Wanderlust

by Lacey Weatherford

  These were my people—the souls who saw the world the same way I did. I felt like a sponge waiting to absorb the knowledge and skill that surrounded me. While I knew that I had talent, I didn’t want to waste the gift I’d been blessed with.

  There was a favorite quote I’d hung on my wall back home, one by Aristotle that said the goal of art wasn’t to merely present an image to the world, but to capture the inner significance of the object—to reveal its essence in all its beauty.

  That’s what brought me to the Academy—the underlying truth behind it wasn’t just a desire to express myself, but an unrelenting drive to stay true to reality as I saw it.

  I couldn’t rest easy until I’d poured a piece of myself into whatever I was creating. It didn’t matter where or on what my focus rested, once the paintbrush, pencil, chalk, or charcoal was in my hand, I felt deep in my soul I must honor its existence.

  Everything had a story.

  Except for some reason today, despite my best efforts, staring at the bowl of fruit placed on the tall bar stool in the center of the room didn’t transport me to that place where magic happened. It stubbornly remained two oranges, three red apples, and one bold, yellow banana. There was no brush of excitement, no hint of hunger as my imagination wondered what it would be like to savor each piece.

  Nothing pulled me in, begging for the flurry of activity that typically followed when a new project enveloped me.

  Standing there before my easel, my paintbrush hovering just over the blank canvas, my mind was a million miles away. Well, not actually that far—just eight streets to be exact.

  And it wasn’t stewing over romantic moments or flights of swoon-worthy fancy. After all the time Ryder and I had been spending together, that would be completely acceptable, expected even. I’d had my fair share of daydreams over him. He’d quickly taken over as my friend, confidant, and boyfriend—his conversations as stimulating as the way he kissed me.

  I have a boyfriend, the words still thrilled me each time I whispered them to myself. He was incredible, attentive, and absolutely gorgeous. Any reservations I’d had over how quickly things progressed between us had evaporated over the past few weeks.

  Our relationship was wonderfully new and filled with promise. He made my heart race each time he looked at me, his touch igniting an even newer passion that stunned me, as well.

  I couldn’t explain it and, frankly, I gave up trying. It was what it was. It felt amazing to be with him and apparently he felt the same way. He made it incredibly easy to open up to him, and he believed in me.

  So, why did something niggle in my heart, a warning that something weighed heavily on him? While I couldn’t pinpoint what it was that left me thinking Ryder was preoccupied, I could definitely narrow it down to a day.

  The day we’d begun to explore Muir Woods. There wasn’t anything remarkable about our research outing to collect data for his work—our work. Everything had been going fine up until the stolen kiss up against the tree.

  Ryder didn’t hesitate when it came to expressing how he felt. If he wanted to touch me, he did. If he wanted to pour his desire into me and receive mine, in return, he did. I also did the same.

  We both trusted each other to not hold back. While we still hadn’t taken that last step in consummating sex, it hadn’t weakened the growing bond linking us together. Even Ryder admitted how amazed he was that things flowed so naturally between us.

  But whatever was bothering him, it was a problem he kept to himself. When I asked him if he were okay, he simply shrugged it off, and took me in his arms, effectively evading any further questions.

  I’d let him get away with it, content to snuggle on his couch and make out. I hadn’t pressed the matter, either. For the most part he appeared fine, but my intuition still sounded warning bells. Was it normal for him to keep a part of himself from me? To hold me a little at arm’s length? I simply wanted to be his with my entire body and soul, but something was holding him back.

  Shaking my head, all this musing wasn’t helping the fact I was thirty minutes into class and had yet to make a single stroke across the canvas. At this rate, the only thing my teacher could grade me on was my ability to stare off into space.

  Somehow, I didn’t think he’d consider that an option.

  Sure enough, as Mr. Potter approached, his usual jovial expression faded. “Are you all right, Miss Blue?”

  Paint dripped from my brush onto the easel’s ledge, proof that while I had started the process, there was obviously a disconnect. “Yeah, I guess it’s a little slow to come, today.” I smiled as I answered.

