by Skye Genaro
"You mean like why the bushes are quivering right now?"
Joshua furrowed his brow and shifted his feet. He had no idea what I was talking about.
"I mean like why you wear your hair up on Tuesdays. At school." He reached out and tucked wisping strands behind my ear.
"Oh. Chemistry lab. My hair kept swinging into the Bunsen burner."
"I wondered what that smell was. It was making everyone's eyes water."
"That was when Davis lost his eyebrows in the chemical flash. I didn't set my hair on fire after the second week." I smiled. "What else?"
"Why an electric current runs through my chest every time I stand close to you."
My heart started beating double tempo. It hadn't occurred to me that my aura could affect him this way. Or that he might like it. Maybe that's why he hadn't mentioned our high-voltage kiss.
A piece of paper fluttered onto the porch and into my face. The wind chimes were making such a racket, I wanted to cut them loose from their strings. I was baffled as to why my aura was acting up when for once I had a decent grip on my emotions.
"You want to go for a walk?" Josh asked.
"Um."
Joshua's face fell. "It's okay." He dragged down the steps.
More than anything, I wanted to walk down the street with my hand in his. To find out how far his tolerance for paranormal phenomenon stretched. Up to now, I hadn't given him a chance. Not really. Maybe it was a supernatural long shot, but he deserved that chance.
"Wait!" I jumped down the stairs after him. I searched his face for some clue that he knew more about me than he was telling. "Was there anything else you want to ask?"
"The rest can wait." He held out his hand. "Come on, the Sundowner has started. I love this time of year."
The Sundowner? The Sundowner! Of course, the Sundowner winds hit Santa Barbara every year in early summer and lasted for days. They whipped down the foothills toward the ocean, sending lightweight items airborne and upending anything that wasn't tied down.
A cardboard box tumbled down the sidewalk. The treetops bent in the wind. A dust devil twirled down the street. Joshua smiled at me. The wind ruffled his hair and a stray newspaper swirled at his feet. The Sundowner.
"Most people hate this time of year, but I think it's cool. I like things that are wild and unexpected."
"Me too," I said, and I took his hand. When the wind died down, I might have a lot of explaining to do.
But for now…
*****
Thank you!
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Supernatural Summer.
Keep reading for a preview of Skye's latest book Echo Across Time
(Book 1 in Echo's Saga).
Win one of four copies of Echo Across Time! In December, 2013 Skye will give away two paperbacks (U.S. only) and two ebooks (worldwide). See Skye's website for details! http://skyegenaro.com/
***Book Preview ***
Echo Across Time
Book 1 in Echo's Saga
Skye Genaro
Kobo Edition. Electronic edition published by Brighid Press, December 2013. Copyright © 2013 by Skye Genaro.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Mr. King slapped my physics test face down on my desk. I didn't need to flip the test over to tell me that studying had been a waste of time. I sensed, from the surge of disappointment coming off my teacher's aura, that my grade was awful.
I kept my head down, letting my long chestnut hair fall around my face, and debated whether it was safe to look at the test result.
All around me, my classmates were having normal reactions to their grades. They winced and slumped, or smiled and fist pumped. Others sat quiet and smug. I knew all of this without looking because I felt each of their emotions just as surely as if they'd blasted me with a fire hose.
"What'd you get?" Becca nudged my elbow and stuffed her test into her backpack. She'd done well, I could tell.
"I'm afraid to look." My forehead just above my eyebrows started to tingle, and the tips of my fingers prickled. Not a good sign.
"Come on, Echo, don't be shy," a voice taunted me from behind. A smooth pale hand adorned with a diamond ring reached over my shoulder and grabbed my test.
"Back off, Raquelle," I hissed. I tried to swat her away, but I was too slow.
Raquelle flipped the pages over. My test had so much red on it, it looked like a victim of a violent crime.
"Oooo, you got a 'C-'. Aren't you a smarty," Raquelle mocked. Her snotty laughter rippled through my aura and landed hot and sticky, on my skin.
I wanted to make a snappy comeback but Mr. King started talking. Instead, I lashed my arms across my chest, crossed my legs and wished that my ability to feel other people's auras was the worst of my problems. As my irritation rose, the air in the room grew dense.
Mr. King pulled down the projector screen and turned off the lights. Raquelle unwrapped a piece of gum and threw the crumpled wrapper at the back of my head.
I clenched my fists and the tingling on my forehead intensified. If I squeezed my eyes closed and stayed calm, maybe I could hold this in until the end of class. Maybe if I just—
The screen at the front of the room rolled up with a loud snap. The fluorescent lights flickered and the projector light bulb broke.
"The ghost returns!" some kid yelled.
Another kid hummed a creepy tune.
This wasn’t the first time this had happened and more than one person had suggested that the room was haunted. It’s not, though, it's me. Not only do I feel others' emotions, mine cause objects to move.
I took a few deep breaths and the room returned to normal.
"Everybody calm down," said Mr. King.
He turned on the lights and right away the kids around me giggled. The contents of my book bag were strewn across the floor. Notebooks, pencils, and some personal items I'd just as soon not mention, had all gotten caught in my energetic outburst.
