by Abra Ebner
“To talk. We have a lot to discuss.”
I felt myself rope-in every thought I’d previously freed, guarding them harder than ever. “What if I don’t want to talk?” I finally forced myself to hold his gaze and observe him.
He was sitting casually on the cedar bench my foster father had made—he made everything in this house, it seemed. “I think Emily wants you to talk with me.”
I grumbled and shuffled toward him. “News travels fast.”
Max went on. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I understand, but what you really need to understand is that I can help you.”
I sat as far away from him as possible, my nose crinkled as I smelled nothing but ash. “You stink.”
Max laughed. “See, even now, you’re avoiding the subject at hand, the one occupying a good portion of your mind.”
I tried to deter him from this exhausting subject once more. “Where’s Jane?”
Max indulged my procrastination this time. “Inside.” His eyes motioned across the yard toward her house. “Brought her home just a little while ago.”
I wondered what they did with their time together, and if they’d done that yet—I couldn’t help it. “Jane hasn’t figured out how much of a loser you are yet, has she?” I was challenging him, but I couldn’t help that, either.
Max tilted his head toward me. A noticeable tension lighted across his features, something that hadn’t been there before. “Wes.” His voice was commanding, telling me he was done with games and that I’d gone too far.
I sighed, giving in, if for no other reason than to get him off my back.
“Do you want to know about your parents?” he pushed forward.
I thought of the owl then.
Max nodded. “I’m sorry to say, but that owl is not a shifter. I think she just likes you.”
“How do you know?”
Max’s cool attitude once again returned. “I can hear her, feel her animal instincts—natural instincts. There is no human in her. I can see that because of what I am.”
I shook my head. “Great. Now I’m attracting animal girlfriends,” I muttered.
Max chuckled, and it angered me.
He stopped suddenly, licking his lips before continuing. “I haven’t seen your parents in almost seventy years, but I did know them very well, as I said before.”
I felt my heart tighten. A part of me had hoped he still knew them.
“They were classmates of mine, and like you, their senior year got complicated rather quickly. Just before I died, they’d finally come to terms with what was happening to them and were falling in love.”
I was concentrating on my hands, attempting to hide any emotion that might have shown on my face. Just knowing I had parents that could still be out there was shock enough; knowing Max had known them was worse.
“Your foster parents know, Wes. They took you in with the understanding of what you are. They had to.”
I swallowed hard, feeling as though a log had landed on me. “What?” I couldn’t picture Gladys holding a secret like that at bay. “How?”
Max continued. “After I died and came back, your parents and I left here for Winter Wood.”
I interrupted. “What’s Winter Wood?”
“It’s our side of this town.”
“What?”
“I haven’t been there in a long time,” he added, fulfilling my curiosity as to whether this was a place he still went, and why we hadn’t known about it sooner.
“Is that where they are?” A part of me hoped it was that easy.
“I’m afraid not.”
I felt a little angered by his reply. “How would you know if you haven’t been there in a while?” I wanted him to get to the point.
Max tilted his head. “It’s a good assumption, but…” His voice trailed off.
“But what?”
“Your parents are dead, Wes. I’m sorry.” His gaze dropped. “I heard word of it long ago. There was a massive reaping in the mountains of Washington where many of your kind had fled for refuge. No one survived.”
Just like that, the little hopes I’d had vanished. “Why tell me this?” My voice was raised. “Why lead me to believe they could still be out there?”
Max touched my shoulder, but I jerked away from him.
“I’m sorry. But in my defense, I didn’t have the time to tell you before because of what was going on with Greg, and I regret that you assumed otherwise.”
I was suddenly angry at Jane and Emily for putting those thoughts in my head. I remembered the day they’d first mentioned it. It was before we had truly learned what Max was, right before Emily had been taken by Greg.
