Minutes Before Sunset (9 page)

18

It was Monday morning, and I knew exactly where he’d be.

I walked up the steep hill, and my eyes glided over the willow tree as I approached. The narrow-leaved branches swung in the wind, and I tied my curls into a ponytail before I reached the top. I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, but fights weren’t always conveniently scheduled.

I trudged over the grass, hoping my adrenaline would appear, but I froze when I saw him. Eric sat beneath it, his body leaning against the trunk like it was his personal La-Z-Boy. His arms were propped behind his head, and his hair was matted to the bark as he closed his eyes and listened to his music.

“Welborn!”

He didn’t move, and I hesitated stepping closer. He was asleep.

His shaggy brown hair blew against his forehead, and his chest rose slowly as he snored beneath his breath. His fingertips twitched in his lap, and his eyelashes batted as his eyes moved beneath his eyelids. He was dreaming.

I sighed and sat in front of him, unable to leave. I’d come this far, hadn’t I?

My gaze shifted above him, and I studied the elongated shrub. The branches were slender, but the trunk was toughened from years of weather. Even in the unusual climate, the leaves were vibrantly green, and I wondered why it was the only willow tree I’d seen in the Midwest, let alone Hayworth. The plant was out of its usual environment, yet this one showed no signs of dying.

It thrived.

“Beautiful; isn’t it?”

I startled, gaping at Eric as he tilted his face, staring at me with his emerald eyes. “You’re awake,” I said, and he smiled.

“Looks that way.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I said.

“Better you wake me up than stare at me,” he said, and my cheeks burned. He chuckled, gathering his things. “It was a joke.”

“Right.”

He glanced over, but he was no longer smiling. “I’m sorry I didn’t show up Friday,” he said. “I honestly tried, but something came up.”

My fingernails dug into the grass. “I didn’t show anyway,” I lied, and he turned his face away, but not enough. I saw his smile.

“Whatever you say, Jessica.”

He used my full name again, and I tensed.
What was with this guy?

“When do you want to reschedule?” he said. “It’s due next week.”

My heart stopped. “Reschedule?”

He turned to me and raised his brow. “Unless you didn’t want to.”

“No,” I said quickly, practically spitting on him. “I want to.”

“Are you available tonight?” he asked, standing as the warning bell rang. “We can meet at my house.”

His house?

“Unless that’s intrusive—”

“It’s not,” I said, unable to stand with him. I was afraid I’d fall over in shock.

He nodded, reaching into his bag to pull out paper. I stopped him. “I know where you live,” I said, and his brow rose as he smirked.

“Maybe you were staring at me,” he said, chuckling.

“Robb showed me.” The words left before I could stop them.

He looked away. “I see.”

“So how about seven?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. This time, I sprang to my feet, and Eric’s eyes glided over my every move. He was so intense.

“Sounds good.”

“Jess!” Crystal’s shout shattered over the courtyard, but only Eric turned to look toward her.

“Looks like you have to go,” he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, but I was unable to tear away from him. “I guess I do.”

He turned away from the school and started toward the street, but I shouted after him. “Where are you going?” I asked, pointing behind me. “School’s that way.”

He walked backward downhill as if he practiced it. “I need to get stuff done, if I’m going to be able to help you tonight,” he said, spinning back around and ending the conversation.

Stuff?

“Jess,” Crystal panted as she finished her climb. “What are you doing up here—” Then she stopped and raised her dark brow, watching Eric as he neared the street. An old BMW pulled up, and he got in the passenger seat, driving away before I could fathom his absence.

“That was Welborn, wasn’t it?” she asked, apparently as shocked as I was.

I nodded. “And I’m going to his house tonight.”

Crystal dug her manicured nails into my arm. “You’re joking.”

“No,” I said. “We made plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

“What do you think?” I pulled away from her and stormed down the hill. Her gossip was beginning to bother me.

“Eric Welborn doesn’t make plans with anybody,” she said, sliding over the morning dew after me. “I wouldn’t go.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s weird—”

“Let it go, Crystal,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m going whether you like it or not; he’s my science partner.”

