Mirage (4 page)

Breathing deeply, I closed my eyes. My limbs felt weightless, somehow disconnected from my body, as I allowed the music to wash over me, soothing me.

An elevator. Glass panels and shiny, dark wood. It was the elevator in Patsy’s building, I realized. Someone was pushing the
L
button, stabbing it repeatedly—a girl wearing a pink sweater
and jeans, her nails painted a metallic blue. I could hear her breathing loudly, nearly panting. She turned, looking around wildly, her pale blond hair slipping from a ponytail. Whitney! I could sense her fear. The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open. Whitney ran out, stumbling through the lobby, past the doorman’s empty desk and out through the building’s double doors. It was nighttime. Whitney looked back over her shoulder, as if she were trying to see if anyone was following her, and then she took off running.

Soon she was darting into Central Park, where the trees were bare, the grass a dull, brittle brown. She headed toward a covered tunnel lit with a yellowish light, but then veered off, down a narrow footpath to the left. And then someone popped into my vision directly behind her, as if he’d simply materialized there out of thin air. I saw Whitney turn, saw her eyes widen when she saw him there behind her.

“No!” she cried out. I saw him then—Aidan. I saw the way he looked at her, his eyes rimmed in red and full of bloodlust. He reached for her just as she tripped, falling to her knees on the path with a look of pure terror on her face.

I sat up with a gasp, my fingernails digging into the mattress. I blinked several times, trying to get my bearings, fighting off the hysteria that was bubbling up inside me.

Oh. My. God. There was no mistaking what I’d just seen—Aidan was going after Whitney, fully intending to … to … attack her.

Only it didn’t make sense; none of it made any sense. What was Whitney doing in New York, at Patsy’s apartment? And more important, what was wrong with Aidan? Because something would have to be
seriously
wrong with him if this was going to occur. He didn’t hunt innocents, didn’t feed from people who weren’t evil to the core. And Whitney was
not
evil. In fact, she was about as far from evil as they came.

What the hell?

I shook my head, attempting to clear it, to rid my brain of those awful images. Was it possible that I’d just fallen asleep and dreamed it? Just before the vision, my eyelids had felt heavy. The spa music had definitely made me sleepy. That had to be it—I’d dozed off and had a weird dream, maybe even a dream masquerading as a vision. That made way more sense.

Besides, I hadn’t experienced my usual prevision aura—my sight hadn’t tunneled, my ears hadn’t buzzed. There hadn’t been any warning signs at all. One minute I was lying there, all relaxed and sleepy, and the next minute the images had appeared in my mind.

The door opened and Cece shuffled in, setting down her toiletries on her desk. As soon as she looked in my direction, her eyes went wide. “Uh-oh, you’ve got that look. A vision?”

“No, a dream. A nightmare,” I corrected, praying it was the truth.

“Whew.” Cece’s eyes narrowed. “You look terrified, though. You okay?”

I licked my lips before I could reply. “Yeah, I … I guess so. It’s just that I fell asleep for a second there, and when I woke up I thought maybe it had been a vision, but …” I trailed off, shaking my head, still trying to clear it. “But I was definitely asleep,” I said, more to convince myself than Cece.

Because my visions didn’t work that way—they never happened when I was lying in bed, relaxing, floating off to sleep. No, they were way more inconvenient than that. I’d never had a dream that I mistook for a vision, or the other way around. Maybe because I wasn’t prone to nightmares? And why should I be, when I saw horrific enough things while wide awake?

The memory of my father’s kidnapping and murder came flooding back, and a shudder racked my body. Hot tears burned behind my eyelids, and I blinked them away. I’d never be able to banish those images—ever. They’d continue to haunt me the rest of my life, no matter how hard I tried to erase them from my mind. I mean, how could a nightmare possibly compete with
that
?

It couldn’t, I realized. Not even the one I’d just had.

“You want to talk about it?” Cece offered, climbing into her own bed and turning onto her side to face me.

I shook my head. “Definitely not. Anyway, you promised to tell me about the breakup.”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

With that, I pushed aside all thoughts of the dream—the nightmare—and concentrated on Cece’s voice instead.

