The Cure for the Curse
Page 3
She smiled. “You have no reason to be afraid, Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky.” She placed his headdress back onto his head. The red feather rose high above his black hair. “For I will be with you until the end."
* * * *
Warrenna gasped, and the stream disappeared. Back were the chalkboards, inspirational posters, and chattering students of third-hour English.
She rubbed her eyes. She could still feel the man's touch on her arm, and her auburn hair felt heavy, like it was wet.
She looked around. No one had reacted to her gasp.
Before the details escaped her, she quickly sketched the lines of the water, the leafless aspen, and the man with the feather in his hair.
The severe angles of the man's face and the colorless trees had the makings of an interesting pen-and-ink project. The red feather would really stand out against such a stark background.
She looked across the room to Thomas. He didn't notice her catnap, either. He wore a big smile as he passed notes with the pretty blonde girl in front of him.
Warrenna was glad he was happy again, but didn't know why. Maybe the sleepiness had her addled.
She yawned and began folding sheets of notebook paper precisely to form tiny, hardened shapes. Her goal was to make a crane in less than five minutes. She tried to fold quietly as she squinted at the clock. How long is it till lunch?
* * * *
"Naw, Sunnyslope has the big dude in the middle. We're playing St. Francis. They don't have a center."
"No, St. Francis has the big guy. Name's Overgaard, some Swedish dude that always goes to his left. You're thinking of Xavier's all-guard lineup."
"You're both wrong. Xavier has the blond cheerleader with the rack, San Felipe has the big dude, and St. Francis plays full-court press all game."
Thomas glanced up from his hamburger to find most of the Coyotes basketball team looking at him.
"So who's right, Gelbaugh?"
Thomas spoke up so the whole table could hear him over the din of the cafeteria. “Okay, here's the deal. Overgaard, who's actually a Dane, plays for San Felipe. He's left-handed, doesn't like to face the basket, and torched us for twenty-six in our own gym. Mingus has the all-guard lineup that can shoot threes but can't rebound worth a crap, and Xavier plays full-court press all game ‘cuz they got no half-court offense. This Saturday, we're playing Sunnyslope, who's got the coach that cusses every goddamn sentence and the cheerleader with the rack and pigtails that renders Rodriguez here useless at the free-throw line ‘cuz he likes his girls young."
Everyone laughed, even Corwyn, who threw some French fries that Thomas easily ducked. “'Course,” Thomas added, “I only know all this ‘cuz I got lotsa time to watch stuff while I'm ridin’ pine."
"But you're right,” Brendan said with a big smile. “You're always right. We're gonna have to get C-Rod some blinders for when he goes to the line."
Corwyn gave Brendan the finger, then said, “Dude, can I help it if she's bustin’ out?"
Brendan shrugged. “S'part of the game. Like the crowd, or the mascot yelling your name. You gotta focus. And if we focus on defense, we'll blow these jokers out of the gym."
"Aww, yeah!" everyone said at once.
Thomas smiled. He liked their chances against Sunnyslope. They had no answer for Brendan, and the more one-sided the game became, the more playing-time he'd get.
But then his heart sank. Great, I'll get ten stupid minutes in another irrelevant game.
His eyes widened. Whoa. Where did that come from?
Tears burned his eyes, and his throat tightened up. The feelings reminded him of that morning, when he apologized to the new girl.
He looked around. Sure enough, Warrenna stood in the hallway outside the cafeteria. She shuffled toward the soda machines with her chin resting on her chest. Her black shoulder bag pulled down the entire left side of her thin body. She never looked toward him.
Thomas clenched his teeth. Why was she messing with him like this? What did he ever do to her?
But then he shook his head. Why am I so sure she's responsible?
"Hey, Tom."
It didn't make any sense. Why should he care anything about her?
"I thought you already had a girl."
Thomas blinked. Brendan raised his dark eyebrows. “Remember Mariah? Cute blond chick? You've been puttin’ mad moves on her in English for the last month. What's the matter, no longer interested?"