  Mr. Potter was definitely one of my most favorite instructors. He had the same eccentric flare I enjoyed and he brought a great sense of enthusiasm to the classroom. He was unlike many of the teachers I’d had during high school, those who stifled my natural inclination to explore through different mediums. His philosophy was there were no mistakes—each choice leading to a remarkable discovery.

  The syllabus he’d handed out the first day mentioned his own work was displayed in a gallery somewhere in Carmel. I’d made a mental note to go there one weekend and find the studio. There were also a few pieces hanging on the walls, here, in this art room. His vision definitely intrigued me.

  “Sometimes, when I find myself unable to start, I close my eyes and let go. It doesn’t matter what kind of movement I make with the brush, the important thing is it somehow breaks through the wall that’s stopping me.” Patting my shoulder lightly, he offered an understanding smile. “Give it a try. Often times, that’s all it takes.”

  Nodding, I did what he suggested, casting the mystery of Ryder’s preoccupation aside for the moment. I didn’t think as my eyelids fell and my hand lowered. Maybe in the heat of creating, clarity would come.

  “Excellent,” Mr. Potter coached as I made another swipe with my brush. “Now slowly reopen your eyes and keep going.”

  A soft pulse of electricity ebbed through me, signaling that I’d have no further problems working for the remainder of the class period. Vaguely, I could sense him moving away, walking on to the next student.

  The rest of the time was spent in complete thrall to the task before me. I’d slipped quietly into the zone where all sensory distractions faded away into the background and all that was left was painting. While my fruit bowl was still in its early stages, the colors were blending together beautifully. A few more sessions and I could submit it for a grade. I’d already decided to hang it up in the kitchen Heather and I both shared.

  “Yeah, right”, I snorted beneath my breath. Even though most of my recent work had been allocated to decorating my own living space, three pieces had found themselves adorning Ryder’s walls.

  Something told me this particular canvas would suffer the same fate—an object of fascination by the one who told me my art inspired him. Ryder’s compliments weren’t restricted to how I looked. I’d quickly learned they extended to everything that pleased him.

  And I pleased him. I was “a breath of fresh air” he’d told me the other day, “a unique soul in a sea of many.” His words warmed my insides. He made me feel beautiful and valued. I mattered to him and it was a heady sensation to embrace.

  “Wow, you really are good,” Chastity murmured, her comment pulling me out of yet another Ryder reverie. “For a while there I was beginning to think you were a statue. What did Ian tell you?” While I liked to use his formal title, my classmate had no problem using Mr. Potter’s first name.

  “He gave me some advice on how to center myself. I guess it was pretty obvious my mind was elsewhere.”

  “Problems at home?” Chastity asked, her brown eyes narrowing slightly with concern. On the first day, when I’d walked into the classroom and looked about for the space I’d be calling my own for the semester, the pretty brunette had seemed the least intimidating of the small group. I didn’t know whether it was the inviting smile she offered when our eyes met, or the fact I recognized the same flash of uncertainty at be
ing amongst strangers, but we’d exchanged snippets of conversations back and forth and began developing a rapport.

  She was a local who’d been accepted into the program and still lived with her parents. Even though she liked to groan she didn’t have any privacy, constantly bombarded by four younger brothers and sisters, her easy-natured personality was a perfect fit with mine.

  “Not really, “I started, tempted to share that I rarely spent time there, anyway. When I wasn’t in school or working with Ryder, I was at his apartment. That was another thing that had simply evolved on its own—not that I was complaining. “I think it was just a case of squirrel.”

  “See, that’s why I think we’re going to be great friends!” Chastity laughed, the sound loud and boisterous. “We even speak the same. I used that term with my mom the other day and you’d have thought I was speaking another language.”

  I chuckled. “It’s because we’re so cool. We know all the latest lingo.”

  “Or we make up our own,” she retorted.

