Bianca De Lumière : High Suspense Urban Fantasy Romance (The Re'em Prophecy Book 1)

by Lisette Prendé

  “Tanzania was so hot we could not go outside much at all,” Nalulu said out of nowhere.

  Stunned, Betsy and I looked over at her.

  “Normal people could. But not me. Or I’d get the cancers,” she said, her fingers on her cheeks. “I felt sad about it when I lived with my family because I could see all the other children outside playing. I used to play with my brother inside until…” She trailed off.

  “Then when I was at the albino school it was better. We had a…” She paused, her hand in the air miming something. “Canopy?” She said finally. “For shade?”

  Betsy and I both nodded, eager for her to go on.

  “That was good. But we had to stay in the gates all the time. We got bored of the same yard to play in sometimes.”

  “Gates?” Betsy asked.

  “Yes,” Nalulu nodded. “The albino school had big gates all around to keep out the hunters.”

  “Hunters?” Betsy asked.

  The images I’d seen through Nalulu’s aura flooded back: the young boy slipping away from her. The men with machetes.

  Nalulu nodded. She took a breath. “In Tanzania, some people are crazy. They think that albinos are magic. That our bodies can be used for spells, so they hunt us. So we need to go to a special school away from our families. To be safe.”

  Betsy’s face had turned white, and her aura quivered in fear.

  “But I was lucky,” Nalulu went on. “I was adopted by an American family and got to come and live here.”

  “What’s your favorite thing about America?” I asked, avoiding the topic of how much she must miss her family back in Tanzania.

  “Supermarkets!” She beamed. “There is so much food in them. And it is all bright and lit up. And I love the Mallomars!”

  “The what?” Betsy asked.

  “Don’t you get Mallomars in Sydney?” I asked.

  She shook her head no.

  “Oh! I feel sorry for you!” Nalulu said with a laugh.

  Unlike Betsy, Nalulu loved to run.

  “Wow. Bianca, you run fast!” Nalulu would pant at my side. “Normally I’m the fastest.”

  We’d run on and on until our legs were jelly, then collapse into the grass and lie gazing at the clouds, the late sun painting them orange.

  “I can see a cheeseburger!” Nalulu pointed to the sky.

  “I see a dog!” I replied. “Wearing a hat.”

  Nalulu laughed. “Bee,” she said, her breath finally steady. “I am going to miss you when camp is over.”

  “I’m going to miss you too,” I said. “We’ll have to talk on the phone. And email each other.”

  “I’d like that,” she said. Her aura bloomed rose pink.

  “Just remember,” camp leader Sonia said at the farewell rally. “You have a place here. You have friends here. When things get tough, whenever you feel alone, remind yourself: this is your family. Though we may not be there with you, we’ve all got your back.”

  For my final year at White Fern, my mom had volunteered as a camp chaperone.

  “You seem to love it so much,” she’d said. “I want to be there with you. I want to see you having fun.”

  My mom slipped out of the dining hall one night, her cell phone pressed to her ear and a hand cupped over the other. When she returned, her face looked as pale and drawn as her aura.

  “It’s nothing honey,” she’d said when I asked what was wrong at bedtime. “Just a follow-up call from the last tests.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  I sensed my mother’s lie in her aura and I wondered if she knew it. I wanted to press her but I let it go.

  The next thing I remember was waking up in the car, the morning sun skimming the tops of the waves as we drove along the seaside highway. My mom’s fingers were clamped around the steering wheel, her jaw set tight in rage, her aura pulsing with vibrant shades of purple.

  “Mom?” I said, my mouth still groggy with sleep. “Where are we?”

  “The nerve of that woman!” she scolded. “Some people can be so cruel!”

  “Mom,” I muttered, “What happened?” I scanned my mother’s aura for an explanation for why I’d been plucked out of camp while I was sleeping, without even saying goodbye to my friends. But my ten-year-old mind couldn’t make sense of all my mother’s snarled emotions.

