Kiss Kiss

by Various Authors

  I land back in the attic of the Academy on my true time. A burst of light blinds me as I fly past the cast iron safe from yesterday. My arms and legs flail uncontrollably, and I smash into the person hindering my perfect landing.

  As I’m laid out on the floor, a ring of sparkling dust withers in a mesmerizing haze above me. My wander dust, the residue of time travel, has turned a lovely iridescent shade of violet and brown. Gabe, the Academy’s activities director, once explained that the colors are much like a mood ring. I wonder if violet and brown are the colors for sadness.

  Exhausted with schlag and heartbreak, my body melts to the floor. The person whom I crashed into lugs himself from a jumbled pile of contrapulators. He stands over me with a scowl on his face.

  Turner.

  Figures.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing, Sera? I nearly took your head off.”

  I groan, straining to lift myself to face him.

  He reaches to help me from the floor, and I scream in pain.

  “What have you done to your back? There’s blood seeping through your shirt.” He pauses and bends down to look me over. “I think I recognize this shirt,” he huffs. “You’ve been with Bishop—haven’t you?” He grimaces. “I swear he couldn’t protect an armored truck!”

  “Bishop,” I whisper to myself. My eyes well up with tears. Turner lifts me from the floor with his strong arms and cradles me into his firm chest, somehow without touching my injuries.

  “I need to take you to the nurse, so you better think of your alibi,” he suggests and walks us out of the room to the emergency stairs.

  “No,” I plead through my pain. “My room. Please.” I look up into his eyes, hoping he sees my suffering and understands that this misery extends beyond a mutilated patch of skin.

  “Fine,” he relents.

  He carries me through the halls, looking down to inspect my face every so often. His features are similar to Bishop’s but so different. Maybe it’s his long dark hair or even his complexion that accentuates the deviation, or maybe it’s his annoying attitude.

  When he reaches my door, he nudges it with his knee and it flies open.

  He carries me into my room and gently lays me on the bed. My butt touches the mattress first. Turner rolls me onto my side, careful not to touch the length of my back. My muscles relax into the mattress. He reaches and pulls off my remaining boot and tosses it on the floor.

  “I need to look at your back.”

  “No!” I grunt.

  “It’s me or the nurse. You choose.”

  I roll my eyes. There’s always an ultimatum with him. “Fine.” I’m in no position to argue and too tired to care.

  I roll onto my stomach. His shadow hovers. Carefully he rolls up my t-shirt. The fabric sticks to my back, ripping my skin as he pulls. I wince, and he stops.

  “The blood’s dried to the cotton in some areas. In others, it’s still bleeding.”

  “Just leave it, please.”

  “Absolutely not. I’m beside myself that he didn’t attend to this.”

  “Well, he—he was too busy thinking of a way to break up with me!” I bury my face into the pillow and cry uncontrollably. The schlag has made me irrational and hyperemotional.

  When the tears ease just slightly, Turner’s laugh bellows through my bedroom. I glance at him in horror. How is this funny to him? “Stop it!” I yell; my feelings are hurt further by his rolling laughter.

  “Sera, are you daft? My. God. Woman. He’ll never break up with you!” He’s laughing so hard now, tears stream down his face.

  “He hasn’t yet, but he will!”

  “If that’s why you are so sad, you shouldn’t even waste your energy. You just don’t get it, do you?”

  “I guess not,” I mumble to myself and pull my body into a sitting position.

  Turner’s raspy laughter recedes.

  “You need to take a shower.” He drags me to my feet.

  “Not now, Turner. Really, I’m exhausted.” My head falls to one side.

  “Sera, you’re a train wreck. You’re bleeding, you’re dirty, you’re crusty, and you smell like an old sweaty rugby sock.”

  I narrow my eyes, and he smiles. Before I can decline again, he latches his hands on my shoulders and steers me to the bathroom.

