by Emme DeWitt
“I don’t want you to go,” I said, a dark pit opening in the bottom of my stomach. The brightness of the false summer day flared up, and I could barely see anything anymore. My eyes were drawn to Abuela’s brown eyes, framed in pillows and creases from years of happiness and memories.
“Going? Who said I was going anywhere, little bird?” her voice said, the light blinding my vision even from her eyes. “I am simply coming home.”
The afterglow of light haunted the black of my eyelids as I dropped back into unconsciousness. The remaining tears I had been holding back from her escaped down my cheeks, leaving my pillow even damper than before.
I had started counting the tiles for the tenth time since dawn before the lights finally clicked on. After a fitful half sleep for most of the night, the memory of my abuela seemed to burn away all the other nightmares. Probably for the best.
Unlike my usual routine, I stayed in bed until Blue Eyes beeped in. I felt the air stir with his agitation as soon as he reached the bed and found me wide awake and fully noncompliant.
“Time for breakfast. Let’s go,” he grunted, his shoulders jerking toward the door, as if I didn’t know where the only way out was.
I ignored him.
“Evangeline,” White Coat’s voice buzzed over the intercom, the click of disengagement hitting me like a smack across the face.
Blue Eyes flexed his hands, itching to grab me from my bed and haul me out the door.
“Evangeline,” White Coat repeated. Again, her tone indicated not only her impatience but also her severely limited interactions with anybody under the age of thirty. Didn’t she know teenagers were supposed to be contrary? The more she said my name, the more I melded my will to my mattress.
I blinked my eyes slowly and resumed counting the tiles. It seemed to be the most important thing to do in order to retain my sanity, so I didn’t question it.
“If you don’t get up right now, I’ll be forced to drag you out of bed,” Blue Eyes said. A tinge of excitement rolled off his body, eager to set the undisciplined child straight. He looked up toward the box, as if pleading for verbal approval to haul me out against my will.
“Evangeline,” White Coat said in a crisp voice, over enunciating in an attempt to hide the crackle of anger in her voice. It was useless. I could feel it radiating off her from the monitor room down the hall. “Enough.”
A tear escaped down my cheek, but I didn’t flinch. Nothing was going to move me today if I had anything to do with it. I sent a little more oompf to my barriers in preparation. As stubborn as I was, White Coat was that much determined, if not more. I never liked an easy win.
Blue Eyes raised his hand to his earpiece, nodding an affirmative at the directive he received. They tried so hard to keep things from me, as if I wouldn’t know about it since it wasn’t broadcast over the loudspeakers. Sure, sometimes it wasn’t full sentences, but intentions spoke louder than words. Knowing what was unsaid was always more important when dealing with people. Especially Association people.
I felt the disturbance of the air as Blue Eyes pushed off his heel to start toward me.
And that’s exactly how he stayed.
I didn’t need to turn my head to see him freeze out of the corner of my eye. Another tear escaped, but I let it fall without interference. The intercom squawked a feedback noise before White Coat broke through.
“Evangeline!” A tinge of panic leaked through in White Coat’s tone. At first pass, you would hear anger, but I could tell White Coat was starting to feel out of control.
It was interesting how even though The Association cronies couldn’t prove it was me, they somehow figured it out. No, I can’t physically block people from my presence. About all I can do is enable a mute button in my brain so I can tune them out, but I was able to influence them in another way.
If Tomas were here, he would scold me for using my powers against adults, but honestly, it’s his fault I could even externalize anything. If he were still here, it would be his power.
But he’s not. So it’s mine.
This much I had figured out before Tomas’s accident, and it was a lot compared to what Noah had parsed out or even what Mags had known all along. I guess those of us who come from supernatural dynasties got a little edge. Sort of.
While I knew the basics of the planes of power, I knew that each face of the Eight came with an external and an internal wielder. As balanced as the planes were, the powers could not be held by one person alone. It was just too much. Two could handle it, or at least had a better shot. Their chances of surviving improved tenfold if they were together and got along with one another.
No one had quite explained that to my parents, though.
Abuela had been gifted, it seemed, but my mother was not. As soon as my father passed, she had taken me back home to her parents in New York City, leaving my brother Tomas with Tio Manuel and Abuela in Chicago.
It wasn’t long before my mother remarried and changed my last name, doing her best to cut me off from my father’s family, who she blamed for not only my father’s death but also the problems both my brother and I seemed to be having. Tomas developed his Elevation early, so my mom abandoned him with the family “like him” who “knew how to handle” him. Being younger than my brother, I showed no signs of these gifts, so I was removed in the hopes of growing up untainted.
Tomas, however, was never one to be deterred. He always found me, no matter how many times we moved. One time, he even hitchhiked from Chicago to surprise me on my birthday. Mother had been furious. The very next week I had been shipped off to Windermere for my newly blossomed “behavioral issues,” and Tomas was left to search for me yet again.
It had been the last time I had seen him alive.
I had my first full-blown breakdown when Tomas died. That breakdown was the catalyst that spurred everyone in my life into motion, mainly against one another or in direct opposition to me.
