“Well, since we’re both alone, I figure that gives you an extra table.”
“Thank you, dear.” She set the basket down and winked at me a little too obviously before turning away to go back into the kitchen.
“So we meet again,” he said. I looked up at him and saw just how pleased he seemed to be with himself, even after an argument with his brother.
“Yes, we must stop running into each other like this. Really, we must,” I said.
“Now, now, is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?”
“What?” The couple behind me choked on their wine at my outburst. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. I leaned over the table a little and whispered angrily, “What are you talking about?”
“Oh come on, the whole school’s talking about it.” He was really enjoying this.
“What?”
“How we’re dating now.”
“We’re not dating,” I protested.
Just then our waiter set our food down in front of us. “Oh no, we’re not together.” I tried to explain but Grandma had already sat a couple at the booth Jensen had been sitting at, filling the restaurant again. “What is happening to today!” I asked the ceiling, slumping down in the booth.
“Hmm, very interesting…” I looked at him and saw that he had picked up my journal and was thumbing through it.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded as I snatched it away.
“That must be a replacement; it isn’t much of a grimoire.” The word floored me; not many people knew it.
“It’s just a journal,” I said as I held the book protectively against my chest. He was smirking at me, one eyebrow raised. It dawned on me; I shouldn’t know what a grimoire was either. A grimoire, or a book of shadows, was a witch’s spell book, basically. You write spells, thoughts, anything it in, but its main purpose is a spell book. I chose to ignore the slip.
“Doesn’t look like just a journal.” It almost sounded like a question.
“Ok.”
“And there’s that witty repartee that I’ve come to enjoy so much.” He smiled again, picking up his fork and starting to twine his spaghetti. I had lost my appetite. He took a large bite and stared at me while he chewed; no one looks good while they chew.
“Ok,” he said, wiping his mouth on his napkin. “Obviously I’ve done something to offend you. I would like the opportunity to correct that, but you have to tell me what exactly it is that I did that upset you so much.” He pushed his plate away and folded his hands on top of the table, looking at me expectantly. It was very difficult to remain cold and silent when he set those baby blues on you.
“Well…” I hesitated; did I really want to have this conversation? If I didn’t, would he continue to pester me until I did? Yes. “Look, you just, I don’t know…” I looked around the restaurant like the words were hidden in the walls and I could find them. “You just creeped me out that first day. You know, first impressions are the strongest.” I shrugged at the end, hoping I’d said enough to drive him off. He really was too distracting for me right now.
“And not to mention I saw what you did in the parking lot, or at least what you started to do and that pissed you off.” He said it so calmly; he was challenging me to deny what we both know he saw.
“What? That I happened to see my friend being abused by her boyfriend and was about to intervene when your brother showed up to handle things? So?” I was very impressed with how controlled both my breathing and voice were.
“How did you know to come running just then?”
“What?”
“You weren’t anywhere around and all of a sudden you came running out into the parking lot and then stopped suddenly and started doing something to the ground.” My mouth went dry.
“I could hear Nick yelling.” I was staring him straight in the eye; I didn’t want to give him any reason to say I was lying.
“Look,” he lowered his voice and leaned over the edge of the table towards me. “You can say you didn’t do what we both know you did all you want. You knew something was happening to Tracy. You couldn’t have heard Nick from your locker and you did something to the ground but stopped when Ian showed up.”
“Fine, maybe I did know something was happening to Tracy. She’s a friend of mine, we all knew what that asshole was doing to her, and I just had a gut feeling something was happening. Call it women’s intuition.” Sometimes the truth is best and that was pretty much the truth after all.
“Fine. But why are you refusing to answer me about the ground?” He narrowed his eyes at me, all the blue of his iris concentrating on the gray in the middle.
“Maybe because I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was gripping my glass now, directing all of my pent up energy into it. Not really a bright idea.
“Lying does not become you.” He sat up straight again, smoothing out his light gray sweater over his stomach. “You cracked the asphalt for Christ’s sake.”
“You do realize we live in Southern California right?” I had a sarcastic edge to my voice. “Parking lots around here are littered with cracks and potholes. We have these funny little things called earthquakes, get them all the time.”
“You know I don’t believe you.”
“Ok.” I said and he grinned, but I could tell he was trying not to.
“You’re not going to answer for that, are you?”
“Why should I? I answered your question about Tracy, but have you explained why you glared at me like a freak that first day?” Tit for tat. He took a deep breath in through his nose. His chest rose with the effort, holding it in for longer than normal before finally sighing and nodding.
“You’re right, I’m not playing fair. But,” he held up a finger, inclining his head slightly, “I really don’t think you’ll admit to it if I tell you why.”
“So?”
“I don’t like people reading me without my permission,” he said straight and to the point with a flat voice.
“What are you talking about?” As if I didn’t know.
“You have very good control, I’ll give you that, at least when you’re not upset, but you practically glow with power and I don’t appreciate people reading me without my permission.” He stressed the word this time, daring me to make him explain with so many people in close proximity, not that anyone could hear us in the crowded restaurant.
