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

by L. L. Muir

  She rolled her eyes through it all, but he didn’t seem to care. Then she remembered that she was no longer real to him.

  Her cracking teenage heart wasn’t real to either of them, and yet she could almost hear it fracturing, like ice being dowsed with warm water.

  “Why do you feel normal?” He sounded like a chatty seven-year-old.

  “I have surface tension. Like drops of water drawn together, the stuff I'm made of struggles to stay together. The rest of it is illusion.”

  “And what does a Host look like without the container?” There was nothing seven-year-old about his question. He’d tried to make it sound like an innocent question, but he failed; his voice cracked slightly, and he blushed all the way to his blond roots.

  “Nothing.” She hoped her firm tone might discourage him.

  “Nothing? Invisible?”

  “Kind of. We are, but we aren't. It's hard to explain.”

  His brows went up. “You took your clothes off before. Why?”

  She had hoped he’d have forgotten that detail after being handed all her secrets on a silver platter, but apparently the thought of a naked girl standing behind him wasn’t an easy thing for a seventeen-year-old to forget.

  “I thought I could get out the door without you seeing me. But you locked it. I wouldn't have taken off my clothes if I thought you might lock me in with you.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “So, take your clothes off again.” He blushed, but managed to look her in the eye.

  “You know? I'm going to pass.”

  “Oh, come on. You can't really expect me to believe all this stuff about the Final Host if you can't prove it.”

  “I read your mind.”

  “Not good enough. Aliens can do that. Probably Vampires too.”

  All right. So he wasn’t completely gullible. But apparently she was, since she found herself stripping for him—after she’d made him turn around, of course.

  ***

  Jamison tried not to get too excited about Skye taking off her clothes. She wasn’t a real girl so it wasn’t the same. She might be fifty years old. She might be a hundred...or seven. Either way, it was nothing to get excited about. He was only making sure he wasn’t out of his mind, believing his neighbors were a bunch of harmless angels and not a cult of murderers, when everything he’d seen thus far leaned toward the cult thing. Turning his back on her might not even be a good idea.

  “Okay, you can look now.” She sounded embarrassed.

  He reconsidered for about a hundredth of a second, then turned.

  Holy crap, she was gone.

  He took a couple of deep breaths and realized he was the only one breathing, so he tried not to breathe so loud. She wasn’t in any of the corners and not under the Indian blanket, since it was puddled on the box. His only company was the heater in the middle of the floor, making crackling noises as it kicked on again.

  When you were alone, in a room lit by a candle and a dinky flashlight, and the shadows start moving, it made you sincerely wish someone was there with you.

  “Skye?” His whisper sounded silly, but what else could he do? Speak reasonably to an empty room?

  “Yeah?” She sounded close.

  “Where are you?”

  “Right here. In front of you.”

  He reached out, but his wrist was caught by an invisible hand. There really was nothing there. His skin was a little bunched up where she held him. That was all.

  Wow.

  “Keep your hands to yourself, Jamison.”

  “I can't see anything. I just want to know what the real you feels like.”

  “Can’t you feel my hand?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Yeah but nothing. I feel the same as I did when you could see me. The container is still here. I just reflect what you expect to see.”

  “But I expected to see you.”

  “I meant, if you didn’t know I was here. You see what you’d see anyway. But that reminds me; what did you think you saw, up in the trees, when Sheriff Cooke pulled you over?” She released his hand and he could sense her moving out of reach.

  “What do you mean?” He put his hands in his pockets, for his own sake, as much as hers. When there was someone invisible standing in front of you, you just couldn’t help wanting to reach out and...define them.

  “It looked like you could see me, that’s all. I was sitting up in the branches that connect over the road, and when I laughed, you looked up, like you could see me. But that was impossible.”

  Jamison looked at the floor and shrugged. How could he tell her how often he thought about that laugh and not sound stupid? How could he tell her how it had made him feel that first time, in the school parking lot, when it had felt like...music? Like...bliss? His mom talked about bliss all the time; chocolate was bliss, a hot bubble bath was bliss, rocking him to sleep when he’d been small—bliss.

  That’s what Skye’s laugh had felt like to him, bubbling up his spine, spreading chills into his head. It was like the way he felt when he drove under that arch of branches. If he heard her laugh that day, he probably just looked to the other source of those feelings—the gateway to home.

  How could he tell her any of it and still keep her prisoner?

  Then something else occurred to him.

  “What do you mean, you laughed?” He would have stared her down, if he could tell where she was. “You were up in the trees doing what? Watching me?”

  “Yes, well, I, um, I felt you getting nearer, thought you were coming home, but then you just stopped and I wanted to find out why. So I slipped off my clothes and went out to look.”

  He pushed aside the image of her stripping before she headed out the door to look for him and tried to keep his mind on his own question.

  “So you saw that I’d been pulled over, and you laughed.”