Mags and I were never the same. She thought it was because I was weak, but honestly, the power that had surged into me the moment Tomas died nearly took me along with him. Trying to keep it all together…well. Honestly, it took all of my energy not to explode, never mind keep a friendship going with someone who turned out to be merely allies of convenience.
Blue Eyes started to purple beside me, his breath becoming more and more ragged. My tears had dried up, but his face was wet with a combination of sweat, tears, and snot. He was bawling like a baby, but his body was rooted to the floor, so overwhelmed all it could do was maintain.
The door burst open, an alarm going off raucously behind White Coat, who had stormed in without properly beeping through security protocols.
“Evangeline, you stop this right now,” she directed, pointing her tablet at me. “Any longer and he’s going to need a crash cart.”
“It’s nothing he can’t handle,” I said, my voice devoid of any inflection or emotion. It was the tiles or Blue Eyes’ brain or my social etiquette. I couldn’t be sure which would be the first to break. “It’s what I’ve been dealing with for years. He should be fine.”
“Stop this immediately,” White Coat said, holding back a pair of medical associates, one clearly poised to sedate me and while the other resuscitated Blue Eyes.
I could feel their hesitation. What would happen if they sedated me before I dropped my connection? Would Blue Eyes be stuck in that state permanently? I hadn’t thought about it either, but no one moved. It seemed like we were not going to find out today.
My interior walls were strong, not letting anything in. I was numbed to everyone around me. All my energy was solely focused on the external, which in this particular moment was all my sadness and pent-up anxiety beamed directly at Blue Eyes. I felt hollow. It was almost as if I was observing from afar; my body and mind seemed so foreign and out of control. I had no more to give, and I was having real trouble finding a reason to care.
Suddenly, there was an outburst at the door.
Quentin shoved pas
t a member of the medical team, marching right into the center of the melee.
“What the hell is going on?” he said, his voice bouncing off the freshly counted subway tiles. He sounded big and important. His question was answered only by the sniveling groans of Blue Eyes, who remained teetering on the brink of collapse.
“Evangeline,” White Coat said evenly, ignoring Quentin. “You need to stop. Now.”
Both of her arms were out in front of her. Her tactic appeared to mirror that of an animal control officer attempting to detain a rabid raccoon.
“That’s your tactic?” Quentin snarled. “Scolding her? You’ve got to be shitting me.”
He shouldered past White Coat, who had remained a safe distance between Blue Eyes, the door, and my bed. Quentin didn’t feel the need for such physical boundaries.
He walked straight up to my bed and promptly flipped me, along with my mattress, onto the floor.
And then everything happened at once.
I yelped in surprise, my concentration breaking the control I had over Blue Eyes before I could even hit the ground. While I was trying to claw myself out from underneath the mattress and various bed sheets that had trapped me, I could hear the medical team assessing Blue Eyes, dragging him from the room so they could treat him before I could get any more ideas.
“The next time you want to throw a tantrum, Drama Queen, try not to ruin someone’s life in the process. And you,” Quentin said, rounding on White Coat, “better get a handle on her before she really goes off the reservation. If you push her to do that again, I swear to God I’ll ruin you in direct proportion for the massacre she’ll bring down. She’s not even the worst of them, and you can’t even control her outbursts.”
I threw the last sheet over my head, finally clearing my vision. Quentin was drawn up to his full height, a posture he rarely took advantage of considering his lanky frame. He towered over White Coat, but she seemed to be holding her own space well, save for the obvious reddening of her cheeks.
“If it’s all right with everyone,” Quentin continued, “I would like to eat breakfast now.” He shouldered past White Coat again, this time stopping at the door.
“Are you coming, or do I have to hear your hunger pangs through the wall?” Quentin directed at me, pointedly ignoring White Coat and the lone remaining technician, who was frozen, unsure if it was the time to leap forward and sedate me or if she had missed her window. “Your Highness?”
“Don’t you dare call me that,” I shot back at him, kicking my way out of the rat’s nest of sheets at my feet. I dashed toward the door, keeping my feet light in case I needed to switch to an all-out sprint. I eyed White Coat warily, but she remained rooted to her spot, the tension rolling off her and permeating the small room. I didn’t think anyone needed to be an Empath to feel the ocean of rage she was drowning in. Once I was past her, I ducked first into the hall, leading the way to the lounge and our breakfast, which was probably cool and rubbery at this point.
I cleared my throat as we walked, trying to figure out the best way to break the ice.
“Thank you,” Quentin said, a twitch of a smile flashing across his stoic face. “I believe that’s the phrase you’re looking for.”
“Call me Your Highness again and I’ll throttle you,” I shot back, jabbing out an elbow to his ribs. “Tantrum. Yeah, right.”
“Spade’s a spade,” Quentin said, opening the door for us into the lounge. “Just imagine what you could do with some training.”
“We’re not talking about that right now,” I said in an overly cheery voice. My skin crawled just thinking about the depth of emptiness I had felt at the expense of all that emotional energy. “It’s never going to happen again.”
“If you say so,” Quentin said, taking a seat. “But for the record, I called it.”
“Called what?” I said, slumping into my own seat. “We didn’t have a wager going of who was going to crack first. That seems like a lose-lose situation for the both of us.”
