by J. P. Grider
The knot of worry in my stomach reaches my throat. Ethan must sense it, because he comments. “That bad, huh?”
“Oh, Eeth, they’re after me.”
“What? Who?”
“Those people. That Gaffer guy.”
Steam comes out of Ethan’s ears. Of course not literally, but his narrowed eyes, his deep purple irises, and his pursed lips indicate a severe agitation.
But I continue. “Apparently, my great, great, great something or other grandfather had developed an elixir that can make a person an empath…and immortal.”
“What? Storm told you that shit?”
“Ethan…I’m pretty sure he was serious. You said yourself…my great times something grandfather was a scientist. Storm said he thought himself more of an alchemist than a scientist. He’d taken the blood of some…empaths…and I guess combined it with something to make the elixir.”
“Crap.” Ethan squeezes the bridge of his nose.
“Ethan. I’m scared. What’re we gonna do?” My bottom lip quivers, but I want to be strong and not cry. Being strong is not one of my strengths.
Tears fall from my eyes, and Ethan moves closer, pulling me into his arms. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. But I think it’s time I talk to Storm.”
My head snaps back so I can look at him. “What’re you gonna say?” I wonder if he’s going to start a fight or something with Storm.
“I don’t know…but we need to get to the bottom of this. I’ll have Uncle Tom and Hunter come with me. They need to know what’s going on.” Ethan squeezes me and kisses me lightly on the head. “I need to go, Honor.”
“Right now? Can’t I come?”
Ethan utters a low growl. “Honor, I don’t want you getting involved.”
“Involved? I’m the whole reason we’re in trouble.”
“Yeah, yeah. I mean…I’d like to keep you safe.”
I jump off the bed, stomp my foot, and, hands on my hips, say, “Well, I don’t wanna be safe if it means sitting here playing with my thumbs while you go searching for some murderer.”
Ethan moves to the edge of the bed in front of me. Staying seated, he reaches for both my hands. “C’mere, Honor.”
My hands stay where they are – on my hips. “No, because I won’t let you change my mind.”
Ethan’s tongue clicks in his mouth when he inhales. Sighing as he exhales, he relents, “Fine. Come with me.” He stands up and hugs me again. “I just don’t want you getting hurt…I love you too much.”
**
Before searching for Storm, Ethan and I stop off at Ethan’s apartment to see Hunter and their Uncle Tom. Parked outside the apartment, however, a bright orange Challenger mocks my boyfriend.
“Dammit.” Ethan grumbles under his breath.
Placing my hand on his forearm, I make an effort to transfer Ethan’s hostility from him to me. The abrupt snatching back of his arm backfires when his hand slams against the steering wheel. “Fu..mmm,” he snaps, successfully stopping himself from cursing by pursing his lips. “Don’t try to take away my emotions, Honor. I hate when you do that.”
Ethan’s mad that Storm beat him to his brother’s, I get that, but hate is such a strong word. It upsets me that he used it towards me. Yelling and stuff is not something I’m used to, since I’ve never had any real friends before this year. But I’m inclined to snap back at him. Instead, the dashboard serves as my focus while my mood simmers.
“Listen, Honor.” Ethan strokes my hair. “I’m sorry. I’m taking my anger out on the wrong person. Please don’t be mad.”
I let him apologize and drop it for now. We have much more important things to take care of than worrying over the way Ethan just talked to me. Helping me out of the car by taking my hand, Ethan and I walk quite briskly up the apartment stairs – the apartment being a one bedroom suite on top of a yoga studio, the stairs run up the outside of the building.
Flinging open the door and slamming it against whatever stands perpendicular to it, Ethan barrels in, still attached to my hand. “Get the hell out of my house,” he demands in a voice so loud it stuns me.
“Hey there, little bro,” Storm’s derisive sneer infuriates Ethan even more. I see it in his deep purple eyes, rigid jaw, and clenched fists. The bones in my fingers crack and hurt when Ethan clutches my hand in a death grip because he’s so incensed.
