Prophecy Girl

by Cecily White

  Was I? I didn’t know anymore.

  Strange as it sounded, the Wraithmaker thing made sense. I mean, how else was I supposed to explain all this? That awful voice at my test was male, so what? I had a brother? Hadn’t I always wanted a brother? Someone to watch Star Trek with. Someone to help me make fun of Dad’s ghastly tie collection.

  I found myself staring at the battered old tabletop, questions flooding my head. If I did have a brother, what happened to him? Was he taken? Did my parents give him away? Had they known he was evil? How could they not have mentioned it? How could I not have sensed it?

  What the hell was I?

  “Amelie, are you okay?” Jack asked.

  “Baby, just give her a minute,” Bertle said softly. “She’ll be all right.”

  I could hear their voices, but they sounded far away—tinny and distant, like through an antique phone line.

  “So, I’m…moonlight.”

  “Yes.”

  I pulled my hand from Jack’s and pressed it to the hollow beneath my throat. “This soul,” I said, “you think it belongs to my twin brother?”

  “If he dies, you die, yes,” he confirmed.

  “Take me home.”

  “Amelie—”

  “Take me home!”

  I rose out of my chair and stumbled toward the door. Behind me, the clatter of coconut skulls hitting the ground rang out, but I didn’t stop. I had to get out of there. A vague memory of telling Luc things couldn’t get worse hung in my head. What a stupid sentiment! People who say stuff like that deserve to have their world fall apart. If I could just get home—back to Bud, back to my mom’s antique toilet collection, back to my awesome Pepto Bismol room—things would be okay. Everything would go back to normal.

  “Amelie, stop.” Jack’s voice called out from the porch behind me but I didn’t listen. I darted across the street, desperately trying to hail a cab. The evening mist had left the asphalt slick and the reflected street lamps made it glitter like black glass. My feet sloshed through murky puddles as I went, soaking the edges of my jeans. I barely noticed. Maybe I deserved that, too.

  I was halfway to the corner when a rusted yellow cab with a white-haired driver pulled up beside me. It was muddy from yesterday’s storm, but to me it looked perfect. My ticket to normal.

  “Where to, dawlin’?”

  “Home,” I said. “Old Metairie. But I don’t have any money—”

  “Amelie! What do you think you’re doing?” Out of nowhere, Jack’s hand caught my elbow, yanking me out of the street.

  “Get off me, Jack. I want to go home.” I tried to shove him away, but he held on tight.

  “Ami, cut it out. I’m not letting you go.”

  “Hey, miss. You okay?” The cabbie leaned his head out the window, his brown eyes wrinkled in concern.

  “She doesn’t need a cab.” Jack waved the taxi on as I stumbled against him.

  “I think the lady can decide whether she needs a cab. Miss, you in trouble? You need some help?” The driver’s hand fumbled for his radio, 911 at the ready.

  I quit struggling. Confused, I looked at Jack, then back at the cab driver.

  Did he really think Jack was going to hurt me? Jack, who had risked his life for me? Given up everything to help me? The idea was so ludicrous I couldn’t help it and I started to laugh. Completely cracked up. Tears rolled down my face, my body doubled over. I laughed so hard I had to wrap my arms around my waist to keep from cramping.

  “I’m sorry, sir, she’s not feeling well,” Jack apologized, handing the driver a rumpled twenty. “Thanks for your concern. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

  The driver glanced from me to Jack, then back again. His worried expression rapidly shifted into one of disgust. “Damn drunk kids,” he muttered as the cab’s tires squealed off down the street.

  Of course, that sent me into another wave of uncontrollable giggles, which quickly degraded into wracking sobs. Jack practically had to carry me back to the “safe house.”

  Pathetic.

  I suppose I could have walked the last few blocks. If I’d been less of a mess, I might have tried. As it was, I didn’t want to. Everywhere Jack touched me, threads of warmth appeared, like liquid fire on a winter’s night. Neither of us said a word until we were inside the hovel and he’d settled me onto the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” I croaked. My voice was shot from the crying jag and my tongue felt like I’d been sucking on chalk.

  “For what?”

