Michael’s role in my combat training may have been miniscule, but he’s more than making up for it now. The man is deadly, and dangerous; if it weren’t for the spells that dull the edges of our blades, we would constantly slice each other apart when we practice. When my guard is down, he exploits it. When I’m having trouble with a technique, he forces me to perform it over and over until it’s perfect. When I’m exhausted, he pushes me further, slashing at me blindingly fast with cold fire in his eyes. I keep forgetting how similar we are; it almost makes me wish I were learning from Tyrael or Valtiel instead. If we’re not careful, one of us might end up killing the other.
Even now that I somewhat know what I’m doing, I occasionally fear for my life. The sword Michael gave to me hangs from a makeshift scabbard Landon made me out of old leather, the ruby set into the hilt glinting in the morning sunlight. Flames leap along the length of the blade as I pull the whole sword free. Michael reaches for the blade he frequently borrows from Valtiel, and assumes a defensive stance. Each of us puts the protective spells around our blades, and a shimmering white aura extends a couple of centimeters from the shining metal.
He normally waits for me to make the first move, and this morning is no different. I slash at Michael, and he parries so swiftly that I have to wonder if he can read my mind. I try in vain to slip under Michael’s guard, but it’s no use. He’s too fast to outmaneuver, and too intelligent to fool. I hate to admit it, but he’s a genius with a blade in his hands. Michael sidesteps the majority of my attacks, but infuriatingly enough for him, he has just as much trouble laying a finger on me. I may not have the hang of parrying or striking, but I can dodge just as well as he can.
Michael is dripping with sweat by the time he calls for a break. We sit side by side on the curb, our swords between our feet while we share a plastic bottle of water. He offers the bottle to me, and his intense gaze hones in on my face. “You’re improving at an incredible rate,” he observes.
I take a few sips of water, and reply, “Not really. I feel like I should have your old ass on the ropes by this point.”
“Heather, you’re a beginner, an infant in the grand scheme of things. I’ve had millennia to perfect my craft.”
I grunt, and hand Michael the water bottle. He’s right, I know he is. I just hate that I’m pushing myself to learn what he’s teaching me, and only he can see any real progress. My sword should feel like an extension of myself, but it feels unnervingly foreign. And the fact that I’m constantly scared I’ll burn myself doesn’t help me feel confident wielding it. I don’t even bother with the shield; I leave it stored with the rest of my weaponry, in the space provided by my bangle. I prefer having the option to wield my sword with both hands.
On a whim, I ask, “Why did you wait until this year to come to me?”
“Hmm?” Michael looks at me questioningly.
“I mean, I thought I had a normal, dead, human father up until a few months ago. Where were you the first nineteen years of my life? Why did you wait so long?”
Michael folds his hands over his face, and stares out into the street. “I wanted to, Heather. I did. But your mother forbade me from making myself known until you were old enough to make your own decisions. But I kept watch over you, made sure you were safe. I’ve endured many pains over the years, but among the greatest of them was watching my daughter grow up from a distance.”
Six months ago, I would have rolled my eyes at that kind of statement. But now, watching Michael’s expressions and hearing the rise and fall of his voice give the slightest tug at my heartstrings. Maybe I care about my father a little more than I’d planned to. I nudge his arm, and tell him, “You’re here now. That’s gotta count for something.”
Michael huffs, and stands up before helping me onto my feet. He handles these moments between us about as well as I do, but that’s just how we are. Neither of us are particularly sappy people. We pour our emotions into the blood and sweat we shed, and that’s just fine by me. “One last question,” I mutter before we jump back into sparring mode. “Why did you and Mom decide on Heather? That’s literally the whitest name I’ve ever heard.”
Michael shrugs, and replies, “It was your mother’s idea. Her first choice was Gabriela, but I objected for… personal reasons.”
That’s about as much information as I’m going to get out of him. I wrap my hand around the hilt of my sword, and mentally prepare myself for what’s to come.