She folded her arms and glared at the school. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks,” I said. “But I don’t need it.”

19

She was really pretty, and her head came up to my chin. Her hair was nearly the same length as mine, but it was lighter than the average shade. She’d always hated it, but I envied her unusual appearance in our Dark world full of practical clones. I’d been attracted to her since the Naming, despite knowing her for years. Abby—or Hannah in her human form—was my girlfriend, and she had been for two years.

“Can we go back to the shelter?” she asked, following me through the forest. “It’s cold.”

“I know,” I said, scraping my new tennis shoes through the mud. “But I want to show you something.”

She sighed. “Can’t you show me inside?”

I turned around and grabbed her freezing hands. “I learned something new today.”

Her blue eyes squinted. “So? We learn something new in training every day.”

“I didn’t learn this in training.” I said, grinning. “I learned this all by myself.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, tilting her head, and I dropped her hands, so I could step back.

“Just watch,” I said, clenching my hand into a small fist.

Between us, air ripped and hissed, and wind spun around my torso like Saran Wrap. My eyelids shuddered as an electric blue sword lurched from the shadows and into my grasp.

Abby leapt backward as I gripped the handle, the blade spiraling into a jet-black color. My feet dug into the soft ground as the weight pushed me down, and the tip quavered as I supported the heavy sword in my fifteen-year-old hands.

“Is that—?”

“It’s the first descendant sword,” I said, gazing at the power in front of me—the only power that was unique to me. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

***

My dreams fluttered away when I opened my eyes. The morning burned my eyes, and I sat up, freezing my movements. Beneath the shade of the willow tree, Jessica Taylor’s bright blue eyes blinked as she stared at me. “You’re awake.”

“Looks that way.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she said, and I breathed.

How long had she been here?

“Better you wake me up than stare at me,” I said, and her face went scarlet. I couldn’t help but laugh. “It was a joke.”
Kind of.

“Right.” Her voice was strained and quiet.

I looked up, fighting a frown. Guilt consumed me. Between how I treated her and the nameless shade, I didn’t deserve forgiveness. I needed to apologize, but how could I?

Oh, hey, Jessica. My guard and best friend of the Dark—this supernatural community you know nothing about—threatened to use you against me, and I had to leave if I was going to have any freedom at all. My bad.

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up Friday,” I said, allowing the truth to take over again. “I honestly tried, but something came up.”

“I didn’t show anyway,” she lied, and I had to hide my face. She was a horrible liar.

“Whatever you say, Jessica.” I didn’t want to discuss the truth any more than I had to. Plus, I’d have to mention Robb, and I definitely didn’t want to discuss him. “When do you want to reschedule?” I asked. “It’s due next week.”

“Reschedule?”

I stared at her. “Unless you don’t want to.”
Wasn’t this project a big deal or something?

“No,” she said, straightening up. Her fingers dug into her jeans. She was an anxiety attack waiting to happen. “I want to.”

“Are you available tonight?” I asked, climbing to my feet. My entire body burned from the dream. I had to get out of here. “We can meet at my house.”

Jessica didn’t respond, and I heard her breathing cease. I turned to her, and her mouth hung open. I’d seen this reaction once or twice from Mindy—generally, when I took a moment to talk to her.

Suddenly, I was the tense one.
Was my house too intimate?
I didn’t want her to think I was asking her out, because I wasn’t. I definitely wasn’t. I only wanted to avoid public.

I found the words. “Unless that’s intrusive—”

“It’s not,” she said, and I reached into my bag for directions. “I know where you live,” she added, and I got whiplash turning to her.

“Maybe you were staring at me.”
And stalking me.

“Robb showed me.” Her face paled after she spoke.

Of course he did.
“I see.”

“So how about seven?” Jessica asked, finally standing. I relaxed, happy she wasn’t sitting anymore. I felt strange looking down on her, but she was still shorter than I was—by a lot.

“Sounds good.”

“Camille?”
I sent out a telepathic message, hoping my guard was out of solitary, and I felt her Light energy bubble through my brain.

“What’s wrong?”
She had felt my dream.