  Squirrel was one of my favorite new explanations for my ability to be in the middle of one thing and make extraordinary leaps onto another topic or theme—sometimes so completely opposite from what I was doing it baffled even me on how I landed there. Ryder liked to tease me about it, telling me whenever I had a ‘squirrel’ moment, it took him a few seconds to catch up before I was off on another tangent.

  To me, it was how my brain worked. Meeting Chastity was like encountering a kindred spirit. Our budding friendship made sense.

  “Of course. Like I said, we’re cool.” I couldn’t hold my serious expression long before bursting into laughter as I began packing away my supplies. Leaning over to peer at her easel, I let out a soft whistle. “Wow yourself. I love it. Very Salvador Dali of you.” He was one of my favorite all-time artists and seeing his influence in Chastity’s painting impressed me—the banana she’d created was a vivid yellow melting over the top of the other fruit before dripping over the edge of the bright blue bowl and pooling on the table she’d drawn. Without a doubt, she was talented.

  “Mmmm, I don’t know,” she answered critically, scrunching her eyes as she stared at her work in progress. “I don’t know. Something’s missing.”

  I knew exactly what she was saying. As artists, we were often our own worst critics. For all the beauty we surrounded ourselves with, we also saw the flaws. “Maybe with fresher eyes, you’ll figure it out. For what it’s worth, I think it’s good.”

  Shrugging, Chastity gave her canvas one last look before turning back to me. “So, when do I get to meet this wonderful Ryder you’re so smitten with?” Neatly changing the subject, she stood aside as I grabbed my brushes to clean.

  “One day. For right now, though, I want to keep it just me and him.”

  “Ahh, the honeymoon stage. I bet the sex is hot. Am I right?”

  Her question made me almost choke on my spit and I coughed. That was another thing about Chastity, she was as bold as they come. If she thought it, she said it. No filter. “I don’t ever kiss and tell.”

  “Ugh, you’re killing me, girl. I need to live vicariously through you. My life is so pitiful right now . . . take mercy on me, please. I’m begging you, throw me a bone, at least.” Chastity pouted, batting her eyelashes as she gave me puppy dog eyes.

  “Nope. I’m afraid you’re going to have to find someone else to glean your gossip from. My lips are sealed.” To add extra emphasis, I pretended to zip my lips.

  “Fine,” she answered dramatically. “Have fun with your hottie while the rest of us endure a never ending drought of celibacy.”

  “Well, if you’re that desperate for some loving, you could always ask Joshua out.” I couldn’t help but grin, shaking out the extra water from my brushes and turning the faucet off. Joshua Meeks was one of the freshman guys at the Academy, whom I truly felt was misunderstood. He was quiet and tended to keep to himself instead of joining in with some of the noisier groups of students. I’d gotten a chance to briefly talk with him before my Art Composition class the first day and got the impression he was just as nervous as the rest of us. He just hid it better than most—choosing to be the broody loner.

  “He’s not my type,” Chastity said, taking the brushes and returning them to the supply closet for me. Part of the tuition at Brayson included access to all the equipment we’d need while we studied there, a godsend considering how expensive materials were. It all added up.

  “How do you know?” I laughed.

  “I just do. I guess I’m waiting for my epic love. Like yours and Ryder’s.”

  Her comment brought me up short. “I’m not in love.” I snorted, rolling my eyes. “We only just met.” While he definitely made me feel things I’d never felt before, the idea I was falling in love with him made me pause. I believed in love at first sight, but I’d never experienced it. It was too soon to be uttering such platitudes.

  “Sure, sure,” she grinned knowingly. “I may be going through a dry spell right now, but I have a sixth sense about these things. I know how to read the signs.”

  “Then you need to get laid because you’re wrong about this. It’s too early.”

  Chastity pointed her finger, jabbing it toward me. “Mark my words. I’m never wrong.”

  Shoving her gently toward the door, I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. While my head agreed with everything I’d said, providing me with all the logical reasons that it wasn’t possible, my heart continued to whisper that maybe, just maybe, there was a semblance of truth to it.