After practice with Michael, I stash my sword with my other weapons, and take a long flight to cool off. I take care to glide as much as I can; flapping my huge wings takes a lot of effort, and a full day of swinging a sword around usually leaves me exhausted. I soar through a sky pockmarked with skyscrapers, and a feeling of freedom washes over me with more ferocity than it ever has before. I finally get to be myself, in the one place I’ll ever truly call home. Maybe one day, after my plan has been successfully executed and people start repopulating the city, I’ll have to dial back on how often I take to the skies. But for right now, I’m enjoying the newfound freedom while I can.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, and make a hasty landing on a nearby rooftop to answer it. I stumble to a stop, and fold my wings back before answering the call. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Nick replies. “Where are you?”
“Uhh… standing on top of the MetLife building. Why?”
“You might wanna make your way over to Rockaway Beach.”
“What for?”
“You’ll see. Just get here.”
The line goes dead, and I shrug as I slip my phone back into my pocket. Nick isn’t usually so cryptic… what could he possibly be up to? I leap off the edge of the building, spread my wings, and angle myself east. The buildings in front of me seem to gleam as I fly by, their windows reflecting the radiant orange sunset like rippling water. I follow the lone set of train tracks that reach across the Jamaica Sound, and bank left when they diverge on solid land. I haven’t been this far east in years, since my first beach trip with Rachel and her family, but I still remember precisely where to go.
As I soar along the length of the beach, I pick up on Nick’s presence with my second sight. I recognize Alyssa’s wavelength as well, along with Rachel’s, Landon’s, and Jenna’s. I find the beachfront condo they’re holed up in, and land as gently as I can just outside of the front entrance. It isn’t until I step inside that I notice the several dozen unfamiliar faces staring at me. Alyssa and the others are standing behind the front desk, watching my reaction. “What’s going on?,” I ask as I let the glass door close behind me.
Nick jogs over to me, and grabs me by the shoulders as he guides me over to where the others are standing. “You said you needed a lot of outside help, right?”
I glance around the room at the small crowd gathered here. Now that I can focus on them with my second sight, I can see these are no ordinary people. This crowd is comprised of vampires, werefolk, spellcasters, a couple of faeries, and other beings that I can’t immediately identify. My jaw slackens ever so slightly when I realize what I’m looking at. “These are the people you recruited?”
“Yeah,” Nick says proudly. “Every willing metahuman left in a twenty mile radius is standing right in front of you.”
“Holy cow.” I’m actually impressed by how well Nick and Alyssa have done; I was only expecting a handful of willing participants. This far exceeds what I had in mind.
A werewolf down in front catches my eye, and asks, “Are you the Angel of Death?”
All the excitement in me sinks like a stone; what have they been telling these people to get them here? “No,” I reply. “My name is Heather. I’ve been painted as a terrorist, but trust me when I tell you, I’m anything but.”
“Then what are we here for?,” asks a familiar melodic voice. I notice Amy floating a couple of feet back from the werewolf who spoke. “I thought this was all about helping you stick it to the government.”
“It is, but-“
“
Did you really do all those horrible things they say on the news?”
“NO.” I climb up onto the front desk, and stand high above the throng of metahumans before me. “I haven’t killed anyone. Nor have I stolen any souls, kicked any puppies, or ripped any tags off any mattresses. If you’re here to see a terrorist, you can leave. I need people who are willing to work for change.”
For a few seconds, the entire lobby falls silent. Dozens of eyes watch me with rapt attention, and I become thoroughly aware of just how crazy I must look and sound. Amy flutters a little higher so she can be clearly seen, and asks, “Just what are we trying to change?”
“Each of us here has spent at least part of our lives participating in the biggest cover-up in history. We hide who we are from everyone we love. We live in the shadows, watching normal human life unfold from the sidelines. We run in fear from hunters who would rather exterminate us than let the world know the truth. And I for one have had enough.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd, and I can tell they all feel the same way I do. A familiar flame sparks in my veins, but this time, I have it under control. This time, I won’t let it consume me and the people I love; I’ll use it to ignite twin flames in the people before me. “No more,” I tell the crowd. “No more hiding. No more pretending. No more lying. We are going to show the world we are here, and if they can’t accept that, so be it. Our voices won’t be heard unless we scream ourselves hoarse. So we’ll claw our way to a brighter future if we have to, but for now, we need to build ourselves from a whisper to a scream. We need to let the world know we are here. That we won’t leave, and we won’t be ignored, or downtrodden, or hidden anymore.”
