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She
sat cross-legged, facing me on our living room couch – her eyes growing wider
by the minute, and her facial expressions ranging from shock to surprise to
downright disbelief. “Crap Lexi, I can’t believe all this went down and you’re
still alive.” Her auburn hair was pulled back in a French braid, and her blue
eyes examined my face carefully. She reached out and grabbed my hand. “You need
to tell them about your premonitions. Maybe you’re not a Dentelle, but
something else entirely, and they can help figure out what or come up with a
plan,” she said rashly.

Shaking
my head furiously, I said, “No. I don’t want them to know about my premonitions.”
She raised her brows. “Yet,” I added to appease her. “I need to work through
this on my own for awhile. I don’t need everyone hovering around me anymore
than they already are. They don’t need to worry about me being a Dentelle right
now, when they have enough to worry about with Ray-pacs.”

She
smacked me with a pillow. “Well, you should be worried about the Ray-pacs, too.
I mean, what if they want revenge and come looking for you, not just your
Guardian friends?”

Okay,
so I hadn’t mentioned the fact that Kieran had already come back once, and that
I was the main point of interest. That was one of those not so minor details
that I’d left out. There was only so much worry and stress I wanted to place on
her. “Oh Ally, that’s not gonna happen, but I promise I will be careful.
Besides, the Nelson’s and Walker’s have a Tracker and others who are seriously
patrolling the area, so any Ray-pac activity within a twenty mile radius will
not go undetected.”

She
harassed me some more about why I shouldn’t keep my premonitions secret from
the Guardians, so I continued spewing out the reasons why I was right and why
she needed to trust my judgment. Trying to form coherent thoughts was
difficult, not only because I was manipulating my words to avoid telling her the
truth, but also because Paula Deen’s southern voice was rattling on and on from
the mini T.V. set in the kitchen about some apple stuffed pork chops recipe.

Ally
listened without interrupting, but made numerous faces while I spoke. At one
point she rolled her eyes and said impatiently, “I don’t think you’re doing the
right thing here. Secrets only make things worse.”

In the
end, I was careful my words, but made it clear that I wanted to do it my way.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about. But,” I said, jabbing her back with the
pillow, “my plan stays the same for now, and we don’t tell any of them I have
premonitions or that I suspect I’m a Dentelle.” I paused, “There’s something
else though…”

“What?”
she asked suspiciously.

I knew
she needed some sort of victory. One that would change her focus and get her
off my back about my decisions. “It’s time to bring Ben into this with us,
too.”

Her
eyes popped. “Really? Are you sure?” she asked nervously.

“Absolutely.
But –”

“Oh, I
know,” she interrupted, “he needs to keep your secret, too.”

I
nodded and stared hard at her. “Just the three of us,” I said.

She
relaxed her shoulders and let out a deep breath, “The Three Musketeers.”
Leaning forward, she pulled me into a hug. “Thank you Lex. And now you’ll have
two of us to help you after a premonition.” She pulled back and said
confidently, “Your visions have always been about saving people, and now that
you can heal people too, I know you’re going to be all right. I can feel
it.”She pulled back. “When do we tell Ben?”

“Tonight,”
I said firmly.

My
cell rang, so I answered it and spoke briefly with Dave Wheeler. “Are you
sure?” I asked with irritation. “I’m feeling great, and I’m ready to come back
to work.”

When I
snapped the phone shut, Ally asked, “What was that all about?”

I
groaned. “My boss said the HR department has decided I should take one more
week of paid leave; they want to make sure I’m completely recovered emotionally
from the bank robbery incident.”

“That’s
hilarious,” Ally said, slapping her leg. “That’s the least of your worries.”

“I
know, right?” I said, checking my e-mails. “I say we sit down with Ben tonight,
and then I’m going home to Tacoma for the week. I’ll just tell my parents I was
able to move my schedule around at work and wanted to spend some quality time
with them before school started up.”

