Atlantis Rising

by Gloria Craw

  Ian’s eyes were lit with amusement. “I got it,” he said, waving Connor off.

  A second later, I was lifted off the floor and onto my feet. Ian steadied me with his arm around my back. When I came to my senses enough to realize it, I jerked away from him. Ian noticed my reaction and backed away, too. I hadn’t meant to offend him after he helped me, but I’d been avoiding anything more than a handshake for so long his arm along my back almost burned.

  Mrs. Waters checked me over and gave a quick nod. “I’ll take you to the nurse now. We have to hurry, though. I’ve got tenth-grade English in two minutes.”

  “I can make it to the nurse’s station on my own,” I assured her.

  “I don’t know…” Mrs. Waters replied, with an expression that said I seriously doubt it.

  As if on cue, Ian and Connor said, “I’ll take her.”

  “You take her, Ian,” Mrs. Waters said. “I’ll call the office and explain what happened.”

  “Where’s your next class?” Connor asked, trying to be useful. “I can tell your teacher.”

  I had enough presence of mind to look around for my class schedule before answering. Ian picked up the crumpled paper from under my desk and handed it to me. I glanced at it. “Trig with Mr. Armstrong in room one ten.”

  “My next class is in room one oh nine,” Brandy chimed in. “I’ll tell Mr. Armstrong for you.”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  Connor’s face squished into a pouty expression. He’d tried and failed in three attempts to help me. Spending so much time alone, I’d fallen out of the habit of sympathizing with people, but I did feel bad for him. He was trying to be nice. “Thanks for the help, Connor,” I said with a small smile.

  That was all the encouragement he needed. His light brown eyes met mine and the twinkle in them returned. “Sure. I’ll look for you at lunch…to check on you, okay?”

  I managed to choke out something like “Super” before he left with Brandy. Mrs. Waters was right behind them.

  “I’m Ian,” my companion said.

  “Alison,” I replied.

  He smiled at me and then reached for my bag. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Really, I can go by myself. You don’t need to come.”

  I followed up with thoughts in rapid succession: The girl is fine. She wants to go to the nurse by herself. You shouldn’t miss your next class. Raw pain shot through the side of my head and down my jaw. I had to sit on one of the desks to keep from falling over. Exhausted, I put my head in my hands. The worst part was that none of my thoughts worked. When I lifted my head, Ian was even more concerned than before. My transference was definitely messed up.

  “Maybe we should stay here for a few more minutes,” he suggested.

  I considered it, but the only thing worse than feeling like crap was feeling like crap with him around. The sooner I got to the nurse, the sooner he would leave me alone. “No, let’s just get this over with,” I replied.

  I took a breath and stood up. Then I held my hand out for my backpack. I got hold of a strap, but Ian didn’t let it go. It turned into a weak game of tug-of-war. “I can carry my stuff,” I insisted.

  He tipped his head to the side, then let go. “If you say so, but you’ll have to stay on the floor if the weight knocks you down again. I don’t think I’ve got the strength to pick you up again.”

  It was a backhanded way of implying I was enormous when I was just tall. The remark would have offended me if his mouth hadn’t quirked up at the corners, suggesting he was teasing.

  “Don’t worry,” I said dryly. “I don’t plan to fall down again.”

  He shook his head and sighed dramatically. “Well, we’ll see what happens in the next few minutes.”

  He followed me out of the room and took up a position near my side. Every now and then he would check to see if I was doing okay. Halfway to the stairs he laughed. It was a great laugh, rich and full, a perfect complement to his smile. I glanced at him, wondering what he found so funny. “Don’t take offense to this,” he said, “but you look kind of…drunk.”

  I didn’t understand what he meant at first, but then realized I was walking in jerky steps that veered to the left. “I never get headaches,” I said, trying to explain something I didn’t understand myself. “The pain is messing with my motor control.”

  “Sure, blame it on a headache,” he said with more laughter in his voice. “I’m going to help you along a bit, so don’t jump out of your skin when I touch you, okay?”

  Even with a warning, I flinched when his arm went around my waist. It was worth it, though, because with his help, I managed a much straighter course. When we started up the stairs, he commented, “You look like you’ve been in a bar fight. You’ll probably get sent home for the rest of the day.”

  “I hope not,” I muttered.

  He gave me a questioning look. “Missing school is generally thought of as a good thing.”

  “Not when your mom is Deborah McKye.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You’d have to know her to understand.”

  I climbed the stairs and felt much better at the top. My healing ability was starting to kick in. Thank goodness. Thinking I didn’t need Ian anymore, I pulled away from him. Then I formed the thoughts The girl will be fine, go to your next class and pushed them into his mind.

  Like before, pain and a wash of fatigue rippled over me. I fell sideways against the wall. Ian caught me before I could slide down it. “Wow,” he said, steadying me, “Maybe I should carry you.”

  I pushed his hands away, leaned my head against the wall, and closed my eyes. I’d gone from feeling better to feeling worse in a few seconds. If I wanted to stay upright, I was going to have to give thought transference a rest for a while.

  “I just need a minute,” I said. “You can move back now.”

  He shook his head like he was coming out of a dream. “Sorry. I’m just a little freaked out, I guess.”

