Above The Surface

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “Infect me with that?” he repeated, sounding taken aback.

  I shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t follow the old ways because Nanny died when I was eight. I can only remember so much. Plus, it’s hard. I live with Gorgers. Have since I was put in the system, and I’m lucky that they’ve tolerated the odd things I do.”

  “What are these odd things?” he questioned, his curiosity clear. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever been this interested in me, but it fit.

  He was my one, after all.

  After a few nights of trying to remember, I’d picked up on the word Nanny used to describe it—jílo. It was so long ago that I couldn’t remember what it actually meant, nor could I even pronounce it, but it had popped into my head this morning while I was swimming and, ever since, I’d been trying to remember how to say it.

  “Mostly, it’s to do with cleanliness. Nanny instilled that in me like nothing else. Now I don’t do it because it’s mahrime, but because it’s normal to me.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Does it?” I asked, smiling because I was teasing.

  I had to admit, I found it sweet that he was reading up on this stuff.

  Stuff that no longer even affected me, because I didn’t lead my life that way.

  A few dropped words, the mention of my past and my family, and he set about studying me like I was a book report.

  To say I was touched was an understatement. Heck, this entire thing touched me, truth be told. And when, as we left the center later on, he curved his arm around me as he guided me over to where his bike was locked up, it felt oddly right to be so close to him.

  We were strangers, but we weren’t.

  Something about us had known the other since the beginning of time itself.

  There was a peace in knowing that. A restfulness that made me feel like my part to play in this world had come about because I’d finally met him.

  It was like day one at a new school. Suddenly, nothing else mattered except for the next steps you took, the next first impressions you made. Only, we didn’t need to worry about foolish things like that. We just had to learn one another.

  The center was about a twenty-minute walk from my school, and his too—only in the opposite direction.

  When we made it to the road, he hovered, his bike at his side as he muttered, “I don’t like leaving you here.”

  “I’m fine,” I replied, amused. And I was fine. No one noticed me. Plus, I knew how to look after myself.

  Nanny might have looked fragile, but she didn’t act like it. And her daddy? He had been a bare knuckle boxing champ, so she had a wicked right hook—something she’d passed onto me.

  But mostly, I liked that he cared. He cared enough to be concerned about me.

  I hadn’t experienced that since Nanny.

  I reached over and pressed my hand to his chest. I wanted to tell him things that I couldn’t share with him yet, wanted to speak words that might concern him, so I kept myself contained. It was hard. I had a fountain bubbling away inside me, and I had to control the outpouring, otherwise I’d either come across as too strong or just weird.

  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand it if Adam thought those things about me.

  I was used to being considered strange. Even though I tried to fit in, some of the stuff I did, my little rituals, caused attention and set me apart. Adam’s opinion mattered. More than I knew how to deal with yet.

  I pressed the tips of my fingers into his chest and murmured, “I’ll look forward to tomorrow.”

  His smile was warm. “Me too.”

  He dipped forward, and for a second, I froze, thinking he wanted a kiss. I wasn’t sure whether I was ready for that, but he was mine, so why wouldn’t I be ready? Except my nerves were for nothing because he didn’t lean in for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tight, surrounding me in him, and it was wonderful.

  Better than the water.

  I released a soft breath as he squeezed me, and I, unable to stop myself, squeezed him back.

  Tighter.

  God, his arms were strong, his hold incredible. But his embrace was like heaven.

  My eyes even stung from the emotions pricking me as I recognized what it felt like to be in my man’s arms.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” he repeated, and I knew the words were ones he struggled with.

  He was normal. He didn’t understand my family, my past, this gift we’d been given. How could he?

  Even I didn’t.

  So much had been lost when Nanny died, and I’d ignored most of it, refusing to embrace my heritage because it caused me too much pain and made me so different than the families I had to live with. Being with Adam was like opening the floodgates, and I was being inundated. The only thing that made it bearable was him.

  I gulped and, taking a chance, whispered, “I’ll miss you.”

  He sighed, and it was redolent with relief. “I’m so glad I’m not alone in this.”

  “You’re not,” I told him softly. “I promise.”

  He sighed again. “Good.” I felt his nose rub down my cheek, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the line of my jaw. It was an odd place to kiss, but it felt right, and where his lips touched, my skin tingled with sensation.

  “Have a good day,” I murmured, finally pulling back. It hurt to break the union, but I knew we couldn’t just stand here all day.

  “You too.” His brow puckered. “I don’t like that you don’t have a phone.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve lived without one this long.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s right.” There was a calculating look in his eye, but I ignored it—we were running late, a quick glance at my watch confirmed that, and now I had more of a purpose for wanting to come here to this center. More reason to do nothing that would jeopardize this new routine that was starting to settle into place, so we needed to make sure we didn’t break our house rules.

  “We need to go,” he agreed, but his eyes were burning into mine, like the sun pierced the darkness in a morning.

  It made me feel warm and shivery all at the same time.

  “Be safe,” he urged, and with a grunt, he pulled away and climbed onto his bike.

