King 03 - Restless

by Kandle, Tawdra

  Printed in the United States of America

  Copyright © 2012 Tawdra T. Kandle

  ISBN-13: 978-1477619940

  ISBN-10: 1477619941

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  To Mandie

  Because you believe in me without fail…

  Coerce me into learning new things…

  And always, always tell me the truth…

  Even when I might not want to hear it.

  This book is dedicated to you

  With much love and gratitude.

  Like parents, authors are not supposed to have favorites when it comes to their books. But I will admit that Restless holds a very special place in my heart. It was birthed in a different way from the other books in this series, and thus the influences on its creation were also new.

  Thanks to the people who have no idea how much they have inspired me: Joss Whedon, who created a supernatural world that never felt fake and showed me that it was possible to write realistic, well-rounded young adults without descending into clichés; Train, FM Radio, Lifehouse, Stars Go Dim, The Kin, Neon Trees, Mat Kearney, Brandi Carlisle and Ha-Ash who gave me the music that had a huge influence on this part of Tasmyn’s story. You make me laugh, cry and sing.

  As always, I thank all the writers at A Writer’s Block for their encouragement and support.

  I am grateful for the friendship, advice and… other wonderful things from the IC. It has been a true pleasure to be a part of this group. Thank you for your warm welcome and your humor. You all rock!

  My Florida friends are my cheering section. For all of you who ask me about the books, who show up at signings and other fun stuff, who listen patiently while I rant—thank you. I am particularly grateful to Sonya, Lee, Sharon, Heather, Angela and Michelle.

  My dear friend Stacey plans parties and signings without blinking, re-posts all of my PR stuff, always has the best ideas for creative prizes and decorations and generally keeps me sane. A million thank yous and a great big bottle of wine to you!

  I am grateful beyond measure to everyone who made my recent tour successful and so much fun, especially Aunt Terry, Uncle John, Amanda, Matt, Jan, Chris, Gail, the staff at McCowan Memorial Library, the drama students at SNJAPA and my very own groupies, Kevin and Claire. I can’t wait to see you all on the next go round!

  A humongous thank you to all the bloggers and reviewers who continue to support The King Series and me. You never fail to amaze me.

  Another hug and universe-sized thanks to Elizabeth Sharp and Julie Titus, who make my books look good. I couldn’t do this without you. You are talented and patient, and I love you both!

  Christine Powell Gomez and Stephanie Nelson, you came to my rescue and created the beautiful cover for this book on very short notice. My appreciation and gratitude know no bounds! I am deeply in your debt.

  The release of this book coincides with my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary… which means that my wonderful husband Clint has put up with me for that long. I love you, up to the sky and far, far beyond. Thank you for the best quarter-century any girl could want—let’s shoot for another twenty-five.

  To my children, Devyn, Greg, Haley, Catie, David… thank you for putting up with the craziness that is me. I love you dearly. Robyn, Chris, Sean and Kaden, thanks for your love and support and for hosting us in May. Kelly and the family Kingett, thank you for entertaining family dinners and for your encouragement—and for living in the perfect spot for stopovers. I love you all!!

  An extra-special thank you to my talented daughter Catie, who edits, provides feedback, takes author photos, picks up the slack in the house so that I can write and promote and gives me suggestions for new books to write! I love you so much, sweetie. I don’t have any earthly clue what I would do without you.

  When I was eight years old, my parents took me to a magic show. I remember it very clearly, because it was so unusual for us to do something like that. I think it was a sort of bribe; we had just moved again, the third time in two years, and I was feeling very lonely. We were living in Virginia, in a suburb of Washington, D.C., and the show was at a local theater.

  Within a few minutes, I was thoroughly bored. The magician was plodding and methodical, and he thought through each trick as he did it… which meant that I knew very easily how it was accomplished. I could hear him plan his moves, and I watched his hands, saw the cards slip deftly between his fingers.

  About midway through the show, the magician announced that he needed a volunteer from the audience for his next trick. Immediately a ripple ran through the crowd, as people murmured in anticipation. The magician cast his eyes over all of us, and although I had dropped my gaze to the ground, I knew the moment he had decided to choose me.

  Cute kid. The audience will eat her up.

  Alarmed, I looked over at my smiling parents as the magician’s assistant appeared next to me and took me by the hand. I tried to protest, dragging my feet, but somehow I found myself on the stage, blinking in the bright lights.

  “So, little lady.” The magician looked me up and down. I felt the sense of resignation and boredom beneath the thin veneer of jollity. He wasn’t having any more fun than I was. I managed a weak smile.

  “Would you like to tell everyone your name?” The assistant held a microphone below my chin and suddenly I could hear my own breath, echoing around the theatre.

  “Tasmyn,” I answered, and my voice sounded thin and high.

  “That’s a very unique name. Are you a unique little girl?” He smirked at me.

