Another thought smacks me in the forehead. How did that waste of good oxygen deal with Rafe’s body? And how in the realm of the dead do I ask a morbid question like that? At the very least, we have to find it, protect it from the Xers. I can’t watch him burst into flames and lose his sense of self.
“Rafe, we should probably try to find—”
The sound of a gunshot cuts me off. Rafe and I spring apart, turning to face a small group of men and women dressed in sweater vests and khakis. Sweater vests like Kaz…
Every last one of them is aiming rifles in our direction, and they can most definitely see us. The contrast of their clothing to their weapons is so startling all I can do is stare at first.
Xers.
Instinctively I know who they are. A life flash tries to pop into my vision, but one of their guns goes off again. Pain sears through my shoulder, knocking me backward as I let out a little cry. Shock stops me more than anything else.
“You shot me!” It comes out more like I’m offended by an insult, than suffering from a bullet wound.
Black shadows snake into the air from the hole just below my clavicle. Confusion wraps around me as my brain attempts to make sense of this. I’m dead. How could I possibly get shot? Before my stupid musings can get me into more trouble, Rafe whips me out of the way of another bullet and puts his back to the Xers.
One of the guns goes off again. He stumbles forward, wincing and letting out a grunt, then lifts me into his arms. I squeeze my eyes shut against tears as fire pulses up my neck. Curling into Rafe’s chest, I focus on his cedar scent. Air rushes around me. He shouts something I don’t understand at first, then I realize is a single word: Kaz.
I squint, but everything around me ripples, smearing into a blurred mess. Even with the fog clogging my senses, I recognize the Xers’ chants. Cold fear hardens in my gut. They’re trying to trap us, lock us into a nearby object. Power tugs at my very essence and I cling to Rafe. I can’t let this happen.
I won’t let this happen.
With absolutely no thought as to how I know the words, I murmur a counter spell under my breath. Our magic collides, pushing against each other, resisting opposing purposes. Mine shoves Rafe and me away from the Xers. I can’t see them, but I know it’s happening. We stumble into Kaz, who grabs my arm and Rafe’s shoulder, and then we’re again sliding across the sky.
Sheer agony throbs through me as we touch down at Locklear. The last thing I see is Rafe bending over me, fading off into shadow.
Chapter Sixteen
Words echo through my sluggish mind. Or around me. Actually, I’m not sure where they’re coming from. A woman’s reedy voice swirls in my ears. I fight to understand her, but my brain can’t make sense of the sounds and syllables. Straining to hear more clearly, I let out a whimper that’s way more pathetic than I care to admit.
Cold numbs me and my stiff limbs won’t do what I tell them. A part of my brain understands that pain hovers just beyond my reach. The moment that cold thaws, agony will hit full force. My inability to move fuels my terrified confusion. I try to struggle against it, hearing myself whine yet again.
Then a hand touches my face.
It’s warm and callous and smells of cedar. Rafe. I peel my eyes open to see those dark eyes, that trio of freckles, those kissable lips. Still only half aware of the reality of this situation, I cup the back of his neck, my thumb trailing across the faint red scars I would do anything to wipe away.
“You’re sad.” My tongue tangles. “So sad. I don’t want you to be sad...smash all the glass...that woman doesn’t deserve good glass...”
He lets out a breath and ducks his head. “You’re okay, a little loopy, but okay. Thank goodness. How do you feel?”
I groan as my thoughts finally speed up and start to come together. That numbness slowly fades, so naturally, pain follows. Fire pulses out from the spot on my shoulder, clawing across my chest and down my stomach and up my throat. I dig the fingers of my free hand into the blanket under me, so I don’t reach up to touch it.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. Everything hurts. All of it.” I wince. “You didn’t get hit did you?”
With a slight laugh, Rafe waves a hand and sits next to me. I only realize then that I’m lying on one of the stiff beds in the Healer Ward. The room isn’t huge, but there’s enough space for about six of those beds and a pair of desks near the front door. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Ms. Alvarez hovering by her desk with a clipboard, lips puckered to one side.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Rafe says. “But they’re shocked you’re still functioning after the hit you took, and that crazy spell you performed. Where did that come from?”
