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The Cure for the Curse

Page 10

by Patrick Vaughn


  Uncle Vince's shifting eyes locked onto the cover of the book, and he held his position for several seconds. “Yes,” he eventually said. “Yes, this should help a lot."

  "Okay."

  Warrenna slowly backed away and wondered what his intense eyes really saw.

  Then she decided she didn't want to know.

  * * * *

  Which is creepier: the tainted potential in my head, or that Uncle Vince is about to use it?

  The hot water felt terrific on her kinked-up back, but she hurried through her bathing anyway. If she reached that sparkly feeling again, it wouldn't really matter how creepy the process was.

  The living room was darker and cooler when she returned, and Warrenna wished she had spent more time drying her hair; the dampness of it made her shiver. Uncle Vince sat cross-legged in the center of the carpet with his eyes closed. Squat white candles stood in chipped saucers on three sides of him, forming a triangle.

  "Are you ready?” he asked without opening his eyes.

  "I guess."

  "Good. Light the candles for me."

  Some matches lay in one of the saucers, and Warrenna carefully lit each of the candles. She noticed Thomas's open journal resting just in front of Uncle Vince's still body.

  "Now sit in front of me,” he said. “This is going to be a little disorienting, but keep in mind that you're completely safe here. It will only be a matter of moments before you're back in your own body."

  Warrenna stopped halfway into her crouch. “Wait. I'm going to leave my body?"

  Uncle Vince smiled patiently. “No, but it will feel like it, and that naturally produces a bit of panic. Again, you're safe. You'll be back very soon."

  "Um, okay."

  "If you're frightened, you don't have to come. But I do need you inside the triangle."

  Warrenna shook her head and sat, crossing her legs like Uncle Vince's. “I'll come with. I want to see how he is."

  "Good show. You have your father's courage."

  His hands lifted from his knees and opened to her in one graceful motion. “Take my hands, and look unblinking into my eyes."

  His palms were warm, but the feeling was thinner, hollower than Tommy's warmth.

  She thought about Thomas, his eyes, how clear they looked when they were inside Homecoming together, and how that clearness was reflected in the marble beneath her heart. Her blood tingled in response. Get ready, curse. You're about to get even weaker.

  Uncle Vince's eyelids parted, and two brilliant pools of blue swirled where his eyes should have been. The holes in his head looked like tiny televisions glowing with blue static.

  White light filled the room, and Warrenna's body went limp.

  Safe, back very soon.

  * * * *

  Thomas blinked and rubbed his eyes. His vision went bluish for a moment, like when he stepped into the shade of the house after pulling weeds in the bright sun.

  Then he saw Coach Reeves standing before him, wearing an incredulous look on his face.

  "Uh, you can count on me, Coach. I'm ready to go."

  "Yeah, you better be,” Coach Reeves mumbled. “Look, son, just don't turn the ball over. Give me three good minutes till we can get Diaz back in there."

  "Yes, sir."

  Ten minutes remained in the game, and Chiricahua was up by only six. Sunnyslope was giving the Coyotes a better game than Thomas expected. One thing had gone how Thomas expected, though. He hadn't played a single minute. Coach only needed him now because Diaz, the starter, was in foul trouble, and Hansen, the backup, had just twisted his ankle.

  Thomas walked onto the court feeling strange, and it wasn't just the chilly feeling in his legs that he always got when he entered a game for the first time. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something felt different.

  He took the in-bounds pass and dribbled up the court. Coach held up his fist. That meant he should get the ball to Brendan and let the play start with him.

  Thomas fired a crisp bounce pass to his friend, who stood near the baseline with his back to the basket. Thomas then sprinted to the corner on the opposite side of the court. If the play went like he thought, he would be open. Sunnyslope would double-team Brendan, and let the ball come around to Thomas to take the open shot.

  The ball came to him. He caught it cleanly, got a good grip, brought it to his chin.

  It won't go in.

  Thomas knew it like he knew the times-tables. The shot was too difficult.

