I miss my mom. I haven’t had time to properly grieve for her, but that’s not what’s upsetting me. Right now, I’m saddened that I don’t have any memories like this with her. By the time I was born, she had already been shuttled off to the city, far away from her tribe’s land, far away from the plants and herbs she had learned to heal with.
She learned to use the new land as medicine, and I should have learned to use it too. But I was too afraid. I was so afraid of what would happen if I got caught using the Sense, I never learned to develop it. I never let my mom teach me how to use my gifts, so I missed out not just on learning how to heal but on the memories I could have made with my mother.
I could have been an amazing healer like she was if I’d let her teach me. But more than that, I could have shared something with her that was meaningful. Magical.
I slam the book shut, sending a cloud of dust floating into the air. I’m going to bring life back to this old house. To this whole reservation and all the abandoned communities. We’re enlightened, not infected, and we have as much right to exist as anyone—Sense or no Sense.
And the Sense isn’t bad. It’s not wicked or evil or a curse like the government wants everyone to believe. Liam has shown me that. Liam, who’s sitting right next to me with his magical hands and soulful eyes. Hazel eyes that draw me in, closing the gap between us. He doesn’t pull away as I inch my face closer to his. His gaze drops to my mouth, and when our lips meet, he closes his eyes and lets out a quiet, satisfied sigh. His lips are soft and warm, and a tingling sensation spreads through my body as I lean into the kiss.
He cups my cheek in his hand and glides his thumb over my skin, raising goose bumps on my arm. I pull away and swallow hard.
I can’t believe I just kissed him. I can’t believe he kissed me back. My heart races as my gaze darts about the room, looking at anything but him. Why doesn’t he say something? Should I say something? What should I say?
Finally, he breaks the awkward silence. “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, because I did. But what was that for?” He grins dreamily at me, and I’m tempted to kiss him again.
“Umm . . . Thank you. It means thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this.” I gesture to the room. “For making sense of chaos. For everything.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Before I can make the situation any more awkward, I stand and hoist the photo album into my arms. “We have to take this. And we should probably go. We have no idea if enforcers patrol out here or not.”
“I doubt they do. We’re so far out.” He stays on the sofa and gazes at me like we have all the time in the world. “Don’t you want to look at the album some more?”
His gaze is so inviting, I’m tempted to sit beside him. His eyes hold a kind of comfort I’m not used to. Safety. I feel my body sway toward him, so I shake my head to break the trance.
“No. Yes. I’ll look at it in the truck.” I have to get out of here. Away from this house and the familiar energy and Liam and the general homeyness of it all. I belong here, but I can’t stay. Not yet.
“Well, all right. If you say so.” He rises from the couch and stumbles around the coffee table. His foot lands hard in the middle of a rotten board and plows through it. He catches himself on the recliner, and a cloud of dust billows into the air. Coughing, he fans the dust out of his face and pries his foot from the floor.
“Good thing I’m wearing boots.” He kicks the broken pieces of wood away. “I coulda broke my ankle.” His gaze locks on something in the floor, and he bends down to examine it. He pulls out a faded red notebook and flips through the pages. “Looks like somebody hid a journal in the floor.”
“Let me see.” I snatch it from his hands and run my finger over the page, recognizing my mom’s elegant script immediately. “She kept a diary. But why would she hide it in the living room floor?”
Liam steps closer and peers at the notebook over my shoulder. His breath warms my neck, sending goose bumps trailing down my skin. “Maybe she wanted someone to find it. I think there might be more to your mom than you know.”
We need to leave, but curiosity gets the best of me. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Elaine’s Journal
Entry One
I met a man. A handsome man with chocolate eyes, light-brown hair, and secrets. Lots of secrets he promised to tell me when the time was right. I know I shouldn’t get involved with him; he works for the government. While I—and all enlightened people—have been confined to their communities for the past three years, he has been traveling the country. He won’t tell me why. He holds appointments all day, meeting with each resident individually. When they return from their interviews, they don’t say a word about them for fear of the enforcers, who now line the streets, listening to every syllable we utter.
He spends his evenings with me. He says he’s enchanted by me. That I’m charming and beautiful. I’m not sure how I feel about this mysterious man, but I have to say he intrigues me. Anyway, I’ll keep seeing him. I’m sure he’ll tell me his secrets soon.
Change is coming. For me. For the enlightened. I can feel it in my soul, compelling me to keep this journal. To record the living history of what I fear are our final days of peace.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Liam
Wren finishes reading the entry aloud and stares at the page like she’s in a trance. I can imagine she’s feeling some mixed-up emotions right now. I don’t know how I would react to finding a journal my mother had written ages ago.
I’m having a hard time thinking about anything but that kiss. It was definitely unexpected, but man, was it nice. When she leaned in and pressed her lips against mine, my heart about beat out of my chest. I’ve been wanting to kiss her for days; I just haven’t had the guts to do it, and I didn’t think she’d want me to. I’m glad I was wrong.
She’s staring at that journal, so I touch her shoulder, and her body goes rigid. Her breathing becomes rapid, and her clenched teeth make a subtle grinding sound.
