Read Storm of Visions Online

Authors: Christina Dodd

Tags: #Good and evil, #Secret societies, #Paranormal, #General, #Romance, #Psychic ability, #Twins, #Occult fiction, #Supernatural, #Fiction, #Love Stories

Storm of Visions (8 page)

BOOK: Storm of Visions
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The Italian strode forward, ignoring the laughter, ignoring the blonde’s kicks to his ribs. He kept his gaze fixed on the circle.
Just outside the chalk line, he dropped the girl to her feet, steadied her with his hands on her arms, and looked down at her, demanding . . . something.
The girl almost flamed with fury. “I won’t!” she shouted at the guy.
The guy didn’t move. He simply stared at her.
Zusane glared at her.
The girl set her jaw and said, “I won’t!” again. But the words were softer now, almost dreamy. Perspiration popped out on her forehead, and she lifted her hair off her neck. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, a slow, hypnotic motion, and Aaron could almost see her consciousness fade.
Everyone in the circle, everyone outside it, watched, spellbound by anticipation.
Drawn by a certainty he couldn’t explain, Aaron looked at Zusane. She leaned forward, hand on her chest, yearning etched on her face.
She loved the girl, but she wanted something from her. Or maybe . . . she wanted something for her.
In that instant, the girl snapped back to place, to the moment. She pushed at the Italian’s chest, said, “All
right
,” and moving like a dancer, she leaped into the circle.
In that second, Aaron fell in love. Whoever she was, she was built, she was blond, she was graceful, and she had a radiance that reminded him of Zusane at her best.
Zusane’s mask of beauty cracked with disappointment. For the first time, her voice lost its husky warmth. “At last. Our seventh member has arrived. She could have been on time. She could be dedicated. She could be organized. She could wear something more respectful of this momentous event. She could
occasionally
clean her room.”
The girl glanced around at the Chosen in the circle. She rolled her eyes, and with a gesture at Zusane, she mouthed,
Sorry
.
With a shrill edge, Zusane continued. “She could at least do as well as the Wilder boy and attend college when her mother pulls every string to get her admitted to Harvard even though her grades weren’t good enough to—” Zusane stopped and gathered her composure.
The girl waved at the others, one of those tiny, embarrassed waves. “Hi, everybody. I’m Zusane’s daughter, Jacqueline.”
So Zusane was a mother, Jacqueline’s mother, and no matter how glamorous Zusane appeared, she was just like any other mother—frustrated as hell with her rebellious daughter.
Beside him, Charisma waved back at Jacqueline, and pointed. “Aleksandr Wilder. Isabelle Mason. Samuel Faa. Aaron Eagle. Tyler Settles.” With another little wave, she said, “I’m Charisma.”
Zusane glared, and her voice swelled majestically. “Are we
done
?”
“Yes. Sorry.” Charisma’s voice squeaked.
“Mother. Don’t be rude,” Jacqueline said.
But Charisma sounded unrepentant when she murmured to Aaron, “But Zusane can’t be her real mother. It’s not possible if she’s one of the Abandoned Ones.”
“Maybe she’s like Aleksandr—an experiment the directors are trying,” Aaron replied.
“Hm. Maybe.” Charisma indicated the guy who’d carried Zusane’s daughter to the site. “Look at
him
.”
He remained immobile where the girl had left him, staring blindly, waiting.
Charisma shook her bracelets at him. “He’s involved with Jacqueline.”
“Obviously.” Aaron didn’t need singing rocks to see that.
“He’s not gifted, because he knows we’re in here, but he can’t see us,” Charisma said.
“Right.” This was one weird situation Aaron had gotten himself into.
Taking Jacqueline’s left wrist in her hand, Zusane turned her palm up and looked at it. She expressed her disgust eloquently, Aaron thought, although he didn’t understand a word of the language she was speaking.
Jacqueline wore fingerless gloves in a leather that almost matched her skin tone.
“So it’s come to this,” Zusane said. “You contain your power behind a shield.”
“A glove is hardly a shield.” Quickly Jacqueline added, “And I don’t have any power.”
Zusane smiled triumphantly. “Then take it off.”
