Let the Sky Fall (24 page)

“You know, when you said you’d come get me a little earlier,” I tell Audra, “I was thinking like four thirty—which is still ridiculously early, by the way. But two a.m.? Are you trying to kill me?”

“I need to know if this will work.” She sounds way too alert for this time of night. Doesn’t she ever get tired?

Her words hit me then. “
If?
I thought you said this
would
work.”

She shifts in her seat. “Nothing is guaranteed. But this should work.”

Should
is a whole lot different than
will.
“And if it doesn’t?”

Silence.

Guess that means there isn’t a Plan B. Though, honestly, I’m surprised she found a Plan A.

We pass a sign that says
LOS ANGELES 81 MILES
.

I groan. “Remind me why we aren’t flying there?”

“I wasn’t sure I had the energy to get us there and back.”

The change in her tone makes me turn toward her. She’s fidgeting with the ends of her braid. She tends to do that when she’s hiding something from me.

I’m tempted to call her on it, but I have better questions to ask. The way I see it, this drive is an hour and a half of uninterrupted “Ask Audra” time—and I
will
get some answers.

“So,” I say, trying to figure out where to start, “assuming this works, and I have a Westerly breakthrough or whatever, where do we go from there?”

She considers that, like she hasn’t thought it through. Which says wonders about how unsure she is. “I suppose I’ll contact my mother so she can send word to the Gales.”

“Your mother? Your
mother
’s the one you went to a few nights ago? Who denied your request for backup?”

“She’s helping as much as she can.”

I snort. “If that were true, we’d have a whole army at our side.”

“She’s a guardian too, Vane. She’s bound by her oath to serve just as much as I am. Personal connections can’t get in the way.”

Her voice is calm. Detached.

But I don’t buy that she doesn’t care. I mean, dude, I’m not even related to my parents, and I still know they’ll do
anything
to keep me
safe. Even if it means breaking the law or oath or code or whatever. And that’s how it should be.

So I can’t stop myself from saying, “She sounds tough.”

“She can be,” she mumbles under her breath. “Especially since . . .”

I know what she means, even though she doesn’t finish. “Was she better before that?”

“Sometimes.”

She falls quiet, and I figure that’s all she’s going to say. But then she adds, “She used to love to watch me make the birds dance.”

“Dance?” I can’t help picturing a bunch of pigeons twitching their necks to the beat.

“If I’ve connected with a bird, I can command it to flutter and twirl and flip through the sky. My mother used to lie next to me on the grass, and we’d watch them sweep across the clouds. She said it was the one way I reminded her of herself.”

Her voice sounds warmer, lighter with the memory.

“So, what does your mother do as a guardian—besides turn her daughter away in her time of need?”

Audra ignores my snipe. “She keeps watch on the winds. She can feel things in the gusts—traces and warnings and secrets—and she uses her birds to send that information to the Gales so they know of any possible dangers. Right now she’s using her gift to stall the Stormers as long as she can and send warning when they draw close. I expect to hear from her any day.”

Any day
.

I know time is counting down quickly, but it gives me goose bumps to hear just how little we have left.

“So what’s your mom’s name?” I ask, partially to get my mind on something else, but mostly because I have to know if the name I heard in my dream is real.

“Arella.”

“Arella.” That explains why she’s the one who told my father we had to move again. She must have caught the Stormer’s trail early.

It also means Audra lied to me when she said my memories were gone forever. I figured as much. But now I know for sure.

I need to know why.

So far none of the fragments I’ve recovered give me any clue. And I’d barely begun a dream tonight when Audra ripped the sheets off me and dragged me out of bed. Which was actually pretty sexy. She can—

“Did you hear me?” Audra asks.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I said the Gales will send reinforcements if you have the fourth breakthrough tonight.”

“Oh, sure. Send help
after
I have the breakthrough that makes me invincible or whatever. Why bother protecting me now, when I’m vulnerable? Idiots.”