“You were conceived in Winter Wood, but when your mother gave birth to you, they knew you needed to have a human upbringing. Even with both parents being shifters, there was no guarantee that you would be. They wanted to be sure to prepare you for that. If you never developed the gift, they wanted you to remain in the human world, unaware of their trials and tribulations. It was safer this way. Our world was, and is, a dangerous place.”
I put my head in my hands, fingers in my hair. “But I’m not human, so now what?”
“You’re one of us, and their trials and tribulations are yours as well.”
I sat up. “Great. I could have just been with them instead of stuck here.”
He ignored my negative comment. “Your foster parents are friendly with the magickal beings here. They’re some of the few humans that know about our world and want to help.”
“It’s like a giant conspiracy,” I muttered.
Max stood. “You should tell them what has happened to you. You can confide in them, and they’ll want to know that you’ve made the transition. They’ve been anxiously waiting to see if you take to the gift or not. They deserve to know that you have. Your parents were good friends with Gladys. I know she has stories she’d love to tell you about them.”
He stepped off the porch, not bothering to turn back. I watched him walk across the lawn toward Jane’s house. My gaze fell to my feet as the reality sank in. My parents were dead. Dead as dirt. Dead and gone. Once again, I had no one.
I heard the front door open, the hinges whining. “Are you alright, Wes?” Gladys’s small eyes peered out. She tilted her head. “I just don’t normally see you sit out here, and—”
“I’m fine, ma’am,” I interrupted before she could say anything more. I didn’t want to talk about my parents, and I didn’t want to talk about me. My parents had left me, and I was going to leave them as well. They never existed in my memories so there was no point reliving their life through stories. There was no point in sharing my life with Gladys.
I would not allow any of them to exist or know.
This was my life.
Jane:
“Oh, Jane. Thank you.”
I handed my mother a cup of tea as she wiped her nose with a tissue. She was slouched against the counter in the kitchen, watching me as I rushed to make myself breakfast before school.
“I must have caught that flu that Wes and Emily had last week.”
I turned away from her in time to hide the smile. What my mother still didn’t understand was that what Wes and Emily had was anything but the flu. Thankfully, Max had made sure she thought otherwise. I turned back to her, toast in hand.
“Well, drink that tea and I’m sure you’ll feel better.” I smiled, but it was quickly washed away as her future death trickled over me. I saw her running, tripping as she stumbled from a cliff. I jolted and gripped the counter, my hand flying to my mouth in order to cover my scream.
“Jane?” My mother reached across the counter with concern. She touched my hand, making the image more vivid—her body hit the rocks.
I shuddered and shut my eyes, a chill icing the room.
“Jane? Are you all right?” she asked again.
I slid my hand from my mouth. “Yeah, um… I just remembered I forgot to do an assignment.” I looked into my mother’s large, almond
shaped eyes, the same eyes she shared with Emily. She’s still alive, I told myself. It’s not real. “Sorry… Darn it. Now I’m going to get a ‘B’.” I tried to make the excuse seem relevant. I pounded the counter with my fist, though the image of my mother dead on the rocks still lingered.
“Oh, well. That’s all right. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You can’t win them all.” My mother went back to sipping her tea.
I licked my lips and leaned back against the counter. My talent to foresee death had never been so vivid, never so—strung out. I tried to swallow, finding my throat had dried with fear. I felt my cheeks begin to flush from the lingering burst of adrenaline. The scene played over and over, unrelenting. I went to the fridge, retrieving the orange juice and pouring a large glass. I brought the cup to my lips, drinking quickly, hoping the simple act would help bring me back to my senses.
The patio door off the kitchen opened and Wes walked in. “Hey, everyone.”
“Hi, Wes.” My mother gave him a pathetic wave over her shoulder, conveying her misery. “Think I caught your flu.”
Wes looked up at me, lifting one brow in question. “Oh… Mrs. Taylor. That’s… That’s horrible.” He placed a hand on her back and winked at me. “Feel better soon, okay?”
My mother smiled sheepishly, enjoying the attention.