“You are not my brother.” My hand and its crackling knuckles are set free. Ethan’s hands have other things to do – like grab Storm in a chokehold to threaten an explanation out of him. “What the hell do you have to do with my brother’s murder…and the rest of this effin’ bullshit I’m hearing about?”
Storm pushes Ethan away like he’s brushing a fly from his face. Storm’s strength still impresses me. But I feel bad for Ethan. He wants so inherently to protect me. Protection from Storm is not what I need, though. I’m sure of that. Ethan needs to get over these issues he has with his half-brother and get to the bottom of whoever is after us…whoever is after me.
Stumbling into the countertop, Ethan closes his eyes, gathering composure and strength.
“Yo, bro,” Storm snarls. “I have nothing to do with the murder or your effin’ bullshit,” he mocks. “But you better sit down and listen to me if you know what’s good for ya.”
With both his hands clenched tight in front of him, Ethan leaps for Storm, but his half-brother’s brute strength allows him to hold up one arm in defense and stop Ethan’s punch.
“Yo, Ethan,” Uncle Tom breaks in, jumping in between the estranged brothers. “Just stop. Storm isn’t involved…but he does know something about it.”
Ethan throws his elbow out wide to push his uncle away and storms away.
Uncle Tom follows Ethan to the living room couch. Ethan reluctantly sits on its edge.
“Ethan.” Uncle Tom sighs and then looks at me. “You’re Honor?” He holds out his hand. “”I’m Tom. Uncle Tom.”
“Nice to meet you…Uncle Tom.” I say, a little embarrassed to use such a familiar term with someone I just met.
“Hi, Honor. It’s good to see you again.” Hunter chimes in and shakes my hand also.
“Okay, now that we have the pleasantries done with, can we explain to my moron little brother what’s going on?” Storm offers, digging the knife a little deeper into Ethan’s psyche.
A sharp pang strikes my chest when I approach Ethan, whose eyes are closed again. Brushing off Storm’s caustic remarks demands a concentrated effort on Ethan’s part. It’s killing him to do so – I’m feeling his residual pain deep in my own chest. I know it is important to Ethan for me to keep from taking away his pain, but I love him so much. I cannot help but want his heartache to disappear. Rubbing his back will not whisk away his pain, but I’m sure it will ease some of his tension…while hopefully avoiding a reprimand from him for doing so.
It must be working, because his breathing returns to normal.
“Eeth,” Hunter informs. “Storm says he knows what that Gaffer guy and his men want.”
Ethan casts a quick glance in my direction before turning to Storm. “Yeah. Tell me, Storm. What is it that you know?” He scoffs. “And tell me…exactly how do you know what you know… if you’re not involved.”
“Some things, dear brother, I keep to myself.” I know Storm is doing this just to goad Ethan, and it’s getting irritating. “But what you do need to know is that they’re after your lovely over there.” Storm juts his chin in my direction. “Her great granddaddy had some secret empath elixir he made…This elixir can make anyone an empath…and because he’d used the blood of several…how can I say this…murderous empaths, it can also make one immortal. It’s been used before. But from what I hear…dear-old-grandpappy ran away with it…just took it from the one person who helped him create it. The Gaffer. Now he and his men are after it.” Storm smirks at Ethan, but then when he catches my eye, I see a slight frown form on his face. And if I’m not mistaken, I see sadness in his eyes.
But he continues.
“They’re not going to quit until they’ve got it in their hands.” Storm looks at me again, frowns, and says, “And they think Honor here has it.”
“How d’ya know this?” Ethan demands to know. Though he’s trying to stay calm, his breathing is quick and his jaw is tight.
“I just do,” Storm says with an arrogant sneer.
“Storm, stop,” I command, getting totally tired of his attitude with Ethan. Everyone in the room turns their wild eyes on me. I ignore them and glare at Storm. “Stop harassing him and just tell us what we need to do. Do we need to run, what?” Clearly, I’m exasperated…and frightened. I can hear the quiver in my voice; I can feel it in my chest.
Storm bites his lip and tilts his head as he looks me in the eyes. His violet eyes turn a light lavender – a color I’ve never seen in his eyes before.