“Do you think she’s writing about your dad?”
She snaps the notebook shut and remains still. “How should I know who she’s talking about? She’s dead because of you.”
Her sudden hostility catches me off guard, and I yank my hand away. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. What can I say? It was my responsibility to keep Makka secure that night, and I didn’t. The wolf got away because I underestimated his power, and then he killed Wren’s mom. So yeah. I suppose it is my fault.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” She turns around and glares at me. Her eyes are dark, filled with loathing. I stumble backward as she takes a step toward me. “That’s all you have to say for ruining my life? If you hadn’t set that stupid book on fire, I never would have turned away from the Sense. My mom would still be here if . . .”
She freezes. The hatred drains from her eyes as they widen in confusion. Her mouth opens and closes a few times like she’s trying to form words, and she falls back onto the recliner. Dust billows around her, but she doesn’t react to it. The journal and photo album clunk to the floor, and she brings her hands up to rub her temples.
“Are you okay?” I kneel in front of her and almost put my hands on her knees, but I think better of it. How she went from kissing me to hating me in ten minutes’ time, I don’t know. I do know that I don’t want to trigger another anger episode, so I keep my distance.
“My head hurts. I just . . . I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it.” She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes.
“Can I help?” I tentatively reach toward her.
“No, I deserve this. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.”
“Come on, now. Nobody deserves to be in pain.” I rest my hands against her head and channel the energy to heal her, but this isn’t a normal headache. I’d thought the pain was from the stress of thi
s whole situation getting to her, but it feels different. Heavier. I try to release the tension from her scalp, but it hangs on like a tick on a dog’s back. I focus harder, drawing in more energy, but the pain seems to push back.
She shakes her head and leans back in the chair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to always be saving me. I deserve this one. I don’t know what came over me.”
I sit back on my heels and watch her pick up the books.
“I didn’t mean it, really,” she says again.
“You musta meant it a little bit. From somewhere deep inside. Otherwise the words wouldn’t have come out.”
“I . . .”
“And it’s true, ain’t it? In some ways, I’m responsible for everything that’s happened to you since you were six years old. I don’t blame you for hating me.”
“But I don’t hate you at all.” She leans forward and rests her hand on my shoulder. Her fingers brush up and down the back of my neck, and I shiver.
“I don’t blame you anymore. I used to, but now I don’t. My choices led me to where I am now. I . . . Ah—” She clutches her head and rocks back and forth. “I need to get out of this house. The stress. I can’t handle it.” She grabs the books and trots out the front door.
Well, that clears things up. She hates me. She likes me. She kisses me. She hates me again. She doesn’t hate me. Man, I knew girls could be confusing, but this is beyond confounding.
By the time I get outside, she’s already halfway down the road, and I have to jog to catch up. She’s muttering something to herself and shaking her head.
“Everything all right?” I ask.
“Fine.”
Now, I don’t know what ‘fine’ really means in girl language, but I do know it means things are definitely not fine. ‘Fine’ sounds like it means something good, but I think it usually means something bad.
I hear the growl before I see the dog approaching us from the left. Wren must hear it too, because she stops short, and I nearly run into her. If ‘fine’ means something bad, then things are about to get even more fine.
A second dog comes into view on the right, and before I know it, a symphony of snarling canines surrounds us. Their ribs poke through their mangy fur like they haven’t eaten in weeks. They bare their teeth and crouch low, their muscles wound up so tight they’ll spring at us any second.
“Don’t look them in the eyes. They’ll take it as a challenge.” I don’t know why I’m telling her this. She lives in a dog’s body every night, so she most likely knows more about them than I do.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, preparing to launch myself at any of them that try to attack Wren. They inch closer, tightening the circle around us, and their teeth seem to grow and sharpen as they come into focus. I rub the sweat out of my eyes to get rid of the illusion, but it doesn’t help. Those teeth are big and sharp. The dogs are a lot smaller than Makka, but there are five of them. And they’re hungry.
I reach for Wren’s hand—more for my comfort than hers—but she yanks it away. Then she does something that surprises the heck out of me. She drops the books, whirls around, and faces what I suppose is the alpha dog, and she growls at him. And not a sixteen-year-old girl’s impression of a growl either. I mean a deep, guttural, wolfy snarl.
The other four dogs hesitate, their gazes cutting from the alpha to Wren and back again, like they’re waiting to see whether their leader accepts her challenge.
“Wren, what are you doing? I’m not in the mood for a dogfight today.”
She ignores me, never tearing her gaze away from the mottled-gray pit bull, who stares her down in an aggressive stance. The other dogs start to back off, but the alpha takes a step forward, contesting Wren’s dominance.
“Stand down,” she says in a rough, menacing voice. The other dogs fall in behind their leader, clearing a path of escape behind us.
I grab Wren by the wrist. “Let’s just back up slowly now. No sudden movements.” I try to pull her away, but she’s rooted to the spot. “Oh man. We’re doing this, aren’t we?”
I drop my hands to my sides and focus my energy on my palms. First they tingle. Then they spark, and flames erupt to lick my fingers. I really like dogs, and I don’t want to hurt them. But I also like being alive, and I want to stay that way.
