by Diane Farr
“I’m not after him!” I said hotly. “I’m not after anybody.” It was the truth, but somehow it didn’t sound like it.
Meg was actually holding Lance in her arms at this point. He acted like he was trying to get up, but I knew darn well he was faking it. When the blue flash came again, I wasn’t even surprised.
This time, Meg felt it, too. Because it knocked him all the way out of her arms and sent him skidding up against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt, I noticed. But I guess I was the only one to notice that.
Lance stared at me as if he were shocked, shocked. “Zara!” he said. Gasping with nonexistent pain, of course. “Wh-what are you doing?”
I raised my hand dramatically to my forehead. “Lance,” I exclaimed. Mocking him. “What are you doing?”
Another bad move. Because to Meg, it must have looked as if I were mocking a guy I was torturing. She got a look on her face that I hope I never see again. And when she spoke, her voice shook.
“Zara,” she said, looking at me as if I had suddenly turned into a spider. “Go home.”
I can’t tell you how this made me feel. It was like being stabbed in the heart.
My best friend, turning on me. Worse: siding with Lance Donovan against me.
Siding with anyone against me would have hurt. But it was unbearable that she sided with Lance. And all because of a trick. That’s all it was; a wretched, low-blow, ugly, devious, evil TRICK.
I felt Lance inside my head, probing for information. He was studying my emotions. I was too overwhelmed to care. But I blocked him from my thoughts. I couldn’t keep him from reading my feelings, but my thoughts were my own—such as they were. I wasn’t thinking too clearly, to tell you the truth. Chaos reigned.
I didn’t say one word. I went back to my Schwinn, pulled it up off the ground, and got out of there. It’s a miracle I wasn’t run over, because I was completely unaware of my surroundings. I think I was crying. I couldn’t help it.
I was halfway home when I remembered Nonny’s peanuts. I had to turn around and pedal off to Hogan’s Market. Again.
This time I didn’t look at the Foster’s Freeze. They were probably gone by then anyway. But I didn’t want to know.
I was numb by the time I got home again. I put my bike away, went upstairs to my room, and curled up in the window seat by the peach tree.
I love my window seat. It’s been my favorite thinking spot since I was a little kid. It’s almost as good as a tree house. The tree is so close and so big, it’s like you’re in among the branches. I hugged my knees and stared into all that peaceful, sunlit green. And I thought.
I felt Lance knock-knock-knocking at the edges of my mind, trying to get in. I swatted his presence away like the annoying little insect he is.
You know what? This time, it wasn’t even hard. Either I’m getting good at blocking him, or motivation has a lot to do with it. I was motivated. I had important thoughts to think, and Lance wasn’t getting anywhere near while I thought them. And that’s that.
I thought about Meg, and what a good friend she’s been, and what an excellent human being she is, and how much I love her. And I thought about Lance, and how loathsome he is, and how attractive he is, and how mixed-up I am about that. I thought about the connection I seem to have with Lance whether I want it or not, and what that might mean. And I thought about all the ways I need Lance. And all the ways I need Meg.
I thought about trustworthiness. Here’s an easy one: Who do I trust, Meg or Lance? Well, duh. Meg wins, hands down. Looked at from that point of view, it seemed downright bizarre that I had shut Meg out in the first place.
But I can’t help what I am.
I see, now, that an instinct—probably honed by my forebears through centuries of self-preservation—has risen in me lately. This instinct warns me not to trust people. Looking back, I realize that the birth of that instinct was what led me to shut Meg out when Lance arrived.
It’s part of growing up, for me. The days when I can call a stick my best friend may be drawing to a close.
My power is growing. As it grows, I will become more secretive. I will withdraw from the world of ungifted humans. For a spellspinner, this is natural and right. And necessary.
And yet ...
The afternoon was almost gone by the time I made a decision. Then, and only then, did I open up and send Lance a message.
It was a simple message. Direct and to the point. Screw it. I’m telling.
