Silver Smoke (#1 of Seven Halos Series) (7 page)

Brie crossed her arms over her chest. "So how do I find out what my gift is?"

"Gifts don't manifest for years, usually," Thessa said. "You are still in the early stages of exploring your powers, and you can't even control the basics yet."

Brie frowned. "I need more time for all this history to sink in." She took a deep breath. "I'll learn it over time, but I'm fried on it for now." Clara scoffed, and Brie shot her a scathing look.

"I want to explore my powers," she said more confidently. "When can I start?"

Thessa's face was unreadable, but Cora grinned. "Soon," she said. She linked arms with Brie and opened the door to the hallway. "But first, we have a crowd to pep up."

*****

Rykken woke with a puddle of fresh water in his bed and the drumbeat of a downpour banging against the tin roof of his room. The rain must have seeped through while he was sleeping, falling onto his face, his hair, his skin.

He didn't normally mind submersion, as long as it was the right kind of water—the kind that burned.

Like pool water, filled with chlorine, burning his nose and eyes. Like sea water, filled with salt, organisms, and sand, chapping his lips and smoothing his skin.

But rain water had no burn, aside from the burning in his throat when it filled his lungs.

It pattered balefully onto his sheets, pooling in the center and engulfing his body. He couldn't move. He tried to roll over, to escape the water, but he was paralyzed. The water inched toward his mouth, covering his ears.

He was going to drown. He tried to scream for help, but his lips couldn't form words, only soft whimpers that didn't carry over the pounding rain on the roof.

Something hammered against his bedroom door as the water entered his nose and mouth. He swallowed what he could, letting the cool, fresh liquid slide down his throat. But the water kept coming.

Rykken held his breath and closed his eyes, wishing he could slow his heart rate.

"Rykken." He felt his body shaking under someone else's grip. "Ry, wake up."

Rykken shot up, gasping for air. His skin felt clammy and chilled all at once. He threw off his covers and catapulted out of his bed.

His foster mother looked sad, a v-shaped crease between her eyes. "Another bad dream?" She held up the damp bed sheets streaked with his sweat.

"I'm fine," he said, pacing the floor in front of his closet. "Nothing new in the dream, at least."

She pulled the sheets from his bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Rykken shook his head. "No. Thanks though."

"You shouldn't nap in the middle of the evening anymore." She handed Rykken his cell phone. "This keeps going off. I think you better answer it." She stripped the pillows of their cases. "It's Friday anyway―isn't there a football game tonight?"

Rykken pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head. His foster mom had a strict idea about what normal teens did, and spending time alone on a Friday night was not normal. Rykken liked his time alone though; after an entire week of water polo and school, he wanted nothing more than to relax by himself, or maybe with a close friend. But his foster mom always had other plans for him.

Rykken glanced at his phone—there were four texts from Justin, each one escalating in urgency from

"What are you up to tonight?" to "Where are you? Picking you up in 10." He sighed. It seemed like Justin had other plans for him too.

An obnoxious honk outside confirmed his suspicions. "That's where I'm going," he said to his foster mom, even though he had no idea what Justin had planned. It didn't matter anyway—if they weren't going to the game, it meant they were going to a party, and the game was as good a cover as any. He hugged his foster mom and jetted out the door and down the steps to Justin's Lincoln Navigator.

"What the hell?" Justin smirked at Rykken from the driver's seat. The vehicle smelled new and the air inside was cool. "You don't text me back anymore?"

"I was sleeping."

"Yeah, right. Dreaming of Pilot?"

"Don't joke like that. Neither of us is gay and it isn't funny."

Justin's smile wavered. "You're always hanging out with him these days. Where is he by the way?"

"At home I guess."

"Hah. Guess it's you and me for date night."

"Whatever." Rykken wasn't in the mood for Justin's crap. "Where are we headed?"

"The game. I'm looking for a new girl to date."

Rykken's eyes whirled over themselves. Justin was
always
looking for a new girl to date.