I pushed my mother’s death into the depths of my mind, trying to remember that today was Monday—I had bigger problems than harmless visions. I heard the pounding of feet as Emily bounded down the stairs. Glancing up as she turned the corner, I saw she was wearing a long sweater and jeans, her hair straightened and her make-up light. This was the Emily I loved. The Emily I always imagined she would grow up to be, not the Goth chick of before.
“Hey, Wes.” Emily threw her bag on the counter, hooking one arm around Wes’s neck and kissing him on the cheek.
Mother tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it, but the smirk on her face gave it away. “How was your date last night, you two?”
“Mo-om,” Emily whined, embarrassed that she’d even mention it. She’d thrown her hands in the air, eyes rolling. Her reaction was a little excessive.
“Okay! Nevermind.” My mother stood from the stool, shuffling to the couch in the TV room opposite the kitchen. She sighed and sunk into the oversized cushions. “Have a good day, everyone. I’m going to go ahead and die now.”
A chill ran down my spine as Mother said it.
Emily gave me a strange look, mouthing a question as to what was going on.
I showed her the images in my mind, then showed her the real fact that Mom was just sick.
Emily glowered at me. “See ya, Mom.” Her eyes remained on me as she slid her bag off the counter and grabbed a banana from the basket. Wes followed her.
I kept my gaze on my mother, last out the side door as I locked it behind me. We walked on the path between the houses toward the driveway where Wes’s car was already running. Emily opened the Camaro door, pulling the seat forward to access the back. I stood, waiting.
Emily cleared her throat. “After you.”
I was momentarily surprised. I had forgotten that I’d been downgraded to the backseat, Emily now upgraded as Wes’s girlfriend. I secretly grumbled to myself, disliking the new real-estate as I squeezed in. Emily was taller than me, so I guess it made sense that I should be the one sitting in the back, but that didn’t mean I wanted to. I wasn’t used to all the changes, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Wes turned on the music, shifting the car into reverse as Emily rummaged through her bag. She turned to me, a smirk on her face. “Here, want these?” She shoved her hand toward me, a set of ear buds and a pink iPod lying in her hand.
I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. “No, but thanks.”
She gave me a sassy smile, knowing how much I hated this. From now on, Max was picking me up, whether he stayed for class or not. This plain sucked.
“Fine.” Emily shrugged with a satisfied glimmer in her eye.
Her shrug sent a sliver of her future death toward me—me strangling her. Grinning with vengeance, I took the image and aimed it back at Emily, knowing her clairvoyance would hone in on the signal.
Her back steeled against the seat in front of me. “Jane! Stop that!” she howled.
Wes put his hand on Emily’s knee, his face crinkled with pain caused by the pitch of her voice. He was telling her something with his mind. I could see it in the exchanged glances. Emily gawked at him before letting out a sigh of defeat, and then she smiled bashfully, her cheeks flushed.
I rolled my eyes. Max was definitely on carpool duty from now on. This was worse than death itself.
Finding things to distract me, I began to stew over my own irritating situation. Max had skipped fifty percent of his classes since his secret came out, leaving me alone. I hated that I had to suffer while he got to float by. The only classes he ever seemed to come to were the ones I was in, so it’s not that things really changed all that much, but it was the principal of it. He’d managed to convince a few teachers to allow him to transfer into the ones with me, but it only caused more issues—I didn’t want to know just how he convinced them. I only hoped it didn’t involve brainwashing, though I suspected otherwise. Mr. Thompson was never the type to give into anything, but he’d been the easiest to convince. That was all the confirmation I needed.
I sank down as far as I could, my knees leaning against the back of Emily’s seat. Trying to forget school, Winter Wood came to mind. I began to wonder just where it was. Emily turned then, glaring at both Wes and I.
“What’s Winter Wood?”
Wes looked at me inquisitively in the rearview mirror.
I shrugged.
Wes’s eyes narrowed. “Jane, you know about Winter Wood?”