  She stared straight ahead and set her jaw tight, releasing a long breath. Her aura calmed itself, slowly returning to its normal lilac hue. “Don’t worry, Bee,” she said. “It’s nothing. Why don’t you try and get back to sleep? We’ll stop for pancakes at a diner in a little while.”

  “But what about camp? Am I going back?”

  Her aura wilted at my question. She swallowed. “I don’t know, Bee.”

  Curiosity tugged at my mind. I wanted so badly to know what had happened and why but I couldn’t stand to ask my mother any more questions that she didn’t want to answer.

  I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes, feigning sleep. As my mother drove, I pressed my white aura against hers. Images shrouded with anger and pain floated into view: My mom sitting on a bunk bed weeping, another mother named Alison sitting next to her. Alison nodded her head sympathetically as my mom spoke between sobs.

  “I just got the call. The VEP test results came back. Bianca isn’t albino.”

  “She’s not?”

  My mom shook her head. “The doctors don’t know what she is.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I’m so worried, Alison. What if it’s something… else? Something strange and terrible?”

  “Now, now,” Alison said in a thick southern accent. “Don’t worry yourself over nothing, okay?” She hugged her limply, then offered her a Kleenex.

  As my mom dabbed her eyes, Alison got to her feet. “Now how about I get you some warm milk? My mama used to say there’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a nice cup of warm milk and honey.”

  “That would be wonderful, Alison. Thank you.”

  But Alison hadn’t returned with milk. Instead, she’d come back into the room with the camp manager, camp leader and a group of other parents in tow. They crowded round my mom, their auras heightened and accusing.

  “This is a camp for albino kids!” Alison hissed. “It’s not a camp for pale kids and freeloaders!”

  My eyes snapped open. The car was parked outside a roadside diner called Lisa’s. The sign hung above the roof at an odd angle.

  I turned to my mom. My heart ached for her—that she’d had to go through that. That she’d had to worry about me in the first place and that now she felt responsible for my expulsion from camp. I felt everything, and it was exhausting. “I’m so sorry Mom,” I managed, fighting back tears. “I’m so sorry Alison was so cruel to you.”

  “Oh Bee,” my mom sighed. “You saw it didn’t you?”

  I nodded.

  It was then that my mother said a word I’d never heard. Well, I’d heard it, but never heard it in reference to myself before.

  “She’s just jealous.”

  “Jealous of what?”

  My mom looked back at me. “Jealous of you of course.”

  “Mom,” I said with a laugh, “why would anyone be jealous of me?”

  “Because of how you look,” she said flipping the visor mirror down in front of me. “Don’t you see, honey?”

  I looked at my reflection: Dewy skin, high strong cheekbones, and bright green eyes. My straight white hair trailed past my shoulders.

  “You’re not just beautiful Bianca,” my mom said. “You’re striking.”

  “I am?”

  She nodded. “That’s why you get teased at school. Because, despite your differences, you’re stunning.”

  I was in shock. Me: Bianca the freak, Casper the ghost, the Albino of Penta
cle, beautiful? Was my mother going mad?

  “And I guess,” she went on, “that is just too hard for some people to take. I guess when I told Alison—God why did I tell Alison?—it finally gave her a reason to vent her envy towards you.”

  To be honest I wished I was albino. At least then I’d belong somewhere.

  “Say, Bianca,” Mr. Warren said quietly at my side, “I’ve ticked your name off the detention register, so if you say… had to leave early for some reason, it wouldn’t be noted.”

  Was he letting me leave?

  “You know,” he went on, “I’d like to see you smash that 3200-meter record. What’re you at now?”

  “9:51, last time coach timed me.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And the current record is…”

  “9:48.”

  “Fantastic!” He smiled. “Well, you better head to practice then don’t you think?” He nodded toward the door.

  “Thanks, Mr. Warren,” I said. At least someone at this school was on my side.

