"Am I wrong?" Brie challenged. His hot breath emanated over her face. He smelled like peanuts and spices and rain.
Rykken balled his fists, ignoring her question. "James may be a bad parent, but he's right about one thing."
"What's that?"
"You do need therapy."
Rykken slammed the door shut behind him as he walked out. Brie leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, sinking slowly to the carpet.
With everything that happened during the day, it was no surprise she couldn't fall asleep that night. What shocked her though, was that as she lay there, buried away under her comforter, curled up against her pillow—his last words were the only ones she could remember.
CHAPTER THREE
Thessa undid the last roller from Brie's hair, pinning the curly clump to the top of her head. "What do you remember about Remy?"
Brie searched her mind for the right answer, trying to remember the hierarchy the Hallows had taught her thus far. There were seven archangels and seven archdemons that had bloodlines tied to earth. The bloodlines formed two hybrid races, in addition to earthlies—the Hallows and the Nephiim, half breeds of humans and archangels. Each race had its own traditions, magical abilities, and rules, but both had the same mission—to influence the minds and hearts of humanity.
Within both the Hallows and Nephilim, there were factions of government. The New Order was the dominant government for the Hallows, though every Hallow had the choice to join one of the smaller pockets—sort of. According to Clara, few were stupid enough to do so.
Of course, there were other types of angels, but they were lesser archangels, or they were part of the lower Chorus. The Hallows didn't seem to care about these angels nearly as much as the seven that Theos trusted the most.
Remy was one of the seven archangels. "She stands for hope." Brie scratched her thigh where her itchy cheer uniform rubbed against her skin. "Remy sees things long before the rest of the archangels and advises them. They look to her for instructions because she has true visions."
Not bad." Thessa orbited around Brie, spraying her final curl into place. "Who is the archangel of prudence?"
Brie tried not to cough. The girl's locker room smelled of hair product, expired makeup, and perfume mixed with sweat. "Raphael."
And what does Raphael carry with him at all times?"
"A horn," Brie said, even though she didn't care. She wished her training focused less on history and more on how to use her powers, but she wasn't sure the Hallows would ever teach her anything interesting if she couldn't pass Thessa's quiz. "He's also a healer, and his sons and daughters can bind the powers of daemons of lowly order."
Thessa smiled and applied eye shadow to Brie's eyes. "Now, who stands at the Gates of Eden?"
"Uriel."
"Known for?"
Brie thought for a minute. "I can't remember."
"Charity." Cora frowned. "He was one of the original Watchers, the only one who didn't fall." She sat on the bench across from Brie with her arms folded over her lap. "Tell me about the Watchers now."
Brie tried to remember, but her thoughts were on Annie, whom she'd lied to again about where she was, and James, who she wished she didn't have to go home to. She had no idea who the Watchers were; it was yet another of the hundreds of terms that the girls had thrown at her this week.
Clara stood up from the elaborate warm-ups she had been doing in the corner of the room. "Are you even trying?" Clara asked, stretching her arms over her head and exposing her slender, flat stomach from under her cheer uniform. "We've been working on this all week and you still can't remember the simplest things!"
Brie covered her own belly with her arms, feeling self-conscious about her soft, exposed skin. Yet another thing Clara has over me, she thought bitterly, along with perfect looks, perfect grades, and the perfect amount of confidence.
"Brie?" Cora said. "Are you still with us?"
"I'm trying to learn the history of an entire civilization." Brie caught Cora's eye. "Help me out here."
Cora touched the side of her forehead, wincing. "Here's a hint about the Watchers, Brie. My father was a son of Uriel, remember? He was pure-blooded, and he spent his time in Egypt trying to establish alliances with the Nephilim."
Brie wasn't sure how that was a hint about who the Watchers were, but she didn't want to prove Clara's point any further. "You just said Uriel was known for charity though." She gestured in Clara's direction. "Anyone can see that charity doesn't run in your family."
Clara huffed. "There are only seven archangels and you've had four days to learn them! How much more charitable can I be?"