“You’ll be the one to lead us all,” Quentin said with an evil grin. “And Mags is going to hate it.”
I was scheduled to be in the immersion tank that afternoon, but hours passed, and no one came to get me. Lunch came and went without an escort, and I had the displeasure of thanking Quentin mentally for at least getting me out for breakfast. They were probably drawing straws for who had to deal with me now. Instead, I spent the afternoon making a pros and cons list on whether tank time would have been a good thing or a good-thing-my-parents-signed-a-waiver thing.
The barriers I had erected after my tantrum remained solid, blocking Quentin’s annoying chatter, leaving me with a rare peaceful afternoon devoid of people and the constant ebb and flow of emotions.
Well.
Peaceful minus being stuck in a mental institution.
The beep of an unexpected security badge made me tense from head to toe.
Who would come for me now? It wasn’t dinnertime. I glanced at the speaker in the corner, but it remained silent, meaning the beep wasn’t White Coat adjacent. Even on good days, she only came after it was clear she had to visit in person rather than conducting her business over the speaker box. I still felt fragile from my earlier battle of wills. I didn’t dare lower my barriers to get a few seconds’ heads up on my newest visitor. My stomach felt sour. All data suggested this was not a good surprise guest.
My unease caused me to sit upright, my legs still caught up in my sheets. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and secretly hoped this was not one of those times where my limited self-defense training would be necessary. My legs were frozen in place, and a brief comic montage of me trying to run away but tripping and falling on my face completely entangled in sheets shot the bile from my stomach up into my throat. This was not good.
The first thing I saw about my visitor was the slate grey hair pulled back in an elaborate chignon. A set of razorblade cheekbones and steel blue eyes followed as the Dean walked in, tucking the security card neatly into the pocket of her blazer.
My face went numb, lips tingling as cold took over the rest of my frame. The hair on the back of my neck and arms stood at attention. A shiver ran down my spine, and I made quick work of untangling my legs and stood at the foot of my bed. Before Dean Moriarty could take as many steps, I had already tucked my hair behind my ear twice.
“Evangeline,” she said in a warm voice. “You’re looking well.”
I had to bite the inside of my lip before a smart comment slipped out unattended.
It was one thing to sass White Coat, but a whole other thing to sass Dean Moriarty. I felt a slight pulse of calm radiate out from her. Its ripples filled the room from bottom corner to the ceiling tiles like water filling a new vase. I could feel the pressure of the emotion push at me from all directions.
The energy seeped into my skin, stopping just short of my heart. It took all the energy I had left to block her emotional command, and I worried my other barriers would fail if I had to keep up the emotional defense for too long.
My recent victory of reaching Chicago felt tainted and inconsequential now.
The smile plastered to Dean Moriarty’s face faltered for a microsecond when I did not visibly relax. My posture remained rigid, and I clasped my hands tightly in front of me so they would be less likely to shake. Noah’s voice echoed in the back of my head, chiding me for not faking better. I returned a watery smile, more in spite of my internal monologue. If only Noah knew how strong the Dean really was.
“Please, take a seat,” Dean Moriarty said, offering her open hand in direct solicitation.
I slid hesitantly in front of my messy bed and perched on the edge of the mattress, ready to pop up at the slightest direction. I thought of how rich it was that she was acting like a host in my own room and I almost scoffed aloud. Checking myself, I realized the whole building was really hers. Who was whose guest?
“I have some unfortunate news for you.”
Another bucket of imaginary ice water chilled m
y bones, but I remained silent, bracing for the news.
“It seems your grandmother had taken ill some time ago. I’m not sure if you were aware of her condition,” Dean Moriarty said, pausing to read my energy. The tone of her voice told me she was not really interested in a verbal reply, thank God.
I clenched my teeth as imperceptibly as I could. The weight of tears started to press against my lower eyelids, and my tongue was stuck pushing all my fear into the backs of my bottom teeth.
Count to three.
Exhale.
Deep breath in for another three seconds. I continued the cycle, praying silently my blood pressure didn’t escalate enough to pique her interest. I imagined a lake, its surface placid and smooth, reflecting light like a mirror.
Don’t let her feel your panic, Quentin’s voice said in my head. Damn it.
Not. Helping, I replied, trying to shove him back in his place mentally. My barriers were decaying at an alarming rate. I couldn’t hold it all together much longer. Not that I was doing a great job anyway. My face was as readable as a flashing neon sign.
“Unfortunately, she passed away last night in her sleep,” the Dean continued. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Evangeline.”
My mental barriers dropped down, shattering like a window slammed shut violently by an errant gust of wind. Emotions rushed in to fill the void. Quentin’s voice was lost in the chaos as I took in every minute detail of everyone’s not-so-rich inner life in the building, the surrounding residential areas and roadways.
I couldn’t hear myself think. I couldn’t feel my body any more, or any sensory information to where I was. Evangeline the person was lost.
Abuela.
She was gone. Our final conversation echoed in my mind. I grasped tightly to my half dream like a precious memory, not allowing anything else to occupy my thoughts. I could build myself back with that as my center.
I had to. Abuela had let go because I had found her.
Had she been waiting for me?