  “I’m not doing this with you here.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  He pushes away the shower curtain, lifts me into the tub, and leans me against the tiled wall. Then he adjusts the faucet and turns on the water. I jump in shock at the warmth. The deluge soaks my clothes. Water splatters my face.

  “And I always pictured showering with you to be so much more fun.” He laughs.

  I find the energy to punch his arm.

  “Ouch! Just kidding, love. I couldn’t resist.” He grins, happy with himself, and spins to leave, closing the door behind him. It creaks open again before I can move. “And I want to look at your back when you get out.” He tosses a pair of pajamas inside. They land on the bathroom sink. “Someone’s got to take care of you!” He slams the door, leaving for good this time.

  ::9::

  Unexpected Return

  I’ll never admit it, but for once Turner’s right. The shower makes me feel about twenty-five percent better. The other seventy-five percent is a lost cause. Only one person can rectify those losses.

  I twist to look at my back in the mirror. My skin resembles ground hamburger meat. The elongated scrapes and gashes really do need medical attention.

  I slip into my cotton shorts and slide on a button-down top, backward, leaving the back open like a hospital gown. It will be easier for Turner to look at my back and better if nothing touches it.

  Turner relaxes on the couch with his feet up when I walk into the living room. Adjacent sits a tray of hot tea and a first aid kit.

  “Feel better?”

  I shrug, with no definitive answer, still traumatized by the thought of losing Bishop. One of Bishop’s old letters sits on the coffee table, opened. Turner’s been reading it. This annoys me to no end but, unlike other times, I don’t have the urge to fight.

  Turner hands me a cup of tea. “The caffeine will kill the schlag long enough for me to tape your back.”

  “Tape?”

  “From what I saw, you would’ve been better off with a stitch or two in a few areas. But it’s too late now. We’ll have to use medical tape to pull the skin back together.”

  I finish my tea and sit next to him, facing away from his face. I pull my hair aside, letting it fall over one shoulder. His fingers lightly graze my skin as he folds each half of the shirt to the side to analyze the injury.

  “How’s it look?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Ghastly. What happened?” He picks up the bottle of antiseptic and cotton balls and continues working with a lithe touch. The liquid stings, but I try to be strong.

  “We were in London, near Nine Elms, I think. It began to rain, and the schlag started getting to me. Bishop wanted to run to your house.”

  “Our house? Really?” He seems surprised.

  “Yes, he wanted me to stay—to talk.” I tremble at the words but keep moving. “All of a sudden, he went all Protector-ish. He sat me on the ground and this person jumped him. They fought, and I tried to help.”

  “Of course you did.” He rubs in more ointment.

  “During the fight I must have passed out because the next thing I know, the attacker is dragging me across the pavement on my back.” I cringe.

  “Who was it?”

  “Didn’t see.”

  “What did they want?”

  “I don’t know. He—she—whoever took off with my jacket and shirt.”

  “Ah, I see. So someone attacked you and Bishop to render you topless. Pervert!” He chuckles.

  I roll my eyes.

  “What does Bishop think?”

  “I have no clue. We haven’t talked about it yet.”

  “Hmm.” He doesn’t elaborate on his
thoughts, but I can hear the mental gears grinding.

  His fingers stretch out several long strips of white tape. He bites each piece off with his teeth then places them firmly in selective spots on my skin.

  “Done,” he announces. He tosses the spool into the medical kit.

  “Thanks.” I turn to him.

  Turner places his hand on my leg. His touch warms my knee, causing tingles to radiate at the point of contact. Confused, I recoil. “Are you flirting with me? Bishop’s gonna—”

  “What? Now that he’s breaking up with you he shouldn’t care one bit if I make a play for his girl,” he says seriously.

  My lips turn down at the corners, and I look away, stifling a sob.

  “Sorry. That was very insensitive.” He turns my face to his and strokes a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “I promise, he will never break up with you.”

  “How do you know? You two don’t talk—at all.”