Brie turned sharply, only to get stabbed in the eye by a mascara wand. "Ow!" she exclaimed.
"Stay still," Thessa said, dabbing Brie's eye with some sort of solution. She tilted Brie's head upwards. "Blink." Brie blinked several times. When she focused her eyes again, Thessa was staring down at her.
"She's right," she said. "You aren't trying hard enough."
"I'm distracted," Brie said. It all seemed unfair to her; she had never been great at quizzes or memorizing things or any skill that helped you succeed in school. She was better with hands-on instruction.
" Focus on this," Thessa said coolly. "There is nothing more important than your Hallow training right now."
"What about cheering?" Brie asked. "I've spent every practice with one of you, trying to learn this Hallow stuff. When do I learn the cheer routines? We have a game tonight and I still have no idea what to do."
"Oh right," Thessa said. "I completely forgot about the routines." She gestured Clara to come over to them.
Clara, wearing her signature scowl across an otherwise beautiful face, held her hands out palms up, gesturing Brie to place her own palms on top.
Brie loathed the way Clara looked at her. She stepped toward Clara, willing herself not to flinch away.
Clara grasped Brie's hands tightly, a cool, amused look on her face. "This will take a minute, princess."
Brie closed her eyes and tried to ignore the awkward sensation of something liquid and rough coursing through her veins. In her mind, she was inundated with moves as the choreography for each routine flashed across her inner eyelids. She could hear the music as if she were listening to it through headphones; she could sense where she needed to step with every beat. Her feet began to mark the patterns instinctively.
Several minutes passed before Clara released her. Brie slumped to the ground. Thessa and Cora caught her by the arms and hoisted her back up.
Brie held her head; her palms spread wide open against her scalp. Her mind was putty, as if she'd just taken the most difficult math exam, ever. "What did you do to me?"
"I uploaded all the routines to your short term memory," Clara said.
Thessa seemed surprised and a little puzzled; her expression toward Brie seemed wary. "Clara's mind functions like a machine. She stores and interprets data the same way a computer might spit out answers to a very difficult problem."
"And it really works?" Brie couldn't believe she would actually remember all the words, choreography, and stunts she was supposed to know for the football game they had that evening.
"Let's put it this way," Clara said. "If I could bottle my power and sell it in pill form, everyone everywhere would give up Adderall as a study aid." She tilted her head. "Speaking of which, maybe I should upload the seven archangels to your brain so we don't spend another week trying to learn them."
Brie flinched, but her nerves were dancing too fast for her to come up with a retort. She hummed to herself as she marked the routine. Outside the locker room, a low din of buzzing students flooded the hallways with buff and blue, their school colors. Brie always thought buff was a yellowish-brown shade, like the color of sand or leather. But their uniforms were really the color of marigold.
"I can't even do the splits on the ground," Brie said uncomfortably, feeling the part where she was supposed to leap into the air with her legs spread.
/> It's a toe-touch," Clara said pointedly. "Jump at that part, the upload will do the rest for you."
"Trust us," Cora said, placing her hand on Brie's arm. Brie's heart slowed to a reasonable rate.
"Clara has one of the rarest and most coveted gifts a Hallow can have."
"Gifts?" Brie asked, glancing at Thessa for an explanation.
Thessa stared at her, her mind churning behind her eyes. When Brie stared back, Thessa broke eye contact and stood up.
"We told you about transmutation and motivity, right? Transmutation is how we change physical matter―healing ourselves, or transmuting objects. And motivity is how we move quickly across space, so quick sometimes that we seem to disappear and reappear to the average earthlie eye. We can also stop motion, as you experienced when you inadvertently stopped Sirena's bike."
"Right," Brie said with a twinge of annoyance. "You told me all of this already."
"That doesn't seem to mean much," Clara mumbled.
"Excuse me?" Brie said.
Clara opened her mouth, but one look from Thessa silenced her.