Emily looked from Wes to me, awaiting my reply.
“Yeah. Max told me about it yesterday.” I felt as though I’d been caught doing something bad.
Emily looked at Wes.
“Yeah, he told me about it, too,” Wes replied, looking the same way. “On the porch after he brought you home.”
Emily’s expression perked toward Wes. “You talked to him?” She looked perplexed but happy. “How did you hide that from me?”
Wes had a proud smirk on his face. “Just because you can hear what I’m thinking doesn’t mean I’m always thinking of things you want to know.”
Emily looked discouraged.
“Think of it as a rare surprise, Em. You should be happy,” Wes reminded her. “That was what you wanted, remember? You told me to talk to Max, so I did.”
Emily laughed, and I could tell she’d caught wind of the truth in his mind by the sudden smugness of her pose. “You mean he approached you, and forced you to talk about it.” Her smugness only lasted a moment more, then her expression turned sad. “Wes…” She placed her hand on his as it rested on the shifter. He’d clearly told her something more, something he didn’t want me knowing or else he would have said it out loud. “I’m sorry.”
I sat forward. “Sorry? What did Max tell you?” I didn’t care if he didn’t want to tell me, I still wanted to know because it involved Max.
Wes turned away from the both of us, his jaw clenched. “I don’t want to talk about it. There was a reason I was trying to hide it.” His voice was bitter, and aimed at us, not Max.
Emily let go of his hand, looking hurt.
We drove the rest of the way to school in silence, my mind wondering what it was Wes had learned from Max, and what Emily knew, too. Beneath it all, Winter Wood still lingered, though buried too deep to broach again today.
I hated being out of the loop, but at least they were talking to me again.
Emily:
At the end of the week, I sat in history class, shaking my leg. To me, history was anything but exciting. This was Jane’s area. If there was any history that I’d be interested in, it was the conversation that had conspired between Max and Wes this past weekend, and what Winter Wood was. Despite wa
nting to find out, the moment or subject hadn’t arisen since Monday. Teachers seemed determined to pile on the work as the weeks of school grew deeper into the season, and everyone was simply struggling to survive. Spending time thinking about anything but homework was foolish, if you cared about grades that is. Unfortunately, Wes and Jane did.
Frustrated, I looked down the aisle, seeing Jake Santé. He had been the boy that helped save Wes from class a few weeks ago by lying about taking me to the nurse after my fake seizure. Jake stared at the teacher as though he were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. I shook my head, finding his stereotypical nerdiness comical—a momentary relief from my boredom.
I stretched my talents until I could hear his thoughts, draped with excitement over each word that passed Mr. Jackson’s lips. I began to think about the way Jake often thought of me when I was near him. His thoughts were always… endearing, if that’s what you’d even call it, but most guys’ were. With Wes as my boyfriend now, he no longer showered me with admiration the way he first did when he used to flirt with me from a distance. It was only natural to miss such praise. My indulgence in the thoughts of other men was harmless, let alone unavoidable. The least I could do was enjoy them, right?
I watched Jake lick an excess of saliva from his lips, his massive braces and thick glasses still as detrimental to his popularity as ever. Granted he wasn’t the best boy to receive a compliment from, but in retrospect, it was like enjoying art. You had to appreciate the differences, at least in some way.
Drowning myself in the complexity of Jake’s world, I began to think about how funny it was that physical objects could determine someone’s popularity, as they did for him. I always admired confidence, though, and Jake never cared what anyone said about him. To me, he was free—a rare thing, and something worth taking the time to study.
“Emily…”
I broke away from my staring game, my head snapping forward. Mr. Jackson was glaring at me. “What do you think?”
I hadn’t heard a thing he’d said, but it didn’t take much to hear what he was thinking about what he’d said and what he wanted for an answer. “I think the Conquistador’s conquest in the Americas was justified. They wanted to beat the Europeans to the land.”
