She tosses the jacket in the general direction of her house. “Hopefully this looks close enough to a workout outfit to fool your parents. We’ll tell them we were training and you ran too hard and got leg cramps. That should sufficiently explain your condition.”
I can’t think of anything better, and I’m getting pretty tired from holding myself up, so I let her wrap my arm back around her shoulders. A million lightning bolts zing as my skin meets hers. My shivering vanishes. Without her thick uniform-coat thing, her touch is a thousand times more electric. Not to mention how smooth and soft her bare skin feels against mine.
Note to self: Steal and destroy her jacket as soon as possible.
I try not to trip as we start moving again, but my useless legs refuse to cooperate, and I nearly knock us over. She shifts her weight in front of me and pulls me back to my feet. Leaving us face to face, her body pressed so tightly against mine I can feel her heartbeat through her thin shirt.
I swear the air around us is seconds away from catching fire.
Audra shuffles me back to her side. “Once we get inside, I’ll lay you down in your room and see myself out. Try not to get up. Eat something. Eat a lot, actually. Your body could use a few more ties to the earth. And stay away from the wind. Close your window tight—turn off your fan. You’re too vulnerable right now.”
“Vulnerable how? Like . . . I could get swept away again if I stand too close to an AC vent?”
“Probably not. But I’m trying to be cautious. I’ve never heard of anyone being as tempted by the wind as you were. Maybe it’s a Westerly thing. Or maybe you’ve been so wind-deprived these last ten years your body doesn’t know how to handle it. Either way, you need to stay grounded, so it’s safer to stay away from temptation.”
The only temptation I’m feeling is to run my hands along the sliver of midriff peeking from the bottom of her tank top. Now, that would motivate me to stay grounded.
I’m ready to tell her that, but we’ve reached my house’s ugly blue front door.
“Should I . . . knock?” Audra asks.
I’ve never heard her voice crack before. “Nervous to meet the parents?”
“I just haven’t had a lot of contact with groundlings.”
“You realize they’re going to think you’re my girlfriend, right?”
She pales. “Whatever it takes to protect the truth.”
Does she have to sound like having me for a boyfriend is some exhausting assignment she wants to get rid of?
“It should be unlocked,” I tell her.
She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and pulls the door open.
“I’m home,” I call, loud enough to be heard over the TV. “And don’t freak out—but I kinda wore out my legs, so I needed help inside.”
Before I even finish my sentence, my mom shrieks, “What?” and both her and my dad stampede down the hall. So much for not freaking out. They stop dead when they spot Audra.
Audra turns rigid and stares at the ground.
The awkwardness would be awesome if I weren’t suddenly overwhelmed by nerves of my own.
“What happened?” my dad asks, gesturing to my rather pathetic, slumped position.
“I got shin splints pretty bad, so Audra had to help me in. I must have pushed myself too hard while we ran.”
My dad laughs—one of those huge belly laughs you’d expect to come from some six-foot-five guy with a beer gut, not a five-foot-nine skinny guy who wears preppy golf shirts every day. “That’s what you get for showing off.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
My mom snaps out of her Audra-staring stupor. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve really been introduced. I’m Carrie.”
She extends a hand for Audra to shake. Audra trips over my feet as she moves to take it.
“We should probably let him lie down,” she says when she recovers. Her cheeks are bright pink. “Which way to his room?”
I have to give her credit. Acting like she doesn’t know exactly which room is mine is a nice touch.
“Oh, um, I don’t know—Jack, maybe you should take him,” my mom says, biting her lip like she’s worried we might feel the uncontrollable urge to rip each other’s clothes off the second we get near a bed.
My dad laughs, runs a hand over the shiny part of his head—he proudly rocks the cul-de-sac of hair curving around his bald spot—and says, “Relax, Carrie.” He points down the hall. “It’s that way.”
“Thank you.” Audra flashes her half smile and drags me away.
“It’s the door on the left,” my mom adds, hot on our heels, determined to play chaperone every step of the way.
“I can lead her to my own bedroom,” I mutter.
Audra ignores us, kicking my half-closed door open and leading me to the unmade bed. She plops me down—not as gently as I’d like—and helps me lift my legs up, all while my mom “supervises” from the doorway.
Sheesh, one hot girl walks into the house and all trust vanishes.
“You okay?” Audra asks as I attempt to scoot into a more comfortable position. Mostly I just flail.
“Yeah.”
I want to say more, but my dad’s joined my mom at my bedroom door, and while he doesn’t have her look of nervous terror, he looks like when he’s watching the Discovery Channel.
Aren’t the mating habits of teenagers fascinating, honey?
I sigh.
“So, tell me again how this happened,” my mom says, adding to the awkwardness.
Her tone’s light—but I know she’s really saying, “I don’t believe your story. Let me pick holes in it.”
Audra answers before I can send her any sort of warning about the dangerous ground we’re on. “I’m teaching Vane to run faster. But I guess I pushed him too hard in the heat, because his legs cramped and he passed out.”
I think that sounds reasonable enough. It doesn’t satisfy my mom, though.
“Are you on the cross-country team?” She smiles when Audra nods. “Me too—when I was your age. What’s your best event?”
