Awakening

by Shannon Duffy

  Asher stands up, his chair scraping against the floor, and comes to meet me at the door. “Hey,” he says. “You all right?”

  Thankfully, the others have resumed their chatter, more interested in their own dates than me. “Yeah, I’m okay.” I smile, grateful he rescued me.

  “Here.” He slips his hand into mine, smooth as butter. It’s good to know it’s easy for him, at least. “Let’s go sit down,” he says.

  I’m glad I decided on ballet flats. With heels I’d definitely tower over Asher. I have to admit, despite his lack of height, he looks good. With his black button-down shirt, dark jeans, and hair styled to perfection, I can tell he’s made an effort.

  He slides a chair out for me next to another vacant one, and Harper beams at me from across the table. “Hey, remember me?” she asks.

  “Sure I do, Harper.” I smile, slip off my jacket, and place it over the back of my chair. Asher takes a seat next to me. I lean over and whisper, “I’m just gonna run to the restroom real quick, okay?” With my nerves on edge the way they are, I figure a quick check of my smoky eye shadow can’t hurt. I quickly pick up the colorful menu, wanting to choose something before I leave, but instead stare blankly at the front cover, rereading the cheesy slogan: Pluto’s Plate, home of the out-of-this-world burger.

  Asher finishes chugging his glass of Coke and sets down his empty glass. “Hey, you want me to order for you?” His face slides into an easy smile. I bite back my surprise. Maybe Asher has changed after all. I scoop out my coupon and hand it to him. “Thanks. A burger, fries, and a Cherry Coke would be perfect.” Since I hardly touched my food at home, my stomach is beginning to grumble.

  “No problem, hurry back.”

  Huh. Asher said to hurry back. I’m not sure what to make of his change in personality, but it definitely makes my butterflies settle down and, for that, I’m thankful.

  In the restroom, I pull an Eco-Wipe from the basket on the counter, clean up my hands, then check my reflection in the mirror. I decide a quick touch up of my lip-gloss is all that’s necessary, and rifle through my purse.

  A toilet flushes, followed by the squeaking of a stall door behind me as it opens. To my surprise, Little Miss Sexy sashays out in a hot pink dress that looks more like a napkin than clothing.

  My stomach tumbles. She pauses, meets my reflection in the mirror with a look of…what? Surprise? Contempt? She bends over to fix her platform shoe, stalks to the counter beside me, and grabs an Eco-Wipe.

  “Desiree, isn’t it?” she asks, throwing me off-guard. Obviously, she’s been talking about me since I’ve never even officially met her before.

  I pump my wand into my lip gloss and keep my focus in the mirror. “Yes, hi. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  She wipes her hands, dunks the damp cloth in the trash, and smirks. “That’s because I didn’t give it.” She shrugs and eyes her reflection in the mirror. “Just kidding. I’m Mallory.”

  I inwardly roll my eyes. I swipe my pink lip gloss over my bottom lip. “So, who’s your binding mate?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light.

  She suddenly turns her glare on me. “Trying to rub it in or something?” she asks harshly.

  “Rub what in?” It takes a second, but then I realize she’s upset because I’m paired with Asher and she’s not. She thinks I’m trying to taunt her somehow. Recognition sits sourly in my stomach. Now I know it’s true. She wants Asher and is annoyed he’s bound to me.

  She unzips her purse, tugs out her hairbrush, and slowly begins brushing her long dark locks of hair. “Look, just so you know, Asher loves me and I love him.” She shoves her hairbrush back in her purse, and leans in, inspecting her makeup in the mirror.

  I can’t believe she’s saying this. If the official heard her, she’d be found Noncompliant in a nanosecond. She points her finger at me. “He got stuck with your plain ass, but that isn’t going to stop him from hooking up with me on the side.” She smiles sweetly at me in the mirror.

  The air whooshes out of me as though she kicked me in the gut, but I keep a neutral expression on my face, refusing to show she’s gotten to me. Instead, I shake my head, dip my lip gloss back inside my purse, and head toward the door. Ignore, ignore.