They arrived at the football game and found seats in the stands away from the band kids, who were constantly talking to each other and tapping their feet incessantly. It didn't surprise Rykken that the sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. He had been having the dream about drowning since he was young, and he knew it was triggered by something much more traumatic than the weather conditions—he just didn't know what.

"There she is," Justin said. Rykken followed Justin's gaze to the cheerleaders in front of the stands. He had to look twice when he saw Brie amongst them, holding pompoms and wearing a silly grin on her face.

"Brie?" Rykken asked. Something heavy stirred in the pit of his stomach.

"Don't sound so surprised—it could happen." Justin squirmed in his seat, which was unusual for him.

His eyes scanned the rest of the football field. "She's pretty, you know? I don't know what ethnicity she is, but she's gorgeous."

"Spanish and Irish," Rykken mumbled, wishing he could think of some way to end the conversation.

"Their grandparents on their mom's side were from Spain." The white lights on the field made the air a few degrees hotter, but it was enough to make Rykken uncomfortable.

"Well, it works for her," Justin said. "I realize she's sort of a celebrity, but she seems really normal too. Good personality and all."

Rykken forced himself to laugh. "How would you know that? Have you even talked to her?"

"Nope." Justin grinned. "I need your help with that, since Pilot won't."

"No way," Rykken said, feeling a little sick. "Pilot will kill you if you date her, and he'll kill me if I help you date her. He wasn't kidding in the locker room."

"Not that you made it any better." Justin leaned back against the row of bleachers behind them, forcing the freshman girls to scoot down to make room. "Why would you tell him that I'm a player?"

"Aren't you?" Rykken asked innocently. He knew why he had said it, but he wasn't going to admit anything to Justin. "I guess I didn't think it was much of a secret."

"I mean, sometimes I date girls for fun. Sometimes I'm serious. I could like Brie if she gave it a chance."

Rykken looked up; Justin's expression was genuine. "Are you really trying to convince me you like a girl you've never really talked to?"

Justin raised an eyebrow. "Like you haven't. If I recall correctly, you went on and on about how pretty Brie was when she came to our water polo match—"

"That was over four years ago!" Rykken interrupted, not believing that Justin remembered that. "I don't think my 12-year old crushes count."

"They do if you still like her." Justin stared at Rykken with a challenge in his eyes.

"Don't—"

Rykken felt a prickling sensation on his arms; something icy wet hit his back. His shirt and the top of his jeans were coated in a brown, sticky liquid. He spun around, looking to see who had thrown a soda on him.

"I'm sorry!" the girl behind him squeaked, standing up. "My friend knocked my drink over."

The girl kept talking, but Rykken had already tuned her out. Something else had caught his eye.

Underneath the bleachers, a blur of white flashed by; the next second, it was gone.

*****

The rapid clicking of a machine emanated from the other side of the door to the family den. The sound intimidated Pilot, making him more nervous. He opened the door and glanced inside.

Annie looked up from her sewing machine. "Pilot, what are you doing here?" From the machine, Annie pulled two plaid prints sewn together, one a large red and one a small blue, and snipped the loose threads. "Are you looking for James? He's downstairs in his recording studio."

"No, I'm here for research."

"Research on a Friday night?"

"Yep," Pilot said. "I'm sick of the paparazzi. They've followed me everywhere since the accident."

"Right." Annie grinned. "But you could have friends over or go to a friend's house, so that still doesn't explain the 'research on a Friday night' part."

Pilot hated how astute Annie was. The only good thing about having a clueless parent was that he could typically do anything he wanted. Annie was the only one who ever got in his way.

"Okay," he said, giving up on his lie. "I'm staying in because I have to work on an extra credit assignment my history teacher is making me do. If I don't pull my grade up, I'll probably flunk his class."

"Oh." Annie unplugged her sewing machine. She seemed tired all of a sudden. "Well, how can I help?"

"I'm supposed to write a paper on Hawaiian legends, and James said he had some old books in here on the subject."

"Yep, he does." Annie held her plaid material, which Pilot now realized was a skirt, up underneath a white tee with a navy blue pin-striped jacket hanging from a mannequin in the center of the room.