“And when I am upset?” I wasn’t going to give him this yet; I wanted to see if he really did know what he was talking about first.
“Well, I’ve taken to carrying antacids with me at school. Not really something most seventeen-year-olds should have to worry about.”
“Your stomach issues are not my fault,” I said flatly.
“When I’m around you and you’re upset and projecting, yes they are.” He was very sure of what he said. I was going to make him put it in plain English before I conceded this very important fact.
“I’m still not sure what you’re talking about.” I realized I had melted all of the ice in my glass.
“I hope you’re not trying to insult my intelligence,” he said. I gave him a small smile and tilted my head to the side, waiting patiently like he had. The silence stretched between us, becoming thicker, almost tangible like a rope connecting us across a deep ravine that he wanted to pull me into.
I was very aware of his breathing pattern and the rise and fall of his chest, the color rising just under his ears and the perfect right angles of his cheekbones. I could cut my wrists on those cheekbones. “Ok, fine, have it your way then,” he said, a hint of sadness behind the words.
“I haven’t decided whether or not you have an uncanny awareness of other’s emotions, or if you are affected by them and can affect others, or maybe—as I fear—you feed on them,” he said that last with a true hint of fear in his voice.
“Feed on other’s emotions?” That concept bothered me; it sounded dangerous, evil maybe. I had a sour taste in my mouth. He didn’t say anything, not even a nod of his head. “I don’t like th
e sound of that.” I pushed my glass away from me and brought my hands down to my lap. “I don’t do that.”
“All right.” He gave the smallest of nods and, although I couldn’t feel the relief from him, his eyes did brighten a little. “I have a feeling you are waiting to tell me which of the other two are correct.”
“Very intuitive of you.” The busboy came around just then. Grandma knew to leave us alone when we came in, knowing we’d get up to pay when we were done. I shot the busboy a look and sent to him to go away and it worked. It worked like it should but didn’t work on Jensen.
“Well?” He prompted after the busboy scurried off. “What is the question you have for me before you’ll answer mine?” Too intuitive.
“How do you keep me from reading you?” He had used the term so I felt safe enough using it too.
“You really don’t know?”
“I have my guesses,” I paused, “now anyway.” As soon as this conversation took a turn for the worse, I knew my secrets were out on display for him because I must be sitting across from a kindred spirit or enemy. Either way, he had secrets he was keeping that were just as important as mine. He was blocking me intentionally and I knew that now.
“It’s a type of shield.” It was a simple answer, probably cryptic to some, but I understood what shields were. Most people would think of them as invisible force fields like you see in Sci-fi movies, which is pretty much what they are, except they aren’t created electronically.
“A pretty strong one then,” I said. My shields and the ones Jodi and Steven had protected us from evil influences, like protective little bubbles keeping unwanted entities and negative energy away from us. I hadn’t known anyone who was able to create a shield that made them an emotionless void to the world.
“I’ve been working on it for a long time.” He suddenly looked tired, sad almost.
“I’ve only ever seen shields that keep negativity away and could make you less noticeable to people, not like what you’re doing.”
“Sometimes you need to protect against more than just energy.” I had the feeling he wanted to tell me something, but didn’t yet feel like it was safe enough. His eyes were suddenly hard again as he fixed them on mine, holding me in his stare. “Now, your turn again.”
“I’m an Empath,” I said simply, deciding there wasn’t much harm in telling him this. It wasn’t necessarily a magical ability; many people have the ability to be attuned to other people’s feelings and had an inherent ability to calm or comfort. Good mothers and doctors can do it and no one thinks twice about it. But that really doesn’t do my ability justice.
“Could you elaborate?”
“I don’t feed on people’s emotions. I can feel them, very acutely, and yes, they can and do affect me and, if someone lets me, I can affect them.”
“How much?”
“How much, what?”
“How much do they affect you?”
“It depends on the person and the emotion.”
“Would you be willing to give me an example of when someone’s affected you?” He seemed eager suddenly, making me nervous. My shields flared suddenly, growing stronger and wider around me. “Sorry… I was just curious how it worked,” Jensen said, glancing away from me.
“Pain is the hardest to block out,” I said. “If someone I know or feel a connection to is in pain, physical or emotional, I suffer through it with them.”
“Tracy.” It was a statement and I didn’t see any use in denying it. I nodded.
“Nick had been bruising her stomach and back and for weeks I thought I had broken ribs.”
“She probably did.” His face darkened. It had a very interesting effect on his eye color, making them dark like a sea in a storm.
“Yeah, probably.” I traced designs on the table with my finger in the droplets of water from my glass. “Anyway, since I had been so attuned to her for so long I knew immediately something was wrong that day that Ian stopped Nick,” I shrugged, not much more to explain. I saw his jaw tighten briefly at the end of my explanation; it seemed an odd reaction to a happy ending.
“And you can affect how others feel?”
