Lunangelique (The Lunangelique Series)

by Campbell, Kristin R

  “Well, why does Edmund look older?” I can’t stop with all the questions.

  “It shows his rank. He was made to lead so he was made to look older, wiser,” Cole explains.

  “Oh,” is the only thing I can think to say. I start to compute everything in my mind and Cole takes my thinking facial expressions as sadness.

  “I’m sorry, Lexi. It is really hard to say good-bye to people you love but you learn to move on and keep moving. It’s the only way to prevent yourself from hurting others and yourself.”

  I take a step closer to him to fill in the space between us and wrap my arms around him. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I’m strong. I’ll learn how to deal with it.” He winces. “Wrong choice of words?” I ask him and he nods but kisses me goodnight before watching me go inside.

  *

  I want to tell Alex right away about everything, but I hold back, keeping more secrets from him for a just awhile longer. I have to wait until Edmund is ready to fill in the missing pieces. What I can’t hold back on is wondering what it means now that I know who one of my parents are. I don’t think I’m thrilled that it’s Edmund. He’s really nice to me, we have a lot in common and he didn’t show up acting parental, which would have freaked me out. But he still lied to me; he’s continuing to keep things from me. And more importantly, he gave up his own kids.

  I don’t know why he would give up Alex and I, but I can assume he had a good reason for it. Maybe he doesn’t want the other angels to know about us, maybe he’s life style is dangerous, maybe he didn’t want us to be on the run with him. Maybe he just wanted us to grow up as normal as possible. I have to be thankful when I think that. I’m glad Alex and I didn’t grow up knowing what we are, that our father has been hunted, his wings torn, no longer an angel but not anything else either. I can’t imagine a childhood where I would be a little kid worrying about someone tearing off my wings (if I had them).

  Then there would have been the fact that I would know who my mother was but feel sad all the time that she wasn’t with me, or would she be? If I knew fully what I was, I might have a lot more to fear growing up. So, I can forgive Edmund, for the time being.

  I really want to know what Alex’s talent is. He’s not agile like me or equal in endurance. I really don’t think our twin status counts along with this. I’ve racked my brains trying to figure it out. Does he have super strength? I don’t think so. Last year, during one of our community service projects we helped with Habitats for Humanity and the frame to the side of a house fell on him. He couldn’t lift it off and he was bruised afterward. He got over it within a day. That might be something.

  I really want to know, so later in the week, on Wednesday, after practicing the piano in Mrs. Senett’s fourth period class with Cole, I ride back home with Alex. Thankfully Kaitlyn isn’t coming over today like she usually does. She needs to study for a test she has the next day.

  Alex isn’t even driving out of the school’s parking lot when I ask him, “Are you keeping something from me?”

  He glances at me real fast and says, “No, I don’t think so.” I look back out the window and wait for him to ask me, “Why?”

  “No reason.” I shrug. “I just haven’t seen you for awhile and thought asking would be a great conversation starter.” I pull some papers out of bag. I came prepared. Alex prepared. “What do you know about genetics?” I ask nonchalantly.

  “Why? When have you been into science?”

  “I really haven’t been but I ran across this article about a baby with a genetic mutation that left him with superhuman muscles and I didn’t believe it but I started to read into it and it came from a legitimate news source. So, then I wanted to know about other similar mutations. There are stories all throughout history about people with superhuman speed and strength and so on. I found that there are documented, scientific cases about a whole bunch of people, today, that have the same anomalies!”

  I continue in an energetic tone to show Alex that I’m really interested, “There is a guy who can control his body temperature so he can’t get hypothermia. Someone who is magnetic, like Magneto! It’s really intriguing. There are about hundred, if not more, documented cases. It was up your alley so I thought I would share it with you.” I keep the papers in my lap. I can see him eyeing them curiously. I knew it.

  “I’m done with the research if you want the papers. I didn’t know genetics could be so fascinating. It really was. I think I might join your science club now.” I smile widely at him, hoping he falls for it.

  “It’s physics, Lexi, not science. We don’t study genetics and DNA in the club,” he informs me.

  “Oh.” I act hurt. “I guess I’ll look into it more by myself, then.”

  “Cut the shit, Lexi!” he snaps at me. “What are you up to? I know when you are putting up an act.”

  “I’m not up to anything!” I snap back at him. “Damn, Alexander. I’m just trying to talk to you. Connect with you. Because I’ve felt distant from you.” I’m able to squeeze a few tears out.

  He looks over at me and falls for it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You’re right.”

  We sit in silence for the rest of the car ride. When we get home he asks, “Can I borrow those?” He points at the papers. “I’ll read through them and then we can talk about it later.”

  “Okay,” I agree. He took the bait and hopefully it gives him conclusiveness, so that he’ll finally come forward and tell me what he can do.

  *

  The next day I get to art class early for a change. And also for a change, Edmund is early. Great minds think alike, or in this case, relations. He was sitting at his desk doodling in his sketch book but when I walked in he looked up and smiled, fatherly. I probably just think that way because now I know he is my father. It was like that on Monday. Everything time he smiled at me or talked to me I thought it seemed parental, but before this past weekend I thought it was just friendliness.