  Twice, he turned back to look at me as he rode off, and twice, I was there, watching him.

  It meant I had to half jog to school but damn, it was worth it.

  I felt like I was flying on a cloud for most of that morning, and even into the afternoon, nothing could get me down.

  School passed, the day with it, and it seemed like two minutes until I was walking into the Majors’ house.

  The second I did, I felt it.

  The change in the air.

  It might as well have been a scent, it was that powerful. Or a foghorn that was loud enough to pierce your eardrums.

  My happiness instantly crashed as I slipped inside, and the truth was confirmed when I heard Emma screaming out her sorrow as Jon sobbed with her.

  Louisa had taken a turn for the worse.

  And the shadows of her aura that tainted her bedroom had begun to slip into the rest of the house. Staining it with the poison of death.

  I bit my bottom lip, uncertain if I should go to them. I wanted to. I wanted to offer them some kindness, tell them that all would be well, but it wasn’t... It just didn’t feel right.

  It felt like I’d be intruding on their grief, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  Hovering in the hall, the urge to call Adam, to connect with him, was overwhelming. But I didn’t have a cellphone. Nor did I want one, but if it put me in touch with him, then I figured that was going to have to change.

  A keening sob escaped Emma, filling me with a melancholy I hadn’t experienced in years. I jerked at the sound, feeling like her grief was a gunshot wound that pierced my very heart.

  A mother’s love should be like that. All-encompassing. Taking over everything. Louisa was lucky to have a mom who would do anything for her. Give up her job to be her caretaker, do anythin
g in her power to make her better—they’d even flown across the States to several specialists, trips that hadn’t done any good in the long run.

  There were pictures of the family in Ronald McDonald Houses around the nation, Louisa looking more wan and more tired in each and every one.

  Sorrow filled me, and I could no more stop myself from heading for Louisa’s room than I could have called Adam with my imaginary cellphone.

  The carpet beneath me disguised the sound of my tread, and as I moved away from the hall, I recognized that Emma and Jon weren’t actually in the house. I figured they must be in the garden out back, and because Emma tended to keep the windows open for fresh air to come in and wash away the lingering scent of illness that permeated everything in the house, I’d overheard her pain.

  Stepping into Louisa’s bedroom made me feel like I was a cat burglar. It wasn’t that I couldn’t come in here, that it wasn’t allowed, it was just that I didn’t visit often unless I could help out.

  Louisa frequently slept the days away, and I felt like more of a hindrance than a help.

  Kenny and I were only here because of Louisa, because the family needed extra funds. Though we were surplus to requirements, except for the cash we brought in, I thought it was unkind to ram that fact home with Louisa. She had precious time left on this earth, and she was with her family. I didn’t want to remind her of something that might hurt her—that, in her final days, she had to share her parents, even if it was only minimally, and that her mother and father were in dire straits because of her illness.

  As I stepped inside, the scent was overpowering. Even more so than the one that had permeated the house. It made sense. Death was in this room. Clinging to the walls, just waiting to attack Louisa and take the little life left in her.

  My throat grew tight at the thought.

  Death had always been my shadow.

  Even if I wasn’t ill, even if I was in good health, all around me, people tended to perish.

  Would that happen to Adam? Would he suffer for knowing me?

  Blinking back tears that formed for both Louisa and Adam, I stepped closer to the bed.

  The room was made for a little girl, and because money was tight, it had stayed that way, even though it had to have been at least ten years since Louisa was interested in Barbie.

  Bright pink walls, and a princess bed complete with gauzy curtains that were draped from the wall and arcing in a cluster like the bed itself was topped by a crown. There was a toy box too and a dresser, but even though they were a girly style, white with fancy moldings—more princess stuff—all the other furniture had been replaced.

  Medical equipment, sharps containers, all kinds of things I didn’t understand but that Emma had introduced into her life to save their child, to keep her at home.

  Now that I thought about it, the last time she’d gone to the doctor’s, the prognosis had been bad. Was that why she was here instead of at a hospital? Or a hospice, maybe? Was that why Emma had been more unhappy than usual? Because they’d run out of ways to heal her?

  Confused, I stepped toward the bed where there was a comfortably worn armchair Emma sat in.

  She was, when she wasn’t busy, always in here. Always sitting with her daughter, like she was trying to absorb all the time they’d never have together, merging it into her days.

  I perched myself on the side, just looking at the sickly girl.

  Leukemia had withered her bones, made her skin pasty and pale. Her hair was mostly gone, wispy remnants that were a reminder of the golden locks she’d once had. Her face was gaunt, her body slender. She looked like death amid the pink hope of a child’s room.

  It was obscene, really.

  No child should ever have to go through this. No child should—

  I closed my eyes.

  Life wasn’t fair.

  Life took. Death accepted.

  I sucked in a breath, then gusted it out. I wasn’t sure whether it was the sound, the whisper of my breath against her, or what, but Louisa’s eyelashes fluttered open.

  She stared at me dazedly through light green eyes that looked so vibrant in contrast to the rest of her.

