by Wendi Wilson
Pointing straight down, I guided the air into a spinning tornado that lifted me up off the floor. I flapped my wings to keep me upright while I twisted inside the funnel, laughter spewing from my lips.
I let my control of the wind go, touching down on the balls of my feet before falling to my knees against the mat. Rowan was right. I’d been trying too hard. Overthinking it. Trying to force something that couldn’t be forced. I just needed to accept it, nurture it, and let it flow.
I had to tell him.
I jumped to my feet and ran, my black wings fluttering behind me. I smiled at the feeling, finally finding peace and happiness with their existence. They were an integral part of me, dark color and all. I pumped them, and my speed more than doubled, taking me to the end of the hall in a shot.
I laughed out loud, skidding to a halt in front of Rowan’s office door. No one was around to see my antics, and I realized I wouldn’t have cared if they had. I was no longer ashamed of my differences, and embracing them felt profound, like it was the single-most important decision I’d ever made.
A decision that would change my life, forever.
I swung open the door without knocking, calling out to Rowan. The light was dim, and I squinted as I searched the room for his familiar form. I hoped he hadn’t left. I didn’t want to wait to give him my news.
And I still needed to apologize.
I spotted him sitting on the sofa in front of the fire. His head was down, his chin tucked against his chest like he was sleeping. Or praying. Did Sylphs pray?
I shuffled across the room, calling out his name in a soft voice so as not to startle him. He didn’t respond, so I assumed he was asleep. I started to turn away. I’d let him rest, then speak with him in the morning.
But then I stopped. Something about his appearance was just…off. I closed the distance between us, saying his name again. He didn’t move.
That was it, I realized. He wasn’t moving. At all. Not even to breathe.
“Rowan,” I yelled, rushing the last few steps forward and falling to my knees in front of him. “Rowan!”
I touched his face, then snatched my hand away. The flesh of his cheek felt cool. His jaw was slack and…his eyes were open, wide and unseeing.
A scream ripped from my lungs as I scooted backward, moving dangerously close to the fire. My entire body was shaking despite the heat at my back and my vision went blurry as tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.
I rocked and rocked, forward and backward…for how long, I wasn’t sure. At some point, shouts sounded near me. Arms picked me up. Carried me somewhere. Laid me down and tucked me underneath warm blankets.
Someone called my name. Stroked my face. Begged me to come back to them.
But I couldn’t escape the hell my mind was trapped in. The waking nightmare in which I was living held me tightly, refusing to let go.
Rowan was dead. My teacher, my mentor, my friend. He was gone, and he was never coming back.
Grief overtook the shock and I started to wail. Hands pressed against me, words spoken in soothing tones. But I couldn’t hear the words, and I struggled against the hands.
I did not want to be comforted. I wanted to rage. I wanted to scream and cry and beat my fists against the Earth. I wanted Rowan back.
On the outer edges of my mind, I heard shouting. I felt hurricane-force winds whipping the covers from me as my body floated into the air. I smelled the acrid scent of smoke and felt the sprinkle of cool rain against my face.
I raged against the elements, screaming foul curses against the fates that took Rowan from us. From me.
Blackness edged out all of my senses and, for the fourth time since I started attending Oberon Academy, I passed out.
Chapter 28
28
I awoke with tears in my eyes, unsure of why I was crying. I swiped my hand against them and pushed myself up into a sitting position. I was in a strange bed in a strange room, and Shaela was sitting next to me, her blonde head laying on the mattress next to my hip.
“Shaela?” I whispered, and she shot upright with a sharp intake of breath.
“December,” she sighed. “You’re awake.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the medical ward,” she said. “What do you remember?”
My brows scrunched down as I tried to recall how I got there. Bits and pieces of memories came back to me before the truth hit me like a freight train. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at Shaela, mentally begging her to tell me I dreamed it. That it wasn’t real.
“Rowan?” I croaked out, and she shook her head as her eyes dropped to her lap.
I began to cry in earnest, and Shaela tangled her fingers through mine. She stood and scooted onto the bed next to me, laying her head on my pillow. She whispered words of comfort and words of sorrow in my ear, but I couldn’t decipher what she said.
All I could hear were my own words. All I could see was the look on his face as I stormed away.
“Shaela,” I choked out, “the last thing I said to him was screw you. I was angry and I said screw you, Rowan, and I stormed out.”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” she crooned in my ear, brushing my hair away from my face.
“I w-w-went back to apologize. I wanted to tell him how s-s-sorry I was.”
“He knew, December,” she said, but I knew she was just trying to make me feel better.
I knew she meant well, but nothing would make me feel better. I disentangled my fingers from hers and rolled over, giving her my back.
“I’d like to be alone, please.”
The bed bounced as she slid off. She mumbled something about checking on me later, but I didn’t respond or even turn to look at her. I listened until I heard the soft click of the door closing behind her, then I broke down. Harsh sobs wracked my body, tearing my insides to shreds so that each breath burned like acid.