  “Awesome jeans, by the way,” she quips. “Where’d you get them—the dump out back?” The moment she says it, she bites her lip, her gaze dropping to her feet with what seems like regret. She looks back at me. “I’m—I’m—”

  “Whatever,” I reply, my stomach hollowing out. I want to say her napkin of a dress looks nothing short of desperate, but I don’t bother. I don’t want to be obvious that she’s getting to me. I yank open the door, but then turn back to face her. One dig can’t hurt after her rude comment about my jeans. “Sorry I have to leave, but Asher’s waiting for me.”

  She grunts. “Not in his heart, he’s not. In body only, Desiree,” she says, the mean side of Mallory back in full force. She winks and clicks her teeth. “Sloppy seconds suit you anyway.”

  What I really want to do is go smack her hairbrush upside her head, but I don’t want to cause a scene on the first group date. So instead, I let the door close behind me. I stay there a moment, hands trembling, feeling sick. Sweat prickles at the base of my neck. I was right about the two of them. Worse, I argued with her about a boy I don’t want anyway.

  Do I?

  Whatever feeling is twisting inside me can’t be because I’m jealous. It’s just aggravation. If Asher loves a girl like Mallory, then he’s definitely the wrong guy for me. What was The Protectorate thinking to set me up with him in the first place?

  Asher catches my gaze from across the room and arches a brow. He’s probably wondering why I’m standing at the restroom door like a complete weirdo. I take a deep breath and head across the room, taking a seat beside him.

  A hamburger and fries are placed in front of me with what I assume is a Cherry Coke. I take a gulp of the cool drink, savoring its delicious flavor, and try to calm my nerves. Harper is giggling across the table while her binding mate is feeding her French fries. Everyone is talking so loud, my head spins.

  “Can you believe Darian broke out of jail?” Asher asks me. “That guy was always kinda wingy.”

  “Wingy?”

  “Yeah, you know, he could fly off the handle pretty quick. Never trusted that guy.”

  I want to tell Asher that maybe he didn’t trust him because Darian punched him in the face one too many times—for picking on me no less, but surprisingly, I choose to bite my tongue. There’s a first for everything. “Yeah,” I say simply instead.

  I realize I haven’t heard about any more home invasions and I can’t help but wonder where Darian’s sleeping, how he’s sleeping, and if he’s okay.

  An awkward silence surrounds us. Finally, I can’t stand it any longer and twist to face Asher. “So what do you really think of The Protectorate binding us together?”

  I sit there staring at him, my mind a blur of mixed-up thoughts and emotions, waiting for an answer. There goes the biting my tongue thing. That didn’t last long.

  He lays his hamburger down, swallows, and turns to face me, surprise evident on his face. “What?”

  “I’m serious,” I say. “What do you really think?”

  He opens his mouth, then closes it again, fidgets in his seat. “I—I, well, I’ll admit at first I was surprised, but—” His eyebrows shoot up and his gaze darts behind me and moves slowly in a line. My neck burns and I instinctively know he’s watching Mallory, but I turn to check anyway. And there she is, sauntering across the room, her hair pulled forward around one shoulder, flowing down the front of her body. Her hot pink dress skims her body and ends an inch below her butt. I get why she’s wearing such a short dress. Her legs are like a gazelle’s, except they’re tanned and toned. Heck, if I was a guy and didn’t know what a bitch she was, I’d probably want her too. That thought doesn’t make me feel any better about the fact that my guy is checking her out.

  Mallory w
inks at him. Winks at him.

  Anger boils through my veins, blinding me. I wave my hand in front of his face. “Earth. To. Asher,” I bite out.

  “Sorry,” he says, and actually blushes.

  I want to tell him sorry doesn’t cut it. It certainly doesn’t make me feel any less like the earthworm I already feel like.

  “You want her, right?” I raise my eyebrows. “That girl Mallory?” I press.

  He shifts, and looks surprised. “No—no,” he stammers, then stops. He eyes me quizzically. “Wait. You know her?” He opens his mouth and closes it again. Taking a deep breath, he places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Desiree.”

  I shift my shoulder, knocking his hand off, but notice from the corner of my eye that Harper’s confused face is suddenly directed toward me. If I don’t calm down, I’ll draw the attention of the official, too. I bite the inside of my cheek, smile at Harper, and snatch a fry off my plate and take a bite, forcing it down. She smiles back, then resumes flirting with her binding mate.