"You mind if I give her a shot?” Corwyn added.
"Up yours,” Thomas muttered. “Look, Mariah's the one I'm chasing, okay? That Renna chick just rubs me the wrong way."
"That who chick?"
"Never mind.” He stood and shoved his tray to Corwyn. “Take my tray, will ya? I gotta take a leak."
"Whatever, man."
* * * *
Thomas bowed his head and trudged out of the cafeteria. Warrenna's gloomy gray eyes floated in his vision, and his stomach churned like he'd eaten some bad Mexican food.
Something's going on here. I have to talk to Renna again, find out who she is. Maybe I've met her before and just can't remember.
Just then, a patch of blue flashed in the corner of his eye. He took another couple of steps, then stopped.
A painting hung on the wall, just above eye-level. It depicted a man riding a horse in front of gray tree trunks that blocked out the sky. The rider wore a deep blue cloak, and the horse's coat was sleek and black, like a raven. A triangle of white fur gleamed between the horse's shiny eyes.
Thomas's eyes tingled like a sleeping limb. “Ufer,” he whispered. “His steed."
The rider was leaning forward in his saddle, and though the face was small, Thomas could make out a grim, clenched expression.
It's Yannic. He's hurt.
Thomas's eyes rolled up into half-closed lids. He had dreamt of that man. He had been that man.
A name sprang to his lips: “Natalie."
He remembered now: Yannic and Natalie grew up in the same village, and were friends throughout their childhood. But when she married into nobility, Yannic didn't see her for many years.
Then, on the night of the painting, a group of bandits attacked Natalie's new family as they traveled through this thick forest. Yannic appeared out of nowhere to fend them off.
Natalie rode out to speak to him. She wanted to thank him, Thomas supposed. He remembered trying his hardest to ignore the terrible pain in his side as Natalie approached with her torch held high in her right hand.
Bong, bong.
The world twisted with each clang of the end-of-lunch bell, and Thomas slumped forward into the smooth concrete wall. As the room slowed its spin, he found a placard before his eyes:
The Wounded Rider, by Warrenna Dennison
Second-Hour Painting II.
Thomas shook his aching head. This girl had some serious explaining to do.
* * * *
Flip.
"How much would you expect to pay for the Ronco Juicer-Sluice? Fifty dollars? One hundred dollars? Thanks to this special offer, if you call in the next fifteen minutes..."
Flip.
"Another fifteen dead in Gaza as Israeli-Palestine clashes continue..."
Flip.
"'Least I don't go round BLEEP BLEEP for ten bucks a shot!” the woman's voice shouted.
"OOOOOHHH! You hussy!"
It was past one in the morning, and Warrenna was nowhere near sleep. But that was okay. She liked this particular talk show. Ruby Frohm was on every night, and sure, Warrenna had her problems, but at least she wasn't like Crystal, an overweight nineteen-year-old mother of two who wore too much eye makeup.
Warrenna's stomach turned when she realized that Crystal didn't have it that bad. “At least you chose to make your life the way it is,” she told the image on the television. “At least you weren't born with a curse."
She shuddered and rolled over. Now the screen on her twelve-inch TV was upside-down.
Flip.
There was a soft rap on
her door. “Come in,” she said without moving.
Alexandria took a step inside, swaying as she moved. She leaned heavily on a polished black cane that Warrenna hadn't seen before.
"I see you aren't sleeping,” Alexandria said. “Your father tells me you haven't eaten. Is the craving bothering you?"
"No,” Warrenna mumbled. “I just haven't felt like eating."
Alexandria took a few unsteady steps toward Warrenna's wooden easel, shifting her velvety blue bathrobe to ease herself down upon a stool. Her reddish-brown hair hung unevenly and black in places, like it had been singed in a fire.
Warrenna raised her head from the bed. “What about you, Mom? Are you all right?"