She sighs.

“It’s true, and you know it. Do you really expect me to believe you don’t mind that they’d rather let you sacrifice yourself to save me than send you some backup?”

“They just believe in me. Believe that I’m strong enough to handle this.”

“Even if they do, they’re still gambling with your life. And mine.”

She can’t argue with that.

“And how exactly does it help me if you sacrifice yourself? Even if you take out the Stormers, all that does is leave me here like a sitting duck, no way to contact the Gales, just waiting for Raiden to send someone else to come get me. Brilliant plan, guys.”

“It wouldn’t be like that. My mother would know what happened and send for the Gales immediately.”

“So why not just do that in the first place? Why let her daughter
die
first?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. What kind of people expect someone to sacrifice their life to save someone else, when they could send help?”

“Because the Gales are under constant attack from Raiden. They can’t spare anyone right now just to save my insignificant life.”

“You’re
not
insignificant,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

She clears her throat. “Besides, you wouldn’t be defenseless. I’d pass my gifts to you. Give you my knowledge and skills by letting you breathe me in.”

“Why does that sound creepy?”

“I assure you, it’s not. You just don’t know how the ultimate sacrifice works.”

She takes a breath before she continues. “We have two forms. Our earthly form and our wind form. Our wind form is infinitely more powerful. We’re almost invulnerable to injury, and it gives us a whole other arsenal to fight with. If you have no ties to the earth, you can shift between the two. Like what I did in your room a few nights ago. It’s rarely attempted and hard to achieve and quite painful. But possible.”

“And if you have food or water in your system?”

“Then the parts of yourself that were bound to the earth will crumble and drop away in the shift, and you won’t be able to reclaim them. That’s why the water weakened me so much. I’m grounded until the last drop is gone.”

It’s way too late at night for my brain to understand crazy concepts like this. “But if that happened, you wouldn’t really be dead. You’d just be wind, right?”

“Yes. But you’ve permanently sacrificed your earthly form. Life as you know it is over. And the ultimate sacrifice requires you to sacrifice your wind form as well. I don’t know that much about it—it’s only happened one other time, besides my father.”

Her voice catches and she clears her throat before continuing. “As I understand it, you let the winds rip you apart and tackle the storm piece by piece in a unified, mass bombardment. Your consciousness stays with you long enough to let you whisper thousands of commands that shred the storm and destroy anyone inside it. But you scatter with the winds. And there’s no way you can put yourself back together before your consciousness fades away.”

My grip tightens on the steering wheel.

No way I’m letting her do that.

“But as you surrender yourself, you can send your gifts to someone else. So the talent isn’t lost. My father—” Her voice catches again and she pauses for another breath. “My father sent me his gift when he sacrificed himself. It’s why I can walk so easily on the winds. Why I’m a guardian so young. And if I have to sacrifice myself, I’ll send it to you.”

“I don’t want it.” My hands shake so hard we swerve toward the shoulder. “I don’t want your
talent
. You’re not doing that, Audra. I don’t care how bad it gets. Promise me that.”

“I’ll only do it as a last resort. But I will make the sacrifice if need be. And there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me.”

My palms throb from squeezing the steering wheel so hard.

She’s wrong. There is something I can do to stop her.

I can have the fourth breakthrough.

I press harder on the gas, breaking the speed limit and not caring.

The Westerlies and I have a date. And I have no intention of screwing this one up.

CHAPTER 36

AUDRA

T
he salty air hits me as soon as I open the car door, as does a strong ocean wind singing in a language I can’t understand. A Westerly.

Vane parks near the beachfront, and we make our way across the empty parking lot toward the massive wooden structure stretching into the churning ocean. The Santa Monica Pier.

