Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow (A Young Adult Paranormal Romance) (The Secrets of Somerled)

by L. L. Muir

  Skye closed her eyes. If she answered, it was going to sound so bad.

  “Could you rephrase the question?”

  He was glaring, his face beet-red.

  “I mean, if you rephrase the question, ask what you really want to ask, I promise to tell you the truth.”

  “He didn’t tell you voluntarily. You either beat it out of him, or Lucas sucked on his brain or something.”

  “Ask. What. You really. Want. To ask.”

  “Did you kill him like the other guy? Lift him up in the air and blow him up?”

  “Ray’s not dead, you idiot.”

  Holy cow! She’d just called him an idiot. She’d never said a rude thing to anyone before.

  “Right. So much for telling the truth.”

  “Oh, Jamie, Ray and Burke are fine. Better than fine. You’ll see.” She stopped herself from sending him a suggestion. So far, he’d forgotten about that.

  “As in they’ve gone to a far better place, you mean.” He put his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m tired already. Maybe we should just get on with it.”

  “Get on with what?”

  Skye tried to get into his head again, but all she saw was a list, then it was gone. Get Skye to leave her car at the school, was one of things checked off. She dropped forward, onto her knees in front of him.

  “Jamie, please. Get on with what?!”

  He looked down his nose at her then, his once-warm eyes now icy cold.

  “Rule number two,” he said blandly, “never call me Jamie.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jamison stood up, helped Skye stand, then opened the box he’d been sitting on.

  She backed away.

  He pulled out a couple of bottles of water—cool enough, since they’d been sheltered from the heat in the room. Behind the water was a box of power bars. He ripped it open and took out two before closing the lid.

  His hands were shaking. He folded the blanket up small and put it on the box, then dropped his butt on it. He chucked her one of the waters and the other power bar. She didn’t touch them; he pretended like he didn’t care. He opened his water and took a long drink, but he couldn’t eat. The power bar was pushed aside and he stretched out his legs and crossed his heals.

  Maybe she’d been telling the truth in class; maybe she did fear nothing.

  He was living right up to his name, though, by failing miserably at being a badass.

  “You were saying?” He nodded to her, like he was giving her permission to talk.

  “No. I was asking. Get on with what?”

  “No. You were about to tell me what in the bloody hell you are.”

  She smiled, damn her. “Ask Ray.”

  Please, God. Let Ray be alive. Make them bring him back so I can ask him anything. But even as he prayed, he knew that if Ray came climbing up into the tree house just then, he wouldn’t believe it was him. They could probably make a replacement.

  She wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “You said, that first day in the school parking lot you couldn’t read minds. That proves you are capable of lying.”

  “No, I asked told you not to imagine I could read minds.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No, not really. It didn’t matter what you thought. I can read minds, sometimes.” She sat back against the wall and folded her arms. “You just prayed that Ray is alive, so you can question him.”

  “A good guess. Care to try again?”

  “Fine. Think something very specific, like when you prayed.”

  “I didn’t pray.”

  “So you think.”

  “Okay, give me a minute.” He remembered what Rachel had told him earlier. No way could she guess that.

  Mr. Evans is dating his ex-students.

  Skye shook her head.

  “What? Give up?”

  “No. And no, Mr. Evans is only dating one of his ex-students.”

  Impressive, but then again, she came from a race that could erase memories.

  “We’re not going to be seeing Mr. Evans again. It’s too bad. He was an interesting teacher. Made kids want to go to class, you know?”

  “That can’t happen. He can’t just let some substitute read our papers! He promised.” Jamison grabbed his hair, trying to hear his thoughts over the alarms sounding in his head.

  What had Evans said? If I can’t get this back to you, I’ll destroy it? Of course! He already knew he was taking off. Jamison didn’t need to worry. No sub would be reading about Texas.

  “What are you talking about?” Skye frowned.

  Maybe she couldn’t read every thought. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to bring his focus back to the current crisis.

  “What happened?” he sneered. “Some of your people blow him up?”

  She threw him a look full of pain, and he didn’t think it was all due to his snottiness.

  “You think I would have blown up Marcus? He was like a father to me.” She covered her face for a minute, then dropped her hands in her lap. “We don’t blow people up and we didn’t murder your friends.”

  “What happened to Mr. Evans?”

  “He’s eloping. Tonight.”

  Jamison wished he’d gotten more sleep. Maybe he’d have been more patient. As it was, he wanted to shake her. She knew what he wanted. She just needed to give it up.

  “No, I don’t know what you want.”

  Wow.

  It was now or never.

  “What I want is simple. I’m not going to let you go until you tell me the whole thing. What are you? Where are they hiding Ray and Burke’s bodies? What did you do with their families? And no one had better touch mine, or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  He opened his mind to her again, for a visual of a case of dynamite. Then he slammed his thoughts shut.

  Skye grinned. Then she chuckled. Then she laughed her butt off. “Jamison!” She tried to stop smiling, but couldn’t. “I’ve been in Kenneth’s basement. Those crates are empty. All of them.”