The bell rang, and Becca helped me clean up the mess. Side by side, we don't look much alike except we're both small and lacking in curves. We used to raid each other's closets before she took to wearing all black. Becca kept her fawn colored hair short and spikey. My chestnut hair grew well past my shoulders. Her natural, year-round tan made my fair skin appear washed out.
"This room is seriously possessed," she said.
"Right? It's like the second time this week." A third eruption was boiling up. I had to get out of there, soon.
"And the weird thing is, this stuff always happens when you and I are in the same room," she said.
"I accidentally kicked my bag over," I lied as I zipped it closed. "I've got to pee. I'll meet you in the lunch room, 'kay?"
I raced past the bathroom and out the nearest exit. I skirted around the corner and pressed my back against the brick building. Out here, under Oregon's stormy October sky, I could relax. Wind whipped through the courtyard. Gray clouds billowed over Portland's skyline. This was the perfect cover for what I was about to do.
That insistent buzzing that I loathed pulsed in the center of my forehead. A prickly sensation ran up the backs of my legs and spine.
"Just breath through it," I coached myself.
I inhaled, let the air out slowly. Energy exploded from my aura and into the courtyard. It scattered garbage and leaves and ricocheted off the building. It upended one of the wooden benches and sent it tumbling toward the parking lot. A loud snap punctuated the air. Above me, a fresh crack cut through a window on the second floor.
My buildup had been worse than I thought. Now, though, the tension left my body and my near constant headache was gone. The next few minutes were precious ones, when I felt like my normal
self again.
*****
I weaved through the cafeteria, past the jocks and stoners, the math geeks and royalty to the table where Becca and I usually sat alone. Today, Becca held court with a coven of customers.
Becca’s aura is light and airy, which is one of the reasons I like her. She’s also probably the only person I could ever tell about my telekinetic chaos. That's because Becca is hardcore Wiccan. She practices spell making whenever she needs to resolve a problem, and believes that every person has an abundance of hidden secret powers.
She spends her lunch hour doling out potion recipe to the lovelorn, forlorn and those hungry for power. Most of Becca's customers insist on meeting her in the bathroom between classes. Others are content to do business in the cafeteria. I suspect that, like Becca, they don't care what anyone thinks. I admire Becca's courage.
I sat next to her and watched her in action.
"This power can only be used for good intentions, you understand?" Becca asked. A girl I recognized from History class nodded.
"Clairvoyant ability is nothing to take lightly," Becca continued.
"Uh-huh. So this'll work, right?"
"Follow these instructions exactly and your mystical third eye will open," Becca tapped the center of her forehead. "It's the gateway to all supersensory ability."
My hand floated to my own forehead. The idea that some sort of 'gateway' had recently opened there unsettled me. Becca gave the girl a slip of paper and waited while she skimmed the directions.
The girl twisted her face. "Where am I supposed to get dragon’s blood?"
"Use raw hamburger. It’s close enough," Becca answered.
The girl considered this and left. Finally, Becca's last client ambled across the cafeteria with a spell recipe in hand.
"Does this stuff really work?" I asked, with a rawness I hadn't intended.
"Of course. Why do you think all these people come to me for help?"
"That's not what I meant."
Becca sucked in her cheeks. Her wicked witch look. "I know exactly what you meant. That I'm delusional, and none of us really has any power. It's all right, I've heard it all before. I expected better from my best friend, though."
"I mean, do they ever tell you how it turns out?"
"Sometimes," she shrugged.
"And they're happy with the results?"
Becca plunked her elbows on the table. "Am I on trial here? Because you missed the Inquisition by a few hundred years."
"Okay," I started over. "What if someone wanted to get rid of their ability? Say someone could, Idunno, move stuff just by looking at it."
"You mean telekinesis? Like anyone would want to get rid of that," she snorted.
"They might if they couldn’t control it or if it was getting in the away of, you know, normal life."
"I wouldn’t, not ever. Just imagine it, Echo, if we could move stuff with our minds, we'd make a ton of money on the talk show circuit. We'd have our own reality show!"
I winced. The psychics on television were regularly blasted as con artists. And a telekinesis show? Just shoot me now.
"People would call you a liar and always try to prove you were tricking them."
Her eyes widened. "Maybe I could mix up a brew to give you telekinetic ability. Then you'd see how cool it is."
"No!" I said.
"A potion to make you see auras?"
I let out a frustrated grunt.
"Fine. You want to know if I can expel a power. I could probably find a reversal potion."
I finished lunch while Becca talked about the websites she used to search out potion recipes. For a fleeting moment, I was tempted to tell her about my problem and ask her to fix it.
But if her potions actually worked—which I doubted—then they could just as easily backfire. And if the person mixing a reversal potion subconsciously wanted the opposite to happen...I shuddered to think of the awful consequences.
I thunked my knuckles on my forehead. What was I thinking? Becca's belief in magic only existed to fill a gaping hole in her life.
Becca's parents and older siblings treated her like a baby. If Becca had any real power, she'd have gotten her driver's license a year ago and talked them into buying her a sporty little car.