  So instead of shooting, he calmly dribbled toward the basket. Defenders came to meet him, so he stopped and looked for someone to pass to.

  That's when Thomas realized why he was feeling strange. It was because he could see everything.

  He saw all of the players on the court and where they stood in relation to each other. He saw the cheerleaders, the referees, the coaches. Everyone was clear and in-focus. He could even see Mariah in the crowd. Her golden hair was swept away from her face, like she just walked out of a salon.

  Thomas blinked. I probably ought to get rid of the ball.

  Owes was open under the basket. Thomas took one step toward out-of-bounds and threw the ball at him.

  The pass surprised him, but Owes managed to catch the ball and get up a shot. He missed, but the whistle blew for a foul.

  Thomas wandered out to his position at half-court and idly watched the lanky center take his free throws. Thomas had been tuned in to a game before. He had moved well, remembered the plays, kept his feet moving and so on. But never anything like this. He could feel what was going to happen, could sense how he could change events to work to his benefit.

  He took a deep breath. The air was clean and invigorating, and carried a whiff of something familiar, something spicy.

  Ginger. Like in Warrenna's room last night.

  He backed into his defensive stance. Maybe that's it. I know I'm healing Warrenna, so now I can see all this. I can be all this!

  A rebound bounced off the rim right into his hands. He passed the ball upcourt and jogged after it, wondering why Warrenna wasn't more excited about whatever was happening to them.

  The ball swung back to him as he stood near the top of the painted area. For a moment he just watched the players move. Then he drove to the left side of the basket, jumped up, twisted his body and flung the ball behind his back.

  The ball flew across the court and hit Corwyn in the chest. The Sunnyslope players were so stunned that Corwyn had plenty of time to collect himself and launch a three-point shot.

  Thomas jogged back to play defense as the shot went swish, like he knew it would. He stopped at half-court and gave afterthought high-fives to his teammates as they passed.

  Maybe Warrenna isn't used to good things happening to her. Maybe after she's cured some more, she'll see how wonderful this is.

  He took a step to his left, which allowed him to steal a pass, and dribbled down the court at less-than-top speed so a defender could get between him and the basket just as he approached the goal.

  He winked at Brendan, who trailed the play behind him.

  What could be bad about feeling like this?

  Thomas used his allotted two steps to turn all the way around and bend over, placing his body directly beneath the basket and shoving the Sunnyslope player nearly out-of-bounds with his backside. He used the momentum to slam the ball into the floor, bouncing it high into the air. Brendan jumped up, grabbed the ball and slammed it into the hoop in one powerful motion.

  The crowd exploded in cheers.

  Brendan's face was radiant with astonished delight. “Oh my GOD, what a pass!"

  Thomas could barely hear him over the jubilation of the crowd. He smiled and playfully shoved his teammate.

  Sunnyslope called time-out, so Thomas jogged to the bench. Each of his teammates wanted a high-five, and most of them slapped his back.

  "Jesus Christ, son!” Coach Reeves yelled over the cheering crowd. “What the hell's gotten into you?"

  Thomas shrugged. “
Just one of those days, sir!"

  Reeves shook his head. “Enjoy it while it lasts, son!"

  * * * *

  The pulsing blue cloud shifted and swirled above the barren, dusty earth. But it was also shrinking, evaporating.

  Eventually Warrenna realized that the earth was actually the dirty carpet, and the cloud was all that remained of the blue static. The spot drifted across her vision like a sun-tracer.

  She could still hear the roar of the crowd. The din faded slowly, at about the rate the blue cloud dissipated. The sensation reminded her of something, but she couldn't put her finger on what.

  But that didn't matter, because that sparkly feeling again surged through her chest and into her neck. And the marble was back to a serene blue.

  Warrenna smiled. Doesn't look like he's suffering, that's for sure.

  She lifted her head from the floor and found Uncle Vince still sitting cross-legged in the triangle of extinguished candles.

  He rubbed his eyes. “You're back?"

  "I think so. I had no idea he was such a good player."