"I'll be fine.” Alexandria's voice was hoarse, like she'd been shouting, or crying. “I had a little setback, and my last cleansing was a bit demanding. I'm more worried about you."
Warrenna rolled her eyes.
"I know this has been difficult,” Alexandria continued. “I wish we didn't have to move when we did. The young people here are probably ... Well. It must be difficult to get along."
Warrenna didn't say anything as she flipped channels. She didn't feel like having this conversation again.
"Look at it this way. You just need to go for a few more months. Then it will be over."
Warrenna sat up, but kept her eyes on the television. “Yeah, and then what?"
"Well, if you would like to go to college,” Alexandria said, brightening, “Southern Arizona is in Maldecido. Not far away at all. Your father and I lived there for some time when we were younger, and we still have friends in the area. We can make some arrangements. You would be safe there."
"What if I don't want to go to SAU?"
"Then the local community college here in Bascomville has many programs that you might be interested in."
Warrenna sighed. “Why do I bother?"
"What, hon?"
"I said, why do I bother? Why do I bother going to school? Why do I even bother to breathe? What I want makes no difference at all in what I do. I may as well be a zombie!"
"Calm down, Warrenna,” Alexandria said, her voice firm. “You are far too important for us to make any decision without your safety being the most important factor in the process."
"Yeah, I'm so important. So important that I don't get to live my own life."
Alexandria's dark eyes narrowed. “Warrenna, look at me. You are going to do great things, things that will affect thousands of lives. You may not want your role now, but when you're older, you'll see."
"What things, Mother?” Warrenna spat. “What exactly am I going to do? You don't even know. You just think I'm this important because Zera tells you."
"And she would tell you too, if you prayed to her."
Warrenna looked away. Here we go again.
"You have to trust Zera,” Alexandria continued. “Without her, you wouldn't be alive, and your father and I would have given in to our evil desires many years ago."
Warrenna closed her eyes and clenched her fists until they shook. “I know, Mother,” she whispered. “I know very well that Zera is the only reason I'm here. That's exactly why I hate her so much."
Alexandria sighed deeply and rubbed her bony hands together. “Ah, Renna. I know you have trouble believing me. I also resented my existence when I was your age. I didn't choose to become a vampire. Neither did your father. We took our safe, ordinary lives for granted, assuming we could take advantage of the opportunities our parents had provided for us. But when all that was changed, we didn't give up hope. We fought. We didn't stop pursuing our own happiness. We just had to acknowledge that happiness might not come in a form we anticipated."
Leaning heavily on the cane, Alexandra pushed herself to her feet and placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Perspective is difficult to acquire at your age. Zera can help you obtain it, but you must want her help. And prayer is the best way to show your desire to our Goddess."
Warrenna stared at her knees as her mother turned to the door. “Try to get some sleep,” Alexandria said. “You'll feel better."
Warrenna nodded, and her mother shuffled out of her room.
"Yeah, you and Dad didn't have any choice back then,” she mumbled. “You had no one to blame but fate. But you had a choice sixteen years ago. You and your precious Zera chose to make me the way I am. You chose to put the beast inside me."
She rubbed her eyes. The tears were gone, replaced by sticky fatigue. “So this time around, I have someone to blame.” A bitter chuckle escaped her. “Actually, it's more like a list of someones."
She turned upside-down again and watched to see if Crystal would take back her two-timing boyfriend.
Chapter 4
Thomas breathed deep as the warm water pounded his back. His memories of the last night's dream seemed to be swirling down the drain, and his thoughts moved inevitably to Warrenna's painting and his strange reaction to it. The new perspective inspired some changes in the short story, and Mrs. Hayes was right. With the added context, all of Yannic's actions carried more meaning. The story was much more interesting.
He wondered how Warrenna's painting could have done this to him. Could she have had the same dream? Was that even possible?
Thomas pictured Yannic turning to ride away. And then the typed passage appeared in his hand.
Suddenly the water stopped, and his ears filled with the sound of teenagers walking and talking.
"Um, can I get to my locker please?"