“Fine.” Jacqueline stripped away her glove.
“Look.” Zusane held Jacqueline’s palm up to Jacqueline’s face. “The most powerful sign, one not seen since the first two Abandoned Ones.”
In an undertone, Charisma explained, “The mark on her hand must be a stylized eye, done in black lines.”
Aaron craned his neck, but couldn’t see the mark.
“The bad twin,” Jacqueline said to Zusane. “Remember, Mother. She was the
bad
twin.”
Zusane rolled on, ignoring her daughter’s fierce objection. “You push your gift aside, deny it, claim that you can’t take my place!”
“I can’t!” Jacqueline leaned closer to Zusane and sniffed. “Have you been smoking?”
“Certainly not!”
“Hanging around in a cigar bar again?”
“No.”
Jacqueline sniffed the air around her. “Can you smell that?”
“You are trying to distract me.”
“No, I’m not. Something’s burning,” Jacqueline said with assurance.
“I don’t care if something’s burning. I only care about what I’ve seen . . . I’ve seen . . .” Zusane tilted her head. Her eyes became unfocused. Her body remained, but Zusane—her personality, her
self
—was no longer here. Beneath the expertly applied cosmetics, her complexion changed from pale to a light green, and her mouth worked helplessly.
“What’s wrong with her?” Charisma whispered.
“I don’t like this,” Aleksandr muttered.
“Mother?” Jacqueline gripped Zusane’s hand. When she did, her eyes fluttered closed and she paled, too.
Zusane shrieked. Shrieked so loudly, Jacqueline jumped, opened her eyes, and shook her head as if waking from a trance.
“Look out!” Zusane screamed. She writhed. She flung out her arms. “Look out! It’s going to blow! There’s a bomb!
Run!
”
Chapter 8
I
n Zusane’s whole lifetime of convenient visions and relentless overacting, Jacqueline had never seen her behave like this.
“Oh, God. Oh, God!” Zusane’s gaze was fixed, her eyes wide and horrified. “Look. Look! It’s blown up!”
“Mother!” Zusane was scaring Jacqueline, scaring her to death. “This bomb. Where is it?”
Zusane shouted, “Fire! Fire! Oh, my God! The relics. They’re gone. The carnage! Look at the bodies. Blood. So much blood!”
Jacqueline tried again. “Is it
here
?”
“It’s gone. It’s—fire!
Fire!
” Zusane broke into a sweat and whimpered as if the flames burned her skin.
“Mama, please. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Jacqueline wrapped her arms around Zusane, trying to contain her violent gestures, her wild thrashing.
Nothing stopped Zusane. Nothing—no consoling murmurs, no reassuring pats—comforted her. Although Zusane was shorter than Jacqueline, she was solidly built and strong, and her struggles would leave bruises. But Jacqueline couldn’t leave her alone. She might hurt herself. She might break the circle, and Jacqueline knew all too well how dangerous that was.
The other Chosen looked as if they didn’t know whether to lend a hand or run away.
Desperately, Jacqueline glanced toward Caleb.
Zusane’s shrieks had penetrated outside the circle, for he’d discarded his thin veneer of civilization. His eyes were fierce slits, his mouth compressed and his nostrils flared. The bodyguards had their weapons drawn, and Caleb gave orders that put them into high alert. Turning, he prepared to leap into the circle.
Martha body-tackled him.
Caleb threw a punch, realized at the last second who had brought him down, and barely avoided breaking Martha’s face.
Martha held Caleb, talked fast, while Caleb stared into the circle. He wasn’t really listening, Jacqueline could tell, but he, too, understood the power of the circle.
Zusane began to sob in deep, wrenching sounds that were all the more painful for lacking tears. “They’re all gone. They’re gone. Everything is gone. What will we do? What will we do?”
The subway passengers turned and stared, hearing a commotion, but not quite able to see the figures inside the circle.
“Are we safe?” Isabelle asked.
“Inside the circle, we are,” Charisma answered. “It’s protected by—”
“Chalk?” Isabelle looked remarkably calm, but her voice cracked with strain.
“Enchantment,” Charisma whispered doubtfully.