  “Come on, delusional,” I finally spoke.

  I didn’t know if I was in love with Ryder—like love love—but there was definitely a sensation of falling . . . somewhere. What that meant, exactly, would have to wait for future pondering. For right now, school was done for the day and it was time to go home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ryder

  Shooting into the sky like a bullet, my wings were pressed down against my back, my arms at my sides, hands balled into fists. I tilted my face upward so I could feel the force of the wind sweeping over my features and through my hair. Zooming higher and higher, I didn’t stop until the twinkling lights of San Francisco were so far below me they sparkled like tiny diamonds.

  Slowing, I extended my wings, letting them catch the air fully, so they worked almost like a parachute, allowing me to hover and stare down at the civilization beneath me. I was so high I could see major cities clear down the coast, Los Angeles, Anaheim, San Diego, and all the suburbs tucked in between. From this height, the ocean was just a mass of inky blackness. There was no moon out tonight to reflect on the water.

  Lifting my head, I stared at the stars glittering across the sky. They held no mystery for me. I knew exactly what was out there, having taken the time to explore, previously. I briefly thought of my parents, both angels—I hadn’t seen them since they’d given up their Wanderer status and returned to the Realm. I was sure they were happy, but it was a life I wasn’t sure I could ever embrace. All of creation called to me, I had a hard time staying in one place for too long.

  Which was precisely what brought me here to this moment. Glancing back to the earth beneath me, it was easy to realize that I’d obviously come across that one thing I’d always believed to be elusive—love. I should’ve known immediately what it was. There was a reason my relationship with Skylar felt so different from the very beginning. We were meant to be together.

  It just happened so damn fast. I chuckled to myself, noting that some of her earthly slang—or swearing, was making its way into my speech patterns. It shouldn’t surprise me. We spent nearly every spare minute we had, together. I’d be with her right now if she didn’t have a night class. As it was, I found myself constantly watching the clock, waiting for her to return. Frustration coursing through me, I’d finally taken to the skies, determined to burn some of this pent-up emotion inside me.

  I had some big decisions ahead of me. I knew she was getting frustrated with me as I continua
lly pushed off our consummation. But there were so many things to consider. All in all, I wasn’t worried about making a commitment to her for the rest of her life. In measures of time, a human life span wasn’t that long, and the ability to control my appearance would make the aging thing a non-issue. I could simply change and appear to slowly age with her.

  There was the matter of children, however. We were both totally capable of mating and producing children together; but there was a catch to that, too. Our children would be immortal, as well. Not Wanderers, but human in appearance with extreme enhanced physical abilities.

  Immortals were earthbound and unable to procreate with another human or immortal, though they could procreate with an angel . . . you know, if they ever had the chance to meet one. Did I want to have a child who’d be raised as a part of this race, but would never be able to grow up and have children with a species that they considered their own? It hardly seemed fair.

  Another thing to consider was the fact that the mother of this child would grow old and die, leaving my child and me without the beauty of her presence in our lives. There would be no happy afterlife reunion for us. She would move on to her earthly heaven, a place where neither I, nor a child of ours, would have access to.

  Just the thought made my heart clench inside me. Was I so greedy as to take the offered few decades of her life that she had left to live? Was I strong enough to live the rest of eternity without her once she died? As long as it had taken me to find love, I wasn’t too optimistic about it turning up again, for me, any time soon. And if it did, it would most likely leave me in the same quandary that I was in right now.

  I glanced back at the sky. “Bagilenu efficere ego efficere?” What do I do? I asked the stars in the angelic language of my birth, as if they could somehow provide the answer for me.

  There was no reply, though, simply silence and the slight fluttering of my wings. I was alone—a single entity with no connection to anyone in the Universe.

  A slow smile spread across my face and I nodded at the stars in thanks. “Enim Tuus Consilium.” For your wisdom. Their silence had told me everything I needed to know.