Chapter Twenty-Four
Confrontations
As soon as my brother and I walk inside the door of our home, I grab his arm. He whips around and jerks free.
“What did you tell Jennalee?”
He kicks off his shoes. They thud against the wall. “What do you think I told her?”
I replay Summer’s odd threat in the woods, about my little episode and I can’t think of anything else that could be interpreted as an episode except the séance in Jude. My blood has not returned to a normal temperature since. “What did you tell her, Pete?”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of telling anybody I have a crazy for a sister.”
“I’m the crazy one? I’m the crazy one? You lock yourself in your room all the time. You listen to obnoxious music. Your entire wardrobe has changed. And you’re hanging out with Wren and Jess. They’re the crazy ones. What did you tell Jennalee?”
“Wren and Jess don’t see a shrink. And as far as I know, Wren and Jess have never had to move across the country because they need professional help.”
I will not let him distract me. I will repeat the question a million times if it means he’ll give me a straight answer. “What did you tell Jennalee?”
“What makes you think I told her anything about you?”
“Because Summer said something to me tonight about an episode.”
“She asked if I partied in Florida. I told her about the last party I went to.”
The blood drains from my face. “You told her about what happened in Florida?” Part of the reason we left was to escape the stigma and now Pete brought it with him? “How could you do that?”
“Relax. As far as she knows, you’re just afraid of Ouija boards.”
I narrow my eyes—hurt by the resentment simmering in his voice. Sure, the two of us have never been close. But we’ve never been like this, either. He stands there looking like I’m some sort of pariah, like he is physically uncomfortable being in my presence. “Why are you so angry with me?”
His glower darkens.
“Do you want me to apologize for making you move? Fine, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have a crazy sister who made you move away from your girlfriend in Jude. Do you think I like it any more than you do?”
Mom hurries down the steps in her slippers, her hair and her sleepy eyes frazzled. “What is going on? What are you two yelling about?”
Pete clasps his hands behind his neck and mutters a curse. “Am I allowed to go to my room now, or do I have to sleep in the living room, too?”
Mom frowns. “Of course you can sleep in your room.”
“Am I allowed to shut my door?”
All my fury—at Jennalee, at Summer, at my parents—gathers and swirls and aims itself at my brother. I want to bury my fist in his face, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t hurt. “You are such a jerk, you know that?”
He doesn’t even flinch. He keeps his eyes trained on Mom.
“S-sure,” she says.
He stomps up the stairs and slams his door. The sound reverberates through the house. Mom looks at me with wide eyes. “What’s going on? Did something happen at the party?”
I bite my lip, fighting back tears. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? Tess, you and Pete never fight like that.”
“It’s fine, Mom. All siblings fight.” But that’s a lie. Because Pete and I don’t. At least never like that. I walk up the steps and shut myself in my room. When I get there, I shrug out of my sweatshirt and pants, then throw on a tank top and pajama bottoms with jerky, angry movements. I sit cross-legged on my bed and hug my pillow in my lap. My jiggling knees rattle the mattress and the nightstand.
How can somebody like Summer be so popular? Why does anybody like her?
I toss the pillow behind me, fall back, and stare up at the ceiling. Despite all the unexplainable things swirling around me—like Luka and our dreams and Dr. Roth and my not-dead grandmother and Pete’s behavior—I’m still just a girl in high school, consumed with thoughts over a mean girl named Summer.
Summer sits on Bobbi’s couch, wearing her red devil costume, and she’s making out with …
Luka?
She surfaces from the passionate kiss, her lips swollen, looking more beautiful than ever. Luka drapes his arm over the back of the couch. My stomach cramps. I step away, feeling foolish. But wait a minute. I already left the party. Luka and I left together, with Leela and Kiara and Pete.
What’s going on?
I scratch the inside of my wrist. It’s numb.
Which means this is a dream. My mind races. Why is Luka making out with Summer in our dream? “Luka?” His name escapes like a tiny squeak, no louder than a mouse. I clear the tremor away and try again. “Luka, what’s going on?”
