Echo Into Darkness: Book 2 in The Echo Saga (Teen Paranormal Romance)

by Skye Genaro

  Then, the anonymous girl in the blue nylon coat shook my life twice. Since that first night, a cruel thought had been forming, so quietly, so innocently, that the seed it planted went unnoticed. It was wrong and I wanted it to go away, but I was struck at how firmly it had already taken root.

  Maybe you really are better off dead. If you stay in this lane, the semi will take away all your problems.

  I gave my head a hard shake to loosen and discard the dangerous ideas rattling inside. If I were to believe the girl, I was going to collide with a perilous, deadly world, one I was not prepared to face. Despite my gifts, I felt powerless, like the blood and air were being vacuumed out of me. Like the end was hurtling toward me at breakneck speed, and with it, a great deal of pain.

  I could change that, right now, if I stayed here in the semi's blind spot.

  It would be over so fast

  The trailer teetered. My headlights glinted off its chrome hubcaps.

  What if…what if…

  The semi eased into my lane.

  My cell phone chose that moment to ring, its trill sounding ten decibels louder than normal, jarring me back to myself. I hit the brakes, and the truck sped away, its tires kicking gravel onto my windshield. I took the next exit and pulled to the shoulder.

  I dropped my head onto the steering wheel and inhaled deeply. That had been close. Too close.

  The phone rang again, and I was floored when my head cleared enough to recognize the ring tone: Peter, Paul and Mary's “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” It was my dad.

  "Hey Dad," I answered.

  "Honey, are you all right?"

  I exhaled a jerky breath. "I'm fine. What's up?"

  "I'm watching the sun come up over Paris and got the urge to call my favorite daughter."

  His voice hinted at laughter. Working to keep mine steady, I fell in step with his joke.

  "So, you have more than one daughter now? Geez, any other big reveals you want to share?" My dad traveled internationally for his business, Bennett Global Imports. He spent more time in hotels than at home. It was good to hear his voice, and we fell into our easy banter.

  After my dad hung up, relief tingled from my crown to my toes that the phone had rung when it did. Funny how fate can throw you a life preserver when you least expect, and most need, one.

  I realized, then, that I needed every lifeline I could get. That included Jaxon's offer, even if it came with a snarky attitude.

  As soon as I got home, I went to the guest room. Kimber was pulling the sheets off the bed.

  "Where's Jaxon?" I asked.

  "He came by and said he didn't need to stay here another night."

  I guessed he'd found his foster brother after all these years. "Did he leave a phone number?" I asked.

  "No, but you'll see him in school tomorrow, remember?"

  "Oh, yeah, right," I said, filling in the holes in his story.

  Jaxon wasn't at school the next day, or the day after. He didn't come by my house, either, which got me wondering if he'd changed his mind and decided to go back to West Region. I wouldn't have blamed. Life in my time was no party, not compared to the paranormal haven he'd come from.

  But if he did go, I was silently pissed at him for not taking me with him. Not that I should have been surprised. A snake was a snake, and if you expected it to dance instead of slither, that was your own darn fault.

  I was left to track down my enemy on my own.

  *******

  At midnight, I woke up to Tito whining. He growled, his furry brow wrinkled in doggie concern. His ears twitched. This was how he acted when he heard a noise outside the house. I did not like this at all.

  "What's up, boy?"

  A faint beep found my ears one I'd heard recently. In the past couple of weeks, an occasional electronic blip or purr would distract me from my homework. It was soft and infrequent enough that I never bothered to look for the source.

  Tito hopped to the floor and nosed the edge of the comforter. Then he got on his hind legs and pawed at the headboard. Another beep.

  I reached down and found a small rectangular object jammed into the space where the box spring met the headboard. I blew away a dust bunny and unwedged it. The thin device fit neatly in my palm. It looked fleetingly familiar, but I wasn't able to say why. A small green button blinked and my memory tripped back to November. My heart triple flipped. I knew what this was.