“I’m at the willow,”
I responded, knowing that was all I had to say. She’d be here any minute. She was never far away—especially now that Luthicer caught us.

Crystal’s high-pitch shout rumbled my eardrums, and I winced, glaring in her direction. Did these kids ever leave Jessica alone? “Looks like you have to go,” I said, and Jessica frowned.

“Yeah.” She bit her lip. “I guess I do.”

I turned away from her before I was overcome by my thoughts. I actually wanted to ask her what was wrong. Apparently, I was acting strange too.

“Where are you going?” Jessica’s voice trailed after me, and I forced myself to walk forward. “School’s that way.”

I barely looked at her. “I need to get stuff done, if I’m going to be able to help you tonight,” I said.
Like training.
I had hours of it to complete, and I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I had to go.

20

“You have to concentrate, Shoman,” Urte bellowed over the explosion as I slammed into the white wall, gasping for breath.

My black T-shirt was shredded, and my skin was burning. I was already drenched in sweat, and it stung my eyes. The simulation room was kicking my ass.

I pushed off the wall and leapt to the side as a beam of light struck where I’d been standing. The wall shattered, dust flying over my arms, and I cursed, dodging another attack. My muscles strained against the abrupt movements.

Minutes before, I was acing my fight with Urte. I was quicker and stronger than he was, but his light replica was beating me every time. Her realness was eerie. She was tall, and her striking white hair blinded me. Her dark eyes were hollow, yet they followed me as she lurked from one corner of the room to another. Even for a light, she was impossibly flawless. She easily dodged anything I threw at her.

Urte warned me she would appear real, but I hadn’t expected the illusion to be so—physical. When she touched me, I felt her. When she attacked, I heard her breath. When she moved, her hair followed. She reacted differently every time, and her shadow followed her wherever she went. Nothing about her seemed artificial.

A bright light filled the training room, and I rolled, attempting to avoid her attack, but my foot caught the tile. The blast smacked my body against the ground, and my teeth clenched as I wheezed, trying to breathe. This was ridiculous.

“Your endurance is too weak,” Urte said, and I lifted my arms, blocking her endless assaults.

“You’re not the one who’s been fighting for two hours,” I shouted back, knowing he was safely standing aside.

“No one knows how long your battle will be, Shoman,” he said. “It could take seconds or years.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I retorted, feeling her heat sizzle behind me.

I spun on my heel, grabbed her hand, and tossed her to the ground before she could blink. At least my reflexes were faster than hers were.

When she leapt up, I soared backward, twisting to the left and the right as she followed my tracks. We moved side to side, and, for once, my movements were ahead. Her eyes flashed, light vibrating off her tanned skin, and she growled when she repeatedly missed. Even a simulation could lose her concentration.

I used it to my advantage, and, within seconds, her face smacked against the ground. Her white hair sprawled around her, her arms straining to lift her body off the floor. I towered above her, unable to move.

This was my chance to end it all—to win the battle. I was tired and sweaty. All I wanted was to end the fighting, but I could only stand above her.

Urte sighed. “You need to be able to kill, Shoman,” he said.

“I can,” I said. She sat on her knees, but I only kicked her over, watching her squirm again. She could barely stand, let alone hurt me back. She wasn’t even real, but I remained still.

“I don’t think you can,” Urte said, beginning to walk forward. He was going to end the simulation.

“I can—”

“Then prove it to me.”

My jaw locked—the only part of my body that moved—and the light sprang to her feet. Light exploded into my chest, and I flew across the room, slamming into the furthest wall.

“See what happens when you hesitate?” Urte asked, and I blinked, watching the simulation walk toward me.

I spit blood out of my mouth and ignored my arm. It was bleeding. Overlooking the minor pain, I raised my hand and shot a blast of Dark energy her way. She fell backward, sprawling across the floor, and I wiped the blood from my mouth.

“What’s the second descendant’s name?” Urte asked, and I glared.

“I thought you wanted concentration.”

“You also need to be able to think at the same time; you need to plan out strategies and understand what you’re facing,” he said, folding his arms. “What’s the second descendant’s name?”