  "He isn't. You were affecting him. How do you feel?"

  Then she remembered. The blue cloud dissipating reminded her of slowly waking from a pleasant dream. She couldn't remember that last time that had happened.

  Wait a second, did he say affecting? “What was that, Uncle V?"

  "I said, how do you feel?"

  "I'm fine. Just a little dizzy. But what was that about me affecting him?"

  Uncle Vince's eyes were back to their shifting. His gaze now centered on her shoulder. “It was pretty evident that he could feel your presence. And given your link, I don't think it's coincidence that he was playing out of his head."

  "So what does that mean?"

  "I don't know. I saw something strange in there.” Uncle Vince's voice was low, almost foreboding. But then he cleared his throat and looked away. “But I need to meet with Tamara before I say anything else."

  She touched his knee. “Come on, Uncle V. I can take it. What did you see?"

  "Uh-uh. No way. I might be wrong, and it would just worry you for no reason."

  Warrenna frowned. She had no idea if Uncle Vince was telling the truth or not, but it was obvious she wasn't going to get anything more out of him. So instead, she asked, “What are you sure of, Uncle Vince?"

  He looked back to her, or at least to her left ear. “I'll tell you this much, Renny. I wouldn't be surprised if Zera was behind this whole situation."

  Chapter 11

  Thomas carefully watched the reflection in his bathroom mirror as he ran the comb through his wet hair. He wondered how Warrenna groomed herself if she couldn't see her own face in a mirror. Did all vampires have their hair brushed by other vampires?

  That brought to mind a field of baboons picking bugs out of each other's fur. The vampires would then be like blood-sucking baboons.

  That's silly. That reflection-thing must be another myth.

  The baboons reminded him of a dream in which he could see a savannah stretching for miles in each direction, like he stood atop a mountain in Africa. The feeling was similar to the one he experienced on the basketball court earlier in the afternoon.

  Jane Ferrick's party was still an hour away, so he had plenty of time to browse his shelf of dreams before he had to pick up Mariah.

  How long ago did he dream about the African savannah? Six months? Nine months?

  He picked out a journal from last summer, near his birthday, and flipped a few pages. He knew the odds of finding the right entry were terrible, but he liked the snapshot flash that always accompanied scanning any page in his journal. Then all he had to do was close his eyes, and a few moments of the dream would play out again for him. It was like remembering adventures with old friends.

  A note in his mother's handwriting was folded between two of the pages. It began, To Tommy, on his 17th birthday.

  The letter was filled with heartwarming messages of pride and hope for the future, and Thomas rolled his eyes at how corny his mother could get. But the bottom of the page caught his attention:

  Always remember that with God, anything is possible. A boy like you, born six weeks premature, can grow up to be strong and healthy. A mother like me can emerge from a car accident convinced that her son had died before he could be born. But God proved me wrong.

  That is why we named you Thomas. Because, like the apostle doubted that Jesus had risen on the third day, on that hospital bed I doubted that God had kept you here with us. I thank Him every day that He did.

  Always remember that miracles happen, Tommy. You're one of them.

  The note fell from Thomas's hands. He didn't think much about his mother's words back then, but that was before he met Warrenna.

  What if the real Thomas Gelbaugh was never born, and the being that stood in front of this bookcase took his place?

  He bit into both cheeks. But how do I tell if that's true? I can't exactly send a urine sample to a laboratory to see if I come up positive for angel.

  He closed the journal and shoved it back into its spot on the shelf. Mariah was expecting him.

  He wondered how he could have a good time at the party with his head full of dreams and angels.

  And then he wondered if angels were even allowed to have a good time.

  * * * *

  Leg hurts with every step. Water won't last the night. Must keep moving. Breathing hurts. So far to go. Rest. Breath won't come. No shade to stop beneath.

  Movement in distance. Eyes hazy. It moves in a line, like a person. I take feather from hair, wave. They can't come near me. Person keeps walking, coming toward me.