Behind me, I hear Alyssa ask, “Was that off the top of your head?”
“Yeah,” I whisper back.
“It kinda shows.”
I roll my eyes, and gaze out at the crowd. My impromptu speech may not be up to Alyssa’s standards, but I can see the effect I’ve had on these people. They look ready to do anything I ask, within reason. A shapeshifter a few feet from the desk asks, “When do we start?”
“When’s the next full moon?,” I whisper to Rachel.
“Tomorrow night,” she whispers back.
I stand tall, and put my hands on my hips. “Tomorrow it is. Be here a couple of hours before sunset. It’s gonna be a long night.”
16
I’m exhausted, but after meeting with all the people who showed up to help, I’m too excited to rest. It’s just as well; there’s still so much to do. Production materials to find, crew to enlist, half of a speech left to write. I’m up well into the early morning trying to find the right words for when I address the nation. Nick keeps me company for a while, listening politely while I brainstorm out loud, and critiquing the few ideas I keep. I may have dabbled in writing once upon a time, but it feels like lifetimes ago. I’ve lost my touch.
“Don’t worry too much about it,” Nick tells me before he heads off to his own apartment. “Staring at the screen until you can force out the words will just fry your brain. Maybe you should try to unplug and let them come to you.”
I throw a crumpled up sheet of paper at him out of mock annoyance. “Oh, what do you know? You don’t even write.”
Nick rolls his eyes, and tosses the crumpled paper in the garbage. “I know you’re Heather Santos,” he says after a moment. “And you can do anything. So don’t sweat it. You got this.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off, and go back to staring at my laptop’s screen. Nick comes over to my side, and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. I tense up as if he’s done something horribly wrong, and he backs away accordingly. I don’t think I’d be able to bear the look on his face, so I turn my eyes down towards the keyboard. It’s not that the gesture was unwanted, exactly. I’ve sort of started missing the physical affection that comes with a romantic relationship. But I wasn’t expecting that out of Nick; we’ve hardly even hugged since breaking up.
“Sorry,” Nick mutters as he backs out of the room. “I won’t let that happen again.” He turns on his heel, and walks away with his head hung low. For a moment, I consider chasing after him. And maybe a younger me would have. But right now, I’m not in the right frame of mind to worry about him and his bruised ego. There’s so much more at stake than my love life, and I hope he understands that.
Around three in the morning, I decide that what I have is good enough for now. I let out a frustrated sigh, and flop down on my bed, thoroughly tired from the day’s efforts. And tomorrow's going to be even busier… No rest for the wicked, I guess. In spite of the dozens of thoughts chasing each other across my mind in an endless cycle, I fall asleep in record time, drifting off to a vague image of myself in glistening armor, riding through a field on the back of a white stallion. Maybe in another life, I could have been a knight. I’d like to think so, at least. But there are no knights in my lifetime. There are only angels, and demons, and all sorts of creatures in between, and part of me is starting to wish none of them even existed.
Morning brings with it a pleasant surprise; sword training with Michael is cut short when I finally land a blow on him. I notice an opening between his sword strokes, and step in to take advantage of it. Michael is so impressed that he lets me have the rest of the day off. “Go on, enjoy yourself,” he tells me. “You’ve earned it. But do not expect a true victory any time soon. You still have a long way to go before you can ever hope to be my equal.”
“Thanks, old man,” I grumble as I put away my sword. I’d have appreciated at least a moment of pride, but Michael won’t let me have it. Maybe he’s wounded beyond anything I’ve managed to do with a blade. Maybe he’s afraid he won’t always be able to best me.
