The Reaping

by M. Leighton

  “No, but maybe that was part of the deal.”

  I had no response to that, bits and pieces of Dad’s version of “the accident” flitting through my mind. “So you’re saying that it’s possible that I’m dead and that the only reason I’m here right now is because someone pretty much made a deal with the devil.”

  “Pretty much,” he agreed. “At least that’s one theory.”

  “There are more?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I need to think,” he said pointedly.

  I was silent, mulling over what Derek had said as he resumed his pacing. Then a thought occurred to me. “Why couldn’t he find me?”

  “That’s another question I don’t know the answer to.”

  “And why did he think you could?”

  Derek stopped and looked at me, hard, for several long, tense seconds before he responded. “I think he knows I can feel you,” he said carefully.

  “How can you feel me? Why?”

  Derek shrugged his shoulders in that way of his. I felt like I’d seen it a thousand times, like I’d known him all my life.

  Despite the seriousness of the conversation, a ripple of warmth skittered through me at the thought of him knowing what was inside me, feeling what I felt. And feeling it with me.

  I felt the blood stain my cheeks. A question, one that I had to know the answer to, came to mind and I was embarrassed about it even before I opened my mouth to speak.

  “What does it feel like, to feel me?” It sounded like such an intimate thing, to feel me.

  “I can feel it when you wield, partly because right now it’s tied to your emotions. I feel your fear, your anger, your power,” he said then paused. “And your danger. When you’re out of control, I can feel it raging inside me like it’s me. Only it’s not.”

  It wasn’t quite the romantic explanation I’d hoped for, but I supposed it made sense. My cheeks burned. I was even more embarrassed for thinking that the explanation might be something different, something sensual.

  I nodded, casting my eyes toward the floor, as if in thought. At least I hoped he’d see it that way so I could compose myself. Nervously, I tucked my hair behind my ear.

  I saw black boots as Derek came to stand in front of me. I didn’t look up. I was afraid to, certain my face was still beet red. I saw him raise his hand toward me then felt his finger beneath my chin. I let him lift my face until our eyes met. When they did, I felt it again—the magnetism, the electricity, the heat.

  “But that’s not all I feel,” he said softly, his voice touching me like a physical caress. “I feel drawn to you, inexplicably drawn to you. For a few weeks now, it’s been getting stronger and stronger. I knew I had to find you. If Fahl hadn’t wanted me to locate you, I’d have looked anyway. I started here because of the nexus. I thought it was worth a shot.” He paused, brushing his thumb across my lower lip before he continued. “But once I got here, I knew you were close. I could feel it. You’re like…gravity,” he said, the last no more than a whisper.

  “I feel it, too,” I confessed, lost in the magic of the moment.

  “I know,” he said. “You practically vibrate with it. You even pull me into your dreams.”

  I felt my cheeks warm again. What was it with this guy and making me blush? “You know about that?”

  “Yeah. At first I didn’t understand what was happening, but it didn’t take me long to put two and two together and figure it out. And then I saw the clearing…”

  “I-I—” I stammered, not knowing what to say, humiliated beyond description.

  “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since I first saw you—in the woods, covered in blood. I knew it had to be you I was feeling.”

  Derek bent his head toward mine and I closed my eyes, lips tingling in anticipation.

  And then the phone rang.

  With a frustrated sigh, Derek stepped away from me and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard him answer the phone then his end of a conversation with someone he obviously knew. It sounded like someone was asking if I was awake. When he reappeared, he confirmed my suspicions.

  “It’s Leah. You up for a visitor?”

  What I really wanted was more time with Derek, for a multitude of reasons, but I knew that I could hide no longer. It was time to pick myself up and get back in the game. It’s what Dad would’ve wanted. He always used to tell me he didn’t raise a quitter. Like never before, I hoped he was right.

  Less than half an hour after we hung up, Leah was hauling a huge overnight bag through my door. She informed me that since she knew I wouldn’t come and stay with her, she was going to stay with me.

  “At least for the weekend,” she clarified with a grin. She flounced off down the hall, curls bouncing, to put her things in my room, leaving me alone with Derek for a few more minutes.

  “Do your thing with Leah. I’ll see you Sunday night.”

  When I saw the promise in his eyes, I couldn’t help the stupid grin that tugged at my lips. I nodded and turned away to walk him to the door. I opened it and, as Derek moved past me, I realized that I was already missing him. And that was completely ridiculous.

  Even though he had already stepped down onto the stoop, I still had to look up into his eyes when he stopped and turned back to me. He was enormous. And he was mesmerizing.

  “I won’t be far,” he said. Glancing over my shoulder, presumably to check for Leah’s presence, Derek must’ve surmised that the coast was clear because he dipped his head and quickly grazed my cheek with his lips.

