by Bridget Ladd
This is the Xander who’s killed men before without a second thought?
Xander didn’t move, just stood there. His mind, however—I could tell, was quite restless. He blinked then when the torrent of thoughts slowed. He swallowed, stepping towards me hesitantly. “I’m only doing this because we have to fight tomorrow. I’m not even going to touch you.”
I sighed, hating that I had to rest the uninjured side of my face on the mattress again, which made me look at him through my swollen eye. “Then why were you warming your hands if you’re not going to touch me?”
He ignored my question. “Close your eyes.”
Pulling a breath through my nose, I resigned to his request. Closing my eyes, I waited.
He spoke again. “Reiki is a type of energy transference. Teizel first showed it to me after—after coming back to him, spending weeks at a time on my own.”
“In the Outlands on your own? No shelter? No food?” I asked against the mattress.
“Not always alone. There are some pretty frightening things out there. Let’s just say I’d come back with my share of hurts.”
Remembering the scars I’d seen on his back, I didn’t doubt he’d ran into his share of trouble either. I looked from the corner of my eye, noticing that his hands were hovering just above my neck.
Their trembling had stopped.
“And how is this supposed to help if you’re not even touching me?” Call me crazy, but just as I finished asking, the skin surrounding my neck felt as though it was beginning to turn balmy: a compress of warm relief.
Xander swallowed. “Let me ask you something first. Can you sense the energy of others around you?” he asked quietly.
“Sense energy? No . . . not at all. Why do you ask?”
He paused, leaning in close, and rested both hands along the sides of the mattress next to me. “Because I can, Lily. And right now, you’re as stiff as Dex’s favorite drink.”
My forehead immediately scrunched in confusion. I sat up some— onto my elbows—turning to look at him. “What do you mean you can sense other’s energies?”
He didn’t answer at first, making me think he was refusing to—or perhaps gauging how I would react to it. But then he spoke freely. “In the Outlands . . . while on my own, it was times like those when I truly found myself. My fears. My strength’s—my ability.”
“I’m sorry, your what?” I frowned. “Wait. So you are telling me you have the ability to sense other people’s energies . . .”
“Reading people is a skill Teizel taught me,” he stated frankly. “Or rather . . . taught me how to harness the ability that was already within me. I’m not really sure which. He did say it was a form of Synesthesia. That my brain perceives information from all my senses and cross-wires them together. I can taste color, smell sounds for instance. They all intertwine—sight, taste, smells, touch, sound—into colors, shapes, weights, temperatures. As a child it was extremely confusing. With Teizel’s help, it sharpened into something I could better understand. Unraveling from a knotted rope into a map before my eyes.” A beat passed before he spoke again. “What I do know is that I finally realized its worth after being on my own out there. It kept me alive more times than I can count.”
“Teizel taught you how to read the energy of others in the Outlands? Where there is hardly anyone else?” I asked skeptically, turning my wounded cheek slightly to look at him.
Xander stared at me with the same look of respect he had when I would get a sufficient jab through his defenses during training. He smiled slightly. “All things are comprised of energy. You, me, the trees, the earth, animals. Teizel made me learn how to connect with each and read the subtleties between them. Believe me, once you can read a tree’s interwoven energy, reading people is essentially a piece of cake.”
“That’s . . . wait, I’m—I’m so confused.” It felt as though I wasn’t grasping anything he was telling me.
Xander returned his hands to hover just above the small of my back, the action making me forget my thoughts momentarily.
“So when you walk into a room full of people . . .” I began hesitantly, hoping he would finish for me.
“I can sense their emotions through their energy. Like I said—colors, weights, temperatures, smells—though sensing emotions through color is my strongest trait. I know who to stay away from, who to keep my eye on, and who to attack first should the need arise—even when their faces do not betray them.”
Wait. He not only senses energy . . . but emotions?
