Shattered Secrets

by Krystal Wade

  Derick materialized and dropped a lump of towels at my feet. He closed the distance between us and lifted my chin, pinning his angry gaze on Mr. No Manners. “What’s up, Abby? What did he do to you?”

  “Where did… how did… this chick is yours?” The guy backed away, reminding me of the time I yelled at Will for hurting Megan’s feelings and he ran away from me as if I hurt his.

  Will.

  The blond hair and blue eyes flickered out, like watching TV with terrible reception. But unlike watching TV, when the screen cleared, the picture changed. He now had brown hair, brown eyes, a square jaw line, and a long neck.

  He looked just like Will.

  A dull ache throbbed at my temples. Could it be? His dad owned several properties in Florida. Will even complained about all the time he had to spend managing them while he was down here.

  “I didn’t do anything, just said hello and she freaked. I tried to apologize.”

  One look from Derick was all it took to make me realize I’d overreacted, one raised eyebrow, one pitiful glance to the guy behind me, one concerned, what-am-I-going-to-do-with-her look. “Abby?”

  “He’s right. I freaked. All he did was say hello, and I ran away.” I sighed and launched my arms around him, standing on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Does he look familiar to you?”

  “No. Should he?”

  “Will?” I don’t know why, but I reached up and touched Derick’s cheek, and he glanced behind me and gasped.

  “What the… he changed, Abby,” he whispered, hands pressed at my lower back, “Changed completely.”

  “So, uh, just let me know what unit you’re in and I’ll leave you two alone. Sorry I scared you,” the guy said.

  “242.”

  Will’s twin turned.

  “Wait.” Derick rested his chin on top of my head. “She was kidnapped.”

  Pulling away, I nearly smacked him. “Why would you tell him that?”

  “Ouch. Not an easy thing to recover from?”

  I refused to turn around and take my gaze from Derick. Maybe telling random people who we are was part of the Romancer’s act or something, but the guy responded with an appropriate question. Not like the State Trooper in Virginia who said something seemingly off the wall when Derick offered a lame excuse.

  “Being home was too much for Abby.” He laced his fingers with mine and walked toward our new accomplice, keeping me well behind. “We had to get away from the reporters, the cameras, the investigators. Her parents wouldn’t let her out of the house. Cops were all over school. Our life changed. What else could we do?”

  “That sounds like some bad shit, dude. I have a friend in Virginia who was kidnapped just the other day. Her boyfriend and—get this—the dude she’d just gone on a date with rescued her. She and her boyfriend are missing now, both of them. My friend Megan is freaking out because she and this girl are best friends.”

  The sand beneath me vibrated, and I grabbed hold of Derick tighter as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. Will. How could this be Will and I not realize it the second I saw him?

  “You two okay?”

  Derick cleared his throat. “Yeah. Fine.”

  The guy tipped his head toward the condo. “242’s a nice unit. How’d a couple runaways afford that?”

  Derick lifted a shoulder and glanced back at me, his face ashy-white. “Took some money out of my college accounts before we left.”

  At least he still lied about a few things, but if Will eventually recognized us, we’d have to tell him something, namely why he couldn’t figure out who we are. I’d rather lie than tell him everything we’d learned.

  The throbbing at my temples pounded harder.

  Will cracked a smile—and my sanity. “I’m really sorry I freaked you out. For a minute, I thought you were a nut.”

  Ha. Just wait until we tell you the good part. “I’m sorry for running away like a moron. I’m Abby, and this is Derick.”

  “Weird. My friend’s name is Abby, and her boyfriend’s name is Derick.” He leaned his head to the side, narrowing his brown eyes. “You’re not punking me or anything, are you? I mean, their details are plastered all over the news. You could easily make this shit up.”

  Derick and I exchanged glances.

  “Guess the Safe Zone really works,” he whispered, then spoke louder to Will, “Not a prank, man.”

  “Name’s Will.”

  Of course it is.

  Will took a tentative step away from us, toward the surf. “Listen. Megan’s here with me, and we need a distraction. Our moms went on a cruise, and our dads suck at life. I’m throwing a small party with some other lonely rich kids. Wanna come?”

  Megan. I wanted to jump up and down and hug him and thank him. Their trip! Their trip she’d wanted to cancel so she could stay with me.

  I could see Megan, apologize for ditching her exactly how she expected me to, but… “We shouldn’t.” Parties with lots of teenagers and beer usually ended with cops, and Will couldn’t recognize us for a reason: we weren’t safe. Which probably meant texting Megan wasn’t safe, either. “If you get busted, so do we.”

  “Where’s your place?” Derick asked, oddly.

  What did he care? Going was out of the question. And he couldn’t stand Will.

  “Good man,” Will said—their conversation avoiding any chance of making sense. “If you change her mind, the house is at 80 Lighthouse Point. The key code is 22406. People will show up around 9:00, but the cool kids show up early. Hope to see you there.”

  They exchanged a quick fist-bump and then Will jogged off toward the parking lot.