  STAY AWAY! My yell brings coughs. Must go, can't stop cough, get away from person, GO! Leg hurts, must keep moving, take the spirit away from everyone, so far to go...

  * * * *

  Warrenna took a bite of her muffin and shook her head, careful to keep the crumbs from landing on Thomas's journal. No great inspiration to sketch anything had come to her, but with this latest entry, she decided to move her pencil around on her sketchbook and see if anything happened on its own.

  She scribbled a bit and took another bite. The muffin was particularly delicious. She supposed the blueberries were fresh. She put her pencil down and went to see if Uncle Vince had eaten the rest of the half-dozen.

  When she reached the living room, Warrenna was surprised to find the drapes open to a dusky orange sky. Was it sunset already?

  Uncle Vince sat cross-legged on the sofa with his eyes closed. “Your parents are on their way,” he said without turning to her. “They'll be happy to see how much you've eaten."

  Both statements confused her. First, how did he know her parents were coming? She never heard any phone ring. Second, eating one muffin was hardly cause for celebration, even among the most cursed of their kind.

  "I don't get it."

  "You really lost yourself in the book.” Uncle Vince fixed his deep blue eyes on her. “Your parents called about a half-hour ago, and I've replaced the muffin before you five times. You never noticed me, did you?"

  Warrenna pursed her lips. “Uh, no, I guess I didn't. You're not pulling my leg, are you?"

  Uncle Vince shook his head. “That was quite a journey you went on this morning. It took a lot out of you, and that book was just what you needed to recharge. It even made you crave regular food."

  He was right. She was still hungry. She closed her eyes and found the marble shining blue, sending warm waves of light through her chest.

  "Wow,” she breathed. “The journal did this to me?"

  Uncle Vince grinned. “That book glows, Renny. And I'll bet it affects you more than anybody else on this planet."

  Warrenna smirked. Still think he's not an angel?

  She opened her mouth to ask Uncle Vince as much, but just then, the outside door banged open. Warrenna's parents stood in the doorway. Alexandria had one arm around Richard's neck as he half-supported her weight.

  Warrenna quic
kly moved to help her, but her mother waved her off. “I'm fine, Renna,” Alexandria said in a raspy voice. “I just need to sit down for a moment.” She shuffled across the thin carpet to the couch. “How are you feeling?"

  "I feel good,” Warrenna said. “I ate a bunch of muffins."

  Alexandria smiled weakly. “That's good to hear."

  Richard closed the outside door and leaned against it. Warrenna couldn't help but notice his slumped shoulders.

  "Dad, how's Necole?"

  Richard raised an eyebrow toward Uncle Vince, who shrugged. “She wanted to know where you were. What was I going to do, lie?"

  "It's okay, Vincent,” Alexandria said. “You saved us some time.” She turned to Warrenna. “Despite all of our efforts, Necole is still lost in her coma. I know you don't like being around the Orphans, but I was hoping that you would go back with us. We could use your help."

  "Me? What help would I be?"

  Alexandria cleared her throat. “All day, we performed our cleansing ritual with as many of Zera's followers as we could muster. And all day, we've seen no response from Necole."

  "Someone,” Richard said, “made her bleed for a very long time."

  "Someone or some thing made her bleed,” Alexandria corrected. “We don't know what it was that drained her for so long. Her attacker must have known that catastrophic blood loss can make one of us turn. But it's not like a vampire to run from us."

  She turned back to Warrenna. “Regardless, I think your presence would make the ritual more powerful. You are as much a child of Zera's as you are of mine."

  Warrenna folded her arms. Just like Mother to guilt-trip me into worshiping Zera.

  Richard read Warrenna's frown. “We're not asking you to become a follower this instant. But your mother's right. You're bound to affect the ritual, and right now we're running out of options."

  Warrenna swallowed hard. How many Orphans would ask how she was feeling, or if she needed anything, or if there was anything they could do for her? Ugh!

  She looked to her mother's drawn face. But what if Mom was the one in need of help?

  She sighed. It wasn't that much to ask. Besides, what else was she going to do tonight?

 

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