With my hands on fire, I stand next to Wren while she crouches down like she’s about to hurl herself at the possibly rabid dog, and we must look like quite a sight. Two scraggly teenagers, posing as superheroes, about to take down a pack of villainous dogs.
The alpha rocks back on his haunches and leaps at Wren, and the other dogs follow his lead, tearing toward us like . . . well, like a pack of rabid dogs. As soon as one gets close enough, I swat him with a flaming hand, lighting his fur on fire. He yelps and rolls in the dirt to put out the flame before running off whimpering.
Wren deflects the alpha’s attack with her telekinesis, sending the dog flying into the dirt. He seems stunned, but he gets up, shakes it off, and advances on her again. I clap another dog on the hind end with some fire, and he goes running off too.
The next time, I’m not so lucky. A mangy black Doberman clamps his jaws onto my arm and drags me to the ground. His buddy snaps at my ankle, but luckily, he only grabs on to my pants and not my leg.
Wren sends the pit bull flying again, and he smacks into the one who’s got my arm, knocking him loose. I scramble to my feet, and the one who’s got my pants loses a tooth when I yank myself free. I plant my boot in his ribs, and I hear a loud crack before dog number three limps away from the fight.
That leaves me with the Doberman and Wren with the alpha. So far, he hasn’t gotten close enough to even nip her, but she’s running out of steam. She’s not used to using her powers so much, and I can tell from her heavy breathing and slumped posture, she can’t keep this up for long.
The last two dogs recover from their collision and prowl toward us, the alpha focusing on Wren, and the lesser dog coming after me. It’s strange how none of the other dogs went after Wren. It’s like they knew she was a prize for the alpha, and only he could win it.
Blood runs down my arm, and I don’t want to give my dog another chance to sink his teeth into me. So much for trying not to hurt them too badly. I hurl a fireball at his furry chest, and he erupts into flames. He falls to the ground, whining and rolling, and he finally manages to put out the fire. He’s going to be in a lot of pain for a while, though, and a pang of guilt knots in my chest. If he’d stick around after the fight, I could try to heal him, but he takes off in the other direction with his tail tucked between his legs.
I turn to Wren in time to see the pit bull hurtling toward her. She throws up her arms to deflect his attack, and I expect him to go flying off in the opposite direction like before. But nothing happens. The dog looks as shocked as she does when his paws make contact with her chest. She falls to the ground. He latches on to her shoulder, and she lets out an ear-piercing teenage-girl shriek. The bite has awakened her from whatever trance she was in, and now she wiggles and screams under the dog’s weight, her arms and legs flailing as she tries to escape.
“Help me!”
I race toward them, tackling the dog, and we topple over each other. I wrap my arms around his barrel of a chest and squeeze as hard as I can. Flames shoot up my arms, burning into his skin as he gasps for breath. I’m squeezing so tight, the dog can’t even yelp, and I hold on until he goes limp in my arms. Once I’m sure the animal isn’t a threat anymore, I let him go and crawl over to Wren.
She’s barely conscious, her head rolling from side to side as she mutters something incomprehensible. Her lips are white, like all the blood has drained from her face and is leaking out of her shoulder wound. My own arm throbs with pain as the blood mixes with dirt to form a sticky black mess that is at least slowing the bleeding.
Her shoulder is in bad shape—a lot worse than the bullet wound—but I do my best to heal it. Torn muscle restitches, and the cracked collarbone mends as I send energ
y into her wound. Finally, her eyes open, but they’re clouded with confusion.
“What?” She sits up and clutches her head. “Ouch.”
I try again to take away the pain, but it won’t budge. “Hold still for a minute.”
She leads out a humorless laugh. “No problem.”
I take a deep breath and focus on the souls inside her. Her human soul glows bright gold and fills her entire body like it should. Usually, the wolf’s soul is silver when it’s dormant and sits in a tiny ball at the base of her skull. Now, it stretches from the top of her head down to her shoulders and sparkles as if the silver is flecked with golden glitter.
I shake my head. “That’s what I thought.”
“What’s what you thought?”
“Do you know what just happened?”
“Some dogs attacked us.”
“But do you know why they attacked us? What provoked them?”
She rubs her temples and looks at me like I’m crazy. “Umm, they were hungry? I don’t know. We were walking, and they attacked us, and . . .”
“And what?”
“I don’t remember. It’s fuzzy.”
I help her to her feet and hold her elbow as she regains her balance. “I think Makkapitew was controlling you.”
“That’s insane.” She pats her arms and legs. “I’m still human.”
“You growled at those dogs, Wren. Really growled.”
She blinks at me.
“And you wouldn’t back down. You acted like a dog just now. Makka was controlling you.”
She shakes her head, takes a deep breath like she’s about to argue, then lets it out in a huff. “That explains the anger I felt toward you earlier, then. Doesn’t it? The way I lashed out . . . it had to be the wolf. Oh God. Oh no. If he can control me during the day . . .”
“Then we’d better find your dad fast.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Soul Catchers Page 14