  I had to push back a laugh. “You’re freaked out. Try being me.”

  “When you hit the floor after class, I thought I’d killed you,” he said. “Lying there on the floor with your eyes wide-open and blood pooling around your head…well, it scared the crap out of me. I don’t want a repeat performance, so if you feel like you’re going to faint, tell me now.”

  “I’m not going to faint,” I assured him. “But just so you know, I thought you might have killed me, too.”

  He gave me a sympathetic laugh, and my eyes widened at the realization I’d just made a joke. It was a lame joke, but it was an attempt on my part to make another person laugh. I couldn’t deny it felt good, but there was a reason I hadn’t done it in a very long time. I didn’t want to come off as amusing to anyone. I wanted to come off as boring. The blond boy next to me had breached some of my defensive walls, and by the light in his eyes, I assumed he liked doing it.

  He was only a little taller than me, so when he smiled and ducked his chin, it looked endearing. Then a lock of gold hair fell low over his forehead, and the look turned into something else entirely. Something devilish and hot.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said.

  I swallowed hard. The third apology wasn’t an apology. It was just something to say. He shifted closer to me and tipped his head to the side. I could feel his exhale on my cheek. The quirk of his lips told me he knew exactly what he was doing, and I wasn’t the first girl he’d tried it on. Maybe I should have been flattered, but it just irritated me.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “Are flirting with me right now?”

  His expression changed abruptly. If I had to guess, I’d say he was as surprised as I was by what he’d tried. “That obvious, huh?” he asked.

  “Try your smolder on a different girl. One without blood in her hair. I’m not in the mood.”

  Instead of being embarrassed or shamed by my rebuff, he seemed intrigued. Tan clothes and thick glasses notwithstanding, I’d become a challenge to him. And Ian Palmer was th
e kind that liked a challenge. What a disaster.

  I pushed myself away from the wall and took a step to test my legs. They felt good, so I continued on. “I think we’re partners for the poetry presentation,” Ian said. “Everyone in class has already paired up.”

  Of course I would get him as a partner. He was already too interested in me. “Who did you get?” I asked.

  “Lord Byron.”

  “We are partners,” I admitted. “Yay for us.”

  “Yay for us,” he repeated.

  The nurse’s station was empty when we got there. I was the first casualty of the day, because all three cots where still nicely made up with a paper sheets and thin cotton blankets. Nurse Paula came through the back door and, seeing me, hurried forward. Taking my hands in hers, she checked my face. The damage was bad enough that she immediately lead me to one of the cots and helped me sit down.

  “Lie down, dear,” she directed with a gentle push. I complied and then watched her bustle around collecting things from cupboards in the sterile white room.

  Everything about Nurse Paula, from her ultra-short hair to her white slip-on shoes, spoke efficiency. She was back at my side in seconds. “This might sting a little,” she said, waving a bottle of something and a cotton ball in my direction.

  It did sting…bad enough to bring tears to my eyes. I almost whimpered as she applied the second coat.

  “Sorry,” Ian said with a sympathetic wince of his own.

  It was the sting, not the apology, that irritated me, but I took it out on him anyway. “You’ve said sorry like…four times now,” I growled. “Stop repeating yourself.”

  “Sorry,” he replied automatically.

  When the absurdity of his fifth apology occurred to me, I couldn’t hold the laughter back. It burst out of me and rang off the walls. Ian joined in. That’s when I saw the full force of his smile coupled with a laugh, and my breath caught in my throat. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

  “I don’t see what you two think is so funny,” Paula interjected. “You’re going to be bruised like a ripe banana tomorrow.”

  “I’m a fast healer,” I replied, turning my head away from Ian.

  She snorted her disbelief and dabbed at me with the stinging stuff again. That’s when I noticed I wasn’t wearing my glasses. “Oh, no. I think my glasses fell off in the classroom,” I said.

  “No problem,” Ian replied. “I’ll go get them.”

  Paula continued her evil work after he left. “The cut isn’t deep enough to need stitches,” she said, peering closely at it. “You should remove the bandage and apply more antiseptic tonight. The right side of your face is going to be sore for a while. Aside from that, you should be fine.”

  I accepted her warning, but I hadn’t been lying when I said I was a fast healer. My bruises faded and my cuts closed long before they should. The common cold lasted only a few hours in me, and like I’d told Ian, I never got headaches. Not until today, anyway.

  She checked her handiwork one last time and appeared pleased. “I’ll leave it up to you whether you go home or stay the rest of the day.”

  I didn’t want Mom to come and get me. She’d spend the rest of the day fussing over me and driving me crazy. “I’ll stay,” I replied.

  She pointed to a sink and mirror in the corner of the room. “You’ll probably want to fix your hair. And stay here until the third-hour bell. That will give you some time to collect yourself. I’ll be in the next room filling out your paperwork if you need anything.”

  I checked my watch. I had thirty minutes before my next class.

  Sitting up slowly, I checked my balance. It was good enough so I could walk to the sink and look in the mirror. My dark hair had fallen out of its bun and was hanging in a crazy tangled mess around my shoulders. Paula had cleaned the blood off the side of my face and put a bandage over the cut, but the hair above my ear was matted with blood.