  I stood at the door, watching him mount his bike and drive away. When he was out of sight, I shut the door. With a gargantuan effort, I pushed him from my mind, determined to give Leah my full attention, no matter how difficult it was. And believe me, it was difficult.

  ********

  Sunday arrived before I knew it. Though initially I’d had my doubts, I had really enjoyed my time with Leah. Surprisingly, she was just what I needed. I was forced to ignore all the insane aspects of my life in favor of just being a teenage girl having a sleepover. We diligently avoided all sensitive topics, which really just included my father and Stephen because Leah had no idea what other issues I was dealing with. But it seemed that pretending everything was alright and slipping out of the drama for a while was a good change of pace. It was clarifying and cleansing in ways that I hadn’t expected.

  And for the most part, it went off without a hitch. Things got a little hairy at night and at dinnertime. It didn’t take me long to figure out that those were going to be the two most difficult times of the day for me.

  I doubt that dinner is a painful experience for many people, but it was proving to be an extremely emotional time for me. I’d shared a thousand dinners with my dad over the years. And if I’d ever realized it, I’d never really acknowledged the fact that he was the one consistent thing in my life. No matter where we were—what town, what house, what state—he had always been there for dinner. Always. And it hurt me now to know that I’d taken him for granted all these years.

  The other challenge was nighttime. My sleep was poor at best. My dreams were chaotic, some riddled with glimpses of that same black house, of faces in the shadows and something haunting me, hunting me. Others were images of my father, some real, some imagined. I woke dozens of times each night, soaked in sweat, heart pounding, tears streaming down my face. With each rising sun, I became more and more exhausted.

  So this morning, at an obscenely early hour, I exited my room as quietly as possible and padded into the kitchen to start some coffee. As I scooped the fragrant grounds from the canister, I thought again of Dad telling me it’d stunt my growth. I smiled despite the pain that gnawed at my heart.

  As I put the coffee can away, I noticed a stack of mail behind the sugar jar. I had been so self-absorbed and grief-stricken lately, it hadn’t occurred to me to ask if someone had been getting the mail; evidently they had.

  I pulled out the stack of envelopes and flipped through them. Most
were the usual accumulation of bills—electric, water, cable, phone—and junk mail, but one piece looked out of the ordinary so I turned my attention to it first.

  The plain manila envelope was thick and had nothing on the front but for the two address labels and a stamp. On the label in the center of the envelope was my name and address, typed in a neat font. On the label in the upper left corner was an unfamiliar name and address. I thought it had the ring of a law firm—Lewis, Lewis and Schmidt. The return address was for a town in Ohio.

  As the coffeemaker gurgled and hissed, I perched on the edge of a barstool to open the mysterious package. Out of it I pulled a packet of papers, fastened together with a big alligator clip. Lying loose on top of the bound papers was a cover letter typed on heavy, high-quality stock. As I suspected, Lewis, Lewis and Schmidt was a law firm and evidently this letter was from the desk of Byron Allsley.

  Dear Carson:

  I was so sorry to hear about your father. He and I have known each other since before you were born. He was a good man and he’ll be greatly missed.

  I helped your father with the legal technicalities that arose when he and your mother separated. Since then I have handled many of his private and financial affairs as well as various things of a more delicate nature, things he wouldn’t entrust to a stranger. It is in regards to some of those matters that I am contacting you.

  Firstly, you will find a plain white envelope clipped to the front of the enclosed package. It is a letter that your father asked me to get to you in the event he did not return from his recent trip.

  Secondly, you will find a variety of statements and documents that will, for the present, mean very little to you, though they are of great importance and should be kept in a secure location. They pertain to your father’s considerable estate. He has been saving and investing money for many years with the sole intention of providing you with financial stability and independence in the event of his untimely death.

  Until you turn eighteen, the trust, of which I am Trustee, will issue you a monthly stipend that will more than cover your living expenses. Included in the enclosed packet is the checkbook, register, and debit card for that account and all the pertinent access and contact information.

  Thirdly, in deference to you, your father has made me Executor of his will. Therefore, you won’t be bothered with all the minutia of settling his estate. The most important thing is that all his possessions are yours, free and clear of any liens. That includes the house and only the one vehicle. As a result of the accident, there were extensive damages to his truck. The insurance adjustor totaled it.

  Should you have questions, and I’m sure you will, please don’t hesitate to call me.

  I skimmed through the remainder of the letter where he expressed his condolences again and then listed phone numbers at which he was reachable.

  Private and financial affairs? My dad? And a trust fund? That sounded like we were rich. What else was there that I didn’t know about my family, about my life? It seemed like a never-ending string of revelations lately—shocking revelations.