"While every Hallow has the basic supernatural powers of transmutation and motivity," Thessa said,
"the purer-blooded Hallows have additional powers related to their bloodlines."
"Michael's bloodline is pure," Brie said. Clara made a rude noise, mumbling something under her breath that this time Brie couldn't hear.
Brie crossed her arms over her chest. "So how do I find out what my gift is?"
"Gifts don't manifest for years, usually," Thessa said. "You are still in the early stages of exploring your powers, and you can't even control the basics yet."
Brie frowned. "I need more time for all this history to sink in." She took a deep breath. "I'll learn it over time, but I'm fried on it for now." Clara scoffed, and Brie shot her a scathing look.
"I want to explore my powers," she said more confidently. "When can I start?"
Thessa's face was unreadable, but Cora grinned. "Soon," she said. She linked arms with Brie and opened the door to the hallway. "But first, we have a crowd to pep up."
*****
Rykken woke with a puddle of fresh water in his bed and the drumbeat of a downpour banging against the tin roof of his room. The rain must have seeped through while he was sleeping, falling onto his face, his hair, his skin.
He didn't normally mind submersion, as long as it was the right kind of water—the kind that burned.
Like pool water, filled with chlorine, burning his nose and eyes. Like sea water, filled with salt, organisms, and sand, chapping his lips and smoothing his skin.
But rain water had no burn, aside from the burning in his throat when it filled his lungs.
It pattered balefully onto his sheets, pooling in the center and engulfing his body. He couldn't move. He tried to roll over, to escape the water, but he was paralyzed. The water inched toward his mouth, covering his ears.
He was going to drown. He tried to scream for help, but his lips couldn't form words, only soft whimpers that didn't carry over the pounding rain on the roof.
Something hammered against his bedroom door as the water entered his nose and mouth. He swallowed what he could, letting the cool, fresh liquid slide down his throat. But the water kept coming.
Rykken held his breath and closed his eyes, wishing he could slow his heart rate.
"Rykken." He felt his body shaking under someone else's grip. "Ry, wake up."
Rykken shot up, gasping for air. His skin felt clammy and chilled all at once. He threw off his covers and catapulted out of his bed.
His foster mother looked sad, a v-shaped crease between her eyes. "Another bad dream?" She held up the damp bed sheets streaked with his sweat.
"I'm fine," he said, pacing the floor in front of his closet. "Nothing new in the dream, at least."
She pulled the sheets from his bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Rykken shook his head. "No. Thanks though."
"You shouldn't nap in the middle of the evening anymore." She handed Rykken his cell phone. "This keeps going off. I think you better answer it." She stripped the pillows of their cases. "It's Friday anyway―isn't there a football game tonight?"
Rykken pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head. His foster mom had a strict idea about what normal teens did, and spending time alone on a Friday night was not normal. Rykken liked his time alone though; after an entire week of water polo and school, he wanted nothing more than to relax by himself, or maybe with a close friend. But his foster mom always had other plans for him.
Rykken glanced at his phone—there were four texts from Justin, each one escalating in urgency from
"What are you up to tonight?" to "Where are you? Picking you up in 10." He sighed. It seemed like Justin had other plans for him too.
An obnoxious honk outside confirmed his suspicions. "That's where I'm going," he said to his foster mom, even though he had no idea what Justin had planned. It didn't matter anyway—if they weren't going to the game, it meant they were going to a party, and the game was as good a cover as any. He hugged his foster mom and jetted out the door and down the steps to Justin's Lincoln Navigator.
"What the hell?" Justin smirked at Rykken from the driver's seat. The vehicle smelled new and the air inside was cool. "You don't text me back anymore?"
"I was sleeping."
"Yeah, right. Dreaming of Pilot?"
"Don't joke like that. Neither of us is gay and it isn't funny."
Justin's smile wavered. "You're always hanging out with him these days. Where is he by the way?"
"At home I guess."
"Hah. Guess it's you and me for date night."
"Whatever." Rykken wasn't in the mood for Justin's crap. "Where are we headed?"