Uh-oh.
I try to think of something so I can jump in and answer for Audra, but for the life of me I can’t think of a single track event. Aren’t they all just . . . running?
But Audra doesn’t even blink as she says, “I’m equally good at them all.”
“She is,” I say. “She’s amazing.”
That comes out a bit gooier than I mean it to, and my cheeks burn. My whole head practically bursts into flames when I notice my parents. My mom’s grinning her my little boy is growing up smile and my dad looks like he wants to pat me on the back and call me “slugger.”
Parents: perfecting ways to humiliate their children since the dawn of time.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you,” my mom whispers, her voice thick.
If she starts crying, I’m going to smother myself with my pillow.
Audra steps forward, offering a sturdy hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Vane talks about you guys all the time.”
My parents beam and I can’t help grinning. She sure knows how to charm the parental units.
“I wish I could say the same,” my mom says, shooting me a glare. “He told us he had a date, but you’re the first girl he’s brought home. He must really like you.”
“Mom,” I complain, ready to bean her with my pillow. Or maybe the bedside lamp. Especially when Audra blushes bright red.
“Well,” my dad jumps in, “thank you for bringing him home. And thank you for getting him outside. The only exercise Vane gets these days is with his thumbs on those video game controllers.”
“Dad,” I whine.
“I have no doubt you’ll whip him into shape in no time,” he adds, ignoring me.
“I certainly hope so,” Audra says quietly.
I’m sure my parents don’t catch the way her shoulders slump, or the hint of doubt that snuck into her tone. My eyes dart to the window. Watching for the storm.
The sky’s
bright red and orange. A vivid desert sunset. But after all I’ve learned, I can’t help thinking it looks violent.
“Well, come on, I’ll show you out,” my dad says, draping his arm across Audra’s shoulders like she’s already part of the family.
Audra accepts his lead but glances at me before she leaves. “Get some rest.”
I nod, not missing the way she flicks off my fan on her way out.
The air goes still and my body calms. I hadn’t noticed the way my skin was straining toward the breeze.
Audra’s right. I am vulnerable. In more ways than I can count.
And I’m sick of it.
Tomorrow I take control.
Time to find out how strong I am. Before it’s too late.
CHAPTER 24
AUDRA
My legs barely manage to carry me from Vane’s house to my hideout. I sink to the floor and lean against the rough wall, wondering how I’ll find the strength to get up again.
I don’t have much left to give. Not to mention an overpowering hunger churns inside me. The air in Vane’s house was laced with the scent of whatever dinner he’ll be enjoying tonight. I can still taste the rich, salty aroma on my tongue.
What would it be like to take an actual bite, let the flavors explode in my mouth, let my body be full for the first time in years?
That isn’t why I feel so overwhelmingly empty, though.
The way Vane’s father wrapped his arm around my shoulders—for a second I thought I’d turn my head and see my dad’s dimpled smile beaming back at me. Then he’d laugh and twirl me and it would be like the last ten years never happened.
But he wasn’t there when I glanced over.
Just Vane’s perfect, happy family.
I punch the ground, releasing the rising resentment before it can choke me.
I don’t need food or family.
I don’t need anything. Except to stay focused.
I concentrate on a nearby Easterly’s song, listening for any sign of the Stormers’ approach. The lyrics hold no clue to their presence. It should be a relief. But the song carries no note of anything out of the ordinary. Not even my mother’s trace.
I know she’ll be careful, hide any glimmer of her trail. Still, I wish I had some sign that she’s really out there stalling them. Keeping us safe.
If she isn’t, the Stormers could arrive any second. And even if she is, can I really push Vane to be ready for the fight? I almost lost him today.
But if I don’t . . .
My hand clutches the pendant resting against my chest, and I can’t help wondering how much longer my cord will stay turquoise blue, vibrant with the energy I breathed into it before the Gales clasped it around my neck. When I stop breathing, it will turn black like my father’s.
I can’t imagine him wanting me to leave this earth the way he did. He didn’t even want me to become a guardian. I still remember the look on his face when I told him.
He’d brought me to a meadow for my first lesson in windwalking, and when I’d finally lifted my feet off the ground—even though it was only for a second—I’d been so proud. I told him I was on my way to being just like him. My first step to becoming a Gale.
The crinkles around his eyes sank into ravines and his dimple vanished. Then he wrapped his arms around me and ran his fingers through my hair, untangling the knots caused by the afternoon breezes. And he said, “I want you to always be free.”
He didn’t want me to be bound by oath or duty. At least not then.
But something changed. Why else would he send me his gift and beg me to take care of Vane? He knew what that meant. And he knew how that journey would end for him.
Was it because what happened was my fault? Did he shove me toward a life of sacrifice as penance? Or did he choose me because he thought I could do what he couldn’t? Protect Vane and live to breathe another day?
I want to believe I’m strong enough—and that Vane will have the fourth breakthrough and be powerful enough to protect himself. But we only have seven days until the Stormers arrive, and I can’t force the final breakthrough. I don’t know the language, so I can’t call the Westerlies to him or send them into his mind. He’ll have to reach them on his own—and if he doesn’t . . . I only have seven days left to live.