I shot up, turning around fully and suddenly finding myself very perturbed. “So that’s why you’re always so . . . so sneaky! That’s why you always look at things like they have hidden meanings. It’s why you look at me sometimes and . . . and never respond. Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, this doesn’t count.” It did. But still, he should’ve told me earlier.
Xander stepped away from the bed and frowned. “What would you have preferred? Introduce myself—oh I don’t know, like some sort of psycho?” His voice rose in pitch. “Greetings, I’m Xander and judging by the spiked, dark-red and burnished luminescence that surrounds you, I’d say you’re slightly aggravated. It’s been a pleasure.”
Reaching down, I pulled the covers over me, up to my chin.
“No . . . it’s just that you hid the fact that the necklace was a bomb from me, of the plans you may have had to kill my father, and now this? What other secrets are you keeping from me?”
Xander sighed through his nose. His voice lowered to its normal gravelly tone. “I didn’t tell you about the necklace because I didn’t know you still kept it. About the plans I had for your father—it was stupid and selfish. And my Sense . . . it’s something I do not tell anyone about. Not even Dex.”
“So what color are you sensing from me now? Huh?” I shot out, testing him.
“Burnished dark-red with spiked edges,” he said bluntly.
I looked away.
Xander approached and sat at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping behind me. “I do not need my Sense to know that you’re embarrassed,” he said softly. “Lily, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I wouldn’t—” He placed his hand lightly on my shoulder, urging me to face him.
“Don’t,” I said sharply.
Xander dropped his hand, the mattress rising as he backed away. “What did you expect?” he asked quietly. “Having this makes me an Abnormal. Would you tell anyone?”
Rubbing my chilled hands down my arms, I thought of the uncertain terror I’d felt that night in the Outlands when my episode had transformed itself into something more, something indeed abnormal—I turned to face him.
“No. I wouldn’t.”
Chapter 31
Ugly Memories ~ A Product Of Society
Xander’s chest released a tense breath as he pulled the chair out from the small table, spinning it around to take a seat. “There’s something else,” he said grimly.
“What is it?” I glanced his way, still slightly aggravated with him.
“I’m actually quite concerned.” His eyes met mine. “I wasn’t lying that night when I said you weren’t Abnormal. You’re not like me at all.” Xander cleared his throat. “Though, your energy can sometimes be off. I experience it in small doses. For example when you fought me in the Outlands. What I saw, it was frightening. Terrifying even.” He paused briefly. “You should be careful.”
Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I sat up. “I find it difficult to make such promises when I don’t even know what I’m doing wrong.”
Is that why he first followed me when I searched for Mrs. Fawnsworth? Because he was curious of my so-called unique disposition?
He looked at me hard, disbelieving. An expression that reminded me of my mother’s when she told me I could control my episodes.
“I’ll try,” I said tersely. “I’ll—be more aware.” I stretched, kneading my f
ingers into the muscles of my neck. The knots had disappeared, no longer holding a strain on my highest vertebra. “This Reiki . . . is it what you do for all the ladies who are in need of a compromise with you?” I muttered, hating myself for lightening my own mood.
I didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning.
“Only the ones who fight beside me.”
I stood up and reached for my satchel. Though my neck felt better, my legs ached and my head swooned. “Technically . . .” I began, “I wasn’t fighting beside you at all if you do recall.”
His grin withered. “Yes. I haven’t forgotten.” His tone was laced with angry resentment and self-incrimination.
The air tensed around us, I swallowed thickly, hoping to change that. “Well, with compromise sort of met, let’s do something fun shall we? How about we go find Dex? Search for him in all the rafters of the city?”
Xander grunted and chuckled. “Don’t ever tell Dex you think he’s a provider of fun. His head will promptly explode from such knowledge.”
I rolled my eyes and sat down again as I searched through my satchel. I felt Xander’s eyes follow me. “Stop it,” I growled. “Stop reading my colors,” I said experimentally, still unsure of what I thought about this ability of his.