  Putting Mr. Allsley’s letter aside, I plucked the envelope from beneath the clip and ripped it open. A lump formed in my throat when I saw that it was penned in my father’s bold, clear handwriting.

  Carson:

  Time ran out on me, kiddo, faster than I ever thought it would. I want you to know I wouldn’t have taken this trip if I’d felt like there was any other way, especially since it turned out like this. Maybe I made a little progress at least. You’ll know soon enough.

  I am setting out today to find your mother, do something I should’ve done a long time ago. I want to find your sister. I believe we can save her, Carson. Of course, now it’s not “we”, it’s “you”. It’s all up to you. I don’t know what’s ahead for either of you, but I have faith in God’s plan, in His perfect will. And to Him, there are no lost causes. He’ll see you through whatever the future holds.

  Don’t grieve for me, butterfly. I’ve moved on to a better place, a place where I can see you again one day. Don’t forget that.

  I love you more than I could ever say. You are the most amazing thing I’ve ever done, my most valued treasure. You’re truly a light in the darkness.

  Don’t give up. There’s always another way, another choice, another option. Make the most out of every minute. Do what you say and say what you mean.

  Dad

  The letter was typical of my father—short, to the point, without wasted sentiment. Even through my tears I had to laugh at the Porter wisdom he’d managed to impart there at the last. He had a saying for every occasion. Had.

  I don’t know how long I sat in the kitchen like that, thinking, reminiscing, worrying, but it was long enough for Leah to be up and about.

  When she stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, I poured us each a hot cup of coffee and put the envelope away for the time being. I’d bring it all out and mull it over after she’d gone.

  Though I’m sure she could tell I was distracted, Leah and I still had a pleasant enough day. She undoubtedly expected some odd behavior from me, all things considered.

  Her mom called just before supper, asked if I’d come home with Leah and eat with them. I politely declined with the excuse that I had some things to take care of around the house. I could tell she wanted to argue, but, wisely, she thought better of it and said nothing.

  With Leah gone, I had some blessed peace. It was bittersweet, though. The quiet seemed so much more quiet, the encroaching darkness so much more threatening, the future so much more bleak. It did give me time, however, to hatch the beginnings of a plan, the first step in which was to get Derek to teach me how to “wield” as he called it. If I was to go forward with any plan that involved staying to fight, I’d need to know how to fight. And not just the things Dad had taught me. I needed to master the supernatural things, the things that I could possibly use to save both me and my sister. If that was possible.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It seemed October had just arrived, but here it was nearing Thanksgiving. The weeks had passed quickly since that Sunday when Derek had come back and agreed to train me to use my powers. I spent my days at school and my evenings with him, usually in the woods. He said it was the most like what I’d find over there—dark, cold, harsh, unstable.

  We still hadn’t been able to find out what Fahl really wanted with me, so Derek trained me based on the assumption that I would be fighting my twin, as he had done. I could tell he was convinced there was much more to it than that, though. When I asked, he’d say things like it’s a lot of little things, very casually, though his attitude was anything but casual.

  And there was another thing. Things that seemed insignificant to me would trouble him deeply. Like the fact that, even though I’d learned to control my power, I still felt an incredible thirst when I wielded. According to Derek, my thirst should only be present when my powers are out of control. And that was just one of the things that differed from his experience. There were more.

  Another was the strength of my powers. It nearly rivaled Derek’s, though I doubted I’d ever be a match for him. He was incredibly intuitive and strong, defeating me often in our sparring, despite his lack of experience with wielding earth.

  Once I even created a small earthquake that caused the ground to open up and swallow him. I’d been prepared with some vines to make sure I could haul him out, but I’d underestimated his speed. He’d managed to grab onto some tree roots as he fell. He climbed out and surprised me with a fireball that singed the hair on my arms.

  “Always make sure you’ve finished the job,” he lectured as he approached. “Don’t turn your back on an opponent until you confirm, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that they are dead.”

  “I know, I know,” I moaned, rubbing the scorched, curling hairs off my arms.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Concern creased his brow and drew his eyebrows together as he took my hands in his to examine my arms.

&
nbsp; As always, any contact with him sent a bolt of lightening straight to my core. “No, you didn’t hurt me,” I said breathlessly.

  He was so close I could smell his scent over the odor of burnt hair. His eyes rose to mine and sparks flew. Immediately, I felt the tension in him, his reaction to our nearness rivaling mine.

  Often, I think his desire for me surprised us both, as did his intense response to it. Like now. His hand shot out, faster than a snake could strike, and grabbed me at the nape of my neck, pulling me forward until our lips met.

  The kiss was instantly passionate, burning as hot and out of control as some of my fires. Only Derek couldn’t use water to put out these flames. It was only his self-control and determination to leave my purity in tact that kept our make-out sessions from escalating, though a couple had progressed to a dangerous point.