It’s almost four a.m., and the night is clear, the heavy winds sweeping away any fog or clouds. The amusement park in the center of the pier is mostly dark, a tangled maze of twisting lines and shapes rimmed with flashing blue and red lights, set against the black, starry sky. All the shops and restaurants are closed. The only things lit are the streetlights lining the railings along the edge of the pier. This place was built for large crowds, but right now it’s
empty, save for a few fishermen sitting silently by their poles on the scattered benches.

The solitude is eerie. I feel exposed—vulnerable—as I struggle to keep up with Vane. He climbs the wooden stairway like a man on a mission.

As I step onto the pier the Westerlies pick up speed, filling my head with their unfamiliar song. It’s unsettling to be surrounded by winds I can’t understand. Like being mobbed by strangers.

But this place is familiar.

I’ve been here once before, a day I’ve buried deep in my memory with all the other things too painful to think about.

Crowds of people swarm around me, blocking my view of Vane and his brand-new family as they wander the pier.

My weary legs are tired of standing in the shadows as his parents buy him drippy swirls of ice cream and pink puffy candy and buckets of popcorn and put him on rides that make him flip and twist and spin.

Vane gets to have the perfect, happy life. I can only watch from a distance.

For the first time since I joined the Gales, I’m tempted to leave. Take a break from training to fight and kill. From mastering the winds. From shadowing Vane. Do something for me.

I stare at the seagulls gliding above the rippled water. They call to me, beg me to join them, and I can’t help wondering how long I could fly on my own. Would it be far enough to forget? Far enough to be free?

I step toward the rails.

Vane’s dad shouts for him to come along, and I obediently return to my duties. I follow them into the fancy building with the blue trim and the arched windows. The room echoes with music and conversation, and I watch Vane circle the carousel, selecting his favorite horse. He picks a gray stallion with a red saddle and a black mane.

I stop to stare at the familiar building, having to remind myself that it’s not nine years ago. The doors are locked and the windows are dark, but when I squint through the glass I can see the painted ponies staring at me with their lifeless eyes. And I can see the fortune-telling machine I’d hidden beside. The place I heard a voice so familiar it made my heart freeze.

“Audra.”

“Dad?” I scream, drawing far too much attention to myself and not caring in the slightest. I shove people out of my way, run up to every man I see, but none of them is him.

The carousel starts to spin and it feels like the rest of the world is spinning around me. The music plays louder, making it harder to hear. Harder to think. I can’t separate the voices, much less find the one I need. Several of the groundlings ask me what’s wrong, but I shove them away. I’ll be in big trouble with the Gales for making such a spectacle, but I don’t care. I have to find my dad. Tell him I’m sorry. Beg him to stay.

“Audra.”

I spin toward the sound and lock eyes with Vane as he rides past me. We only hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds, but it’s clear:
He knows me.

I gasp as someone grabs my shoulder.

“Hey, easy,” Vane says, holding his hands palm out. Showing me he means no harm.

I clutch my chest, wishing I could reach inside and steady my hammering heart.

“What’s wrong? One second you were behind me, and then I find you here, pressed up against the glass, white as a ghost.”

“You saw me that day.”

“What?”

After Vane saw me, my father’s voice disappeared. I didn’t know if part of him was really there or if it was all some big mistake, but I did remember that I’d promised him I would take care of Vane. I never let myself forget that again. And I never let myself think about that day or wonder what it meant. Which is probably why I missed the most important part of the memory.

“Nine years ago, you came here with your family,” I remind him. “I followed you to keep an eye on you. And while you were riding the carousel, you saw me in the crowd, and you knew me.”

He shouldn’t have known me.

I was supposed to be erased.

He stares into space and a slow grin spreads across his lips. “I forgot about that. That was the first time I started to think you were real. I wanted to jump off the carousel and find you, but my mom had her arms wrapped around me. And by the time the ride was over, you were gone. I figured I must’ve imagined seeing you.”

A few seconds of silence pass as I digest that.

“So, how does it work?” he asks. “How did you make me dream about you every night?”

“You dream about me?”