“Sorry. Can’t quite help myself.” He then cleared his throat. “Meeting Dex is fine,” he amended seriously. “We need to speak with him about the previous fights. Though, I have a feeling I already know who we will be up against tomorrow.”
“How so?” I asked curious, swiveling around on the squeaky mattress. “Something you can sense?” The question sounded odd even as I asked it.
Xander sighed. “No. I’ve never told you this before, and I’m sorry for not telling you, but I know Percival very well.” He corrected himself. “Well, I knew Percival. And I know we’ll not be fighting him until much later.”
“Oh?” I asked, biting at my lip, not sure I wanted to hear the reasoning behind such a bold statement.
Xander sat forward in the chair, his eyes not really meeting mine. “A few years ago, Percival and I were . . . I guess what you could call ‘friends’, back when I had returned from the Outlands. He was a street ruffian much like myself and we soon learned that it was beneficial to tag-team the city instead of braving it alone.
“He liked me because I didn’t have much to say and I liked him for his company. It wasn’t until a few days later after meeting him that I realized that he couldn’t talk. That he was a mute—a mute not by choice.” Xander’s eyes teetered back to mine before he continued. “Percival was victimized because of his beliefs—of not wanting to work as a Warehouse Butcher—by his own uncle of all people. I tried not to pity him, knowing full well that pity wasn’t what he wanted. His disability never changing how I felt about him.”
“What did?” I asked, beginning to pity Percival myself.
Xander narrowed his eyes in remembrance. “As the weeks passed, I realized there was something different about him, like you had mentioned earlier. He had something dark motivating him, something one would only see if they looked directly into his eyes—down into the very pit of his soul. Something I could sense in his energy even at a young age.” Xander seemed restless. He stood and approached his bed. As he sat, he crossed his arms, his eyes not really looking at anything as he spoke.
“The darkness came upon him slowly at first, either that or he was hiding it from me, I’m still not sure. However it came, I was well aware of a cruelness that seeped into him and I wanted nothing to do with it.”
“What did he do?” I asked, unintentionally gripping at the leather of my satchel.
Xander paused, his eyes glazing over as the thoughts came back to him, his palms rubbing together. “A Sector 7 guard found our hideout and took from us everything we had. Our clothes, our coin, our food. We were starving. The things you’ll do in that state, the horrible thoughts that transpire across your mind . . .” Xander’s eyes rose from his hands. “Only pure instinctual survival drove us after that. When you have nothing else to lose—it’s hard to remain human.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “After snooping around for a bit, we soon discovered that it had been Percival’s uncle who had sent the guard after us. That’s when Percival snapped—no longer the boy I’d first met.” Xander stood up again, returning to the chair and sat with its backing to his chest, unsure if he should continue. I stared at him expectantly, my eyes never leaving his.
Xander rocked the chair to its back legs before continuing. “We waited until the clouds had arrived early that next morning, concealing us in the alleyway that lay parallel to a street of residential homes, the residents well-off and thriving—the ones who could afford to lose something. Percival signaled to me that it was to be another snatch and grab, and that he could handle this one alone. That, right there, bothered me. It shouldn’t have, but it did.
“The way he eerily tilted his head at a certain building, one house in particular: an all-consuming darkness—a seething hatred. I knew something was amiss, but I was so savage myself I didn’t care what energy I read from him.
“I followed him though, keeping myself hidden on the topmost walkway above the old brick residence. I had difficulty hearing what was going on inside so I forced my way through the window.”
Xander’s nose flared as if the thought disgusted him. “The stench alone was stifling, dead things lined the walls in jars and putrid stains covered the carpets. I continued past, finding the staircase, crouching low to get a better look at the room below. I ignored the inner voice, the one telling me that this wasn’t my business and that I should leave it alone. So—I watched.”