  “I know because if you were mine, I’d never let you go.” He looks at me with his intense gray eyes. They communicate silently, saying the words that can never be said out loud. Those implicit thoughts keep the air surrounding us thick with tension. Deep down, all along, I’ve known that Turner has feelings for me. His irritating ways are just his twisted attempts at flirting. I’m merely the schoolgirl with long pigtails, and he’s the boy pulling them.

  I look away. “Is that why you’re being nice to me now?”

  “I’m always nice to you.”

  “Really?” I pause and look at him. “Then give back my necklace.”

  “I will, when you explain what you’re doing with it.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  Startled, I look over my shoulder. Samantha James, my Seer, stands at the door in a blue suit that makes her look like a young Grace Kelly. She’s grown half a foot taller over the summer, lengthening her already graceful posture.

  “You’re back early,” I say, hoping she hasn’t seen our silent exchange.

  “Happy to see you, too, Sera.” Sam glides forward. “This place looks like a disaster zone. I guess I can’t expect anything more from you.”

  “Like I said, you’re early.”

  She leans onto the back of the couch, arms stretched wide to each side. Her eyes assess the lack of space between Turner and me. The two of them exchange a curt glance, and I quickly stand.

  “What happened to you?” she says, now eyeing my back. “You two fighting again?” She smirks, knowing the typical turbulence between us.

  “Really, I’m too tired to explain.” I wrap my arms across the front of my body and walk to my room. I trip on a backpack sitting on the floor between the couch and the kitchen. The schlag’s back. “Turner can fill you in.” I yawn. “I’m going to bed.”

  •

  When my eyes open, I know I’ve slept late into the next day. Dust flutters in the air near the window. Warmth of the afternoon sun beams into my room. A vacuum cleaner bangs against the wall in the living room, reminding me that Sam’s home.

  I’m happy for the schlag. Without it, I’m certain I would not have slept last night. My brain would have been too consumed with the uneasy events of the last twenty-four hours. On top of everything, Bishop’s due back later today; this alone puts me on edge. I can’t avoid him forever.

  The vacuum turns off and a stereo flips on. Bach blasts through the apartment. “Air on the G String,” Bishop’s favorite. I’m sure Sam’s irritating me on purpose—to wake me.

  I drag myself off my stomach to a standing position then stumble for the door. I fling it open. “All right, I’m up! You can turn it down now!” I yell.

  The music pops off. I look around for Sam, knowing she’ll say something snarky. Instead, I see Bishop sitting on the floor with a screwdriver in his hand. He’s fixing the doorknob.

  “Sorry.” He scurries to stand. “Sam told me you weren’t here.” He tosses the screwdriver in a toolbox.

  How late is it? I glance at the clock in my room. Three thirty. I stand in shock as he crosses the room. He reaches out and rubs my shoulders with his hands and kisses my forehead. I can’t decipher if the kiss is platonic, because my emotions have been rendered lifeless by my crying. If something has changed between us, I still don’t understand why.

  “What time did you get back?”

  “About two hours ago.”

  “You came early.” I avert my eyes.

  “Yes, there’s something we need to talk about, and it can’t wait any longer.”

  My heart sinks. This cannot be it. I won’t let it. “I—I—I—can’t right now. I’m going to be late for an appointment with, um, Terease!” Yes, I’m supposed to be in her office by four.

  “Okay.” He pauses. “Are you feeling all right? Because you left in such a hurry the other morning, we really didn’t get a chance to hash out what happened with the attacker. How’s your back?”

  “Great!” I gush. “But I really need to get a quick shower and get dressed. You know how Terease freaks if you’re late.”

  “Okay, but promise me you will come straight back.”

  Nervously I shake my head. Having the talk is the last thing I want. I step backward into my room and shut the door in his concerned face.

  Twenty minutes later, I run out the apartment, avoiding all eye contact with Bishop, then hurl myself down the hall.

  The doors to the apartments are open, showing signs of life. Students roam about, congregating in familiar circles, recounting their summer activities.

  When I reach the end of the hall and finally turn the corner into the main atrium, my body screeches to a halt. I stand, stupefied, looking at the person in front of me. Someone I thought I’d never lay eyes on again.