  “Everything,” I said. “Being nasty to Bertle. Torturing Smalley when all she did was try to help. Letting you risk your life to save me when I don’t even have a soul worth saving.”

  Jack untied my right shoe and set it under the bedside table. Then he started unknotting my left. I was grateful. My own arms were so slack with exhaustion I doubted I could have managed it myself.

  “Ami, why do you do that?” he asked.

  “Do what?”

  “That. Refuse to look on the bright side.”

  I shrugged. “Not really seeing a bright side.”

  “Exactly my point,” he said. “You’re a Wraithmaker. Granted, that’s not the best news, but at least it means you’re not a psychopath.”

  “I share a soul with a psychopath.”

  “Again, not ideal. But your share of that soul is pretty cool. Some people don’t have half the warmth and creativity you do. Just because their souls are freestanding doesn’t make them better than you.”

  He gave up on the knotted lace and tugged the shoe off by force. Little sparks shot up my ankle and I smiled. The idea of a “freestanding” soul struck me as funny; as if a soul was something you could prop up on a stage and brag about.

  “Besides,” Jack continued, peeling off my socks. “I’m not convinced you don’t have a soul of your own. The existentialist, Georg Hegel, had this theory that God isn’t something that exists ‘out there’ in some abstract form. He thought divinity, what he called the ‘Absolute,’ could be found in the connections between every living thing; that we all share a consciousness, a little bit of God, in the space between us.” He lifted his gaze to mine, the hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. “I doubt any living thing could so thoroughly get under my skin as you have, without being deeply connected to me. Which means that even though you’re made of Lucifer’s blood, you must have a little bit of God in you.”

  I slumped deeper into the bedspread. I didn’t know why he was trying so hard to make me feel better. Pity, I guess. The sad thing was, it was working. “You know,” I said, “for a guy who’s complained almost constantly since I met him, you’ve turned out to be quite the little optimist.”

  He groaned. “Amelie, never refer to a man as ‘little,’ even by measure of his optimism. Didn’t Miss Anselmo teach you that?”

  I couldn’t help giggling. It actually hurt, given my last frantic bout of laughter, but I didn’t mind. Jack got me a glass of water while I changed into the tank top and boxers Lisa packed for me. It took about four seconds to down the whole glass.

  “More?” he offered.

  “No, thanks. I’m so tired I’ll probably end up wetting the bed.” I tucked my legs under the covers and pulled the sheets up to my chin. “Will you lie with me until I fall asleep?”

  “Sure.” Jack vaulted over me to the other side of the bed and doubled the pillow against the headboard. “But I’m not getting under the covers, so no funny business.”

  “Relax,” I promised. “Your virtue is safe with me.”

  I rolled over so my head rested on his chest, then waited while he settled his arms around me. He’d insisted we sleep in shifts, allegedly so we’d be alert to intruders. I figured maybe he was afraid to share a bed with me, like I might throw myself at him during a wild REM cycle.

  “Thanks, by the way,” I murmured into his chest, absently sketching a protective ward there. Tiny sparks flew up at the contact. “This was possibly the worst day of my life. You made it bearable.”

&n
bsp; “At least you’re safe, right?” He reached over to turn the light out. “Maybe it’s true, every cloud has a—”

  “If you say ‘silver lining,’ I will hurt you,” I threatened, pinching him on the stomach. “Little optimist.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest, deep and warm and alive. It made me want to curl into him, wrap myself around his heart and stay for a long, long time.

  “Jack, can you tell me something?” I whispered after a minute.

  “Sure. What?”

  “I don’t care. Anything. Tell me about yourself. The more sleepy-making the better.”

  “Sleepy-making, huh? Let’s see.” He made a thoughtful noise. “Well, I’m a Virgo. You know that. My favorite color is green—”

  “Green. Why green?”

  “I don’t know. I like trees, I guess. Cedar’s my favorite smell, too, especially when it snows.” He clicked his tongue. “Um, I crochet sometimes, when there’s nothing evil to kill.”

  “You crochet? Like with frilly yarn and needles?”

  “They’re called hooks. And if you’re going to make fun…” He started to get up, but I tugged him back.

