Descendant (4 page)

Mr. Akers is unexpectedly good looking, in a way no teacher should be allowed. His night-black hair is the perfect frame for his pale, nearly translucent skin and striking eyes, which are a deep-aqua color too blue to be real. Those eyes watch over the class and
stop momentarily on me. He towers over my five-foot-two—in the six-foot range—leaving his sculpted chest continually in my line of vision. I picture him standing shirtless on the cover of a fashion magazine. No, a billboard. In Vegas. He could totally pull it off.

His aura might be yellow, which would indicate joy and vitality, but it’s hard to tell for sure since the stage is flooded with lights.

Following his directions, my classmates and I stand with our feet shoulder-width apart, eyes closed, and sweep our arms in circles, aiming first at the floor and then moving toward the ceiling.

“Push out all the dark energy, and pull in your chi,” Mr. Akers says in a soothing voice. “Pull in the light, the good, and the happy. Concentrate. Breathe in the positive.”

I feel calm. Balanced. Stable.

Until the door behind the stage slams open and a burst of frigid wind hits me from behind. Shivering, I turn toward the source of the distraction.

Someone forces the door closed, pushing hard until the latch clicks. He’s standing in the shadows, so I can only see his outline, but my breath catches when he steps into the light and tosses his coat on a chair. His hair is short up to his ears, but from the top grows long enough to wave softly around his face. Smooth skin stretches taut over the lean muscles in his arms. This guy works out. My heart stutters when our eyes meet. His are pools of the clearest blue I’ve ever seen—a blue that seems to pierce straight through my soul. A spark of familiarity races down my spine. I know those eyes from somewhere.

Why won’t my heart beat normally?

“Glad you could make it to class, Kye.” Mr. Akers doesn’t even have to look; he already knows who just came in. He continues to lead the Thai Chi movement as if there was never an interruption. “I assume you have a good reason for being tardy?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” Kye’s voice is musical. And familiar. He’s the guy who was talking to Mrs. K. in the office, but that’s not all. I could swear I’ve seen him before, heard his voice before. “I can get a note if you want,” he says, tearing his eyes from mine. “Val sends his regards.” He takes a place on the stage, far away from me, assumes a Thai Chi stance, and mimics our movement like he’s been doing this his entire life. His breathing is even and slow, as if he hasn’t just
come bursting in from the Arctic. As if he isn’t as affected by me as I am by him.

Mr. Akers opens one eye and peers at Kye. “I see.” Kye nods and Mr. Akers closes his eye again and finishes the warm up session—apparently needing no further explanation. My intuition spikes and I’m curious. There was something in the look they exchanged, but as hard as I try, I can’t figure out what.

I try to see into Kye’s energy field, but I can’t. For some reason that has nothing to do with the stage lights, I can’t see Kye’s aura at all.

W
hile the rest of us pair up to work on a characterization assignment, Kye joins Mr. Akers in the small office located on one side of the stage. Through the glass door, I can tell Kye is excited. He talks with his whole body, not just his hands. Mr. Akers looks concerned at first, but then a proud smile spreads across his face.

I wonder about their relationship. Obviously, they’re more to each other than teacher and student. It wouldn’t be unheard of for them to be related, especially in a town with more snowplows than people.

My partner, Crystal, looks at her watch, clearly annoyed. “You want some advice, new girl? Stay away from Kye. Guys like him think the world—and everyone in it—revolves around them. I’m out of here.” She grabs her bag and walks away.

I’m left speechless in our corner of the stage—with five minutes left before the bell.

“Don’t let her get to you. Crystal often has bratty tendencies.”

I turn around and find myself face to face with the boy from the snowball fight. Dark brown hair falls in pieces over his forehead and cheeks and he shakes it back, revealing hazel eyes and the perfect teeth I noticed earlier. “But don’t tell her I said that or she’ll come after me.”

My irritation from the morning’s confrontation flickers and dies. I return his smile. “I’m Abby.”

“Eric.” He closes my hand in both of his. “Welcome to Jackson High.”

“Thanks.” I drop my papers in my bag as the bell rings.

Mr. Akers pokes his head out the office door. “You’re free to go. See you all tomorrow.”

“Where’s your next class?” Eric asks.

I glance at my schedule, unsuccessfully trying to avoid a last look at Kye. He’s sitting on the edge of Mr. Akers’s desk, looking amused. I shake my head and look at the paper for real this time. “Um, history, room 107.”

“Wicked. You’re in my class.” Eric picks up his binder. “I’ll show you the way.”

Even
  though I dread Rose’s promised questions, I accept the invitation to sit with her and Jen at lunch, because not sitting alone is eighty percent of the first-day battle. The conversation centers on an upcoming trip they’re planning. I only partly listen, picking the pepperoni off my pizza and stealing discreet glances around the cafeteria. I’m not really looking for Kye. Okay, I am, but I don’t want to admit it—even to myself. Something about him draws me like a paperclip to a magnet, and I haven’t even officially met him.

“Abby, are you in there?” Rose waves a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry.”

“So, are you coming with us?” Rose struggles with the lid on her milk chug then hands the bottle to Jen, who opens it with a faint pop. When she hands Rose the plastic lid, it looks a bit warped, like it sat too close to the heat vent.