  I turned the water on and let it run over my hands while it warmed. The heat reddened my skin, making the two faint blue lines in my palm, which I’d had for as long as I could remember, stand out. Seeing them like that reminded me of how I’d learned their significance.

  At fourteen I’d met a man who changed my life forever. It was a hot day at the park where my younger brother, Alex, and I were splashing around in some sprinklers to cool off. When he sprayed me in the face with one of the hoses, I practiced a little sisterly retribution by putting You just rolled in poison ivy into his mind. He started to scratch his neck and arms like crazy. The effects of my thought only lasted a few seconds, just long enough for me to feel I’d gotten proper revenge.

  Happy with myself, I walked to the grass and sat down to dry off in the sun.

  “You did that, didn’t you?” a deep voice asked from behind me.

  I didn’t think the question was directed at me, so I didn’t answer.

  “You did that, didn’t you?” the voice asked again.

  Curious, I looked around to see who was talking. A sandy-haired thirty-something man was staring at me. I moved to get up, and he repeated the question for the third time. “You did that, didn’t you?”

  I’d been through about a hundred stranger-danger lectures and I knew I should run, but I didn’t. Something deep inside told me told me stay. “Did what?” I asked warily.

  “You made your brother think he was itchy.”

  Since discovering my thought-transferring ability at the age of eight, I’d intuitively known not to tell anyone about it. Yet somehow this man knew.

  “I do it sometimes,” I replied.

  “Have you ever tried to make someone think they were more than itchy?”

  “No…it probably wouldn’t work.”

  “That boy is my son,” he said, nodding toward a little boy on the swings. He said it as though it should mean something to me. Then, nodding in the direction of my mom and dad, he added, “Those aren’t your parents, are they?”

  “Not my biological parents…how did you know?”

  “Your parents would be our kind. They would have known it was you making the boy scratch himself like that.” He paused a moment before continuing. “If I told you there were others like you, others who could do things with their minds, would you believe me?” My answer was no and yes at the same time. He didn’t wait for an answer. “You probably never get sick,” he continued. “You likely remember all sorts of things most people don’t. I’ll bet you’re in the accelerated-learning program at your school, aren’t you? Your parents and everyone else probably call you gifted.”

  “Yes,” I said amazed that he knew so much.

  “Humans think we’re brilliant, but it’s normal for our kind to remember, learn, and understand faster than they do.”

  “Our…kind,” I repeated.

  His eyes met and held mine while he raised his left hand so his palm faced me. Through the space that separated us, I saw the familiar outline of the letter V in his palm. The lines were faint in my hand, barely noticeable unless you saw them every day. The lines in his hand were a deeper blue, but the shape was a perfect match.

  “There’s not much difference between humans and us,” he said. “Human medicine hasn’t advanced enough to see the difference between our species. But make no mistake, the children of Atlantis are a separate people.”

  At this point, a normal girl would have concluded the man was delusional. But I wasn’t normal. “The children of Atlantis?” I asked.

  “We call ourselves the dewing,” he continued. “It’s an inside joke. Like dew on the grass in the morning, our elements are always present but seldom visible to humankind. We all have certain…abilities. I can join a mind to see emotions as clearly as words on page. This ability is fairly common. Yours is not, which makes you valuable.”

  I snorted at the idea that my itchy thoughts were valuable to anyone.

  “You don’t know what you’re capable of,” he insisted.

  My mind whirled. A part of me wanted this conversation to be
a figment of my imagination. Another part of me couldn’t deny he knew way too much about me to be accidental.

  “Alison, it’s time to go,” my dad yelled from across the park.

  “I have to go,” I said, getting up. “Can we talk again, though?”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible. I’m only vacationing here. We leave tomorrow.”

  “Who else can I talk to?”

  “No one,” he replied sternly. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you…it’s just, you look so much like her.”

  “I look like who?”

  The man called for his son and swung the child onto his shoulders. “A woman I owe my life to.” There was both compassion and apprehension in his expression when he turned to me. When his eyes darted to the parking lot, I realized he was expecting someone and didn’t want to be caught talking to me. “I’ll leave you with some advice. You are one of us, but do your best to hide it. If you’re lucky, that will shield you.”

  He turned to leave. Gripped by dread that I’d learn nothing else about myself and the mysterious dewing, I ran around to face him. “Explain what that means…please.”

  He nodded once, a concise movement, indicating what was coming wouldn’t be pleasant. “We are in the middle of a war. A struggle for power. As an unprotected thoughtmaker, you are valuable. There is someone who, if he knew you existed, would stop at nothing to control your power. If you love your human family, never use thoughtmaking for amusement. Use it to hide yourself. Use it to become as invisible as you can. It’s the only way to protect yourself and them.”

  “Protect them from what?”

  “He would hurt your humans in order to control you, and when he finished with you he’d kill you all.”

  I stood still, feeling the weight of the world shift and then settle onto my fourteen-year-old shoulders. I loved my adoptive family more than anything else in the world, and I knew in that moment, with surety I found devastating, he was telling the truth. My family was in mortal danger because of me.