"I didn't realize you sewed. What are you sewing?" Pilot felt a pang of guilt when he tried to come up with what he
did
know about Annie. She lived in their house and was always running them around, yet he had never asked her anything about her personal life.

"I'm designing a skirt for fun. I was thinking of putting some outfits together for Brie, but her style is too conservative for my colorful designs."

Pilot chuckled. He tried to imagine Brie wearing the multi-patterned plaid skirt Annie was holding up, but he couldn't. The outfit went much better with Annie's petite frame and short, spiky hair.

"Where is Brie anyway?" Pilot asked.

"There's a football game tonight, and she had cheerleading practice between school and the game."

Pilot stretched his hands over his head, trying to work out the soreness in his back. "The cheerleaders don't practice before games."

Annie adjusted the cuffs on the pinstripe jacket. "I don't know where your sister is then. I don't know what to do with her any more than you do, and your dad—" Annie looked down, pressing her lips together.

"It's okay." Pilot felt sorry for Annie, that she didn't feel she could speak her mind about James.

"Anyone can see he's neglectful. I won't say anything to him."

Annie bit her lip. "I wish you and Brie would give him another chance. He can't help the way he is, I don't think."

"Everyone can help the way they are. Unfortunately, my dad ran out of chances a long time ago."

Annie bit her lip again; Pilot guessed she was trying not to speak her mind with
him
. He wished she would be honest.

He stared at her until her face relaxed. "Can I ask you something personal?"

She looked up from her mannequin. "Sure."

"Why do you work here? Brie's sneaking around, I'm flunking school, and my dad is oblivious to everyone. We're such a mess. And it seems like you could design more clothes somewhere else, where you didn't have to take care of the three of us."

Annie looked surprised. "I started working for James after college. It was a bad job market, and I had already spent a year living on borrowed funds and trying to break into the fashion industry. Your father gave me a job when no one else would."

"So you feel like you owe him?"

"Not really. I like it here, and James is a good employer. I have a place to live and I can save most of my paycheck for my first fashion line. I already style some of James' wardrobe and maybe someday he'll let me design for him. Fashion is about connections and there are plenty of opportunities when I'm working for James."

Pilot raised his eyebrows. "So you don't have any... history with him?"

"Pilot!" Annie tilted her head, her eyes chastising him. "No. James is my employer."

"Sorry," Pilot said, shrugging. "I'm not trying to offend you. I just... I hate this family sometimes. If I could leave, I probably would. But here you are, able to leave at any time, and you don't."

Annie gave him a pitying look. She took a seat on the couch. "Sit down," she said. Pilot took a seat in the chair across from Annie. He rested his elbows on his knees and his head on his palms.

"You know what I see when I look at this family?" she asked. "I see people who love each other but don't know how to express it."

"My mom always made us talk to each other. She was our glue." Pilot crossed his leg over his knee.

"When Brie and I were young, this modeling agency landed us a gig as the faces of this edgy kids shoe line. They put us in gothic makeup and put fake coloring in our hair. There was this huge guitar and we were surfing the strings in the shoes." He laughed, and Annie smiled. "It was such a bizarre set—Brie was so freaked out, she clung to me during the entire shoot." Pilot uncrossed his leg, crossing his ankles instead. "We were a lot closer before, when my mom was still alive—but now she's so closed off and secretive. I wish my mom was here to force her to talk to me."

Annie tapped her fingers against her jaw. "Your mom was a linchpin, but she's gone now. Your family needs a new linchpin. And to be honest, I kind of thought you were stepping into that role."

Pilot looked up. "I want to. But it's hard enough to hold myself together, much less other people."

Annie smiled. "How about this—you do whatever it takes to hold yourself together, and I'll help you out with the other two."

A wave of relief washed over Pilot's shoulders and back. "So now I
have
to do this research paper, right?"

Annie laughed. "Uh, yeah. The books are over there." Annie pointed to a section of the shelves.

"When James first moved here, he went through this phase where he wanted to learn the native culture. He made me pick up every book about local history I saw. If you need help, you can ask me. I grew up on these islands."