I had to shut him out again immediately, because I could feel his mind rising up to stop me, and I wasn’t going to listen. Too late, pal. Sic the Council on me, I don’t care. You want to stop me? You’ll have to shoot me.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Meg. I knew she wouldn’t answer, but this time I was leaving voicemail. “Meg. Guess what. You were right about my birthday. I know you’re mad, but please call me. We have to talk.” And just to make sure, I texted it to her, too.
16
Just as I hit “send,” I heard the front door rattle downstairs. Someone was pulling on the handle. We hardly ever lock our front door, but today, thank heaven, I had locked it when I got home.
I knew who was trying to get in, of course. He had skatched to my porch the instant he got my little brain-text.
I didn’t wait to find out for sure. There wasn’t time. Locks couldn’t keep him out, not any more. He had been in our kitchen, by my own, foolish invitation. By the time I got there, he’d be there to meet me.
I threw the phone down on my bed and flew downstairs as fast as my feet could take me. Because Lance in the kitchen was inevitable. But Lance finding the stairs, and coming up to get me, was unthinkable.
Sure enough, I crashed into Lance right at the foot of the stairs. His anger was overwhelming. It poured over me in a huge, hot wave, beating me down. My knees wobbled under the onslaught and I gasped, nearly falling.
His fingers bit into my shoulders, hard. In the white-hot swell of his anger, I couldn’t discern words, but I definitely got the message: don’t you dare.
I wasn’t going anywhere, no indeed. My world shrank to Lance, and Lance alone. Not Lance and me—I barely existed. This time, his touch stole almost all of me away. I was buried, suffocating, under the weight of Lance’s power.
Dimly, way in the background, I heard the faint shrilling of my phone playing Disturbed. Megan was returning my call.
My brain could barely process the information, let alone do anything about it. I was paralyzed. I hung in Lance’s grip, struggling to breathe.
You will not tell Meg about me.
Let go. Let go. Let go.
YOU WILL NOT TELL ANYONE ABOUT ME.
My head fell back. Words gurgled in my throat, but I could not speak them. Were his hands around my neck? I don’t think so, but the effect was the same.
Suddenly I flew backwards, flung against the dining room wall. Dishes rattled in Nonny’s china hutch as my body struck. I slid down the wall and ended in a sort of heap. My chest heaved with the effort to refill my lungs.
He stood over me. His beautiful features were contorted with rage. “Now, you listen to me,” he hissed. “I put my life on the line by coming here. Don’t you get it? I’m on your side.”
I still couldn’t speak. You’ve got a strange way of showing it.
“I don’t know how else to get your attention, Zara. Are you listening to me now? Good, because I’ve got something to say. The Council wants you dead. Do you hear me? They want you dead. The reason you’re alive is me.”
I don’t believe you.
If I thought he was pissed before, I hadn’t seen anything yet. The air around us turned thick and red. I could barely see him through the choking red fog of his rage. I found my voice—quickly. “Listen,” I croaked. “Why should I believe you? If the Council really wanted me dead, my guess is that I’d be dead.”
He pulled me to my feet. I poured all my energy into blocking his touch, turning it into a normal touch, a touch with no po
wer to invade me. It almost worked. His skin burned against mine, but I managed to keep my identity intact.
His face was inches from my own. His green eyes blazed. “The Council couldn’t move until now. You were a rumor, Zara. Most of us thought it couldn’t be true. That a rogue spellspinner was impossible to create. But I knew you were out there somewhere. I sensed you.”
A line from Star Wars came to me. “You felt a disturbance in the Force?”
Ouch. I had to stop saying things that ticked him off.
But after a little flash of extra aggravation, it occurred to him that I'd guessed fairly well. “That’s one way to look at it,” he said. “You, Zara, are a disturbance in the Force. A major disturbance. We can’t have spellspinners cropping up at random, among the sticks. That would be a danger to us all.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but his anger still burned against me. I could tolerate it, now, because I sensed in him what I had been longing for, all these weeks.
He was going to tell me things. Out of his anger, he would spill a few of the secrets that cool, cool head of his had been keeping from me.
I held very still, afraid that if I moved or spoke, he would come to his senses and change his mind. I held still, and I listened.