  ::10::

  Aunt Mona

  Perpetua Gray leans against the wall with her hand on her hip. Her steely eyes bore right through me. Before I can react, she walks up and shoves me. She grabs my shirt at the collar with tightened fists, muscling me across the floor.

  “Where’s my crystal, witch?” she yells and forces me back down the hall. She bashes me against the marble wall and I cringe as my injuries scream at me. An eerie silence shoots through the corridor. Every student turns to watch.

  I glance down at her hands twisted into the shoulders of my shirt. I look up at her and smile, taunting her, even though I have absolutely no idea what crystal she’s talking about. How does she even have the guts to show her snotty face here?

  I know what I want to do, what I can do—destroy her. With my enhanced fighting abilities, I can trash her in a millisecond.

  I whip my arm through the air, easily rotating her into a headlock. Perpetua screams, either from pain or from shock. I hope it’s both. My foot swings, and I sweep her legs, dropping her body to the floor with a heavy thwack.

  “Sera!” I instinctively look for the voice. Bishop races down the hall, moving at light speed. Immediately I let go of Perpetua, allowing her to regain the upper hand. Bishop can’t see what I’m capable of—not yet.

  She kicks the back of my knees, and I fall to the ground with the breath knocked out of me and I roll over. She pounds and beats at my chest, but Bishop tears her off before she can render too much damage. I scramble away, still huddled on the floor. He holds her, restraining her in a death grip. Students move closer to get a better view. Turner appears in the crowd, face flushed and clearly upset.

  “Who let you back in?” I yell at her.

  “Terease!” she spits. “I want my crystal back!” Bishop holds her elbows from behind. She pulls away from him, kicking ferociously in my direction.

  Turner grabs my elbow, helping me up from the floor. At the small gesture, Bishop’s eyes flicker a warning.

  Bishop leans into Perpetua and whispers something. Whatever he says, it works, because she finally relents and stops fighting. Even still, her eyes say it all. Wherever this crystal is, the one she thinks I have, it’s important.

  “Let me go.” Perpetua jerk
s away from Bishop. Now free, she shoots me a murderous look. Without another word, she twirls and stomps away, marching down the hall, and enters her old apartment. Her team—Stu, her Wanderer, and Jessica, her Seer, follow her. The door slams shut behind them.

  My mouth hangs open at the realization that she’s back. Her entire team is back! The Academy has readmitted them. Terease readmitted them! Even after they tricked Bishop and me into a meeting with the Underground, where we almost died last semester.

  “What did you say to her?” I look at Bishop in confusion.

  “I simply told her you don’t have her crystal.” His gaze swings from me to Turner and hardens. “Don’t you have a meeting with Terease?” he snaps.

  “Yes.” I nod and hurry away.

  I charge down the sweeping stairs, through the grand atrium, past the indoor pool, and into the maze of teachers’ offices. Terease’s office sits behind a glass-plated wall. Unable to control my temper, I bang on the glass before I stalk in. She’s in a meeting with two men dressed in black suits.

  “You let Perpetua, Stu, and Jessica back into school? Are you out of your flippin’ mind?” I point at her, my lower lip trembles with hatred. Crossing Terease in this manner means you have a death wish.

  She rises from her desk, nostrils flaring. “Leave us!” she yells to the men. They jump from their seats, examining me with curious expressions as they go.

  “Sit!”

  I pace for a second, burning off more fury. Finally, when I think a chair can contain my anger, I sit.

  “I know you will find this hard to believe, but I wanted to tell you she was returning before she got here. That’s why I asked you to my office today.”

  “How can you even think it’s a good idea to let her back in? Any of them?” My blood rushes toward my hands, where I’m clenching the desk’s edge.

  Terease sits down, taking her time to answer. She swivels to face the wall, glancing at TV monitors. They feed video from the security cameras, the E.Y.E.S. She spins again, her silky cropped hair flinging around with her as she does.