  Jamison fumed. It didn’t matter what he did, she messed it all up. All day long, things had gone perfectly. Why couldn’t she just do or say something he anticipated?

  He was just a joke to her. A disposable neighbor. And now he’d made such a mess of things, he’d probably put his mom in danger. Again. And Granddad!

  ***

  Skye hit that patch of icy road again, the one in Jamison’s mind, protecting the entrance to Texas. The worry in his eyes was no laughing matter. This had to stop. She had no choice.

  Boy, if the situation wasn’t a great argument against removing memories, she didn’t know what was. Having that debate with Lucas, however, would never happen. If she told him what had been going on in the tree house, it would unfold just as Jamison suspected; he wouldn’t be allowed to remember a thing.

  But watching Jamison lose his mind wasn’t something she could stand by and watch either.

  She thought about her primary duty. Malfunctions aside, she did know what that was. And if her decisions were made with only that duty in mind, she had no choice. But this time it was different. Her new emotions had created all kinds of choices. And this time, because she was able, she was going to keep Jamison’s memories out of Lucas’s reach.

  “Okay. You win.” She sat back down and locked her fingers around her knees.

  His mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again. Finally, he recovered. “Start talking.”

  Just then Skye felt Lucas’s thoughts nudge her for the second time. She’d already made her decision, so she didn’t have to think about what to do.

  Don’t worry about me. Don’t look for me. I’m safe. Very important. Don’t worry. I’ll return in the morning.

  Lucas knew a planted suggestion when he got one. He might be curious, but he wouldn’t come looking for her.

  “All right. You can relax. I just convinced Lucas that I’m in no danger and not to look for me.”

  “You
lied to him, then. You are in danger.”

  Skye had started peeling her coat off, but stopped. She stood and lunged forward, her face stopping only inches from Jamison’s. Her coat, caught around her elbows, held her arms back, as if she’d had enough and needed to be restrained.

  It worked. He flinched, if only a little.

  “I am fine, Jamison. I can’t not be fine. I have no fear. I don’t need to eat, drink, or sleep.”

  He looked only a little surprised. Maybe he believed as Ray had, that she was an alien, or a vampire.

  “Okay. What are you?”

  “What do you think I am?” She straightened.

  “A monster.”

  Okay. That hurt.

  Skye backed up and sat down. “I’ll start at the beginning, if you don’t mind.” Her voice sounded weak, wounded. She cleared her throat. Better.

  “We’ve got all night.”

  She ignored him.

  “In the beginning, we all resided in Heaven. Me, you, everyone. Right?”

  He said nothing.

  “There was a war. God’s side won, of course. And a third of the Hosts of Heaven, those who sided with Satan, were cast out of Heaven with him. Right?”

  “I don’t remember.” He rolled his eyes.

  She looked at him then, with all the intensity of her soul. “I. Do.”

  “Hah.” Jamison snorted. When she didn’t smile, he leaned back and folded his arms. “I’m listening.”

  “Trust me. A third of the Hosts were cast out with Satan. The rest of us were to come to Earth, to gain bodies and be tested.”

  “Something go wrong with the plan? I don’t remember Sunday School either.”

  “This part isn’t taught in Sunday School.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Shut up, Jamison, if you want to hear what I am.” There it was again, that unbreakable thing...breaking. But being rude wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she’d suspected.

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “Most of the spirits who remained were willing to come down and be tested.” She paused, not sure of the words to use, not wanting to sound stupid.

  “And?”

  “But there were some who let The Father know that they didn’t want to risk it, and if there was something they could do instead, instead of receiving a body and risking failure down here, then they would prefer it.”

  “A Host of Cowards.” He smirked.

  While Skye appreciated the fact that Jamison had lightened up considerably in the last few minutes, he didn’t have to be so astute. It was why she’d tried to choose her words carefully.

  “The Final Host, actually. It’s what we’re called.”

  “You’re called? The Somerleds are the Host of Cowards?”

  “Jamison, don’t be a jerk. Well, don’t be a worse jerk than you’ve been all night.”

  Oh, she was on a roll. Show her an unbreakable rule and she’d shatter it with a snap.

  He looked a little surprised too.

  “Yes, I just called you a jerk.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Oh. Sorry. What were you thinking?”

  “That you’re not real.”

  It was nearly as bad as being called a monster.

  He shook his head.

  “Sorry. Back up. I didn’t mean that. I meant I was just trying to wrap my brain around what you are.” He stood and grabbed the blanket out from under him, then, as he went to put it around her shoulders, he paused.

  “What?” She put her hand to her face, expecting him to say she had something on her nose or something.

  “I suppose you don’t get cold?”

  She looked wistfully at the blanket, at the comfort it represented. He’d brought it to her. He was beginning to soften, to return to the boy she knew.

  “No, I don’t get cold.” She looked away, though why she was embarrassed by admitting it, she had no idea.

  “Sorry. Go on. I’ll try to believe you.” He sat, but put the blanket over his legs, then wrapped his arms around his knees.

  “Okay. Well. The Agreement was made with The Father, that we would serve him as...angels, for lack of a better word. We are sent to, um, answer some prayers, or to help maintain the illusion of a community so those prayers can be answered by others of our...kind.”