I spend the rest of my day coordinating with Nick and Alyssa, assigning tasks to some of the people they’ve recruited, and putting the finishing touches on my speech. When I finally decide I’m ready, I change into my leather suit and slowly make my way over to the condo where I told everyone to meet. To my surprise, quite a few people are already there by the time I touch down outside the building. I immediately put them to work setting up green screens all around the lobby, and figuring out how to turn on all the lights we’ll need. As soon as Emma and Jenna arrive with the cameras, we’re ready to start filming.
I suggest we start with the werefolk, since they’ll be transforming in a couple of hours and we have tons to do. I set up the cameras where I want them, set them and the microphones to record, and ask who wants to speak first. It seems like most of our volunteers are shy now that they know what they’ve signed up for, but a werewolf from Jersey City offers to go first. She sits on the stool where all the cameras are focused, and asks, “What do I talk about?”
I stand behind the camera facing her dead on, and think for a second. “Start with your name,” I suggest. “Then tell us a little about yourself, and what your experience as a werewolf has been like.”
“My name is Juniper, but most people call me June. I’m a speech pathologist, I’ve lived in New Jersey my whole life. And… I’m a werewolf. And it sucks. I have to take a trip out to the middle of nowhere every month because I don’t run with a pack, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. But then after the full moon, I wake up with all these memories of ripping small animals apart, I pick bits of fur out of my teeth, I have to wash blood off my hands. I’m not a danger to anyone as you see me right now, and I like to think I’m a good person. But I have to live with that part of myself too, and there’s no one I can really tell. It’s lonely, and I hate it, and I wish I’d never been bitten.”
Juniper falls silent, so I assume she’s done for now. “Perfect. You’re done for now. I need you to go find a guy named Landon, he should be setting up the green screens in the basement. He’ll tell you what to do next.” Juniper nods, and walks toward the elevators. As soon as the stool is vacant, I turn to the rest of the volunteers, and ask, “Who’s up?”
From there, it’s an easy process. More and more of the werefolk are willi
ng to come forward as time goes on, and they’ve all given their testimonials well before the full moon rises. I send them all downstairs with Landon, so they can be filmed transforming into their bestial forms. We move on to hearing from the other races, in no particular order, which takes longer than I expected it to. When we take a break after interviewing a vampire from Yonkers, we’re only halfway through the volunteers we have left. I step outside for some fresh air, and immediately regret doing so. The sun is long gone, and I’m not dressed appropriately for a brisk October night. I rub my arms for warmth, and make a mental note to sew the sleeves back onto the leather hoodie. I need them now more than ever.
Alyssa comes out to join me after I get in a few minutes of solitude, and I’m immediately jealous of her; she’d had the forethought to wear a long sleeved shirt. “This is going well,” she says. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
I nod, and lean my back against the building. “It’ll be even better once all this stuff has been edited. I have a feeling this is gonna be huge.”
“Probably. The people like a good government scandal, and this is one hell of a cover up.” Alyssa looks up at the full moon, and says, “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t take it too hard if this thing goes wrong, cuz it might. I get that you’re trying to make a difference, but that doesn’t always go well. Things get off to a slow start sometimes, and sometimes what you’re doing might be totally misinterpreted. And you’re a first-time activist, so… I dunno, don’t give up if this doesn’t pan out.”
“It’ll be fine.” I let out a long sigh, and push off the building. “Ready to get back to work?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Alyssa and I head back inside for the rest of the interviews, starting with Ben, a demon living in Mamaroneck who’s grown attached to the human life. He hasn’t come to Earth to hurt anyone; he just likes to party. But the woman after him, a shapeshifter named Raven, refuses to say anything about herself beyond her name. I fight hard not to groan at her; some of these people can talk on and on about themselves, but others offer less information than a blank diary. And the people on either end of the spectrum are the reason this is taking so long. Another few hours have passed by the time our last volunteer has come and gone. “Thank you for your time,” I tell him. “You can head home now if you want, or stick around to see what’s next.”
Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3) Page 13