  You have no idea, I thought.

  “Okay, let’s do some magic, shall we?” The magician rubbed his hands together. “Can you guess what sort of prestidigitation we’re going to perform next?”

  It was a rhetorical question, but I didn’t hear that. Instead I listened carefully to what he was thinking.

  “Yes! You’re going to make me hold a bunch of little sponge ducks, and then they’ll jump from one hand to the other, and then they’ll all disappear.”

  Surprise flickered across the magician’s face, but he covered it with a laugh. “Oh, so you’ve seen this show before, haven’t you? Hear that, folks? Seems like I have a real live groupie here, a big fan!”

  I shook my head, but he ignored me. I could hear him running through his repertoire of volunteer-involving tricks, trying to decide which one he should use now.

  In the end, he performed a simple sleight of hand card trick that I very nearly ruined by hearing each step before he did it.

  After the show, as my wary parents tried to hustle me out of the theatre, the magician stopped us.

  “That was quite a trick you performed up there, little lady. How many times have you seen this show?”

  I replied before my parents could intercede. “I’ve never seen it. We just moved here.”

  He looked at me suspiciously. “Then how did you know all that up on stage?”

  For just a moment I was at a loss. Then I heard the pleading thoughts in my father’s
head, and I met the magician’s eyes in a steady gaze.

  “I guess it was magic.”

  The magician snorted and rolled his eyes. He looked down at me in pitying condescension.

  “Kid, don’t you know there’s no such thing as magic?”

  I was miserable.

  I should have been supremely happy. It was Christmas in Florida, and just chilly enough to be seasonal, although of course there wasn’t any snow on the ground and the sun shone brightly through the rustling palm fronds. King High School, where I was a senior, was closed for the holiday, and our teachers had mercifully assigned nothing over the break.

  Best of all, Michael was home. His classes had ended in early December, and I’d had him to myself for two weeks already. He would return to Perriman College after the new year began, but that was still two more weeks away. It was a slow time at the nursery that his family owned—and where I worked part time—so we had hours of uninterrupted time to walk, talk… to be together.

  And I was miserable.

  Oh, I did a good job of hiding it. When I was with Michael, I was the epitome of the perfect girlfriend. We laughed and talked about silly, inconsequential things. Part of me was simply resting in the peace of being with him.

  But another part of me was constantly distracted. I wondered what Marica was doing, and I itched to stretch my newfound muscles of power and concentration. I was torn in two pieces: the old Tasmyn who only really lived when Michael was near, and this new and foreign Tasmyn who was somehow able to manage a double life. I floundered between the two halves, unable to find peace with either one.

  My former chemistry teacher and current mentor, Marica Lacusta, had suggested this break during the Christmas holidays. She knew that with Michael home, I would have very little opportunity to spend time working with her. At first, I had been relieved, as I had been wondering how I would manage to explain huge chunks of missing time to Michael. But now I was restless, unable to stop thinking about her.

  “Where are you?” As if sensing my preoccupation, Michael reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “Earth to Tasmyn…”

  I forced a smile and shook my head to clear it. “Sorry. Just…I don’t know. A thousand miles away.”

  “Can I come along?” His face was close to mine, lips hovering inches from my ear.

  “Of course. Actually, I was thinking about—college. Next year,” I lied and that old Tasmyn was appalled. I never lied to Michael. Keeping secrets from him as I’d been forced to do earlier this fall had almost crushed me. Yet now I was smoothly telling him total fabrications without blinking.

  We were sitting in the swing on the deck at his parents’ house, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine and the cool of the late afternoon air. Michael had his arm draped around my shoulders as we lazily moved the swing back and forth.

  He brushed hair away from my face with his free hand. “You aren’t worried, are you? I think you’re going to love Perriman.”

  “No, not really. I liked what I saw last month, and I think it’ll be a good fit for me academically.”

  “Then what? You have that frown, that crinkled brow. I know something’s bothering you.”

  I shrugged. “It’s just change. The unknown, I guess.”

  Here we go again. Something’s wrong. She’s shutting me out and… now I bet she’s hearing me.

  I averted my eyes so that he couldn’t read the pain there. It was almost impossible for me to avoid hearing Michael’s thoughts. Somehow my connection to him was stronger than to anyone else I’d ever met. Even Marica… when she lowered her guard and allowed me to hear her, I still had to make a concerted effort to listen carefully. With Michael, it was as though his thoughts were my own.

  “Hey.” He pulled away and sat up, tipping my chin up with his fingers so that I couldn’t hide my eyes. “What’s going on? I know you just heard me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized and hated that I had to do it.

  “What are your sorry for? For shutting me out, or for hearing me think about it?”

  I leaned away, scooting to the other corner of the swing. “Both, I guess.”