“Fire . . . gone, all gone . . .” Zusane’s voice was fading.
“Mother. Talk to me. Where’s the fire? Who’s gone?
What’s happened?
” Frantic to get through, Jacqueline shook her.
Zusane blinked once. Twice. Like a marionette on strings, she turned her head in little jerks. She looked at her daughter. She saw her—and collapsed into her arms.
Beneath her mother’s limp weight, Jacqueline staggered and went down.
The men leaped forward. Tyler clutched at them; then under the combined load, his grip failed. Aaron and Samuel caught them a split second before their heads hit the concrete floor.
Jacqueline freed herself from Zusane’s clutches, then ordered, “Lay her down.”
Gently, the men placed Zusane, pale and unconscious, on the floor. They knelt there, waiting and anxious.
Charisma joined them and sat at Zusane’s head, brushing at Zusane’s aura . . . or something.
It must have worked, because Zusane groaned—not an attractive, breathless moan, but a full-bodied, despairing moan. She opened her eyes, and with relief, Jacqueline realized her mother was back from wherever she’d gone. Zusane clung to Jacqueline with desperate hands, almost childish in her despair. “It’s the worst thing that could have happened. The end of the world.”
“Tell me,” Jacqueline coaxed, and stroked Zusane’s hair off her sweaty forehead.
“I never in my worst nightmares foretold this, but now . . . now . . . now I have seen it. I have felt it. The explosion rumbled the ground beneath my feet. The fire burned my hands and face. I wanted to run, but couldn’t.” Zusane gave a sob, all the more heartrend ing for being harsh and agonized. “The Gypsy Travel Agency is no more.”
The guys glanced at each other.
Samuel said, “The Gypsy Travel Agency’s building is old, but solid. What could have happened?”
Zusane replied with conviction. “Sabotage. Sabotage! Now, when everyone has gathered for the Choosing. The offices, the library, the sleeping quarters, all of it—blew up. It’s burning. Everyone inside is dead. Dead. The directors are gone. The Chosen Ones are gone.” In a trembling whisper, she said, “They’re all gone.”
Charisma continued to brush at Zusane’s aura. “Don’t worry.
We’re
still here.”
“Oh, God.” Zusane staggered to her feet. Putting her manicured fingers to her forehead, she muttered, “The world is lost.”
“Mother!” Once again, Zusane’s rudeness left Jacqueline speechless. And embarrassed. And wondering why everyone looked at her as if
she
was the crazy one. “I’m sorry,” she said to Charisma. “When she comes out of a vision, she’s—”
“Truthful?” The girl seemed unruffled.
“That, too.” Personally, Jacqueline thought her mother used the truth as a weapon and a tool, and could twist it to her purposes at any time.
Zusane swayed on her feet, then visibly gained control of herself. “One good thing will come out of this disaster.” She took a snowy handkerchief from her purse and blotted her damp forehead and upper lip. “At last,
you’ll
have to face up to responsibilities.”
She was talking to Jacqueline. “What are you talking about?” Familiar panic began to rise in Jacqueline’s throat.
Zusane dropped the handkerchief to the floor. “I mean I have a party to attend. In Turkey.”
Jacqueline picked it up. “You can’t be serious.” Not even Zusane could scream like a woman seeing bloody murder, announce that her own company had been blown to smithereens. . . . Not even she could be selfish enough to then breeze away to attend a party.
“You’ll have to take the reins for your little group. They will be lost without a psychic.” Zusane glanced at Tyler, frowned as if puzzled, then lowered her voice. “A competent psychic.”
“Not me,” Jacqueline protested frantically.
Zusane took Jacqueline’s wrist and once again showed her her palm. “You
know
what that means.”
Jacqueline stared at the eye, etched into the skin, black and emphatic, and drawn with the skill of da Vinci for the
Mona Lisa
.
She didn’t care. She hated the mark. “It means I’m a freak.”
“A freak, yes. But a prescient freak.” Zusane dropped Jacqueline’s hand and collected her black satin opera-length gloves out of her purse and pulled them on, a slow, intricate process with which Jacqueline was far too familiar.
BOOK: Storm of Visions
12.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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