But Luka doesn’t answer. His eyes feast on Summer as if she is the only girl in the room.
“You don’t actually think he likes you, do you?” Her smile makes my skin crawl. I am not a violent person. Martial Arts is all about self-control. Yet the look on her face makes me want to scratch her eyes out. “I mean, look at you and look at him. Why would someone like him be into someone like you?”
Her words fan my insecurity.
“There’s only one reason he’s been spending time with you.” As she speaks, black mist puffs from her lips like frosty breath on a cold day.
I step back, waiting for Summer to shriek or cover her mouth, but it’s like she doesn’t see the black cloud at all.
“He wants to know how you do it,” she continues. “He wants to know how you fight.” The mist hovers around her face like cigarette smoke. “He’s using you to get information. And then when he has it, he will destroy you.”
I shake my head. Why isn’t Luka reacting to the mist? Why isn’t he moving away? I stare at him, waiting for him to at least acknowledge me. “Why is she here?”
“Who is she?” Summer points to herself. “Me? Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“Did you invite her to our dream?” I ask Luka.
“Dream?” Summer laughs. “This is not a dream.”
“Yes, it is.” Now if only I knew why and how it worked. The black mist thins and clears. Luka sits on the couch, rubbing his knuckle up and down Summer’s bare shoulder. “I thought you were going to help me find my grandmother. I thought you were going to help me figure out what to say to Dr. Roth.”
“Dr. Roth?” Summer cocks her head. “What are you talking about?”
“Luka,” I say, raising my voice.
“Don’t you get it? He doesn’t want to listen to you. He doesn’t like you. He likes me. He’s always liked me. And he will always like me!”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the sound of Summer’s shrill voice ringing in my ears.
The temperature drops. I open my eyes and suck in a sharp breath. Summer and Luka and Bobbi’s couch are gone. I’m standing in a closed garage. The air is cold and there’s a car inside, running. A woman sits behind the wheel. She looks comatose and standing off to the side, is that man with the gaunt, pale face and unseeing white eyes. Fear strangles my airway. I cover my mouth with my sleeve to protect my lungs from the carbon monoxide and bang on the car window.
The lady doesn’t react.
The man disappears into the house. When he returns, he has a car seat with him. A tiny baby sleeps inside. He clicks the car seat into the base in the back seat.
A tremor moves up into my torso. I remind myself that this is a dream. This isn’t real. But it feels incredibly real. It feels like the most real thing I’ve ever experienced. I pound again on the car window, feeling strong. Feeling alert. If she doesn’t do something, her baby will die.
She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even blink.
The man leaves and comes back again, this time with a tow-headed toddler, tears streaking down his chubby cheeks. Horror expands inside my chest. The small child screams for his mom as the man straps him in his car seat.
I pound again on the woman’s window. “Lady
, your kids are going to die!”
Her eyelids flutter. She looks at me, but the man shoves me back with hands as cold as ice. I topple into some boxes. The little boy screams in the back seat. The baby sleeps. Desperation consumes me. Like fire doused with gasoline. All that matters is getting these children out. I have to save them. I lurch to my feet and do a roundhouse kick at the window—the way I would break a board on Saturday mornings in the dojo. Only this is not a board. This is thick, unbreakable glass.
To my shock, it explodes into tiny pieces.
I reach inside to unlock the door, open it up, unclick the car seat with the baby, and unbuckle the boy. Before the white-eyed man can react, I bundle the boy in my free arm and hurry toward the door. It must be an exit. I grab the knob and fling the door wide open to a burst of intense light.
My eyes fly open. I sit in bed, in the dark of night, lungs pumping, heart beating wildly. My attention lands on the dream journal on my nightstand, but my body recoils. I don’t want to write anything down. I don’t want to remember any of that dream. I pull the covers over my head, turn on my side, hug my pillow to my chest and fall back asleep.
The Gifting (Book 1 in The Gifting Series) Page 25