  “Wait, keep going,” I said. “I like hearing you talk. Tell me about your family. Focus on the boring parts.”

  “Well,” he hesitated. “My parents died when I was eleven. Then Akira ordered me moved to residential. I don’t have any other family, except for Luc—”

  “Luc.” I snorted, with no small measure of disdain. “What’s his deal, anyway? Are all vamps so…” Plenty of adjectives sprang to mind, but I didn’t know if Jack’s and my relationship was at the place where I could start insulting his people. I settled for “Human?”

  “You know, I can’t really bore you to sleep if you keep asking questions.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  His hand stroked little circles over my back. “The Montaigne clan are one of a few lines of born vampires—the royals. It’s like a brutal, murderous aristocracy and Luc’s family happens to hold power. They’re very political. Very image-based. The born vamps prefer to be called Immortals, though Luc’s not as picky about that as his mom. Usually, any one of them has four or five armed guards with him.”

  “How did you meet—”

  He shushed me again. “We’ve known each other as long as I can remember. There were three main families who formed Paranormal Convergence: mine, Luc’s, and a werewolf clan by the name of Delinsky. My friend Dane Delinsky was the one Luc sent to watch over you Monday night. He’s a decent guy, mostly. Not terribly regimented, but he’s got a good heart. And yes, they’re both very human—souls of their own and everything. That’s what the Peace Tenets are about. Is this boring enough?”

  Jack’s thumb brushed against the back of my neck in slow strokes. Mmm, best bedtime story ever.

  “More,” I murmured and felt him smile.

  “Um, it’ll be ten years on Saturday since our families first petitioned for the Peace Tenets,” he continued in a whisper. “Hundreds of us showed up—vamps, werewolves, you name it. The vamps and weres had been hit pretty hard by demon attacks and with all the vampire in-fighting, Immortals were actually facing extinction. They still are. It was the Gabrielites who championed the Peace movement, but in the end, over a hundred Guardians signed the petition. Luc and Dane and I were just kids then.” His chest rumbled with silent laughter. “You should have seen it. Luc pitched such a fit when they said we couldn’t sign it, I thought it might become an international incident. In the end, Dad only gave in because it was my birthday. That’s what Luc was talking about before, the thing his mom is coming in town for…the Induction.”

  “Induction. Right.” I wiped a smidge of drool off the corner of my mouth. The golden threads connecting us seemed to change texture, glowing thick and pliant against my skin. I nestled into his chest.

  “If you’d paid attention to your theory lectures, you know it takes ten years after a petition is filed for a Guardian law to be ratified. That’s why we get so many petitioners to sign, so when the law comes up for Induction ten years later there’ll still be plenty alive to ratify it. The Peace Tenets shouldn’t be a problem. There’s a lot of dissent about it since the war effort’s failing right now, but we only need one of the original petitioners from each group to pass it. It’ll be good, you’ll see.” He tightened his arms around me, his breath warm against my hair. “Once the law gets ratified, everyone will be treated as equals. No more bigotry, no more distrust between species. The Inferni will be our allies against demonkind. Maybe the Elders will even train them to fight alongside us, instead of treating them like some hostile protectorate.”

  I had to admit it sounded good. If they could be trusted.

  The tricky thing about Inferni was that even though they lived in our world, ate our food, and drove our cars, they all still carried demon blood. Maybe it wasn’t as thick or toxic as true subterraneans—but could we really trust creatures who, for centuries, hunted humans as if they were no better than animals? Liberals like Jack would tell you Crossworlders must have souls because their origins were human. But I wasn’t so sure.

  Heck, what did I know? I barely had a soul myself.

  Right?

  Chapter Seventeen:

  Under Pressure

  Jack woke me before dawn. Thursday morning. Only two days left until the prophecy.

  It took me a few minutes to register where I was. The whole room looked dim and swimmy, and I couldn’t figure out why there were no Beanie Babies on my dresser. Or why my dresser had been painted puke green and hauled in front of the door.

  “Hey.” Jack’s husky voice brought everything back in a flood. “You okay to keep watch for awhile?”

  I blinked up at him. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Seven hours. You need more?”

  I shook my head. “You should have woken me sooner.”