  “No, I don’t know her,” I whisper to Asher. “But I did just have the pleasure of meeting her in the restroom. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Asher lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, Desiree. Look, it was just a stupid crush, okay? I don’t know how it got to that. I swear I didn’t mean it to, but we go to school together. We’re both training to become head officials.”

  My jaw drops. I heard Asher was training for that, but I can’t imagine Mallory drowning in such a bland, gray uniform.

  “Do you love her?” I blurt. I’m on a roll, so why stop now? I need to know.

  A flush crosses Asher’s cheeks again and he tugs at the collar of his shirt. I’m making him uncomfortable. Good. “No,” he says.

  I realize that’s a total lie, but I’m a bit thankful he had the good sense not to admit he loves her, even if he does. I wonder if he said he doesn’t love her because he’s worried about my feelings, or if he’s only worried about me turning him in to the official.

  He picks up my hand and I flinch, but I don’t pull it away. “Look,” he says. “It’s true we have feelings for each other, I won’t lie to you, but it’s wrong. I know you and I are meant to be together.” He smiles. “I’ll get over it and I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  “How do you know we’re meant to be together?” I ask, curious what he’ll say.

  He cocks his head to one side, narrows his eyes in what looks like confusion. “Because The Protectorate bound us together, of course. Who’s going to argue with that? They’re always right. You know that.”

  I pull my hand back and grab my Cherry Coke again, more as an excuse to drop his hand than anything else. I’m uncomfortable with him touching me and am still annoyed over the whole Mallory thing.

  I catch Mallory checking us out again, and sense that Asher does too, but he doesn’t look, just keeps his attention focused on me. I wonder if Mallory’s binding mate is blind, or if he just doesn’t care, too caught up in her long, toned gazelle legs to pay attention.

  “You look great, by the way,” Asher says, and I can tell he’s trying everything he can to be nice, which is a lot more than I expected from him. But I never imagined that my binding mate would have to try to focus on me. Try to like me or have to make an effort to be nice. My eyes spring with tears, but I blink them back. I don’t know if I’m more mad, sad, or confused.

  “Wait, don’t move.” Asher leans in close to me and for a second I’m worried he’s actually going to kiss my cheek or something. But he doesn’t. He squints, drags my hair over one of my shoulders, then examines my new aqua-colored hair comb. His warm breath tickles my cheek, and just when I think another compliment is coming my way, Asher reaches in and fiddles with the hair comb.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  After another moment, and just before I’m about to push him away, he exclaims, “Gotcha!” He holds up a single, long dark strand of hair between his fingers.

  The piece of hair is so black, it almost looks blue. A sick feeling settles in my gut.

  “You must have borrowed this from someone with black hair,” he says. “It was wound around the comb pretty tight, too. Sorry if it hurt a bit pulling it out, but it stuck out like a sore thumb mixed in with your re—I mean, auburn hair.”

  I cast him a warning scowl, snatch the thread of hair from him, and squeeze it between my palms. My mind is racing, reeling with the memory of the recent flashes that have been spinning in my mind’s eye about a girl with black hair. Picking up a paper napkin from the table, I then place the hair inside it, and sink it deep into my jeans pocket to get a better look at it later.

  A girl’s giggling suddenly fills my ears, growing louder by the second and drowning out Asher’s voice. The sounds in the room melt together until I don’t know where the giggling is coming from. Maybe it’s Harper in all her happiness. Or maybe it’s Mallory taunting me. Or maybe, somehow I’ve gone completely crazy, and no one is laughing at all, except in my mind.

  A wave of heat engulfs me, the room spins in nauseating waves. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath and calm down. An image of a field filled with autumn leaves in twisting, fluttering shades of gold and copper blowing through the air, bursts behind my lids. A flash of dark hair swings out from behind a haunting tree. Its branches cling to the last few crisp leaves like a dying fire hanging on to its last flickering embers. A little girl dashes out from behind it, running and giggling as she pushes through the layers of foliage.

  My mom’s voice echoes from somewhere in the distance, Sophia, Sophia. I follow the giggling that leads me to the little girl’s bouncing ribbons of hair that’s so black it almost looks blue.