"The game. I'm looking for a new girl to date."
Rykken's eyes whirled over themselves. Justin was always looking for a new girl to date.
They arrived at the football game and found seats in the stands away from the band kids, who were constantly talking to each other and tapping their feet incessantly. It didn't surprise Rykken that the sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. He had been having the dream about drowning since he was young, and he knew it was triggered by something much more traumatic than the weather conditions—he just didn't know what.
"There she is," Justin said. Rykken followed Justin's gaze to the cheerleaders in front of the stands. He had to look twice when he saw Brie amongst them, holding pompoms and wearing a silly grin on her face.
"Brie?" Rykken asked. Something heavy stirred in the pit of his stomach.
"Don't sound so surprised—it could happen." Justin squirmed in his seat, which was unusual for him.
His eyes scanned the rest of the football field. "She's pretty, you know? I don't know what ethnicity she is, but she's gorgeous."
"Spanish and Irish," Rykken mumbled, wishing he could think of some way to end the conversation.
"Their grandparents on their mom's side were from Spain." The white lights on the field made the air a few degrees hotter, but it was enough to make Rykken uncomfortable.
"Well, it works for her," Justin said. "I realize she's sort of a celebrity, but she seems really normal too. Good personality and all."
Rykken forced himself to laugh. "How would you know that? Have you even talked to her?"
"Nope." Justin grinned. "I need your help with that, since Pilot won't."
"No way," Rykken said, feeling a little sick. "Pilot will kill you if you date her, and he'll kill me if I help you date her. He wasn't kidding in the locker room."
"Not that you made it any better." Justin leaned back against the row of bleachers behind them, forcing the freshman girls to scoot down to make room. "Why would you tell him that I'm a player?"
"Aren't you?" Rykken asked innocently. He knew why he had said it, but he wasn't going to admit anything to Justin. "I guess I didn't think it was much of a secret."
"I mean, sometimes I date girls for fun. Sometimes
I'm serious. I could like Brie if she gave it a chance."
Rykken looked up; Justin's expression was genuine. "Are you really trying to convince me you like a girl you've never really talked to?"
Justin raised an eyebrow. "Like you haven't. If I recall correctly, you went on and on about how pretty Brie was when she came to our water polo match—"
"That was over four years ago!" Rykken interrupted, not believing that Justin remembered that. "I don't think my 12-year old crushes count."
"They do if you still like her." Justin stared at Rykken with a challenge in his eyes.
"Don't—"
Rykken felt a prickling sensation on his arms; something icy wet hit his back. His shirt and the top of his jeans were coated in a brown, sticky liquid. He spun around, looking to see who had thrown a soda on him.
"I'm sorry!" the girl behind him squeaked, standing up. "My friend knocked my drink over."
The girl kept talking, but Rykken had already tuned her out. Something else had caught his eye.
Underneath the bleachers, a blur of white flashed by; the next second, it was gone.
*****
The rapid clicking of a machine emanated from the other side of the door to the family den. The sound intimidated Pilot, making him more nervous. He opened the door and glanced inside. Annie looked up from her sewing machine. "Pilot, what are you doing here?" From the machine, Annie pulled two plaid prints sewn together, one a large red and one a small blue, and snipped the loose threads. "Are you looking for James? He's downstairs in his recording studio."
"No, I'm here for research."
"Research on a Friday night?"
"Yep," Pilot said. "I'm sick of the paparazzi. They've followed me everywhere since the accident."
"Right." Annie grinned. "But you could have friends over or go to a friend's house, so that still doesn't explain the 'research on a Friday night' part."
Pilot hated how astute Annie was. The only good thing about having a clueless parent was that he could typically do anything he wanted. Annie was the only one who ever got in his way.
"Okay," he said, giving up on his lie. "I'm staying in because I have to work on an extra credit assignment my history teacher is making me do. If I don't pull my grade up, I'll probably flunk his class."
Silver Smoke (#1 of Seven Halos Series) Page 5