Later
that evening we blew Ben away with the news. He was shocked at some things and
not so much at others. Afterwards, I packed for my trip and then left Ally to
deal with Ben’s million and one questions. The week in Tacoma was uneventful,
and when it was over my parents promised they’d visit me in Bellingham at least
once before Western opened the doors in September. Upon returning to
Bellingham, it felt good to jump back into the check stands during the day and
hang out with Ben and Ally or Jessica in the evenings. Not seeing or hearing
from Jason didn’t stop my thoughts from lingering on him a thousand times a
day. I’d had no contact with Ash either; nor, had his roommates. He wasn’t
responding to my texts, so I worried that something might have happened to him.

Time
flew by, and I counted down the days until the next full moon. I felt like I
was living in a dream rather than reality. Following Jason’s dad’s advice, I
made a point of always being aware of my surroundings, keeping a close eye on
any suspicious looking people. I wanted to be on alert, just in case any
Ray-pacs managed to sneak back into town unnoticed.

Jessica
talked me into volunteering with her at the hospital, and I found those visits
were not only helpful to others but were also completely rewarding on a
personal level as well. Even though we could heal many things, we couldn’t
completely cure
Innocents
from certain diseases or cancers, nor could we
bring someone back from the dead. But we could give them energy boosts and
facilitate the healing process. We spent a lot of time visiting patients at the
Cancer Center, the Wound Healing Center, and the Recovery Ward.

My
favorite patient in the Cancer Center, Ava Rose, was a bright and cheerful
eight year old girl whose spunky spirit and contagious smile made me want to be
just like her. She’d been diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia, a
fast-growing cancer that produced large numbers of immature white blood cells
and caused bone marrow failure. She was a fighter, always approaching
chemotherapy treatments head on, with all the courage and bravery you’d expect
from a vanguard soldier.

“Lexi!”
she exclaimed when I walked into her room, her baby blue eyes sparkling. She
wore a purple bandana over her head, because she’d lost all her golden curls.
She had an array of colorful bandanas and wore them proudly like she was
setting a new fashion trend. “What do you have for me?”

“Ava,”
I scolded but smiled, “what makes you think I brought something for you?”

“I can
see you hiding something behind your back. You can’t fool me.”

Letting
out a deep sigh, I rolled my eyes. “Fine, you got me. Pick a hand.”

Scrunching
up her face, she gripped the edges of the white, hospital sheets. Excitement
danced in her eyes. “That one,” she said, letting go of the sheets and pointing
to my left arm.

“Good
guess,” I said, revealing the prize I had waiting for her.

“New
paints,” she squealed as I handed them to her. “They’re awesome.” She ran her
hand over the box. A monster grin extended far into her chubby cheeks. “Thank
you so much.”

“What
about my other hand? You’re not going to leave it sitting here behind my back
are you?”

She
gasped and lit up like the sunshine, her eyes growing round like a full moon.
“Two prizes?” She pointed to my right arm and cried out, “What’s in that one?”

Smiling
with pleasure, I flashed a book in front of her adorable, slightly upturned
nose.

“Yay!
You brought
Inkheart
.” She held the book close and reached up for a hug.
An avid reader at eight years old, she reminded me of myself at that age. She’d
been asking me to read her a fantasy, so I’d told her all about Cornelia
Funke’s book.

Bending
down, I enjoyed the warmth of her short, little arms wrapped around me, but I
was concerned with how slow her Essence flowed. “How are your counts today?” I
asked.

She
frowned. “They’re down. But,” she said with a smile, “you’re here now, and my
counts always go up after I see you. I think it’s because you smell so good,
like cotton candy and snickerdoodle cookies. I always feel better right away
when you’re here. And,” she said shyly, “you’re like part of my family now, my
foster family says so.”

My
heart melted, and I looked down into her innocent face, cupped her chin, and
said, “You always smell like sugar plums.” She laughed along with me. In
earnest, I said, “And you’re right about family, just think of me as your big
sister.” Taking the paints, I set them on the tall, metal rolling stand next to
her bed. “Okay, I tell you what, you hold my hand for awhile, and I’ll read
your new book aloud. Sound good?”

Grinning,
she nodded vigorously and leaned back into a colorful array of pillows. Unlike
the stark white bedding, the butterfly and ladybug pillowcases added a touch of
home to the otherwise sterile room. As I made myself comfortable on the edge of
the bed, she placed her little hand in mine. Sunlight streamed through the
window, casting rays of hope all around us. A bouquet of fragrant flowers sat
by the window, offering a splash of color against the otherwise cold, bare
walls.