3 ~ Love Bites

I
was walking across campus to fencing practice when I first felt it—that familiar little buzzing in my head. And then Aidan’s voice, as loud and clear as if he were standing right there beside me.

Violet?

Excitement flooded my veins, made my heart accelerate.

You’re here?
I glanced around, hoping that nobody was watching me as I stood there smiling giddily to myself.

I’m here,
he confirmed.
Where are you?

On my way to the gym for practice. I’ll be done in an hour. Where are you?

I’ll meet you at the chapel after practice,
came his reply.

Okay, see you then.

Oh, man. This was going to be a
long
hour. I hurried my step, walking on air now. The anticipation was nearly killing me, like a sharp, searing burn beneath my skin.

I slowed as I neared the gym, allowing myself to remember the last time he’d kissed me, just before I’d boarded the plane to Atlanta back in June. It had taken every ounce of strength I possessed to finally step away from him, to turn and walk toward that plane.

I only hoped the reality of our reunion could live up to my imaginings. Which, I realized, seemed unlikely, given the enormity of the buildup in my mind. It was probably a good thing that I had to get through an hour’s worth of practice first, to focus my mind elsewhere.

“Hey, Violet!” a voice called out, and I turned to see one of my teammates headed toward me, one hand raised in a wave.

I waved back. “Hey, Suzanne.” She was a telepath, but since my own telepathy only seemed to work with vampires, I had to call out to her. “How was your summer?”

She glanced down at her watch. “Great, but we better hurry or we’ll be late.”

With a nod, I fell into a jog beside her.

“So glad you could join us, ladies,” Coach Gibson called out as soon as we stepped inside, just two minutes late. “I was just introducing the newest member of the boys’ varsity team, Tyler Bennett.”

I stood on my tiptoes and saw the new guy standing there looking slightly uncomfortable. Shaggy brown hair streaked with gold fell almost to his shoulders. He looked like he belonged on the beach beside a surfboard, not here on the piste.

“McKenna, I think you might have finally met your match,” the coach added with a smile, clapping Tyler on the shoulder. “Finally, a boys’ top seed as strong as our girls’.”

Great. Way to start him off on the right foot,
I thought. The other guys on the team looked almost mutinous.

“Okay, grab your foils and pair up,” Coach Gibson barked. “McKenna, I want you with Bennett.” Of course he did. “We’ll start with some warm-ups.”

“Hey,” Tyler said with an easy smile as I approached. “So
you’re
McKenna?”

“Afraid so.” I nodded as I took my place beside him. “But you can call me Violet.”

Before raising his foil, he brushed his hair out of his eyes—pale green eyes that reminded me of sea glass, particularly striking in his tanned face. I might have been in love with someone else, but I wasn’t blind. He was cute.

And he’s the competition,
I reminded myself as Coach began to call out commands.

As soon as warm-ups were finished, we broke from the line, donned our protective masks, and turned to face our opponents. Coach moved among the pairs, his voice a muted rumble as foils began to slash through the air and feet shuffled across the rubber mats.

“C’mon, McKenna,” Coach called out from somewhere to my right. “Be more aggressive. Show him what you’ve got.”

Beneath my mask, sweat dripped down the side of my face, my breath coming faster now.

“That’s it, McKenna,” came the coach’s voice. “You’ve got to move more quickly, Bennett. Anticipate her every move.”

It was immediately obvious that we were well matched, just as Coach had said. I sharpened my focus, pushing every extraneous thought from my mind as my foil whipped toward his, my feet moving faster, my thighs beginning to feel the burn.

Several minutes later, Coach called out the command for us to stop. I pulled off my mask and wiped my forehead with the back of one hand.

Tyler did the same. “You’re good,” he said with a drawl that didn’t sound very California-like. “But I’m better,” he added with a smirk.

“Oh yeah?” I challenged. Too bad he couldn’t see me in action with my stake. “We’ll see about that.”

His mouth widened into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the effort. “I like a challenge.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “I bet you do.”

“Cut the chatter,” Coach Gibson barked. “I’m going to call you up in pairs. Everyone else watch, and then we’ll critique. Got it?”