  Michael dropped his hand away from my face and sighed. “You know you don’t have to worry about hearing me. I’m used to it. I expect it. But you have to understand how frustrating it is that you don’t have to guess what’s going on in my mind while I don’t have that same advantage.”

  “I tell you everything,” I protested feebly and—to my own ears, at least—somewhat unconvincingly.

  “Maybe you do, most of the time,” Michael allowed. “But sometimes I think—I worry—that you justify hiding things because you think you’re protecting me. Like you did with your parents, when you first moved here and everything was happening with Nell. Like you did with me, this past fall.”

  “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up again!” Close to tears, I jumped up and stalked across the deck to the railing. “I thought we were over that.”

  “It never really crossed my mind again until these past few days, when you’ve felt so… distant. So removed from me. It makes me wonder what I don’t know this time.”

  “So you’re saying you can’t trust me?” I could barely choke out the words over the lump in my throat, and tears were trickling down my cheeks.

  Michael was silent. I could feel the turmoil coming from him, but I didn’t turn around.

  Then I heard him.

  I don’t know if I can. I never thought—after all we’ve gone through—but now it feels like she’s not really here with me, not totally…

  And fleetingly, so softly below the surface of his conscious thoughts, almost lost among the confused jumble of his subconscious, I heard what I’d always somehow dreaded hearing from him.

  Was I wrong? To push her, to pursue her? Is THIS wrong? Are we not really meant to be?

  I gripped the wooden railing until the splinters dug into my palms. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out anything else from Michael’s mind. For a moment the world spun, and I couldn’t breathe.

  Michael came up behind me, apparently oblivious to my anguish. He threaded his arms under mine and pulled me back against him, holding me close. My fingers, still tight on the railing, stung as they scraped across the wood.

  “Of course I can trust you,” he whispered, answering my earlier question. “We’re both dealing with a lot of change, with me being away and everything that happened this fall with the Pryces. We knew there’d be adjustments. I don’t want you to think there’s anything you can’t tell me, anything that I won’t understand.”

  Oh, I’d like to test that theory, the new and brash Tasmyn thought wryly. The old me was still too stunned and shaken to take in anything Michael was saying.

  I forced myself to relax against him, laying my head on his chest and feeling his chin rub softly on the top of my hair. He took that as agreement, and I didn’t have to say a word.

  But I already knew what I had to do.

  That night I lay in bed, waiting for the tears. An awful, aching emptiness fell on me, but somehow I couldn’t cry. The pain was too deep and immense for the simplicity of tears.

  I kept hearing Michael’s thought, playing over and over again in an endless, horrible loop. Are we really not meant to be? Was I wrong?

  That practical, removed part of me was already resigned to what had to happen next. I always knew that it was too wonderful to last, that it happened too fast to be real. Someday he was going to realize that things like love at first sight don’t really exist.

  But he DOES love me! The hurting, bleeding part of me cried. He didn’t say he didn’t. He didn’t even think that.

  The new and unruffled Tasmyn rolled her eyes. Just because he’s lying to himself doesn’t mean I have to wait around for him to realize it. Better to make the break now. Better for me to be the one to do it.

  I thought about that for a few silent moments. I saw Michael’s face, more familiar and beloved to me than my own. And on that face,
I pictured not the tender expressions of love I was accustomed to, but instead pity and regret. My heart broke all over again, and I curled in on myself, unable to breathe for pain.

  I could live through my own hurt. It would scar me, change me, but I would survive. What I could not even imagine was the idea of using Michael’s sense of obligation to keep him with me. That would kill me.

  The decision, once made, gave me some sense of awful resignation. Now the only question was how to make it happen while still protecting Michael from as much hurt as possible. I could wait for him to go back to college and then call him. That would be easier for me, when he was too far away for me to hear his thoughts or feel his pain, but it seemed cowardly. And I knew I couldn’t get through the next two weeks, pretending that everything was fine, putting on the act of the loving girlfriend, all the time knowing that it was going to end. No, better to face him here… and soon. If I put it off, I’d find a reason not to do it.

  I toyed briefly with the idea of calling my friend Rafe and asking him to help me. Rafe, a descendant of one of King’s original families, possessed a gift that allowed him to manipulate minds, make people forget things. I knew if I asked him, he would comply; he was definitely less wary of using his talents than I had ever been. But doing that would take away from what Michael and I had shared. I owed him whatever pain would come to me by doing this, and although it nearly killed me to imagine how he might feel at first, knowing that I was ultimately doing this for his own good strengthened my resolve.

  By the next morning, I had it all planned. I couldn’t bring myself to do it at any of our most special places; not the magical spot between the citrus trees and evergreens, where we had first expressed our love, nor the sandy lakeshore at Lancer Park, where we had shared our first kiss. No, it had to be someplace completely different, if only for my own sanity. I needed to keep those memories untarnished.