  Her eyes were the one bit of color remaining in her, even if they were doped up.

  I could see her pain, could see her suffering, and it hurt me. Physically hurt me. Maybe not like she was hurting, but enough to have me reaching forward as I began to scrape my chilled hands together, rubbing with a fierceness that tugged at the skin of my palm. The move wasn’t smooth, it was jerky. Inciting heat where there was none.

  ‘You’ve a gift, child. You’ve a gift. Don’t forget to use it sparingly. No good comes from taking away what isn’t yours to endure.’

  Wasn’t it strange how those words plopped into my mind like she’d said them yesterday? Our skills hadn’t been shared by my mom. But that was the way of it. Not all our gifts were passed from generation to generation.

  Just like my mom’s abilities with horses, a key skill in my father’s training business, hadn’t been inherited by me, I’d picked up Nanny’s other talents.

  The only trouble was, like with anything, gifts were a muscle. They needed training. And for years, I’d ignored mine. Shoving them aside to be normal, to fit in.

  I hadn’t tried to do anything like this since I’d practiced the skill with Nanny, and even then, my gift had been meager in comparison to hers.

  The heat in my hands appeared with an abruptness that had me jerking back against the seat. Louisa’s eyes flared wide as she stared at me, the violence of my reaction, and I sensed through the haze of drugs I’d somehow captured her interest.

  Or something had.

  Her focus was on my hands. It was like she saw something I didn’t.

  Nanny said there was a veil between the living and the dead... Had Louisa already crossed that veil? Was that why she could see the energy burning in me?

  I bit my lip at the thought. I’d sensed, by only stepping into the house, that Louisa was close to death. But was there any point in expending the energy to heal her if she was moments away from passing?

  The last time Nanny had tried, she’d been on bedrest for weeks.

  Almost as though she knew I was wavering, in the background, Emma released a keening sob that penetrated me like nothing else could.

  It hit me, square in the heart, and I released a shaky breath and rubbed my hands together once more.

  “God, I wish that the last time I’d seen this happen wasn’t when I was seven,” I muttered under my breath as I reached for Louisa’s hand.

  She tipped her head to the side. “What are you doing, Theodosia?” Her mouth was so dry, the words seemed to cling to her lips.

  “I don’t really know,” I admitted gruffly, “but I’m going to try to ease your pain.”

  “How?” Her eyes drifted closed with a languor that looked painful. “Do you have drugs?”

  I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see, and reaching for her, grabbed her hands. The second our fingers connected, she jerked in surprise, then released a long, low moan as the heat inside me, a heat I couldn’t even feel, hopefully transferred into her.

  Nanny had never said a word when she’d done this the few times I’d seen her heal. She’d never muttered a prayer, had only rubbed her hands together, cracked her knuckles—

  Shit! I’d forgotten to crack my knuckles.

  Was that a pivotal point?

  Before I could fret, pain surged from where our hands were joined. Louisa began writhing on the bed with a force, an energy that I knew was beyond her, and she began panting like she was having a fit or something. Her hands clung to mine with a strength I wouldn’t have said she was capable of. Hell, sitting up looked like it was beyond her when I’d walked into the room.

  But her thrashing around wasn’t exactly an improvement, was it?

  All I knew was the heat inside me was supposed to go into her. It would heal where it could, replenish where it could, and in the interim, I’
d be left cold. Stone cold.

  I wasn’t looking forward to that bit.

  In fact, a part of me wasn’t even sure if I wanted this to work! I was just doing what Nanny had done, because Emma’s pain was too much for me to handle.

  A sharp cry escaped Louisa, jolting into me, making me focus when I realized I’d been zoning out, trying to absorb the pain this healing caused me without pulling away. I could only liken it to fire ants rattling away under my skin, stinging and pricking where they walked as though their tiny legs were actually needles. The agony was exquisite in its brutality, and I barely held on, enduring it only for her sake as I tried to do my Nanny proud. She’d done this so many times, had offered herself with a frequency I knew had killed her prematurely. Louisa’s cry, however, brought my senses into focus, and I jerked at the sight of the moisture seeping onto the sheets.

  Had she wet herself?

  I wasn’t sure what to do, where to look, then her hands tore from mine, and she pressed them to her face before twisting onto her side.

  There was an energy to her movements that made me wonder if it had worked, then she sagged into the bed, utterly unconscious.

  Fear whispered through me.

  Had she died?

  Had I just—

  I blinked, taking her in, taking in the liquid that had drenched the sheets covering her. That happened, didn’t it? When a death was violent?

  What had I done?

  Mouth dry from fear, I got to my feet and bent over her. Was her chest moving? If it was, it was so faint I couldn’t see if she was breathing, which made me want to have a panic attack.

  Twisting, I pressed my head close to her mouth, hoping I’d feel the whisper of her breath.

  There was none.

  My lips trembled for a second as horror swirled inside me.

  Had I just killed her?

  Terror the likes of which I’d never known filled me. And I knew what terror was. Terror was losing one parent, then another, and then your guardian. Three people you loved, and all within the shortest space of time.