“There were rumors ten or twelve years ago. A child with strange abilities. The Council dismissed them. They thought it was impossible for the rumors to be true. If you existed at all, we thought you might be something else, some other kind of creature—not a spellspinner. Eventually, the tales died down. I guess that was when you moved here and started keeping your powers under wraps.” His voice dropped an octave, going all low and cooey. “And then we heard another rumor.” His finger lifted my chin. “Of a teenaged girl with amethyst eyes.”
Knowledge shot into me, entering my chin through the tip of his finger and searing directly into my brain. Stones ... something about stones. About the power of stones. Gemstones?
I felt my eyes widen. My violet eyes, with all their sparkling facets.
I wasn’t getting all of it, but I was getting this much: that Lance’s peridot eyes and my amethyst eyes were no coincidence. That the mark of a spellspinner was the jewel-like eyes. And that when the Council heard about a girl with amethyst eyes, they remembered the old rumors ... about the peculiar gifts of a child who would be about my age.
“And then,” said Lance, “there was a strange incident at a water park. And it made the news.” His voice was dark with contempt. “The news, Zara.”
I felt his hand itch to hit me. I gasped and shrank back. I couldn’t help it; his desire to strike me was so strong, I was sure he was going to do it. I swear I felt the blow whistling toward my unprotected head; so much so that I covered my head and ducked.
But he didn’t hit me. I had underestimated his self-control.
Lance Donovan is all about control.
“Yes,” he said evenly. “You’d better be afraid. The Council wanted you put down. They wanted you shot like a rabid dog.”
I dropped my arms and forced myself to come out of my protective stance. I was ashamed to look so weak in front of him. So cowardly.
Besides, I could tell it was dangerous. He already thought I was weak. So I did my best to keep my breathing even ... and I looked him in the eyes.
I didn’t dare speak.
He was standing with his feet planted and his arms loose at his sides. A gunslinger’s stance. His jaw was so tense, he was talking through his teeth. “I thought that would be rash.” Now, some of his contempt was directed at himself. “I convinced them to let me come here. Check you out. Assess the danger. Try to bring you in to the fold.”
I could tell by the bitterness in his voice that he felt like a fool.
Which meant that he now thought the Council had been right.
And that I should have been shot like a rabid dog.
“You put us all in danger, Zara. You, and your stupid love of sticks.” He gave my shoulder a little shove and I staggered back a step. “What were you thinking? Or weren’t you thinking at all?”
“I wasn’t thinking at all,” I said, in the thread of a voice. “I’m sorry.”
I was, too. At that moment, facing Lance’s righteous rage, my apology was heartfelt. My carelessness, my recklessness at the water park, had put my people at risk. I was grievously at fault. In risking my own exposure, I had endangered us all.
And then I remembered. A human life had been at stake.
I felt a rip at the core of my being as my soul tore in half.
Lance sensed the divide in me, of course. I thought I felt a tiny wave of empathy... regret ... shame, that he was bullying me. And then he found his balance and remembered who he was. And what I am.
“You’re a spellspinner,” he snarled. “Be a spellspinner.”
I couldn’t speak. My battered wits formed a picture of Donald, and showed it to Lance. Obnoxious, homely Donald ... who happened to be my best friend’s brother. Had to save him. Had to.
Lance spat out an ugly word and raked the lock of hair off his forehead. He looked half wild with exasperation. “Sticks do stupid things every day, Zara. You can’t run around fixing things for them. We can’t intervene. Don’t you see that?”
Of course I saw it. We can’t afford to make ourselves conspicuous. We’re not gods. If spellspinners meddle in the world’s business, the world will eat us alive. Or burn us at the stake. Half of me understood perfectly, and agreed with him.
The other half? Not so much.
I cleared my throat, hunting for my voice. I found it. “Is that ... is that how you found me? When I saved Donald?”
“I didn’t find you. The Council found you.” His anger, which had banked down to a simmer, started building back to a rolling boil. “If you’d had the sense to lie low, I might have found you first. But you stuck your pretty neck out. And the Council found you.”