Noticing the look in Storm’s eyes, Ethan extends his arm and wraps it possessively around my waist. “Okay, Storm. I’ll listen.” Ethan resigns. “Who are these people, and how do we stop them?”
I’m just about to snap at Storm, because that obnoxious grin returns to his face. But just as quickly, it disappears. “Well, running’s not going to help. It’ll only prolong the inevitable. What we need to do is find the elixir that Honor’s grandfather left her.” Storm looks directly at me. “Honor, did Hanna and Daniel leave you or your parents anything when they gave you away?”
A light bulb flickers on in my head. “An envelope. My mom said they sent her a birth-certificate and some other things in an envelope.” I pause, trying to remember. “She never said what those other things were, but…maybe there’ll be some kind of explanation.”
“Good,” Storm says, and I hear the others murmuring amongst themselves.
“I’ll fly back to Nevada in the morning, find more information out. You guys search the envelope, and for goodness sake, try to find a clue or something.”
“Whoa. Stop right there,” Ethan says. “Why the nice guy act all of a sudden?”
“Ethan,” I snap, annoyed that he’d start this again.
“No, no, pretty lady, it’s okay.” Storm reaches out and runs the back of his fingers down my cheek, sending hot tingles down my neck.
Storm looks at Ethan and further explains. “’Cause then your pretty little girlfriend will see me as her knight in shining armor.” Storm turns to me and winks. And again, I feel that trickle of warmth slide down my skin.
Rising from the edge of the couch, Ethan leaps toward Storm. Uncle Tom breaks in again, placing his palms on both their chests – like a referee holding back two boxers in the ring. “Guys. Focus. Deal with your personal issues later, when we’ve defeated the Gaffer and his boys.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Creeping into the house slowly, unsure of how to ask Mom for that envelope, my stomach assaults me. I clench my middle and will it to settle down – a futile effort. Continuing into the house anyway, I hope for the best.
“Honor, what’s the matter?” Mom looks up from her novel and asks. “You’re white as a ghost. Are you all right, honey?” She leaps off the couch and puts her hand on my forehead.
“Mom. Stop.” Swatting her hand away, I move to the couch. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just…I’m fine.”
“You look pale.”
“Mrs. Stevens,” Ethan butts in even though I’m not ready for this. Asking Mom for that envelope is definitely going to include me telling her I’m an empath. “Can we sit?” He asks my mom, motioning for her to sit back down on the couch while he remains standing.
Suddenly I’m wishing I could just disappear.
“What’s up?” Mom asks, her pitch an octave too high.
“Mom.” And though I try very hard not to, I cry.
“Honor, honey, what is it?” My mom takes my hand. “What happened?”
Ethan sits next to me and places his hand on my thigh.
“That envelope…you told me about.” I hesitate to take a moment to catch my breath.
My mother’s eyebrows are knitted and she looks totally confused.
“The one…with my…my birth certificate.”
Mom’s head bobs up and down. “Right, right.” Then she shakes her head back and forth a couple times. “What about it?”
I take a second or two to clear the imaginary tickle in my throat. “You said there were other…things in there.”
“Oh.” Mom takes a moment to remember. “Yes. Um, yeah there were other papers in there, but…why, Honor?”
“Mrs. Stevens.” Damn Ethan for rushing me. He squeezes my thigh gently then releases it. “Honor’s birth parents were what you call empaths. They could take on other people’s pain.”
My mom cringes. Her shoulders hunch and she starts moving her jaw back and forth. “Oh…that…sounds…painful.”
“It is, Mrs. Stevens.” Ethan exhales loudly. “They were also able to…take that pain away.”
“Whose pain?” she asks.
“The people whose pain they felt.” Ethan answers. In the meantime, I want to throw up.
“Oh.” Mom brings her hand to her mouth. “Oh.” Realization sets in. Her eyes widen and her hand tightens over her mouth. Mom begins looking pale herself.
“Mom?” My hand goes to her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Honor,” she whispers. “You.” She nods her head. “You healed…me? You…did…that?”
I nod very, very slowly…afraid to say the word.
