every few seconds adjusting the cool, damp cloth on my forehead, shifting a strand of my hair, checking the IV needle feeding fluids into my dehydrated body, and generally fussing over me in all of the most comforting ways. My heart clenched; I was so incredibly grateful for her. She really was the greatest best friend I ever could’ve asked for. I had no clue what I’d done to deserve her, but there was no way I was ever letting her go.
The Ending Series: The Complete Series Page 140