He read the confusion in my mind and leaned in. The sense of menace was overpowering. I had to fight to keep from whimpering aloud. “Yes, Zara, I was looking for you. And the Council wasn’t. If I had found you while they still believed you didn’t exist, everything might be different.” His voice dripped with contempt. “Then again, it might not. You being who you are.”
What was he talking about? None of it made sense.
“I came here to retrieve you. To give you a chance.” His voice turned bitter. “But you didn’t want to come.”
I saw so much menace in his eyes that I took a step backward. I backed right into the wall. Lance jabbed his finger into my shoulder, right beside the collarbone, and I stepped sideways to get away. He backed me across the dining room and toward the parlor, stalking me and poking my shoulder. “You were afraid.” Poke. “You weren’t sure.” Poke. “You didn’t think it was right.” Poke. “You’d rather be a stick.”
Okay, I was scared now.
“Stop poking me,” I said. My voice came out all squeaky.
Lance gave a contemptuous little laugh. “You’re a lousy excuse for a spellspinner, Zara. That’s for sure. So what are you?”
Backing up, I tripped over the ottoman in front of Nonny’s favorite chair. I fell backward, landing on my butt between the ottoman and the chair. Lance kept coming. He knelt on the ottoman and grabbed the chair arms, trapping me. Looming over me. “You know what? I think you get your wish. I think you are a stick. Just a worthless, miserable stick.”
“Sticks ... sticks aren’t worthless.” I hardly knew what I was saying. I just had to say something, anything, to assert my identity. To stay Zara, a living, thinking being, with an existence apart from Lance Donovan’s overwhelming anger. Speaking aloud gave me a tiny spark of strength, and I took a breath, lifting my chin at him. “But why don’t you tell them that, Lance? Go on back to Spellhaven and tell the Council. I’m no danger to them. Tell them I’m just a stick.”
“Because they’ll want you dead. Don’t you get it? I showed you Spellhaven. They’ll want you dead.” I felt the anguish swelling h
is anger as he told me the kicker: “And they’ll make me do it.”
MortalEnemyMortalEnemyMortalEnemy. The words whirled in my brain, pulsing in rhythm with my racing heartbeat. And then I lost it. I whipped out of there, I don’t know how—just shoved at Lance and dove for the front door, screaming like a banshee. He dove right after me, and we rolled, tangled together, across the hardwood floor. I kicked and squirmed in a blind panic. I heard the coffee table go over with a crash, and saw knick-knacks tumbling across the Navajo rug in the center of the room.
And then I heard the most wonderful sound on God’s green earth: bicycle tires coming up the gravel walk outside.
I shrieked, and Lance clamped his hand over my mouth. He pinned me to the floor. I struggled, but he weighs more than I do. There was no way I could budge him. So I bit him.
Lance swore and pulled his hand back. I wriggled out from under him, scrambled to my feet and ran for the door again. I yanked frantically at the handle, forgetting it was locked. On the other side of the door, another pair of hands was pulling at the latch. She must have heard my screams and raced to the door to save me. Good old Meg.
“Zara!” shouted Meg. “It’s locked. Are you all right?”
My hand was already on the deadbolt, but Lance grabbed me around the waist and hauled me back, away from the door. This time he had snatched up one of Nonny’s needlepoint pillows to gag me. I yelled, “Help! Help!” but most of the sound went into the pillow. The last thing I saw was Meg’s startled face at the window, her hands cupped around her eyes so she could see into the gloom of the parlor. Our eyes met, for a fraction of a second. And then she was gone, the parlor was gone, everything was gone in a black swirl of pain.
Basically, Lance skatched and dragged me with him. So I got to find out what it feels like to be forcibly skatched. The spellspinner equivalent of kidnaping.
It’s like shattering at the molecular level. I disintegrated. I fell forward into darkness, screaming, and landed on my hands and knees. I swear I could feel my atoms reassembling. They didn’t know where I was any more than I did, but at least they knew what went where. It was a weird sensation, but not as horrible as being pulled apart had been.