  The last time Connor was with me, we were on my bed. He'd dug into his pocket where he'd been keeping my coin necklace, and pulled out this device, too. It was his phone. I had Connor's phone!

  All rationale disappeared. I had the mad, crazy idea that if I could figure out how to use it, I could find his number in his contact list, dial it, and talk to him, because he'd have a new phone by now, right? Let's face it, my thinking wasn't clearest in the wee hours of the morning.

  The phone's interface was a smooth blank screen. I tapped it, and when that didn't work, I pressed the green light. Nothing happened until my thumb found a sliding button on the side.

  The phone's menu illuminated the screen: Contacts. Schedule. Pictures. I touched Contacts and waited. The phone stalled, so I tapped on Pictures.

  My room lit up as the photographs sprung off the phone. They hung over my bed, a line-up of scenes from West Region. Connor's headshot floated among them, taken by someone who had caught him off guard. His lips carried a hint of a smile, his expression far off. It was the same expression he'd had when we were together, when he said he was thinking about a future with me. I reached out to touch the photo and it expanded into a three-dimensional image. I nearly screamed with joy.

  Where our technology offered flat, one-dimensional photos, West Region used holographs that were so lifelike, you'd be hard pressed to tell the photo from the real thing. That was enough to send me to seventh heaven. Then a spicy, earthy scent wafted into the room.

  My fingers rose to my lips. Was this really happening? I inhaled. Yes. The holographic image carried Connor's scent.

  I explored the other photos. The picture of the Reserve, where he had taken me during my first visit, came with the damp, sweet scent of a tropical paradise. The gardens behind his house smelled of warm marigolds.

  He had quietly snapped a picture of me sitting in the Great Hall the night of the dance while I watched the acrobats twirling overhead. The look of sheer bliss on my face made me smile.

  I discovered that I could turn each holograph with my index finger, make it bigger and smaller by swiping over it. I magnified Connor's face to larger than life. All the more of him to enjoy.

  I stared into his oversized green eyes. He was one of the strongest people I'd ever known, not just paranormally, but his spirit, too. Nothing scared him. I wasn't proud to say it, but I wished he were here in person, doling out advice and promising to protect me. I supposed that was one of my faults, letting others take over when I didn't believe in my own strength. That wasn't an option anymore.

  I asked myself, what would he do if he were in my situation? If he were going to try one more time to identify the faction members?

  I closed my eyes. The day's drama fell to the background and my mind quieted. I drifted deeper into my subconscious, where the answer to my problems might lurk. The question cartwheeled through my mind and released ideas, a flurry of them, all descending like individual snowflakes across my vision—walk the city and scan auras until I found their unmistakable polluted discharge; talk to local psychics to see if they had any information; ask the police what they knew.

  None of the dozens of options appealed to me. They were scattershot, and I didn't have the free time to go on a massive, citywide hunt. There was only one starting point that made sense, and I'd been avoiding it since my accident at the mall.

  Connor had been sure Mr. Crane worked for the faction. It was time for me to visit him at the hospital.

  Chapter 8

  I was on my way to Chemistry when a kid stuffed a flyer into my hands. Raquelle was offering
a $500 reward for information leading to the person who had broken into her YouTube account. Last semester, I'd hacked my way in and deleted all her videos. She probably didn't care a whip about the footage of her partying that I'd erased, but she was furious that she'd lost the video of me tele-chaosing in McKyla's kitchen.

  I tossed the flyer in the chemistry trashcan and took my seat in the back row. My lab partner, Martha, rarely said a word, spending class with her fists wedged under her chin, blandly watching Mr. Wickner.

  Mid way through Mr. Wickner's lecture, the classroom door opened. My eyes grew wide when Jaxon strolled in wearing new clothes and carrying a stack of textbooks. He handed a note to the teacher, who read it and then pointed at me.