She pulls me into her arms, and I’m amazed that she accepts this knowledge without doubt. I expected her to not believe it possible…like I did when Ethan told me.
“Mrs. Stevens.” Damn that Ethan again. He’s too anxious for my own good. “These papers Honor is asking you about. Where are they?”
Mom unclasps her hold on me. “Oh. They’re in my lock box. Why?”
“We need to know what they are. We’re hoping we find some unanswered questions in them,” Ethan comments.
“What…like what kind of questions?”
“Well,” Ethan continues while I fidget with my thumbs. I’m so not ready to let Mom know someone is after me. “Evidently, Honor had a very old grandfather. Centuries old in fact.” Ethan ignores Mom’s look of disbelief and keeps on talking. “He was some sort of scientist. The kind that…plays around with things and comes up with…well…immortal type elixirs. Like an alchemist.” There. He said it.
But he has to stop talking now, because Mom looks almost green. I guess we’ve reached her believability threshold. I grasp Mom’s hand. “It’s okay, Mom. I still can’t fathom this either…but, look, I can actually…heal people. If that’s possible…well, maybe other things are possible too, right?”
Mom just nods. My stomach churns for her.
“Anyway…her grandfather made this elixir and well, we think he may have left it with Honor.”
After several minutes of Mom gazing at Ethan, her eyes register sanity again. “No. There was nothing in it but documents. No bottles or anything.”
“Right…but maybe these documents hold some type of clue or something.”
“Oh,” she whispers. Clearing her throat, she says, “Sure. Let me go get them.”
While we sit waiting for my mother to get the envelope, I silently thank God that my Dad is working late tonight. I don’t know if Mom will fill him in or not, but Dad would have been a much harder sell.
“Honor.” Ethan wraps his arm around me. “How you holdin’ up?”
I shrug.
Both his arms come around me, and he holds me tight. Kissing me on the top of my head, he breathes, “It’ll all be all right, I promise.”
Now I know Ethan can’t possibly keep a promise like that. After all, how does he know if it will all be all right? But I accept the sentiment just the same.
I have no choice.
The alternative sucks.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mom reenters with a large yellow envelope gripped in her hands. If I’m not mistaken, I see the envelope shaking in her hands –
a sure sign this is throwing my mother for a loop. As if I needed a sign. The anxiety playing havoc with my nerves is sign enough. I’m convinced it’s not only my nerves I’m feeling, but Mom’s as well.
Ethan hops off the couch and takes the envelope from my mother. Splaying the contents across the coffee table, he angles himself over it, like a miner digging for gold. Slowly he slides his fingers over each piece of paper as he carefully inspects each word. My body stills as I watch him pick up an old yellowed photo. His eyes widen, and his heart picks up speed. I feel it in my own heart. A cold tickle crawls up my spine the moment I realize he’s found something. Ethan sits back on his heels as he stares at the photograph. Leaning over his shoulder, I try to see what he is seeing. He points at a particular spot in the photo and hands it to me.
It’s an old photograph of a one-room brick schoolhouse. There are three windows and one door that I can see from the image. The adults and children in the photo appear to be posing for the photographer. Nothing distinct strikes my attention. There is, however, a small black smudge above the building’s foundation in the back left corner of the photo. I only notice it because Ethan points to it. To me it looks like part of the aging of the photograph.
“What do you think that is?” I ask, still unsure why he pays any attention to it at all. Mom moves in closer to get a better look.
“I think,” he starts slowly. “It’s our clue.”
“But why would you think that? It’s just a smudge.”
“Because it looks like it was put there purposely…it was made with black ink…I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh,” Mom and I both say.
“We just have to figure out where and if this school still stands,” Ethan muses.
“That’s the Old Monroe School,” Mom remarks.
With mouths dropped, Ethan and I turn towards my mother.
Mom laughs. “It’s in Hardyston…twenty minutes from here.”
“What?” Ethan asks. “This building is in New Jersey?”
“Yup. On Route Ninety-Four.” Mom smiles.
Ethan drops his shoulders. “Great. We can go search it.”