  Chapter Seven

  I jogged across the field towards Coach Wiley. She stood staunch at the edge of the track, a hand up, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun.

  “You’re late,” she noted as I approached.

  Tell me about it! I’d been late all freaking day.

  “Sorry Coach,” I said. “Long story. Bad day. But I’m here now. I’d like to train.”

  Coach Wiley was a no-nonsense, cut-the-crap kind of coach. That suited me fine.

  She offered a sharp nod. “Okay. These guys are warmed up now. I’m taking them on a road run. Why don’t you stay here and give me a slow 1600 to warm up? I’ll be back to take you through some sprints. If we can boost the speed of your final 600, I think you’ll smash that record easy.”

  Music blared through my headphones as I started my run around the lonely track. The wind whisked around me. I bounded lightly on my feet, finding my rhythm. As I exhaled, a wave of tension rolled out of my body.

  The day had been tough: The Instagram account, my mother’s worried face, the guy in the trees. I relaxed into the repetitive motion, reveling in the solitude. Just me and the earth, the sky, and the trees. My breath, my quiet mind, and the clever lyrics of Lorde. No meandering auras, no emotions to avoid. Just my feet thudding against the calm earth. Running was my sanctuary.

  Coach Wiley seemed to think I was set to break the 3200-meter record at nationals.

  “I don’t know how you do it Bianca, but you get faster the longer you run,” she said. “Your second 1600 is always faster than your first. I don’t see that often at your age. You’ll have your pick of scholarships at this rate.”

  I hoped she was right. There was no way I could go to college without a scholarship. And I needed to go to college if I ever wanted to get out of this tiny town and retire from my position as Freak of Pentacle High.

  My mom doesn’t like running. She can’t understand why I (or anyone) would choose to spend hours running. “I’m more of a swimmer,’’ she says, but she doesn’t swim that often either.

  I’m pretty sure I inherited my love of running from my dad. When I was little, I found an old photo album in my mom’s closet. There were pictures of her, young and beautiful; long blond hair, smiling with a handsome man, holding a tiny pale baby. The same handsome man, running. Scrawny legged in tiny shorts, a number pinned to his chest, a look of zoned out determination on his face. Then there were no more pictures.

  “Is this my daddy?” I asked, holding the photo album up to her. Her face fell. She took it from me and stared at it for a moment. Her lilac aura quivered with sadness.

  “It’s best not to dwell on the past, Bee,” she said, closing the album. “Focus on the now, focus on the future.”

  I never saw the album again.

  As I rounded the corner that marked my 800-meter point, I came to a stop at the fence. I slid my fingers through the wire diamonds and reached behind me, pulling my foot towards my butt, breathing through the resistance. The evidence of last night’s run through the woods was apparent in my quadriceps.

  An image fluttered through my mind as I took off, finding my rhythm again. A dark shape whisking through trees. Large and fast. I felt a chill down my spine. How would I keep myself safe? How would I prevent myself from unconsciously running through the trees at night, placing myself in harm’s way? I tried to push the fear from my mind as I ran on, my speed increasing.

  “Bianca, it is not safe here.”

  The voice rang through my head, blocking the music from my ears. I stopped dead, pulling my headphones out. The field was still and quiet. Too quiet.

  I spun around, peering at the tree line beyond the fence. Was he here? Or had I imagined it? I pushed my aura outward but felt nothing.

  From nowhere an image appeared in my mind. A bird’s eye view of Pentacle: A small town, only one lonely road in and out, bordered by sprawling forest. The very forest I was peering into right now.

  A chill spread between my shoulder blades as an icy coldness brushed against the edge of my aura. I doubled over. A high-pitched whistle filled my ears.

  “Bianca! Go! Now!”

  I got to my feet and ran. My keys were in my hand as I reached Terence. I slipped behind the wheel and gunned the engine. As I tore out of the parking lot, I threw a glance behind me in the rearview mirror. For a fleeting moment, before I pulled out onto the main road, I was sure I’d seen him. Standing there by the dumpsters. His ice-blue eyes staring into mine.