It was my first brush with death, my first time feeling real grief.
I was an orphan. I’d never loved anyone, not really. I’d never let anyone get close, so I’d never had to learn what it felt like to have them ripped away from me.
Rowan was like a father to me, the first I’d ever had. Though we’d never expressed our feelings verbally, I knew he cared about me. And I returned that affection, loyalty, and respect by acting like a toddler and throwing a tantrum when things didn’t go my way. By taking my anger out on him.
Screw you, Rowan.
Each time the words echoed in my head, the sobbing accelerated, until I was full-on hyperventilating. The air was thick with sorrow and guilt and I couldn’t get enough oxygen. But panic never set in. No, I deserved what I got and if drowning in my own tears was my penance, so be it.
Hands grabbed me from behind, jerking me into an upright position. I gasped in big gulps of air, my eyes rolling wildly around the room, unable to focus. Something was pushed against my mouth and then I did panic, scratching at the hand that held it there.
“Breathe, December,” a familiar voice said. “In and out. In and out.”
I calmed, my vision finally focusing on the icy-blue eyes in front of me. Easton was there, holding a bag over my mouth and encouraging me to breathe into it. His voice was firm, commanding even, but I didn’t balk or fight him.
I was too torn up. Too tired. Too broken. I just did as he instructed and breathed into the stupid bag as my heartrate decelerated and my breaths evened out into a normal, stable rhythm. He pulled the bag away from my face.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I dropped my eyes to my lap and shook my head. I wasn’t okay. And I wasn’t going to lie and pretend like I was. I didn’t have the energy.
“Can I get you anything?”
His voice was gentle and kind, but rather than melting my insides like it normally might, it grated on my nerves. I didn’t deserve his kindness. I didn’t want it.
I shook my head once more to answer his question, then rolled over to give
him my back. He didn’t say anything else, but I heard his teeth click together, as if he’d snapped his mouth shut. After several seconds of tense silence, he whispered something about letting me rest and left the room. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him had a note of finality to it.
I was alone. More alone than I’d been since leaving Todd and Gretchen’s so many weeks before. More alone, maybe than I’d been in my whole life.
It was nothing more than I deserved.
“That’s it, December. I can’t take it anymore,” Shaela shouted, her voice cracking with anger and impatience. “It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since you’ve left this room, other than to use the bathroom. Two weeks since you went to class.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Two weeks since you’ve spoken to me.”
“I’ve spoken to you,” I said, my voice monotone.
“You answer questions with grunts and head shakes,” she said, propping her hands on her hips. “That’s not talking to me. Not really.”
I grunted out a noncommittal answer, and it wasn’t lost on me that I’d just proven her point. But I couldn’t help it. There was a huge, lifeless rock in my chest where my heart used to be, and I couldn’t escape its crushing weight.
“Rowan wouldn’t want you to be like this,” she murmured.
My breath hitched at the sound of his name. It was a low blow, meant to kick some life into me, and it almost worked. I could tell by the hopeful expression on Shaela’s face that she fully expected me to launch myself up and show some emotion. Anger. Remorse. Anything.
“Leave me alone, Shaela,” I said, returning my gaze to the blank ceiling I’d been staring at all morning.
Any emotion I felt had been completely wrung out of me. Even my guilt. It was gone. All of it, and I was left with nothing but an empty shell and that lifeless rock that replaced my heart.
And with the slam of the door, Shaela was gone, too.
The sound of knuckles rapping against the wooden door echoed through the room a while later, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I just wanted to be alone.
Why couldn’t everyone just leave me alone?
“December?”
My eyes drifted closed as the door creaked open and Easton’s voice reached my ears. Maybe if I ignored him and pretended to be asleep, he’d just go.
“I know you’re awake.”
I sighed. “Go away, Easton.”
“I can’t,” he said, and something in his voice forced me to open my eyes and look at him.
Really look at him.
He looked like hell warmed over. His hair was a mess and his eyes were bloodshot. And he looked tired. Like he hadn’t slept in a week. Or maybe two weeks.
“You’re not the only one who lost him, you know.”
My heart pounded out a double beat, its first sign of life since the day I woke up in the medical ward. I gritted my teeth and ignored it, casting my eyes back up to the ceiling.
“We all loved him, December. We all depended on him, looked to him for advice, learned from him, laughed at his jokes. We all miss him. You are not alone.”
I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat and fought against the stinging in my eyes. I heard Easton move closer, but kept my eyes firmly on a hairline crack in the plaster of the ceiling.
“Shaela needs you just as much as you need her,” he said. “Did you know she’s in the bathroom, crying? Everyone can hear her whimpering through the door. She had two people who really cared about her at this school, and now one of them is gone and the other refuses to talk to her.”
I couldn’t help it. My eyes chased over to his, meeting their light blue depths for the first time in forever. They were filled with sorrow and pain, and I was sure I’d put some of that emotion there. Something cracked inside my chest, and I pressed a fist against my breastbone.