I leapt to my feet, allowing shadows to curl around me. “Darthon,” I said, focusing on the light as she stomped toward me. She shot near my legs, fast despite her injuries, and I mimicked her movements.

“Name three things the Light is capable of,” Urte continued, and I growled.

“Illusion, poison, tracking.” I fought the girl, avoiding her eyes. “And Darthon has my sword power.” My words caused me to shudder. My dream consumed my concentration, and her nails dug into my arm. I tossed her away, forcing the images of Abby out.

“Name three ways you can fight back,” Urte said, without scorning my mistake.

“Shadows, fly—sword.” I lost my balance and tumbled to the ground, using the angle to slash at the girl’s feet. She collapsed, and I pinned her, still thinking of Urte’s question. “Unless it’s before my birthday,” I said. “Then I need to get help or escape.”

Anger devoured my conscience. I had to run
.
I knew the rule, but the logic promised my futility. I was Shoman. I was supposed to be an undefeatable killing machine—someone whose existence fated a better future—but I couldn’t until the designated time. If Darthon—a boy who hadn’t asked to be born Darthon—was truly evil, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t end his life now.

Could I even do it? I doubted it. Evil or not, I was murdering another, and he’d be my age. He probably went to my school. Almost certainly, I knew him, and I would watch his short-lived life be mourned by his loved ones. Neither of us asked to be born descendants, yet I’d be rewarded with his death, and we couldn’t prevent that. No one could.

“Shoman,” Urte was quiet. “You need to control your anger.”

I looked down at the girl I held on the floor. She was practically lifeless, but my vicious grip allowed her torture. I hadn’t stopped beating her, yet I didn’t notice.

I stretched my arm out, extending my hand, and my sword slashed through the air. I could kill
.
I wrapped my hand around the grip and slashed at the girl, but she disappeared. Around us, the broken walls and cracked floors glossed over, and I stared at the pristine training room. It showed no signs of my battle, and my sword dissipated.

“What the hell was that for?” I punched the ground. “I was going to do it.”

Urte frowned. “That anger isn’t healthy, Shoman.”

My knuckles were white. “If anger will help me defeat Darthon, then I’ll use it.”

“And they will use it against you,” he said, kneeling by my side.

I shook the hair from my eyes. “They can’t use my emotions against me unless they poison me,” I said, gripping my remedy. “And Camille stopped that.”

“What happens when it runs out?”

“It won’t.” I stood up, avoiding Urte’s green eyes. I stormed away, unable to argue with him, and grabbed the nearest water bottle. I chugged it, quenching my thirst, and panted. This was my third simulation of the day—each lasting longer than the one before—and I knew it was near dinnertime. Jessica would be at my house soon. I wanted to go, but I couldn’t—not without completing my day’s goal, killing.

“Why’d you stop me?” I asked Urte, knowing his answer. He didn’t think I was ready.

“Shoman—”

“Do you ever think I’ll be ready?” I asked, knowing he’d avoid the topic.

He sighed, grabbing his bristles. “With enough training.”

I traced my finger along the side of the bottle, and condensation dripped down my skin like tears. I tore my eyes away. “I don’t know if I can win—not in a year.”

“You will be ready,” Urte said, suddenly by my side. “Our community will prepare you.”

“In time for December?” It was only nine months away. “It’s not a lot of time.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed. “But you have the entire summer. You won’t be in school, and you can dedicate more time to training.” He smiled. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”

Urte chuckled. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But, as your strength grows, your abilities will, and training will get easier.”

“I hope so,” I said, walking toward the doorway. I picked up my bag and turned to my trainer. “Don’t set up another one,” I said, knowing we’d train through the night if I didn’t leave. “I have homework tonight, and it can’t be late.”

His expression curled. “You act like these sessions are nothing.”

My shoulders dropped. “If I don’t do this, I’ll fail this class, and then I’ll be in summer school.”
Maybe a lie.
“I can’t train if I’m doing that.”

Urte sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Go.”

“Thanks, Urte,” I said, forcing my grin down as I began leaving, but Urte grabbed my arm.

“I’ll take you home,” he said. “I have to talk to your father anyway.”

So much for a victory.