  She twists around and faces me. Her ivory skin is tinged rosy in her cheeks, but it’s her hair that draws me in. One side is swept back off her face. Her hair is held in place by an aquamarine hair comb with swirls of pearly white like wisps of clouds in a blue sky.

  I blink my eyes, suddenly alert. I’m back in Pluto’s Plate. Whipping out my hair comb, I stare at it in my palms. The hair on the back of my neck rises. It’s the same one the little girl wore in the images flashing in my mind. I glance up at Asher’s worried face, then back down at the comb. At first I see one hair comb, then two—more giggling swarms my head like an angry nest of wasps. My body is slick with sweat.

  Could the images playing in my mind possibly be true? Could they be real memories somehow? Was Darian telling me the truth about Sophia? Panic constricts my chest. If it’s true, then maybe this was her hair comb, but how did Coral end up with it, and where’s Sophia now? And what about everything else Darian said…is that all true too? I need to find Darian. I need to get answers. I need to talk to Ellery Walsh, too. She might know something that could help.

  “Desiree?” Asher calls, his voice echoing somewhere in the back of my brain.

  I have to leave. I can’t breathe. Stand, stand, stand. Somehow I push myself up from the table, my legs wobbly beneath me. I stumble and catch myself on the table. More giggling that I’m pretty sure is coming from Mallory this time. I’m vaguely aware that Asher clasps my elbow. I look up and catch the blurry image of Mr. Peterson as he walks toward us, eyeing me suspiciously.

  A wave of desperation and panic crash into me right before my legs collapse. I crumble into Asher’s arms and the room fades to black.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I open my eyes to a sea of faces standing over me. Worse, kneeling on the floor on either side of me are Asher and Mr. Peterson. A strand of Mr. Peterson’s gelled hair has come loose and hangs down over his forehead.

  I sit up and, when the room tilts, I place a hand to my forehead. “I’m okay,” I say, feeling completely embarrassed.

  Asher rests a warm hand on my arm. “You sure? What happened? When you saw that hai—”

  “I said I’m fine,” I say and stand. The last thing I need is Asher bringing up the hair comb and raising questions.

  Mr.
Peterson eyes me through troubled eyes, sweat prickling his brow. I figure I’m screwing up his new job. “You sure you don’t need a medic—it’s Miss Haven, right?” He eyes my wrist and I know he’s supposed to scan me, to report this incident, but if he does, there’ll be questions I don’t want to answer.

  I brush off my jeans and, although I still feel pretty bad, I smile. “A medic isn’t needed, honestly. I’m training to be a nurse and I know what’s wrong with me.” I flick my hand through the air like it’s no big deal. “I’m just hungry because I haven’t eaten much today. And with all the first date excitement, it just got to me,” I say in an excited, high-pitched voice, feigning exuberance, and inwardly groan at myself.

  He pulls out his scanner from his jacket pocket and reaches for my arm. “Well…”

  My throat tightens. I rest my hand on his forearm, lightly deflecting the scanner. “Seriously, Mr. Peterson. We don’t want a million forms to fill out, now, do we? You know how easy it could be to mess something up, right?” I say with a laugh, trying to play on his new job and don’t-want-to-screw-up mentality.

  He pauses, lets his arm rest against his thigh, and taps the scanner against his leg. After a moment he says, “Well, okay, if you’re sure. But eat something and then head home and get some rest.”

  After a couple of bites of my burger and a few fries that I magically manage to push down into my unsettled stomach, I head out with a quick good-bye to a very confused Asher, and one beaming Mallory.

  Mr. Peterson hands me an umbrella at the door as I pass him, ticking his head toward the dark clouds looming overhead. “You don’t want to get wet, Miss Haven.” His gaze drifts to my wrist again and I’m worried he’s second-guessing his decision not to scan me, so I take the umbrella quickly and smile.

  “Thanks, and I swear I’m totally fine.”

  The sky tram is packed and I snake my way through the passengers so I can hold onto the railing, not wanting a repeat fainting episode. I shiver and rub my arms over my thin windbreaker, cool from the walk here, and wish I’d worn something warmer.