  “Alexis,” he says fondly, like a doting father would to his daughter. “I was hoping to see you before the rest of the class showed up. There is something I want to talk to you about.” What? That you’re my father and the only one who knows who my mother is. Who happens to be _________.

  I’m walking to get my supplies as he said this so when I walk to my desk he meets me there. I start organizing the supplies and my sketchbook on the desk when he throws down a handful of photographs. I look up at him confused. They’re pictures of the sketches I’ve done over the past few weeks.

  “I have been showing you off to some colleagues of mine. They are as impressed with you as I am. Really impressed, actually. They want to see more.” That’s why he wanted us to turn in our sketchbooks every day.

  I’m shocked, angry, betrayed, and curious. I start stammering before I can ask, “See more of what?” I can’t think of anything else to say.

  “You’re art. Paintings.”

  “But I don’t paint,” I lie.

  “Alexis,” he huffs out, “we both know you do.” He looks at me knowingly.

  I’m going to kill Cole now. “Cole had no right to tell you my business,” I say angrily.

  Edmund hesitates like he’s about to say something and changes his mind. “He was bragging about you. I’m sure he never meant to betray you.” He stops before asking, “What’s the problem with this? Don’t you want recognition for your excellent talent?”

  I flinch at the word talent. I don’t think it’s a talent if it came supernaturally. “No, I don’t want recognition. My talents are for me, because I enjoy them.”

  “Don’t you think that’s the best job to have? One that you enjoy doing.”

  I shrug and look down at the table. I can’t argue with him there. But then I think about what he said. What it means. “Who are these colleagues?”

  He smiles broadly at me, thinking he won. “Some curators from prestigious museums and a few Fine Art Deans from Universities…like Yale.” He lets the last word hang i
n the air, trying to draw me in. I can play this game too.

  “I’m not interested.”

  His face remains composed. I was hoping it would drop open. “May I ask why?”

  “I already told you. My art is for me.”

  “Alexis.” His temper is starting to come through but two students have just walked in. “We will continue this conversation later,” he says in a stern voice. Then he regains his lost composure and greets the other students pleasantly, while I mouth yes, father.

  The class continues just as it always has. The class pairs up and takes turns drawing each other’s hands. I focus on my artwork, wanting to mess it up on purpose but feeling too ashamed to purposely destroy someone else’s hands. I grit my teeth today when he comes over to observe my work, but he doesn’t make any comments to me.

  After class he sticks to his words. “Alexis, stay behind please.” He says it sweetly but I know he is trying to make a command.

  “You know, the other students are going to start thinking something’s up if you keep making me stay behind.” I try to make a point with words while my voice tells him the anger I feel.

  “Don’t be absurd”

  “Wow. That was kind of harsh, Edmund.” I use his first name to purposely disrespect him. Inside I was saying, that was kind of harsh, dad.

  “Alexis, why are you determined to throw away this opportunity that I’m giving you?”

  “Oh, so this is you giving it to me? You mean I didn’t earn it? I’m really not good enough and you conned others to consider me?” My temper is flaring in a way it never has before.

  Edmund shakes his head and blinks. Like he’s trying to bring back his bearings. “You…” He takes a deep breath. His voice is on the verge of roaring when he says, “That’s not what I meant. You have so much talent. Don’t waste it.”

  “It’s. Not. Your. Choice.” I say every word singularly to try to make it perfectly clear to him. He might be my father but he left me, us, and he is not allowed to interfere in any of my decisions.

  He walks away from me, mumbling something that sounds like, “I can make him make you.” Before turning back around and asking me in a calmer, persuasive voice, “What are your plans after high school? Do you want to go to college?”

  I try to bring my anger down so my voice matches his more conversational one. “Yes, I’m trying to get an athletic scholarship. And I would like to study history.”

  “History,” he scoffs. It’s funny knowing what I know now, why he would hate that idea.

  I try to irritate him more. I want to see if I can get him to admit to something. “What’s wrong with history?”

  “It’s dead. There is nothing beautiful about it. It’s filled with war and pain and there is nothing to learn from it that will help the future. People say they can but they make the same mistakes again and again and again. It doesn’t create. You can’t look at history. You can’t feel history.” He is really passionate about that topic.

  “I don’t agree. I love the mystery. I love to learn about more simple lifestyles and the people who changed the world, who found new worlds, who expanded empires and built something bigger than themselves. I want to discover more secrets. Find unknown cultures.”

  Edmund is looking down and shaking his head in disappointment. But then he looks at me and his eyes are filled with hope, “You can create that through your art. Use your imagination and create visuals of past events that inspire you. You can create collections and collections of art from all eras. Tell a story…”

  “Does your art tell a story?” I dare to ask.

  He looks at me and in that moment I know he knows that I know. He stays quiet and doesn’t answer me. We just stand there, staring at each other, daring the other one to finally admit the truth. He stands there with his hands balled into fists, his knuckles are white. I stand there, looking like the obstinate girl he called me with my arms folded across my chest in defiance. I start to grow afraid of being the first one to say anything. I don’t show it on the surface but I know if I say something it will be a smartass comment and his fists look like they want to break something right now.