“I’m not sure.” I grimace when I try to adjust. “The words just came to my mind. Kind of like a song you know the lyrics to so well that you don’t even have to think about it. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
“It does,” Rafe says. “Kaz says we wouldn’t have made it out of there without that spell. Thanks for saving us.”
“Thanks for carrying me like a damsel in distress. Though if anyone asks, I was a force to be reckoned with that didn’t have to be swept off my feet. In retellings, I expect to be portrayed as a warrior queen who neutralized half the Xers before we ran.”
We both laugh and the movement jars my injured shoulder. When I wince, Rafe’s face falls. “Kaz says they hit us with spelled salt, or something like that. Ms. Alvarez says it’ll take a few days for the pain to go away.”
“Psh, rude.” Again, I resist the urge to touch the painful spot. “Please tell me I’m going to come out of this with an awesome scar at least.”
It takes a little doing, but I’m finally able to crane my neck enough to see the place where the special bullet or whatever hit me. The sleeve of my tank top is tucked under my arm to leave my shoulder completely exposed for the Healer to work on. Dark lines branch out from a black mark just above my clavicle.
I grimace. “Gnarly.”
“It is that,” Ms. Alvarez says, gliding from her corner to my bedside. “Those blasted bullets can’t kill ghosts, but they certainly do a number on us. They’ll knock you unconscious if you’re hit in the right spot. The swelling and pain should dissipate in a week or so. You’ll carry those ugly lines until you pass on though, I’m afraid.”
“Well that’s garbage.” I snicker a little. “Guess tube tops will be out until then.”
“Makes you look tough,” Rafe says. “Warrior queen, remember?”
I poke his knee. “And don’t you forget it.”
Rafe laughs. “Wouldn’t dare. All of Locklear will hear of your mad skills.”
Ms. Alvarez tucks her clipboard under an arm and puts both fists on her hips. “Now that you know Ms. Martin is going to be fine, will you finally let me look at your leg, Mr. Warren?” She lifts a finger when he opens his mouth to protest. “Don’t try to tell me you didn’t get hit. I see the stain on that pant leg and the one you’re hiding under that flannel, young man. Your injuries need tending to.”
With her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and that finger in Rafe’s face, she looks nothing short of a fierce momma who will swat you with a sandal for your own good. Only an idiot would argue with her.
Rafe, not being an idiot, lifts his hands in surrender.
Ms. Alvarez shoos him into the bed next to mine, gently pushing up the cuff of his jeans to reveal a black wound much uglier than mine. I let out a little gasp and try to sit up. The pain, and the look Ms. Alvarez gives me, pin me back onto the bed.
“Don’t you worry. Yours looked much worse when he first brought you in here. He’ll be fine.” She squints at his calf, then arcs a brow at him. “And your side?”
Rafe grimaces. “It’s just-”
“Don’t you dare say ‘a scratch.’” Her accent thickens in direct correlation to her fierceness.
With a sigh, Rafe lifts the edge of his t-shirt, but winces and lets it drop. He glances at me, then shuts his eye
s and uses our cool ghosty power to remove it. The sight of his back reminds me of his mother’s attack and sparks fury in my gut. I dig my nails into the bed under me, then force my eyes down to the gunshot wound on his side, nearly sitting up again when I see it. Black spreads from the thick gash over his ribs, along his stomach, and snakes up his spine. The same sort of smoke that spread from my shoulder in the woods coils up from his injury.
Ms. Alvarez clicks her tongue. “As I thought. Lie down.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
The Healer shifts to block my view. “Never you mind. You need to rest, and worrying about Mr. Warren is not conducive to recovery. I’ll fix him right up and he’ll likely be out of here before you. Though if it helps you relax, neither of these are very deep. The bullets just grazed him.” She hovers her hands over Rafe’s side.