  Jaxon lifted one corner of his mouth, and his lazy gait brought him to my table. He took Martha's books and moved them to an empty spot in front of us.

  "What do you think you're doing?" she said.

  "I'm new here and this girl," he tipped his head at me, "has been assigned as my school buddy."

  "I am not your buddy." I gave Martha a look of apology. "You don't have to move," I told her.

  "I'd be happy to pick up your chair and move you myself," he said.

  "Is there a problem back there?" Mr. Wickner asked.

  "Just introducing myself to my new buddy," Jaxon replied.

  I narrowed my eyes with newfound dislike.

  "Geez, I'll go, okay?" Martha huffed.

  Jaxon glided into her chair and sat with his legs spread, taking up more than his share of space. I scooted to the far end of the table.

  He laughed quietly. I turned my back to him, silently cursing the administration's new student policy. As his school buddy, I was responsible for showing him to all his classes and answering his questions. The first place I intended to show him was the office, where I was going to recommend that he be paired up with someone else. Preferably someone with more patience than I had.

  He moved his stool to my end of the table so that our knees touched.

  "I've got a lead on the factions for you," he whispered.

  "No thanks," I whispered back. That was my ego talking now that I had a lead of my own. The rest of me, the sensible part, wanted to beg for his help.

  He lifted an indifferent shoulder and faced the board. He lodged a pen between bruised, yellow-green knuckles and waggled it between them, faster and faster, until it was a distracting blur.

  I grabbed his hand. "That's annoying."

  "Echo, save your discussion with the new student until after class."

  "Sorry, Mr. Wickner." I cast a dark frown at my tablemate.

  The end-of-class bell rang and Jaxon followed me to the hall. "Where to next?"

  I threw my arms up. "I give up, Jaxon. Whatever it is you're up to, you win."

  "Funny how you get defensive whenever I try to do something nice."

  "Nuh-uh." I shook my head. "You can't turn this around on me. I know enough about the future to know that you're not going to learn anything useful in my high school. Classes in West Region are way advanced. So what are you really doing here?"

  I wasn't sure why I was acting this way toward him. I guessed that my lack of trust, combined with his arrogance and pushiness, was a toxic combination.

  "Did it occur to you that I can't do much in your time without a high school diploma?"

  "Nobody's going to give you a diploma. You've been missing for nine years! And don't you need a bunch of records and immunizations to even enroll?" I put up a hand. "That was a rhetorical question. I don’t actually care."

  I cut left down the administration corridor. "I'm getting you a new buddy," I said.

  "Don't you want to know what I found out about the factions?"

  "Depends on how much crap I need to put up with to get it."

  "Fair enough, no more crap. Okay, there's gonna be a little. You're too easy to mess with. You should hear me out. This lead is solid."

  Outside the office, I let out a long sigh. "Fine. What have you got?"

  "I found my brother," he said.

  "He must have been happy to see you."

  "He was shocked out of his mind. His parents never tried to explain why I was gone, and who knows what story they told the authorities. I told him that I ended up back in the foster system in a different part of the country. He got me clothes and a phone, and is letting me stay at his place for a while."

  "He sounds like a great guy, but this has to do with the factions because…"

  "Patience, Princess. While he and I talked, a lot of stuff started coming back to me that I heard when I was a kid. There are three factions spread across the country, but the one you're looking for has a name. They call themselves the Mutila. The Northwest region is their territory and their base is somewhere here, in Portland."

  I gave this a minute to digest. I felt the need to tie this in with what Connor had told me, to make sure I could make sense of it all. "All of these groups are trying to track down and enslave gifted people?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "And over the next hundred and sixty years, one of these factions will grow into East Region, West Region's enemy," I said, reciting Connor's explanation.

  Jaxon looked at me curiously, startled at my knowledge, but his aura swelled with excitement. "Yes."

  "Okay, I'm caught up now."

  "Have you ever heard of an indoor skateboard park called The Asylum?" he asked.