  “How’s Cole doing?” He’s threatening me. If I respond the wrong way he will know for sure and hurt him for it.

  “I don’t want to play messenger between you two anymore. If you are concerned you should talk to him yourself.” I want to take a deep breath. I want to swallow the lump in my throat. But both of those actions will give me away. “I told you I could arrange a dinner.”

  Don’t shrug. That will show weakness. Don’t relax posture. Don’t fidget. We’re still standing at a standstill, waiting for a crack. Waiting for my crack.

  “I think I’ll take you up on your offer. Give me another opportunity to convince you to continue with your art,” he relaxes his fists. I start to object to his second statement but he steps up to me and puts both of his hands on my arms and bends his knees to get eye level with me. “Lexi,” he uses my nickname for the first time. “Seriously. Think about it. You could have a scholarship. You could go to one of the best schools in the country. You could study as much history there as you want and have a private studio to paint to your heart’s content.” Private studio does sound nice. “Please, think about it before you turn me down again.” I nod my head but don’t reply.

  He lets go of my arms and turns to walk to his desk. “How was Homecoming?” Dammit! He is not going to let it go.

  Thankfully his back is turned when I balk. “It was really nice,” I say as sincerely as possible. “My brother, Alex, was crowned Homecoming King and his girlfriend was Homecoming Queen. I’m so happy for them. It was a good time.”

  He’s facing me again with a huge, proud smile on his face. “I’m happy for him. Them.” He stumbled and I am doing a happy dance in my head because he broke and I didn’t. He could have left it at ‘him’ and it wouldn’t have sounded weird. But he slipped and he knew it. Cole is right. I can do anything.

  Chapter 15

  The next night, after my volleyball game, I hurry home to shower and change before meeting Cole for a night out. We go back down to the strip and enjoy a less busy crowd then the summer months held. It’s the middle of October and the chill in the air is telling us that autumn is definitely here.

  We walk up and down the strip with our arms entwined, trying to huddle close together as the wind sends chills our way. We spend some time, pretending to be tourists by going in and out of all the souvenir shops before we finally pick a place to eat and get out of the cold.

  We choose to eat at a small pizza diner that has the authentic Italian look with the hard breadsticks sticking out of a cup and candles at each table. There aren’t too many people in here so we’re not afraid to talk freely while we eat.

  “Edmund threatened me yesterday,” I tell him over a bite of a meatball sandwich.

  “What,” he says in disbelief, putting his slice of pizza down and abandoning it.

  “Well, not me exactly. You,” I clarify.

  “Why? What did he say?”

  I finish swallowing my bite and abandoned my sandwich too. No longer hungry and wishing I hadn’t brought it up until another time because I was really hungry. I fill him in on the conversation that occurred yesterday, telling him how it sounded like Edmund was planning on making Cole make me accept his offer and then me asking Edmund if his art told a story.

  “I knew in that moment that he realized I knew who he was to me. So he said, ‘How’s Cole doing?’ but he said it in a threatening way. Like he knew you told me.” I look down at the table, no longer able to look at him. I feel like I betrayed him and put him in danger.

  Cole reaches across the table and grasps my hand in his. “He can’t hurt me. And I don’t think he will.” I look up to meet his eyes. “If he loves you at all, then he won’t hurt me.”

  “I really hope so.” He gives me a small smile and returns to his pizza. “He also said he wants me to set up a dinner for the three of us.” C
ole proceeds to put his pizza slice back on the plate and I feel bad for repeatedly messing up his dinner.

  “He’s playing with us.”

  “I know. But it turns out I’m a better player than him.” Cole looks at me curiously. “Let’s just say we played a game of blind man’s bluff and he lost. I know he’s using the dinner to pull out information from the both of us. He wants to see if we slip up when we are together.”

  “Lexi, he’s had years and years of experience at the ‘game’,” He puts quotation marks around the word. “You’re playing with him. He’s much, much older than I. Don’t mess with him.”

  “I know. But I’m his daughter. I’ve inherited some of his skills and I have the mind-over-matter ability that allows me to do anything.” I shrug.

  “What you can do is physical not mental…”

  I cut him off. “I don’t think so. I think it’s more than that. I’ve been practicing in my calculus class and guess what?” He just looks at me with a ‘what?’ expression so I continue, “I’ve gotten every answer right on all my homework, class work and the test I had today.” I smile proudly at him.

  “Lexi that could just be your determination…”

  I cut him off again. “No, it’s not. Calculus is my worst subject. I’ve always had to put an extra effort into math. And, it’s the only subject I’ve tested the theory on, next week I’ll try English and then we’ll really see whose theory is correct. But I’m telling you if you had been in that room when me and Edmund were facing off, you would have seen that my gift was at work. I should have been breaking out into a sweat from fear.” I take a bite of my sandwich; finally feeling excited enough to eat again.