  “I tried,” he said with a smile, “about three hours ago. You flicked me in the face and told me to piss off.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m sure you deserved it, then.” I tried to sit up, but the sudden movement left me light-headed. “Do we have any granola bars left?”

  “I think you ate the last one at Luc’s. Along with all my breath mints and a half-eaten box of Red Hots you found in the seat cushions.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  He grinned as he unstuck a clump of hair from my face. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were dangerous.”

  I had to stifle a yawn as I stood, so I leaned against him while the head-rush subsided. It was nice, like leaning against a good-smelling brick wall. My pride might not have let me say it, but I owed him so much. And not just one night’s sleep, either. I owed him my life. It wasn’t a debt I could ever repay, and honestly, I didn’t know how to try. In a weird fit of gratitude, I wound my arms around his waist for a hug.

  “What’s that for?” he asked, confused.

  But I buried my face in his chest and kept hugging. It took him a second to relax, but eventually he sighed and his arms looped around me too. If it had been up to me, we would have stayed like that for another seven hours.

  He didn’t speak after we parted. Just slipped into the warm spot I’d vacated and fell asleep.

  My body made creaky sounds as I settled in for my turn on watch. I hated all the carefulness and sitting around. We needed a plan. Preferably one that didn’t involve psychic lunch ladies, pompous vampires, and flea-bag motels. Don’t get me wrong, I was as thrilled as the next girl about hiding out with the world’s most unattainable bachelor. But there had to be something else we could do. Something useful.

  I slumped back on the dust-covered cushions and stared up at the stained ceiling. Yeesh. Was it even possible my biggest drama used to be figuring out who I should invite to the school gala? Had I really been that shallow?

  Small beams of gray light slanted through the windows, casting flickery shadows across the bedspread. Jack looked so peaceful, fist curled around th
e hilt of his short sword like a little boy with a teddy bear. He probably loved that thing as much as most kids love their teddy bears. Strange what this world does to us.

  After what seemed like hours—and probably was—I tugged back my moth-eaten flannel throw and padded toward the bathroom. The mirror over the sink was so old and tarnished it even made the smattering of freckles across my nose look colorless. I tried to splash some water on my face.

  “Great,” I muttered as chilled water dribbled under the collar of my tank top. “It’s gonna be one of those days, isn’t it?”

  My clothes were still in Lisa’s backpack, so I dragged it into the bathroom and started unpacking. T-shirts, jeans, super-cute silk halter top. With my luck, Jack would probably have us scaling a skyscraper before noon. The silk top went back into the pack. I’d just decided on a sports bra and T-shirt over some jeans when the bag began to vibrate. It startled me at first, until I realized what it was.

  Lisa’s phone.

  I dug through the pack until I found it, yellow and flowery, at the bottom. “Hello?”

  “Ami!” Lisa’s voice squeaked over the line like a manic frog. “Omigosh, I’ve been so worried. Did the jump go okay? Of course it did. You’re alive, right? Oh, we were so worried! I said you’d get in trouble. But did you listen to me? No, you didn’t. Because you never listen!”

  Despite myself, I smiled. No matter what the tragedy, trust Lisa to fit a lecture in. “Hi, Lis.”

  “Don’t ‘Hi, Lis’ me. Where are you? No, wait! Don’t tell me. If they torture me, I don’t want to have to give you up.”

  “Relax, I don’t even know. It doesn’t matter, we won’t be here long. Jack’s like a psycho-nomad with a taste for one-star lodging.”

  “Is he still with you?”

  “Yeah, he’s asleep. Kind of a weird night. I’m in the bathroom right now.”

  “Omigosh, y’all didn’t—”

  “No!” I said, too loudly. “No, of course not. It’s not like that.”

  It took about ten minutes to brief her on everything— the prophecy, my alleged twin brother, my dubious status as a Wraithmaker. The one thing I skimmed over was Jack. I had yet to sort through the kissing parts. And my feelings for him were waaaay too intense to put into words. Still, the omission left me with a guilty knot in my belly. I’d spent the better part of twelve years letting Lisa manage the details of my life. It felt weird to hide stuff from her now.