This time when the life flash edges into my vision, I give it my full attention. I’m in a bedroom, the same truck-filled one I saw before. Strong arms hold me back as I wail. Cody lies on the bed covered in blood and completely still. The Healer bending over him drops her hands, face twisted into an apology.
It fades again, leaving me behind in tears and confusion. I still can’t remember what killed him no matter how hard I try. As I sniff, attempting to get myself under control, Rafe reaches out around Ms. Alvarez’s side. I grab his hand, hanging on to the only thing that feels solid at the moment.
That night, harsh whispers break me out of half sleep. I squint through the dim light of the Healer’s Ward to the partially open door. Ms. Alvarez stands with Mr. Qureshi in the hallway. As she gestures toward my bed, her red glasses slide down to the tip of her nose.
“We told you they weren’t ready,” she says in a hiss. “Mr. Warren is still so tangled up from what happened at Blakemore that his ability to sense where he needs to go next is completely blocked and Ms. Martin...Ms. Martin needed to understand more before we sent her out to help anyone with their unfinished business. We need to understand more about what happened to her, and what it might mean.”
My eyes widen, but I try not to move, straining to listen.
“I can appreciate that.” Mr. Qureshi folds one arm across his waist and strokes his beard. “But we have precious little time. As far as we know there isn’t much we can do with our students who have been twisted. The faster we can secure the remains of our new pupils, the better.”
Ms. Alvarez lifts her hands. "And if they’re caught by the Xers and trapped? What can we do for them then? Ms. Martin has the tools to handle that, once she remembers them, but Mr. Warren has no defense against this kind of spell. I strongly advise against sending either of them out again until they are better prepared.”
With a sigh, Mr. Qureshi nods. “I promise to consider that. There is still a strong possibility that Kazuya will track down their bodies before it is necessary for them to try again anyhow. In the meantime, we will continue training them. Perhaps this will help encourage Ms. Martin’s memories back more quickly as well.”
Ms. Alvarez readjusts her glasses. “Have you considered my other proposal on how to properly...take care of her?”
I cover my mouth to keep from making a sound. That phrase has way too many meanings for me to be comfortable with it.
“I have, and I would prefer to take that route only if absolutely necessary. It could have consequences we don’t foresee.”
Chewing my lower lip, I try to decide whether I should be relieved or not. “Only if absolutely necessary” usually means it’s an unpleasant solution.
“It might help,” Ms. Alvarez says in a much softer voice. “Not only her, but also the other students. If our theories about Ms. Martin are correct, she could be putting everyone in danger.”
What in the realm of the dead?
“But with what little information we have about the situation…” Mr. Qureshi shakes his head. “Give Theo more time. If anyone can track down her records, it’s him. Then we can make a better-informed decision.”
Removing her glasses, Ms. Alvarez cleans them off on her scrubs, then replaces them on her nose. “I just want what’s best for Locklear, for all ghosts.”
“As do we all. But please, just give Theo a little more time.”
Ms. Alvarez glances back into the room and I shut my eyes, hoping she didn’t notice me watching them. “I can do that. Goodness knows I would prefer to avoid those steps as well.”
“All we can do is our best by them,” Mr. Qureshi says.
“Our best.”
I resist the urge to curl in on myself just in case Ms. Alvarez is still looking at me. Somehow that feels like it might protect my form from whatever horrible decision neither of them particularly wants to make. But the question remains, what on earth is Ms. Alvarez’ proposal about me, and why is Mr. Qureshi so opposed to it?
Chapter Seventeen
By day two of my confinement in the healing ward, cabin fever sets in hard. I sit on the bed, jogging my knee, and flicking the pages of the fifth book I’ve read in the last twenty-four hours. To say I’m no longer interested would be the greatest understatement of all time. I’m seriously contemplating mutiny.
The ugly wound on my shoulder isn’t nearly as dark as it was, and though it still hurts, if I lie really still I can barely feel the pulse of pain. I’m also having less dizzy spells. I gather all of this excellent evidence of my recovery in my head. If I present it right, maybe I’ll be able to leave earlier than Ms. Alvarez initially predicted.