I smear my tears away, pressing hard enough to hurt. I loathe the physical proof of my body’s weakness almost as much as I loathe myself for giving in to self-pity.
I made this choice. And it isn’t about protecting Vane or fulfilling my promise to my father. This is my one chance for redemption. My one chance to make up for the horrible mistake I’ve made.
I will do what needs to be done—and I will do it willingly.
No more pathetic weakness.
I need to be strong. And for that, I need pure, powerful wind.
I dust myself off as I rise and reach for my jacket, shoving my arms through the coarse sleeves. The heavy fabric makes me sweat, but I ignore the discomfort and fasten the buttons across my chest. Then I call every nearby draft—twice as many as I normally use—twisting them around me into a knot of wind. The extra gusts and the muted tones of twilight obscure my form in the sky.
I fly almost entirely on instinct, relying on my father’s gift as I creep through the scattered clouds at more of a walk than a race. The drafts sing their scattered melodies, some promising life, others promising rest, and I drink in their words, even if I know they aren’t meant for me.
When my feet touch down, I collapse in a heap. But I’m on San Gorgonio Peak—the highest in the range—and I already feel the fresh mountain air reviving me. The faster, stronger, richer winds skim across my face, cooling me to the core as they share their strength and energy.
I curl up and close my eyes, focusing on the gusts as I clear my mind. Surrendering my consciousness. Drifting with the wind. It’s somewhat like sleep, but a deeper kind of rest. One that washes through every cell, leaving a clean slate.
I’m not sure how long I stay that way, but when I open my eyes the stars are out. Tiny pricks of light, warring with the darkness. They remind me of the few highs in my mostly black existence. Glints of happiness and good—that can’t erase the bad and gloom, no matter how much I want them to. But they hold their place anyway.
Soon I will add another star to my constellation of highs. I’ll get Vane through this, no matter what it takes. And with my death, I will finally give my life meaning.
In that, I find peace.
But I can’t stop trying, either. Our world needs Vane Weston to have the fourth breakthrough as much as I do. There has to be a way.
If only his parents had taught him something of his heritage. One tiny word.
But they’d refused. They’d refused to teach anyone. Even my father, when he asked.
I spent many nights crouching in the shadows, watching my parents argue about that very thing. My mother’s anger was a storm, her accusations like flurries slicing the air. She’d scream that the Westons didn’t deserve our help if they wouldn’t share their language. We could’ve used their power to protect them. Defeat Raiden. Save everyone. Return to our lives, our home, our native winds—winds that were gentler for her, because she belonged with them.
Why should we make sacrifices for people who would never do the same for us?
Why should we help them, if they selfishly refuse to share their knowledge and help us?
But my father would wrap his arms around her and shield her from the raging winds that always seemed to surge with her tempers. When she’d calmed, he’d whisper that the Westons had the right to protect their heritage however they wanted. If they didn’t trust him with the responsibility, it was their choice.
I tried to agree with him then—and most of the time I still do.
Sometimes it’s hard, though.
They couldn’t have known for sure that they’d die for their language—that their son would be left alone and defenseless without it.
That doesn’t change t
he fact that they condemned us with their decision.
If they’d taught my father Westerly, he’d still be alive.
If they’d taught Vane Westerly, I wouldn’t have to sacrifice myself.
But . . . if I hadn’t saved Gavin, none of this would have happened.
If.
If.
If.
Infinite possibilities. And none of them matter.
What matters is here and now.
The Stormers are coming.
Seven days left.
CHAPTER 25
VANE
I expect to sleep deeply, pretty dead to the world, after everything I’ve been through. But the wind did something to my head.
I went to the beach as a kid, and after hours of getting tossed by the waves, my body absorbed the rhythm of the ocean. That night I’d felt like I was still in the water, letting the tide toss me around.
The winds cause the same effect—but it’s way more surreal. I float and fall through a world of shadow and light. Shapes blur together. Sounds overlap, and I can barely make them out over the roar of the wind as I swirl and spin and hover.
And as my mind flips with the gusts, something shakes loose.
Shattered bits of scenes flash through my mind. Shards of reality that don’t fit, smash-cut together, like a montage in a movie.
CLOSE-UP: AN UPROOTED TREE
Its gnarled branches flail as it shoots through the sky, pulled by the wind. Then the drafts shift and the tree spins, revealing the jagged edge where a thick bough has been ripped away. The sharp splinters at the break are bright red. Like they’ve been painted.
Or coated with blood.
CUT TO: RIPPLES ON A GLASSY LAKE
Rocks skip across the surface, blurring the reflection of the mountains and puffy white clouds. It should be a peaceful scene, but I don’t feel peaceful. More rocks break the water, splashing as waves of anger wash through me.
CUT TO: A YOUNG GIRL
Long, dark hair whips her face. Her bony legs and arms thrash. I squint through the storm and realize she’s tangled in the drafts. Her scream rings in my ears as the winds pull her higher and higher. Then they let her go, flinging her in a death drop to the rocky ground. Our eyes meet as she falls. . . .
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