  “So are you answering someone’s prayers, or are you here to keep up appearances?”

  “I’m here to answer one of your grandfather’s prayers.”

  Jamison blinked a few times, then started laughing. Then he laughed so hard he was clutching his stomach. She couldn’t help but smile, even though his laughter sounded a bit manic.

  “What’s so funny?”

  It took a moment for him to find his breath.

  “Haven’t you ever seen his t-shirt? The one that says, ‘God only answers a Scotsman’s prayers. The rest of ye are on yer own?’”

  She had to laugh then. “Yes, I’ve seen it. Nurse Harmon won’t let him wear it out of his room. She says it would depress the rest of the patients.”

  He laughed again, then he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. Soon his smile fell from his face.

  She realized she’d broken rule number one, again.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jamison was getting loopy. He'd think something had been slipped into his water bottle if he hadn't opened it himself.

  Was he really buying the idea that Skye was an angel? Did he even believe in God? Of course he’d caught himself praying all the time, just in case, but did he buy it?

  When he'd laid his head on his granddad's bed that day, the old man had said it. “She's an angel.” Had she confessed? Had she told Granddad she was there to answer his prayer?

  He was positive he didn't want to ask what that prayer was. What if he'd prayed for death? She’d been around for three years. What if he'd been depressed and asked to join Grandma, to get out of a world in which his own daughter returned his unopened letters and treated him like...a monster?

  “Skye?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I'm sorry I called you a monster, before.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, tell me. Where are these friends I can’t remember seeing since I came back to Flat Springs?”

  She leaned forward and looked him in the eye and willed him to believe her.

  “They're getting help. They'll be back.”

  “Help?”

  “Rehab.”

  “Or are their memories getting adjusted?”

  “That, too. But they are in rehab.”

  “Better than dead, I guess.”

  She laughed and leaned back against the wall again. “That's probably a good slogan for any rehab—Better than dead.”

  “And Marcus? What happened to him?”

  “His assignment was over. He went back. He'll get another assignment.” She was careful to keep her tone unemotional.

  “And the explosion?”

  “That was just our version of a dust to dust bit. His, um—”

  “Body?”

  “More like...container—it wasn't needed anymore. We can't just leave them lying around or bury them for someone to dig up and dissect decades from now.”

  “Oh. Right.” He eyed her clothes. “What about all the Somerled farms. Why farms?”

  “We may as well be productive. There are Somerleds in cities, too. They're just productive in other ways.”

  “So, Somerled means the Final Host guys?”

  “Well, no. It means ‘called of God,’ actually.”

  “But you guys all know each other.”

  “Not really, but it wouldn’t be hard to find each other, like if one of us needed help.”

  He looked at the power bar on the floor. “You don't eat?”

  “Just for show, baby.” She smiled, but he only glanced at her when she answered, like he was judging her honesty, then he’d stare at the floor until he
had another question.

  “So you don't need the food you produce.”

  “Right. We send it all over the place. Disaster zones, that kind of thing. You have no idea how much food gets prayed for.”

  “Well, that's cool, then.”

  “It's always cool. It's not as if we'd be answering prayers for bad things. Like when someone prays someone else would die or something.”

  “Well, if someone's praying for that, they probably don't expect to get what they prayed for.”

  “Right.”

  He was eyeing her funny again. She couldn't read his mind. How had he so quickly learned how to block her?

  “So, how old are you?” He blushed, a darker shade of shadow in the eerie candle light. “I mean, I was kissing you, and you're probably... Oh, man. I don't know.”

  “Old like a vampire? Hah! Get real.”

  “So old you don't like to admit your age, then.” He looked like he was going to be sick.

  He looked around until he found a bucket sitting in the corner, though he didn’t go get it. What a relief. She hated seeing people retch, although it always made her appreciate the fact she’d never need to purge herself that way.

  “Age. Right. Well, I don't have a body, so I don't age. All souls are immortal, so there is no accounting.”

  “So, how many assignments have you had?”

  “Oh, well, that's a better question. Let's see.” She looked into the candle for a minute, counting. “Fourteen.”

  “Fourteen lives? You're kidding.” He glanced at the bucket again. She wanted to put it over his head and pound on it.

  “Fourteen assignments, not lives. I’m not a cat. Some assignments take more than a year. This assignment’s lasted three. And some took less than a week. So if you ask how long I've been around, I really can't say how many days, total, I've been in this state.”

  “This state. You mean, in a container.”

  “Yes. Contained.”

  “Do you look the same every time?”

  She wished. She also wished she didn’t have to answer the question, but she did.

  “No.”

  Stupid boy. He looked intrigued. Maybe he wasn’t too bright; he was buying her story without any proof. She could be an alien, or a vampire, or any kind of monster a boy his age could imagine.

  Jamison looked her over pretty shamelessly. He went to his knees in front of her, running his hands down her arms. Poking her just below her collar bone. Pulling down her cheek to peer into her eye. He even opened her mouth and shined his small blue flashlight down her throat.