“Hurry
up Lexi. I can’t stand waiting anymore,” she said. With a gigantic sigh, she
nestled down into her pillow and listened contentedly. I read for at least an
hour before Jessica poked her head in and said it was time to go. Ava was
disappointed, but I promised to visit again soon. With a final hug, I pressed
the tip of her nose and told her good-bye.

“How’s
she doing?” Jessica asked when we were well down the hallway.

“Much
better now,” I smiled.

“Rewarding,
isn’t it?”

“Yes,”
I said and touched her arm. “Jessica, thanks for insisting I volunteer with
you. These last couple weeks have made such a difference in my life.”

“I
know,” she murmured and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “Theirs to,” she
added. On the way home she said, “Mt. Baker Care Center next Thursday?”

“You
got it. Mrs. Zimmerman is counting on me.”

The
following Thursday I walked into Mrs. Zimmerman’s room and called out her name,
but she didn’t hear me. For a couple minutes, I observed her quietly. Sitting
in her wheelchair next to a big, bay window, she gazed into the swampy,
wetlands area beyond the center. Apparently, the quagmire was a habitat for a
myriad of species, and she often sat in that same spot searching for wildlife.
Her silver hair was curlier than usual, and she wore a ruffled, lavender
blouse. A pink afghan lay draped over her lap; she was always chilly.

Walking
closer, I greeted her in a louder voice, “Hi Ellen.”

Her
eighty-eight year old wrinkled face looked up, and she squinted. “Ahhh, Lexi my
girl. It’s about time you got here. Bend down and give an old woman a hug.”

I
reached down and complied as the scent of a thousand rose petals settled around
me. “You smell nice,” I said.

She
laughed heartily, “Well that’s good. Now if I could just get cranky old Joseph
from room 101 to notice, maybe I’d get some smooching in.”
Covering my mouth in astonishment, I exclaimed, “Ellen! You’re so bad.”

“Oh don’t
you Ellen me, Lexi-girl. I’m not dead yet. We all need some lovin’ while we’re
still alive. Don’t you ever forget that. When I was young and beautiful I had
to beat off the young men with a stick, but these days they’re so worried about
their diapers and heart conditions they don’t even take notice.”

I fell
into a fit of laughter. She might be old and confined to a wheelchair, but this
lady had some serious spunk left in her.

With a
wink she said jovially, “Thank goodness you’re here. I can whip your little
behind in a game of pinochle and have myself a decent conversation, because
there is nothing but doom and gloom around here. Not with all these fuddy duds
fussing over their ailments and grumbling about not being able to live with
their kids.” Her eyebrows narrowed. “They should be happy their families still
visit them.”

Shrugging,
I shook my head and then walked to the dresser to get a deck of cards. When I’d
first met her, she’d surprised the heck out of me with her loud opinions and
boisterous humor, but she was a kick and I enjoyed being around her. I knew she
was lonely and didn’t have any family in the surrounding area, and she’d never
had kids of her own. What family she did have only came to visit like once a
year. She had some disease I couldn’t remember the name of, and since she
refused to talk about it, I didn’t know many details about it, either.

After
beating me in the first game of pinochle, she clapped her hands together and
said, “You better not be playing soft just because I’m your elder.”

My
eyes widened. “I’m not,” I promised. “I’m giving it all I’ve got. Believe me; I
don’t like to lose any more than you do.”

She
crinkled one eye and studied me. “I hope you’re not telling stories,” she said
firmly.

“I’m
not,” I answered honestly. “Do you want to play another hand?”

“No, I
want you to tell me about your love life. Tell me about the man who’s captured
your heart.”

I
gaped at her. “I don’t have a man.”

“Poppycock!”
she cried out. “Intelligent, sweet, young thing like you has to have at least
one man swooning over her. Besides, you’re blushing all the way down to your
toes. Come on now – this old lady needs a little excitement.” She leaned back
in her wheelchair and crossed her arms. “What color are his eyes?”