  Chapter Eight

  My mom was home when I got in. Normally she’s home much later, but today she was ready and waiting, her aura swirling in whirlpools of violet.

  “Bianca! Where have you been?!” she snapped.

  “I had practice.” Technically I wasn’t lying. Just withholding some of the information. Did she really need to know about my short appearance at detention today?

  She sighed. “That’s right.” She brought a hand to her forehead.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing honey, It’s just…” she hesitated. I could feel her deliberating. Deciding whether or not she should tell me. “I’m just flat out exhausted is all.”

  I took a breath and pressed my aura against hers.

  She looked up at me, her face folded in a scowl, as if she could feel my invasion. “Bianca!” she snapped, holding up her hands.

  My aura whipped backward with a jolt.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just…just leave it, okay?” She walked off to the kitchen and started clanking around.

  That night, I lay in bed, listening to the owls call to each other outside my window. I massaged my temples, trying to ease the tension in my mind. I wondered what it would be like to have normal teenage problems. To spend my time stressing about boys and clothes and Instagram.

  My chest filled with heaviness as I thought of Caleb asking me to the prom today. Could it all be a cruel prank to humiliate me?

  A few years back Fae and I had watched Carrie, a film based on a book by Stephen King.

  “This isn’t even scary!” Fae had said as she munched on popcorn next to me.

  But to me it was terrifying. Was that what happened to girls with sixth sense who dared to trust boys who asked them to the prom? Pig’s blood and fiery chaos?

  The pure green of Caleb’s aura came flooding back to me. There was only kindness there. Kindness and a fluttering nervousness that I hadn’t expected. He liked me. A cute boy liked me.

  I closed my eyes and let the warm glow of happiness fill me. An image of Caleb came into view. His green aura swam around me, mingling with my white glow.

  But there was a nagging in my gut. A niggling pang of doubt and worry. Caleb’s smile faded and a dark shape flew into view behind him. My eyes snapped open and I let out a sigh. I did
n’t want to think about whatever it was I’d seen in the forest. Or whatever was killing the cattle. I wanted to dream of handsome boys who asked me out. Boys with kind smiles and shiny hair. Not mysterious creatures and weird telepathic strangers.

  Whoever he was, he tried to warn me. But why me? Shouldn’t the one thousand other residents of Pentacle be warned too?

  Before bed, spurred on by my mom’s fear, I’d set up an elaborate booby trap outside the French doors off my bedroom. I hoped that if I tried to escape into the night, the pots and pans I’d hung up would wake me before I made it to the trees.

  I hugged my sheets to my chest. They were cozy and comforting and doing their best to ease my anxious thoughts. Closing my eyes, I willed sleep to take hold of me. I inhaled slowly, beginning the box breathing technique my mom had shown me. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. Repeat.

  Images formed behind my eyelids and abstract figures danced in front of me. Thick green branches and wooded forest. Two centaurs galloped through trees, grasping spears. They fought as if in training for battle, their biceps bulging as they swung at each other.

  Their horse bodies were large and strong. Velveteen hair faded into the dark olive skin of a man just below the navel. They were beautiful. Their strength, their size…they were spectacular to watch, even if only in my mind.

  They continued to duel in a dance-like battle; their tails flicking, their hooves digging into the earth as they dodged each other’s careful blows. The older of the two had a full beard and long, dark hair, while the younger had shorter hair and only a small amount of stubble on his chin.

  The bearded centaur was clearly the more experienced fighter. His movements were cleaner and seemed to require less effort. The younger horse-man panted as he swung his spear, but still, he swung with skill and precision; he was well trained by his elder.

  As the teacher struck, the pupil dodged the motion and instead counterattacked, skillfully sending his teacher’s spear flying to the forest floor. The teacher, now unarmed, raised his hands as the younger centaur aimed the spear just below his shocked face. The shock slowly faded to a broad smile.