“Maybe.” I had given up a lot in this conversation and I wasn’t sure how much more I wanted to give.
“Fair enough.” I wanted to press him about his knowing about shields and everything else, but his demeanor and tone of voice had changed and I had the feeling he wasn’t in the mood for another battle. “Listen, can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure,” I agreed, thinking of my pepper spray in my purse.
“Ian was my ride and, well, you saw him storm out. Think you could give me a ride home?” Alone in a car with Jensen, was that a good idea? Maybe not, but it was tempting.
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” I was lucky enough to see that true, genuine smile again and suffered through the swarm of butterflies again. He pulled out his wallet and started taking out money. I could tell it was enough for us both.
“No, you don’t have –”
“Hey, you’re giving me a ride home, it’s the least I could do.” He had already put the money down and weighted it down with the Parmesan shaker and stood up, pulling his jacket on. I considered arguing but figured it was probably useless. I slid out of the booth and reached for my jacket. He caught it as it swung out and held it up for me to help me into it. I hesitated, but let him help me.
We made our way through the crowded restaurant; he reached the door first and held it open for me, standing back. As I stepped past him, he touched the small of my back with his free hand, ushering me out. I felt the warmth of his fingertips through the thick wool of my jacket.
It was a relatively silent drive to his house, but at least it was blessedly short. It turned out he lived in my neighborhood, just a few blocks over. Not that it was all that surprising; if he lived too far away he’d be enrolled at our rival high school. I pulled up to the curb outside his house, letting the engine idle loudly, purring like a contented tiger. He reached for the handle, turning his body towards the door, hesitating for a second, not really staring out the window.
I had the sudden horrible thought that he might try to kiss me goodnight like this was a date or something. I kept both hands securely on the steering wheel and my eyes forward and tried to keep my breathing normal.
“You know,” he said quietly, turning his face slightly towards me but not his body, “It’s ok not to hate me.” It was probably the saddest voice I had ever heard; my stomach ached with the urge to comfort such a pitiful sound.
“I don’t, I don’t…” It was like someone had hit me in the back of the head with a baseball bat. I was so confused by such a blunt statement that I was fumbling for the words. “I mean, that’s not… you shouldn’t…” He pulled on the door handle and pushed at the door to step out. The icy wind rushed inside behind him, swirling with the heat from the car vents. He leaned down, one hand still on the door and the other on the roof of the car.
“Just in case you did, I wanted you to know it’s not too late to change your mind.” He smiled then, softly and not showing any teeth, not even crinkling the corners of his eyes, eyes that seemed to be searching my face for reassurance. I knew, horribly, that my face was slack jawed and stunned. He stepped back and shut the door, suddenly cutting off the cold air with one last gust.
I watched him walk to his front door and go inside, never looking back at me. He must have turned off the porch light, leaving the house completely in shadow, but I didn’t remember seeing the light go out. I had lost myself watching him walk away while his words echoed in my mind. I shivered, realizing my fingers ached with the effort of holding on to the steering wheel. I came back to myself and drove away.
Chapter 8
For the first time in weeks I went to bed not thinking about my repeated nightmare and for the first time in weeks I woke up naturally as my room brightened in the morning light. I was confused at first, so used to waking up covered in sweat and injured someho
w. I stretched luxuriously in the warm, untangled sheets. I could smell the coffee all the way to the back of the house and realized it must not be all that late yet, another nice surprise.
I wandered down the hall after slipping on my Jack Skellington and Sally slippers, making a beeline for the coffee pot. My mom was curled up on the couch under a flannel blanket reading a book, bi-focals perched on her nose, and my dad reclined in his Lazy-Boy with the paper open and the morning news on the T.V.
“Morning, honey,” my mom called lightly as I passed the living room. I waved in her general direction, my sights still set on the coffee pot.
“New reports this morning are coming out of Ojai as Ventura County Sheriffs are still baffled by the findings of another apparent animal sacrifice.” I heard the anchorwoman say loud and clear all the way in the kitchen. Luckily, I hadn’t picked up my coffee cup yet; I probably would have dropped it in the shock that surged through my body.
“Not this again,” I heard my dad’s rough grumble.
“A quiet Saturday night was marred by the findings in the woods of a park and this morning. Four hikers stumbled upon the remains of blood and feathers. Concerned for the local wildlife, they called park rangers who then informed the local police.” The composed anchorwoman continued. “A spokesperson for the parks department has said that the animal blood appears to be from chickens, which they are certain do not live in this area. A deputy sheriff stated that the findings of a possible ritual from Friday night were not found this time.”
“They appear to have taken the time to clean up after themselves this time and we believe were possibly interrupted during the cleanup, which would explain why the blood and feathers were left behind.” The cool, monotone voice of the officer said.
“What makes you think they were interrupted?” an on-scene reporter asked, thrusting the microphone in the officer’s face.
“The area was trampled down and there were signs of a struggle.”
“Do you think this is a serious group of individuals or possibly just some wayward kids doing this?” The reporter asked.
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