“We miss you, December,” he said, and the emotion in his voice nearly undid me.
He turned, giving me his profile as he rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Without looking back, he said, “My grandfather wants to see you in his office.”
Then he was gone.
I only wanted to be left alone but, somehow, Easton’s departure sent a shock of pain through me. I ignored it, like I ignored every other crumb of emotion that tried to surface over the last two weeks. I didn’t deserve to feel anything.
I climbed from the bed, knowing I couldn’t disregard a summons from Finn. Whether I thought of him as headmaster or king, obedience was expected and necessary. As much as I hated my life and what it had become, if he got angry and booted me from the school…I couldn’t even imagine what might happen.
My school uniform was wrinkled and probably smelled like sweat, but I didn’t change. I ran my palms over my head, flinching at the knotted state of my dark hair. But I didn’t brush it. I shuffled to the door and out into the hall, keeping my eyes glued to the floor as I made my way toward Finn Oberon’s office.
There were students milling about the corridors, and I could tell when they noticed me because, one by one, they fell silent. No one tried to speak to me. There were no giggles or snide comments or any of the crap I had to deal with…before.
Everything was different. The loss of Rowan Dobbs had affected us all, and I was just starting to realize it.
Chapter 29
29
“Come in,” a voice called out just before my knuckles rapped against the wooden frame of the door.
Taking a fortifying breath, I pushed the panel open and stepped through the opening. I’d never been inside Finn’s office before, and my eyes soaked it in as I walked toward the desk behind which he sat. My feet were dragging, but he waited patiently without saying a word.
The office looked a lot like Rowan’s, and the similarities sent stabs of pain through my chest. There was a large hearth with a cheery fire flickering inside, but instead of a large couch, there were two comfortable-looking chairs.
I tore my eyes away from them and focused on Finn. I’d found Rowan on that couch and, though the furniture was different in Finn’s office, the location was the same. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to sit before a roaring fire again.
I slid into a high-backed chair in front of Finn’s desk, attempting not to squirm as he regarded me silently. Though I dreaded finding out what he wanted with me, I wished he would break the tense silence and get it over with.
“December, look at me,” he said finally, his voice gentle, yet firm.
I tore my eyes from the wood grain of his desk, met his eyes for one second then dropped my gaze back down. A disheartened sigh echoed through the room. I don’t know what he expected of me. I was broken.
“You are not broken.”
His words hit me hard, and I jolted, my eyes flying up to meet his gray gaze with surprise. His eyelids crinkled a little at the corners, the only indication that he was happy to have gotten a reaction out of me. I cocked my head at him, my brow furrowing.
“Can you read minds?” I asked.
“In a way,” he said. “Emotions are a powerful force within a person, and in most cases, I can taste those emotions. I know when people are happy, excited, angry, or sad. I know when they feel guilty, or are lying. Every feeling has a unique flavor. And if the emotion is strong enough, if they really feel it in their flesh and their bones, I can hear it. It forms a language of its own and tells me its name.”
“So, my guilt and grief told you I’m broken?” I asked, flinching at the disrespectful tone of my voice. He didn’t deserve that.
“No,” he said, ignoring my cynicism. “Your guilt and grief told me you think you’re broken. I’m telling you you’re not. Heartbroken, maybe, but all hearts heal with time.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him that I didn’t want my heart to heal. That I deserved to wallow in my despair forever for the way I treated Rowan right before I lost him. But he cut me off with a wave of his hand.
&nb
sp; “Stop, December,” he said, his voice firm. Commanding. “You are behaving like a child.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the color drain from my face before rushing back in with a wave of heat. I hadn’t had a lot of interactions with Finn, but he’d always been kind. His reprimand caught me off guard, making my heart pound in my chest for the first time in weeks.
“Rowan Dobbs was a great Sylphid. One of the greatest. I’ve known him for over four-hundred years, yet I know my pain will eventually ebb. Time will heal. You must accept his death and move on with your life.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I mumbled.
He stared at me thoughtfully for a moment, his gray gaze looking into my very soul.
“Tell me why you feel so guilty.”
I swallowed thickly, gulping against the lump in my throat before saying, “I was with him before he died. He was trying to help me, and I was frustrated with my own shortcomings. I took it out on him. Said awful things to him. I left, and when I went back to apologize, he was gone.”
My voice cracked on the last word as tears rolled down my cheeks. My heart broke open all over again, its rock-hard shell crumbling to expose the bruised surface underneath.
“Do you think he was hurt by your words? That he died feeling the sting of your ire and that you must pay penance for that for the rest of your life?”
Hearing Finn say it in that way, in that mocking tone, made me angry. I pinched my lips together, refusing to take the bait. I knew he was trying to get a reaction out of me, to make me hash it out so that I’d feel better, but that wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t want to feel better.
“I was there that night, you know.”
His soft words caught my attention, my spine stiffening. “What do you mean?”
“I was out in the hall. I heard your words. I saw you run off in the other direction.”