We all nodded in unison.

“Okay, first up, McKenna and Bennett. Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”

A half hour later, Tyler and I sat side by side on the dusty gym floor, stuffing our equipment back into our bags with matching scowls. Our technique had been deemed “sloppy” and “careless” by our teammates, which seemed a little harsh, all things considered.

But it was par for the course, considering the competitive nature of the team. After all, fencing scholarships were plum deals, especially at top-tier universities. Everyone wanted to be the best. Attempting to rattle your competitor’s confidence was just part of the game. I assumed that Tyler had experienced the same at his previous school.

“So, you transferred here from Summerhaven, huh?” I asked, just trying to make conversation.

“Yeah,” he muttered, apparently not quite over the insults that had been tossed our way.

“How’d you guys do at state?”

“We came in second,” was all he offered.

“Huh. And what is it that you do? You know, your gift?”

He zipped up his bag and glanced up at me with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, I knew what you meant.”

I shrugged. “It’s not like I care, but it
is
against the COPA not to tell.” The Code of Paranormal Activity basically outlined the school’s rules about using your psychic gift.

“I’m telekinetic,” he said, reaching down to adjust the braided bracelets he wore around one wrist. There must have been a dozen of them, a rainbow of colors against his skin. “Micro,” he clarified.

Ah, like Jack.
“I’m a precog,” I offered, zipping up my bag.

“A precog, huh? How’s that workin’ out for you?”

“I’m still not sure,” I answered with a shrug. “So where are you from, Tyler Bennett? Because that drawl is definitely not from California.”

“Nah, I’m from Texas. Austin. What about you? That ain’t no New Yawk accent you got there,” he teased.

I shook my head. “Atlanta. So … Texas? That’s pretty far away. Why’d you transfer here?”

“Why so many questions?” he countered, catching me off guard.

I wasn’t sure if he was teasing me, or if he was serious. “Sheesh, I was just trying to be friendly. Forget it,” I said, clambering to my feet.

“My dad died,” he said quickly, rising to stand beside me. His steady green gaze met mine, all traces of humor gone now. “And my mom wanted to move back east, to Connecticut, where she has family. So … I came east too.”

I swallowed hard. God, I felt terrible—such a careless question. If only I’d known, I never would have prodded him like that. I knew exactly how he felt. I wanted to tell him that my dad had died too. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled instead.

He shook his head, looking contrite. “No,
I’m
sorry. I’m such an ass. It’s just … kinda … habit, I guess.”

“What, being an ass?”

He winced. “Yeah, pretty much.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Anyway, I better go. I’m supposed to meet with the headmistress in a few minutes.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you. You know, around,” I added lamely.

“That you will,” he said with a salute, then slung his bag over his shoulder. He took several steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back to face me. “Oh, and McKenna? There’s one more thing you should know about me,” he said, the wicked gleam back in his eye now. “You know, since we’re on the accelerated ‘getting to know you’ track and all that.”

Again, I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Just this: I
hate
to lose.” With a wink, he turned and jogged out.

I stood there staring at his back, shaking my head in amazement.

Suzanne sidled up beside me. “Hey, were you two flirting?” she asked. “Because I thought you and Aidan—”

“Trust me, we were
not
flirting.”

“You sure? Because it looked an awful lot like flirting,” she insisted, her eyebrows raised quizzically.

“Just some competitive banter. And yeah, me and Aidan …” I trailed off, glancing down at my watch.

He was waiting.

As soon as I stepped inside the chapel, my heart sank. I heard voices—we weren’t alone. I hadn’t expected that. This had always been our special place—mine and Aidan’s—the place we’d come to be alone, away from prying eyes. Until I’d brought my friends here to train to fight Julius, that is. Then it had become our meeting place, our group training ground.

I loved the chapel, loved the cozy loft with the window to the sky. So many memories had been made there. But they were my memories.
Our
memories. Call me selfish, but I didn’t want to share the space, not even with my best friends. Julius was gone, the imminent threat of danger gone with him. I wanted things back the way they used to be—was that too much to ask?