I’m also itching to get away from the Healer after her conversation with the Headmaster. Straight up asking her about it crossed my mind, but somehow I doubt I’ll get the truth if I do. Especially with the general party line of keeping scary information away from the students lest they crumble into a crazy teen panic.
This is just another thing I’m going to have to get the Untwist the Mystery team researching.
I open my mouth, but Ms. Alvarez, who has her back to me, lifts a finger. “Don’t even think about asking.”
“You let Rafe leave this morning.” A whine I don’t like tinges my words. “And he had two gunshot wounds.”
“Yes, but he also wasn’t shot straight through the chest. Nor did he expend an extraordinary amount of magical energy against a group of Xers.”
“But I feel fine. Really.” I give her my best smile as she turns in her chair, crossing her arms.
“If you can walk from your bed to the door without looking like a drunken fool, I’ll consider it.”
I shove the book off my lap. “Watch my mad skills and prepare to be amazed.”
Sliding onto the floor, I’m very careful about how I stand. Any sign of weakness will leave me trapped in here for another few days. I grin at Ms. Alvarez, proud of my progress, then take my first step.
I flew too close to the sun. My feet tangle together and I sway to the side, very much like a drunken idiot. Even worse, waves of nausea float through me, and I cover my mouth. Can ghosts puke? Gripping the side of that stupid stiff bed — also known as my prison — I slide back onto the mattress and ease against the pillow.
“Still convinced it’s time for me to send you back into the wild?” Ms. Alvarez asks.
I groan a little, but concede defeat by pulling a tissue from the box next to me, and waving it white flag style. Guess the difference between sitting up and standing is a much wider gap than I originally assumed. Black dots pulse even in the dark of my closed eyes. My head pounds so hard I’m more than happy to resign myself to this bed as long as Ms. Alvarez commands.
Sudden exhaustion pulls me under, bringing relief. Our first foray out to try and deal with some unfinished business has triggered new dreams. I can’t say I’m not relieved to be done with the nightmares from before. Pieces of what I think is my life flash through my mind when I sleep. Images of Cody, the sound of a woman’s voice, a man’s strong hug.
My mind reaches out to these hints to try and pin them down, but they rush away, and a chorus of excited whispers pulls me
slowly out of sleep. I blink in the stark light of the Healing Ward, staring up at Haya and Yasmin. They both have smiles on their faces, the pitying kind you only give to the very sick.
“Stop,” I say. “Please don’t look at me like I’m an injured dog you’re about to take out back and shoot between the eyes.”
Haya covers her mouth, but Yasmin laughs so loud it earns her a raised brow from Ms. Alvarez. The sound fills the whole room and lifts my spirits. Things have been way too quiet since the Healer shooed Rafe out. Wiping tears from her eyes, Yasmin grabs the backs of two chairs for her and Haya.
“And we’d come in here to cheer you up. How are you feeling?” Yasmin leans forward, elbows on her knees.
My roommate still has her mouth covered, and her eyes are a little shiny behind her glasses, like she’s fighting back tears. I reach out and take her hand to give it a squeeze. She lets out that funny little grunt she always does when attempting to avoid crying and ducks her head so her short hair covers her face.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve just been so worried since Kaz and Rafe brought you back. All that black smoke twisting around you...I thought...I don’t know what I thought. I know spelled salt can’t twist ghosts, but all evidence had me so convinced it still somehow happened. It’s not logical, but fear often defies logic.”
“Those bullets definitely hurt.” I run my thumb over her knuckles.
“So you still feel like death?” Yasmin asks. “Or...uh…”
“Death warmed over? Yes, yes I do.” I grin and finally Haya lets out a weak sort of giggle.
She adjusts her glasses. “I can’t believe the Xers showed up. The odds are unbelievable, really. That must have been terrifying.”
Ghost Academy: Book One Page 11