  “No. I was laughing at what I saw in Dwain Cooke’s memories, about how many times he’d been pulled over when he was young. I was trying to dredge up those memories so he’d have a little pity on you, that’s all.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t good. It was kinda cool and all that she could feel him coming closer—okay, if they’d have been a real couple, that would have been way cool—but the idea that she could dredge up memories, and make someone relive them, made him want to run very far away.

  “Do you suppose you could make me a promise, and never break that promise?” He looked at the boarded up window, imagining the field beyond.

  “Do you suppose you could trust me to keep that promise?”

  He shrugged. “Promise me you won’t do that to me. Promise you won’t ever use my memories against me like that.”

  “I promise,” she whispered.

  A chill ran up his back and he wondered if it was because of the whisper, or because it had come from an unexpected direction. It was as if she had stretched up and given her solemn promise right next to his ear.

  Then he felt her behind him. Her unseen arms wrapped around his middle and she hugged him, gently but firmly.

  “I promise,” she repeated.

  He placed his arms over hers and held her there.

  “What about my prayers, Skye? Can they not be answered now? Now that I know?”

  “I don't know. Maybe not. I mean, if you've figured out that you can sometimes get what you pray for, you might end up using prayers more like wishes, only you'll never know which will be granted. Still, it’s not quite fair. Once you know the truth, it’s not like acting on faith.”

  “And what if I wished you were just a normal girl and the tree house had never been here?”

  “I'd say, be careful what you wish for.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As Skye walked around the end of the fence, she realized something was very wrong.

  It was bad enough she felt disappointed. She’d suggested, verbally, that Jamison let her go home and they continue their discussion the next day. He’d agreed, on the condition she wou
ld prevent Lucas from ever erasing his memories, or trying to read his mind again. He’d settled for her promising the first. She didn’t know how Lucas would feel about it, but she would fight and argue and appeal to a higher authority if necessary.

  And Jamison let her go.

  In spite of how badly he’d managed to scare her, if only for what might happen to him, she’d been disappointed.

  Ridiculous. What else had she wanted to do up there? Play house?

  Aaagh! She had wanted to do just that!

  But as she neared her front door, it was some other dread that stole over her.

  Raised voices?

  Impossible.

  Her hand couldn’t seem to turn the knob, but it didn’t matter; someone did it for her.

  Jonathan frowned and dragged her through the door. Her boot caught on the rug, but she regained her balance.

  It would have been funny, having this man act like the angry father when his teen daughter stumbles through the door in the middle of the night. But he was not her father, couldn’t possibly be worried that something had happened to her, or be angry that she’d somehow broken her word.

  Implied age had nothing at all to do with their relationship. They all had their own duties to fulfill. None of them would fail. What was there to worry over?

  “Jonathan?”

  He shook his head, as if he didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of what he might say. His hair flopped back and forth and as always, she tried not to stare at it.

  “What is it? Were you worried about me?” She was confused, touched, but even to her own ears, she sounded more like the belligerent teenager she appeared to be. “I’m sorry if you were.”

  “Tell her!” Jonathon looked over her shoulder and released her so she could turn and see who he was talking to.

  Lucas stood in his whitest robes, blocking the entrance to the rest of the house. His arms weren’t folded, as they usually were when he was playing the part of Leader. Instead, they hung limp and lifeless at his sides. She had no doubt she could push him out of the way with one finger.

  His brow wasn’t its usual stretch of smooth good humor; it was twisted as if with heartache. Had she somehow betrayed the man? Or Jonathan? They both acted as if she’d done just that.

  She had suggested they not worry about her, not to come looking. What else had she done? Nothing but promise Jamison she’d stop Lucas from touching his memories again. That was all.

  “Tell her, Lucas.”

  “What is it? Have I done something...wrong?”

  Lucas winced.

  Dear Lord! She couldn’t have! If she’d truly sinned, in her present state, there was nothing to save her. She wouldn’t be allowed back Home.

  But wait! She couldn’t have sinned. It was in The Agreement, that they’d be incapable of sin...of breaking...unbreakable rules.

  She’d been rude? That was it? If one could be barred from Home for being rude, it was a wonder anyone returned at all. The Final Host would prove to have made the wisest choice possible if everyone were to be judged so harshly.

  “Lucas please.” Jonathan’s voice was now soothing. “She’s jumping to terrible conclusions. Tell her, so she can stop thinking the worst. So she can decide.”

  Jonathan had read her correctly. There was nothing so terrible than the thoughts crashing in her head.

  “Yes, Lucas. For someone immune from fear, I’ve entertained enough of it tonight to make me want to run Home and let someone else finish my duty.”

  “Well, Skye, that’s exactly what you need to decide. And you’ll have to make that decision on your own. We’ve been told not to interfere.”

  “Told not to interfere with what?”

  “Your choices. Your assignment. Your...choices.”

  “What he cannot seem to tell you, my friend, is that he must stay his hand and his tongue where you are concerned. Do not seek our council. We cannot give it. You will have shelter here. You may move among us. But you will keep your own council, Skye.”

  “Shunned? I’m to be shunned? Are we suddenly Amish, Jonathan?”