Xander swallowed hard. “Without warning an enormous man had stumbled into the room from a doorway hidden from view, bellowing an awful sound. A sound one only makes when they know they’ve been betrayed. The aura that surrounded him was so black, so heavy and soured with rot, that I had a hard time even looking his way.
“Though still, I watched. Doing nothing to prevent what I knew . . . I knew was about to happen.
Crouching lower, I backed my way up the steps and saw Percival behind him, a large piece of metal protruding from the side of the man’s neck.” Xander tilted the chair backwards another inch, using the backing almost as a shield between him and his memories.
“At the time, I had never met this man, but I knew instantly this was Percival’s uncle. He still wore the Warehouse sanctioned butcher’s apron, his own blood now mixing and staining the fabric as an animal’s once had.”
I scrunched my face at the thought of such a sight. Xander huffed, nodding his mutual dislike before he straightened and continued.
“While he grasped at his neck, Percival approached him slowly, holding steady just before he dove at him again, grabbing for the knife that hung around his bloated waist. His uncle—who was massive in comparison—swung his arms widely around, knocking books and jars from the walls. Percival didn’t even flinch as they rained down upon him. His eyes intent on killing, but not before he made him suffer.”
Xander’s knuckles turned red as he tightened them around the rim of the chair. He shook his head, his voice turning low, dangerous. “The sound was horrible. Before when I killed . . . it was always quick. Even if they deserved something more.”
I didn’t need to ask to know he was referring to those who worked beyond the Wall, those who had murdered his parents.
“Coming to my senses, I came out of my crouch, wanting to somehow dissolve the situation—but I was too late. Percival removed the knife from below his uncle’s ribs and quickly stabbed him in the eye, twisting it grotesquely until he was satisfied.”
Bringing my knees up to my chest, I shuttered again, seeing the image Xander spoke of clearly in my head. A sour taste produced itself in my mouth, making me feel nauseated.
“Percival seemed surprised when he saw me standing there on the stairwell, but unlike most, he simply smiled at me. There was no guilt to be found in his face or in his aura.
He stretched out his bloodied hand, offering the knife to me as a gift, a form of brotherly friendship,” Xander added in a disgusted tone before he paused. “I denied him any such friendship, turned my back on him, and walked out without another word between us. From that day on I vowed that if I was to succeed in making anything of myself—I had to do it alone.”
I sat quietly on the edge of the bed, disturbed by his story. Looking up at Xander, I whispered, “You’re not alone,” bringing my knees away from my face and back down to the floor. “I may not count for much, but I am here for you. We’re partners. Real partners. And just think, you’ve come so far,” I said. “Not many end up as Engineering Blacksmiths. A very talented one at that. You’re nothing like Percival and you never will be.”
Xander lifted his eyes as his head hovered in the air above the chair and removed his hands from the rim. “Not many street ruffians grew up in the Outlands either. Or were taught by a city Elder to understand the intricacies of diplomatic intrigue, of how to become one with the shadows, of how to fight, to kill,” he said the last word with emphasis.
“I became a great Engineer because of the wrong reasons, Lily. I had to become the best—”
“—to kill the best?” My father. He had wanted to say.
I leveled my eyes to his, boldly holding his stare. I’d let him know, through my energy I hoped, that I trusted him now and nothing of what he told me changed what I thought about him. “You grew up thinking that what Teizel had taught you served only for killing. You should now know that your purpose is to use that talent to protect others. You fight for the remaining good we have left here in Prosper. Nothing about you is evil, Xander. You should’ve known that the precise moment you turned your back on Percival. You fight for what’s right. Like me, you fight for change.”
Xander nodded sadly, thanking me in the gesture. Even so, I didn’t for a second believe he agreed he was such a person.
He was wrong. I envied his strength. He was wise beyond his years, whose willpower was a force not to be reckoned with. Xander wanted revenge, yes. But a different type of vengeance now. One that I could better respect. One that would strike at the very core of the Council’s existence. A vengeance that was supremely more powerful than anything Percival ever achieved, or will achieve.