  "No."

  "I think some of the younger Mutila members hang out there."

  "You learned all this in a few days?" I asked.

  His face pinched like he was calling back long-held, painful memories.

  "Before Philip took me to live with him, I spent years with that foster family. You wouldn't believe some of the bizarre activity I saw. My foster dad used to have super-secretive meetings with kids from my neighborhood. They would come to our house after we were in bed and they'd all meet in the garage."

  "Okay, that's gross and creepy."

  "Yeah, but not in the way you think. I went out there one night when I couldn't sleep. The side door was open and they were all sweating from the heat. They sat around a table, staring at, I dunno, a rubber ball I think. They were so quiet, I thought they were praying or something. Then that rubber ball started to levitate."

  My mouth fell open. "They were gifted kids."

  "Sounds like it."

  "You should talk to the dad. What does your foster brother have to say about this?"

  "My foster parents died a few years ago. I don't need my foster brother's help to figure this out. I'm not sure how much he'd tell me anyway. But I talked to a kid who still lives in the neighborhood. He said some of those same kids that I saw in the garage hang out at The Asylum. They're our age now."

  "And you think they're with the Mutila?"

  "That's why I need you. You come with me, I'll point them out, and you tell me if you read any unusual energy on them."

  "Uh, I was going for a less confrontational approach, like getting their names and handing them over to the police."

  "What do you expect the cops to do with that?"

  "It's a start, at least. Maybe they can link them to crimes in the city?" I knew I was jumping to conclusions. You can't accuse people of crimes without some kind of evidence to back it up. I twisted my lips. "These faction kids, if they don't want anyone to know about them, they'll hide their auras."

  Jaxon shrugged this off. "Why would they hide? They're going to be busy skateboarding and won't even know you're there. Give me your phone number and I'll text you the address."

  Little warning darts skittered up and down my spine. "I don't know..."

  "I'm sure you have a better idea?" He crossed his arms. After couple of beats, he said, "I can get the leads, but you have to verify them. We have to work as a team. As long as you don't freak out in their presence, they shouldn't know who you are. Right?"

  That was how it was supposed to work, but the girl on the bridge blew my cover in no ti
me. On the other hand, she also might be one of the kids at the skateboard park.

  "I'll be there. And hey…"

  He raised an eyebrow.

  "Thanks for the lead."

  "I'm not all bad, you know, even if you think I'm a first rate jerk." His ears reddened.

  The corner of my mouth lifted. "Maybe not completely. Give me your phone."

  We exchanged numbers and I ran to class.

  The lunch bell rang, and Jaxon decided he didn't need me to babysit him the rest of the day. He went to the cafeteria to try school food for the first time in nine years. I wished him luck with that, and headed to my locker.

  I found Raquelle in the junior corridor, freshening her makeup and checking herself out in the full-length mirror she'd hung on the inside of her locker. I stomped over to her.

  "You are an evil, evil person," I said.

  "Are you still griping about the bridge joke? Because I am so over that."

  I tugged her shoulder to make her face me. "This isn't about you or what you're over. You crossed a line last night. It wasn't funny and you owe me an apology."

  "Are you touching me?" She swatted my arm away.

  "Apologize. Right now."

  She painted her lip with gloss. "Sorry," she said into the mirror.

  "Apologize like you mean it," I snapped.

  Raquelle stepped back to get a full view of herself in the mirror. She watched me in the reflection.

  "If I'm wrong about why I found you straddling the railing like you were going to off yourself, tell me the real story and I'll apologize. Don't get on my case for saying something that's true."

  She smoothed the fabric on her hips, making it impossible not to notice the Partychick applique on the butt of her pink sweatpants.

  She caught me staring. "Like the sweats? My mom got them for me. My real mom." She put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, does that remind you that you have a stepmom and not a real one?"

  Under other circumstances, her comment might make me roll my eyes. Today her heartlessness made my resentment run wild.