  He ignored her.

  “Tell me, Skye. How does Jamison Shaw remember things that have been removed from his mind?” Lucas looked both worried and intrigued. Mostly worried.

  “I don’t know. He won’t tell me. At least he won’t tell me while he worries the knowledge will be used against him, that his mind will be...cleaned again.”

  “Is it not that you have reminded him?”

  That set her back on her heels.

  “You think I would—or even could—tell him what we didn’t want him to remember?”

  “Have you not broken an unbreakable?”

  “Did you listen to the whole conversation? If you had, you’d know that I have no idea how he was able to remember.” She felt like someone had been listening in on a private phone conversation...or reading her diary! How dare they eavesdrop! She’d told them not to!

  How could she be so emotional?

  She knew that in reading others, Jonathan was capable of reflecting the emotion he read. In all likelihood, it was not Jonathan who was upset with her, but Lucas. He was usually a jovial soul, which proved he emitted a bit more emotion than other Somerleds. So it stood to reason he was capable of the opposite; Lucas fumed, so Jonathan had exploded for him.

  Then he’d read the fear in her and done what Jonathan did best, soothed her.

  “I’m sorry. This just doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong. I am being punished?”

  “Truly, I’m not sure.” Lucas put a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  “Perhaps you were mistaken. Perhaps it was only my suggestion you heard, that you not worry about me or come looking for me, that it was important that you do not.”

  “Silly Skye.” Lucas finally had a slight smile for her. “Your suggestion is how we knew where you were. We listened only for a moment before young Jamison blocked us out.”

  “Talented boy, for a mortal.” Jonathan smiled too.

  “I worry about what might have given him such talents. And where those talents will lead him.”

  While in Jamison’s mind, Lucas must have come across those Texas experiences. And though she was tempted to ask, she felt it might jeopardize the promise she’d made Jamison.

  “So, let me get this straight, Lucas. You are allowed to speak with me, but not influence me.” She looked from Lucas, to Jonathan, and back.

  “Exactly. See? We are not Amish.”

  “No influence. No interference? No advice.” She couldn’t hide her smile.

  “What are you thinking?” Lucas lost his humor.

  “That I’m not being punished at all. It’s a teenager’s dream, actually. Pleasant parents.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask the obvious question here?” Jonathan ignored the sharp look he got from Lucas.

  Skye sifted through their conversation, back to the beginning.

  “Have you ever heard of this happening before?”

  “There it is. The question.” Jonathan raised his brows and waited.

  “Well?” Skye crossed her arms and waited for the ball to drop.

  “We’re not allowed to answer. It might influence your choices,” Lucas growled in Jonathan’s direction.

  “Can I ask you something else?”

  “You may ask. We will answer if we can,” Jonathan said simply.

  “If I wanted to go Home...now...before completing my assignment, would I be allowed? And has anyone ever done so?”

  “Do you want to go Home?” Jonathan looked surprised.

  “She wants answers, Jonathan, and thinks she can only get them there.”

  “You’re right. I want answers. And now I can’t ask the questions.”

  “It depends on whom you ask.”

  Lucas gave Jonathan a sharp look. She wasn’t the only one toeing the line that night.

  “No advice,” Lucas roared.

  “Oh, was that advice?” Jonathan
raised an innocent brow.

  Lucas shook his head, his eyes closed as if praying for patience. “Maybe I’ll be told to shun you next, brother.”

  “Maybe you will.” Jonathan grinned and winked at Skye.

  Lucas backed against the corner and rolled his shoulders into the hall, his robes billowing from his quick exit. He disappeared through a doorway.

  “Be careful, Jonathan. I’d hate for someone to be truly punished because of me.”

  Jonathan shook his head then quickly followed Lucas’s path, as if summoned, leaving Skye feeling uncommonly, and completely, alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The substitute for English class was the principal’s secretary. She looked scared to death of the copy of Lost Horizon sitting in the middle of the desk. After she pushed it aside with her pencil, she picked up a stack of papers and tapped them on the desk.

  “Jamison Shaw, come here.”

  He swung his butt out of the chair and went to the front.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Don’t be sassy. Take this.”

  He refrained from explaining that where he was from, it was polite to use “sir” and “ma’am.” Instead, he clamped his lips shut and took the envelope she held out to him.

  “Someone pass these papers out. You, Rachel is it?”

  Miss Phillips hurried to the secretary and took the pile of essays from her. Her big smiles alternating with sympathetic shakes of the head announced each grade before the students could see for themselves. The sub shouldn’t have given them to a student to pass around, but the woman probably couldn’t put the names to faces.

  “Open up your novels and read for the rest of the class period.” She never looked up. Stupid woman; the whole class could have walked right out and she wouldn’t have noticed or wouldn’t have cared. She had better things to do, it seemed, like trying to hack into Mr. Evan’s computer.

  Rachel looked at him and shrugged. No paper for him.

  The envelope in his hand was addressed, “Return this to Mr. Jamison Shaw, first period.”