*****
The final bell rang and Becca and I walked to the second-hand BMW that my dad bought me. I’d asked for a car more my style, like the rusted out Volkswagon Beetle we owned in Seattle, but he was trying so hard to make up for uprooting me that I finally gave in to the super cute, light blue convertible with a black roll-down top.
"Ewwww!" Becca said, when she saw my car.
A slimy green substance was smeared across my windshield.
"Raquelle needs to get a life. I can't believe she's still harassing you. Did you report her to the principal yet?" Becca asked.
"I can't prove it was her, so there's nothing they can do."
"It was her fault the two of you got suspended, not yours. And her fault you fell over the banister."
"Doesn't matter. She's not going to quit until she brings me down."
"You nearly went in to a coma because of her. You could have been killed." Becca said, as the windshield wipers cleaned off most of the slimy mess.
Sometimes I wondered if that would have been better. Ever since I woke up from the coma, I was plagued with these new abilities. And there was more.
While I was knocked out, I'd had a vision—or was it a dream?—and it was coming back to me in flashes now. I shoved it out of my mind, before it cloaked me in its feeling of impending doom.
*****
The sun came out so I rolled down the convertible top for the drive home. West Vista, Portland's ritziest neighborhood, is perched on a hill overlooking the city. My stepmom, Kimber, won her gorgeous, three story white house in a divorce settlement. When my dad married her over the summer, we'd relocated here from Seattle. My dad travels the world for his company, Bennett Global Imports. While I'm glad business is booming, I miss him terribly.
As I wound my car up the slope I couldn’t help but be taken in by the view. Portland spread across the valley below and then continued on the other side of the Willamette River. White clouds brushed the handful of skyscrapers downtown. On the far edge of the horizon, the glacier-covered Mount Hood jutted eleven thousand feet into the sky.
"You want to come over for homework?" Becca asked.
"Nah, I've got a…research project to do."
I dropped Becca at her driveway and drove across the street to Kimber's house. Kimber's schedule was packed with trips to the spa and days at the country club. She'd been gone all day but I still had to brace myself against her manic energy.
I flipped open my laptop and pushed up the magnetic bracelets that I wore, six on each wrist. I’d read that magnetic fields could disrupt energy fluctuations so I'd bought the bracelets online. At first, they kept my tele-chaosing in check. But now, either the bracelets were wearing out, or—and this was the part that kept me awake at night—my energy was getting too strong for them.
I surfed the Wiccan websites Becca had mentioned, searching for a solution to my tele-chaosing. I call it "tele-chaosing" because it's like telekinesis, except I don't have any control over the things that fly across the room, or the blinking lights, or any of it.
I found incantations for everything imaginable, from how to magically receive gobs of money to cursing someone for sleeping with your husband. Finally, I came to a site called "How to Undo That VooDoo Done To You." Their featured potion promised to eliminate your everyday curses.
"Infusion of Wormwood? Dried Nettles? Bat Tongue?" I read the ingredients aloud. "Drink twice a day? Ick. Not that desperate," I said, even as my cursor hovered over the "Order NOW!" button.
The truth was, I'd nearly reached my tipping point. Each day, the possibility that I could be found out wore my nerves thin. I closed my eyes, pressed myself for a decision. To buy or not to buy.
Without warning, the vision I'd
had while I was unconscious shoved into the forefront of my mind.
I stood on a grassy hillside overlooking low buildings made of crystalline rock that reflected the intense sunlight. On the horizon, a mountain soared above foothills. I had an overwhelming sense that this was my home, and yet it wasn't my city.
“Echo,” a male voice said, and his hand closed around mine.
“Yes?” I answered, but when I turned to look I was blinded by the glaring sunlight behind him.
I squinted but could only make out a pair of intense green eyes. These, too, felt eerily familiar. As the presence came closer, a spasm of fear shot up my spine. I tried to pull my hand away, and his grip tightened. Then a bloodcurdling scream—my scream, tore through the silence.
My eyes snapped open and I jumped out of the chair. I've heard that the dreams you have when you're knocked unconscious are a window into your soul, into your deepest fears and desires, the truths about yourself that you refuse to embrace. Based on what I'd seen, I was sure I wanted to keep this part of me in the dark. And I sensed it was tied to my new abilities.
Chapter 2
"Stare at yourself much?" Raquelle sniped.
Just moments ago, as I walked past the school office window, I caught a glimpse of someone, or something, watching me. But when I turned to look, it was gone. I must have stood there a full minute, gaping at my own reflection, when Raquelle spotted me.
"Freak," she said, and she sauntered down the hallway.
The past few days had been so blissful. Ever since the outburst in Mr. King's class, I'd hardly gotten any headaches. I'd kept my energy under control so well, I even dared to hope that the tele-chaosing was going away.
Now this. Each time I walked past a mirror or a window I got this eerie feeling, that I was being spied on. Out of the corner of my eye, I'd see a face staring at me. It always disappeared before I could see it full on. The little hairs rose on the back of my neck and paranoia was setting in.