“Where?”

“On our trip to the Park.”

“What, like a picnic? It’s freezing out.”

Rose laughs and rests a hand on my shoulder. “The Park. As in, Yellowstone National Park. Geysers and mud pots are the most fun.”

“Oh.” I sip my drink. “When are you going?”

“Spring break. Jen’s uncle is getting us a killer deal on rooms at
Old Faithful Lodge. They’re not always open by then, but I talked to the owners. No one ever tells me no.”

“Originally,” Jen says, “we planned the trip for Rose’s birthday, but it turned into such a big deal, the principal arranged for chaperones and buses. I guess he decided it’s better to get involved than leave the junior and senior classes at a lodge, overnight, without adult supervision.”

“You’re spending the night?”

Jen leans forward. “Hence the chaperones. Isn’t it wicked? Half the school will be there for Rose’s eighteenth.” Jen grins at Rose. “We’re going to rock that park.”

“Oh, yeah.” Rose strums an imaginary guitar. “Hey, if your parents will let you come, you can room with Jen and me. We have a suite so there’s plenty of space.”

“We’ll see,” I say. It’s hard to imagine going on an overnight trip with people I just met. Plus, my mom will never go for it. Not after what happened with Gram.

Conversation swirls around me, but my eyes are drawn to the far corner of the cafeteria where two people are arguing. Kye and that girl from drama—Crystal. The energy around them sparkles with rainbow-colored darts.

Mostly, Crystal rants while Kye stands there. Every so often, the muscle in his jaw tenses, but though I can see his mouth moving, he never yells back, even when Crystal slaps him and the sound echoes in the cafeteria.

There is a chorus of cheers and guffaws as Crystal storms out and Kye follows, ignoring the catcalls from other students and questions from a concerned cafeteria monitor.

“Here we go again,” Rose mutters, shoving half a roll in her mouth.

“You’d think he’d learn by now.” Jen returns to her party planning, but I’m no longer listening. I’m remembering the one and only time I ever saw Gram lose control. She slapped my father during an argument in the living room of a house we rented in Utah. I was six-years old, crouched behind the sofa, eavesdropping, when I should have been in bed. Gram was telling my dad he shouldn’t go, but he insisted that he had to, that there were evil things happening which he couldn’t ignore.

Later that night, he came to my room while I pretended to sleep.
He brushed the hair off my forehead and kissed my cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, and I opened my eyes to watch him leave. It was the last time I ever saw him. That’s when I learned to fear my Gifts, why I resisted learning to use them until it was too late, why I couldn’t save Gram.

Remembering makes my stomach ache, steals my appetite.

“Hey.” Eric’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “You okay?”

I nod. “Just thinking.”

“You’re not sick or anything?” He points at the pizza on my plate. “Pepperoni poisoning?”

“No, I’m not sick. I’m fine, really.” My eyes sting.

“You look sorta pale.”

I gulp the rest of my drink, trying to cool the cold burn in my throat. “New school nerves catching up to me, I guess.”

Eric eyes me over his burger. “You seemed fine earlier.”

“Long day.” My lunch tray is still full, but the need to escape is now priority. I dump my food in the nearest trash can and bolt through the outside door. Salt crunches under my boots as my feet take me around the school toward the parking lot. The weak afternoon sun has melted the ice, leaving puddles on the sidewalk.

I take a calming breath and stare at the snow-covered mountains. The frosty air fills my lungs and, bit by bit, I regain my balance.

The loss of my father is far enough in the past that a layer of scar tissue has formed over the wound. Only weeks have passed since Gram’s death, and her loss is still an open sore. My heart aches, missing her.

Gram always knew my feelings before I did, and when I hurt, for whatever reason, she always knew what to say to make me feel better. I miss the comfort of having her put her arms around me and tell me everything will work out for the best, the way she did when I was twelve and first showed signs of being a Healer.

I had found the body of a newborn puppy in a Dumpster and picked her up, planning to bury her, but instead brought her back to life. Mom let me keep her, and we named her Erda, after the Norse goddess of fate.

When I was fourteen and had my first vision—about a blue-eyed boy who was always being chased by men with otherworldly abilities—Gram made me oatmeal raisin cookies and informed me
that having two Gifts is exceptionally rare. She made me believe that even among Gifted people, I am unique. Special.

But Gram’s gone.
And it’s my fault.

“Hey, I wondered where you went,” Rose calls from down the sidewalk.

I force a smile as she approaches, but keep staring at the mountains. “I needed some air.”

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” She stares too.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like them. Mysterious. Like a fairy tale.”

“I know what you mean.” Rose’s voice takes on a more serious edge. “If you’re looking for a fairy tale, good or bad, you’ve come to the right place.”

“What do you mean?” I’m trying to act more interested than I am, even though I just want to be left alone.

“We have a bunch of local legends,” she says. “Fantastical creatures, lots of adventure ... you should read about them sometime.”

My interest piques, despite my desire to be alone. “Maybe I will,” I say. “Everyone loves a nice fairy tale every now and then.”

“Yeah.” Rose frowns, stares at the mountains again. “As long as there’s a happy ending involved.”