A mousy-haired girl looked up to him over her thick glasses. His left hand held the short story and his right held his backpack at his shoulder. And he had no idea how he came to be standing in that hallway in Chiricahua High School.
No memories came. There was nothing about stepping out of the shower, eating breakfast or driving down Carter Avenue. He didn't know if his car started up on the first try, or if he had to try two or three times.
"Um, do you mind?” the mousy girl said.
He mumbled an apology and stepped out of her way.
Thomas's eyes dashed back and forth as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Maybe his mind drifted away while he stood in the shower, and his body went on autopilot, keeping to the pattern he'd followed for the last six months. Like during finals, when I went two days without sleep. I was like a robot going from class to class.
The smell of black pepper tickled his nose, so he must have eaten some eggs for breakfast.
"Warrenna."
The name came out of him before he formed it in his mind. He was standing in the same hallway where he talked to her yesterday.
"I would have woken up if I saw her,” he whispered. “I would've. I would have!"
The bell rang, and Thomas's heart sank. Class was starting. He had to wait until tomorrow to get any answers from Warrenna.
But maybe she was late. Maybe he didn't wake up when she walked right by, or something else he hadn't thought of. He could see her in third hour.
Or maybe he could see her before then.
* * * *
Warrenna drifted down the wide common hallway, gulping the Mountain Dew as fast as she could. Sure, get sleepy now, just in time for the only class I want to be awake in.
The visual arts classrooms were just around the corner, but as she turned, she collided with a man in a white suit.
"Whoops!” the man said, and smiled at her with impossibly white teeth. “Terribly sorry about that."
Warrenna didn't even drop her soda, but she got a static-electricity shock from touching the man's jacket.
When she looked up, she recognized him. It was the old man who asked her for the time in the parking lot yesterday. He wore a short white beard and had small blue eyes. Warrenna wondered why someone would wear the same suit two days in a row.
"Hey Renna!"
Warrenna looked past the man to see Thomas's lean frame jogging up the hallway. He waved a manila folder like a castaway flagging down a cruise ship.
When he reached h
er, Warrenna started down the hall again. “Hello, Thomas. How are you?"
"Um, strange. I always feel strange around you. It's like you do it on purpose."
"Like I do what?"
"Nothing, forget it. Hey, has Mrs. Hayes ever given you anything of mine?"
She slowed her pace. “Has who ever given me what?"
"Mrs. Hayes, our English teacher.” Thomas rubbed his tan forearm. “Has she ever given you anything that I've written?"
"Uh, no. Why do you ask?"
"Your painting. The one in the hallway, Wounded Rider. Where did you get the idea for it?"
She shrugged. “I don't know. Some movie or something."
Thomas's face fell, and Warrenna took the initiative: “You wanted me to say something else, didn't you?"
They stopped beside the entrance to Ms. Coleman's room. Thomas's bright eyes darted back and forth. Save for the man in the white suit leaning against a wall at least a hundred feet away, the hall was empty.
"Look,” Thomas whispered, “I need you to do me a favor."
"Oh, yeah?"
He held up the folder. “I need you to read this story, and give it back to me third hour. Please, I really need you to do this for me."
Warrenna widened her eyes in mock wonder. “Gosh, read a whole story in one hour? Gee, I don't know."
Thomas winced, and Warrenna studied his face. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were serious. “Fine,” she said, and snatched the folder from his hand. “If it's that important to you, I'll read your little story."
"Good. I appreciate it. Thank you.” Tears welled up in his eyes. Frustrated and suddenly embarrassed, he said, “Uh, thank you. I'll see you next hour.” Then he turned and jogged away.
Warrenna shook her head. Where does he get off, demanding answers and asking for a favor?
He did look worried, though. He didn't smile, even once. And this was the second time he was on the verge of tears around her.
Why should I care? I don't know this guy. And he definitely doesn't know me.
But still, she didn't want anyone upset. If reading his little story would make him happy, she had the time.