  I turned to Derick, tilting my head to the side, trying to figure him out. We knew each other so well: our likes, our dislikes, our emotions. People at school recognized us as Derick and Abby, even if we weren’t dating. If someone threw a party, our friends invited us together, as one, because one of us wouldn’t go without the other. And now, for the life of me, I didn’t know who I was looking at. “You going to explain what just happened? We can’t get involved with Will and Megan, Derick. What if something happens to them? And even if this wasn’t the strangest thing in the world, we’re runaways. Why would we go to a party where the cops could potentially show up?”

  He gathered the blue and red towels he’d dropped, then took off toward the water. “I’m testing a theory.”

  “And that theory is…?” I prodded, chasing after him.

  Spreading the towels on the sand, Derick caught my gaze and held it. “The book said no one can find us here, and it said we need to be happy. I don’t have to be Valedictorian to know how bored we’re going to get. Bored equals unhappy. Combine that with all the frustration you’re already experiencing, and we’re in serious trouble. Besides, Will and your best friend Megan are already here, and even if they figure out who we are, I’m going to guess outside people—or things—still won’t find us.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  Derick shook his head. “Let’s hope I’m not.”

  Hope? How about pray, wish, beg, plead? I didn’t want anything happening to Megan or Will, not because of me and some supernatural ability. “Seems odd, doesn’t it?

  “What’s that?” he asked, taking a seat and leaning back on his palms.

  Everything. “That Will just happens to work at this condo.”

  “When you put it that way, sure.” Glancing back toward the parking lot where Will ran off, Derick said, “But not as weird as so many other things that have happened. I mean, we know his dad’s a millionaire and owns properties all over the world, right? Wasn’t he complaining last summer about all the work his dad made him do for the Florida properties? Said he couldn’t stand it because it was his favorite vacation spot and the one place his dad made him work the hardest.”

  “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to Will.” And his explanation didn’t erase the unease our chance encounter created in me.

  “Look, I may not have liked him in eig
hth grade, but are you always going to hold that over my head? He kissed you next to the bleachers at my track meet. I was jealous, and when I found out how mad at him you were for it, I was furious. But we worked it out.”

  “Next time you decide to act out of character and say we’ll go to parties that we shouldn’t”—I plopped to the ground and glared at him—“could you warn me first?”

  “How? Telepathy?”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t have it. Plus, seeing the look on your face was priceless.”

  Gee thanks. I smiled, and a strange tingling feeling invaded the center of my chest, right above my sternum. Calm surrounded me, wrapping me up with the warmth of a heated blanket.

  Derick rubbed between his pecs, the same spot bothering me. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. “I’ve been feeling odd right here.”

  “Me too. Just started.” My face burned. I didn’t want to cry, but I was mad, mad that we were trapped here. Mad that my friend didn’t recognize me and that he shouldn’t, that I’m not safe. My life went from good to bad to weird. Just weird. Now this? Tingling. I wanted to scream.

  “Hey.” Derick’s eyes widened, and he pressed his hand to my cheek. “It’s not a horrible feeling. I kind of feel stronger or relaxed or something.”

  Neither of us felt as if we were dying, thankfully. However, I hated being clueless, helpless, confined. I needed knowledge, but our last quest for that left us frustrated. “Guess we’ll have to study some more.”

  One week of relaxation was clearly too much to ask.

  Abigail

  oices echo all around as I wander through a burning, dilapidated cabin, the same cabin my psychotic kidnappers brought me to. Bright orange flames reach out and bite my skin, leaving stinging red welts up and down my arms and legs. I know this isn’t real, I’m dreaming, but still I follow the voices. Just as I think I’m going to reach them, they dash out the front door, or erupt in angry shouts coming out of the flame-engulfed kitchen. I spin in circles, staring at the ceiling as the roof caves in and crashes down around me, waiting for the next hint that will lead me toward the sounds.

  “… have a way we can catch her.”

  I dart toward a closed door under the stairs on the left and then turn the knob, wincing as the metal burns into my palm. Inside the room blanketed in darkness, all is quiet. No fire tearing through walls. No wood groaning as it falls from the ceiling. Just Boredas and Ruckus standing in the center near a bed, a window behind them. It’s snowing outside, little flakes falling lazily to the ground.

  Neither of the men notices me, they’re engrossed in their conversation, so I back against the wall and sink to my knees.

  Boredas begins pacing between Ruckus and a bedside table, head down, hand on his chin. “I don’t like it, brother. I have felt his soul, and it’s not a good one. What if he kills her before we arrive?”

  Ruckus grabs Boredas’s shoulder and digs his fingers in, his cold, cruel eyes narrowed into slits. “Carl will not fail us. I will ensure it by placing him in the most capable of hands. And before you know it, she and her little loverboy will be separated and racing right toward our trap.”

  “Did he name a price?”

  Laughing, Ruckus says, “Half-million in blood money he’ll never receive.”

  Boredas sighs. “Bring him in.”

  Ruckus races to the door, a broad smile revealing all his pointy yellow teeth, and I cower away, scurrying to the corner of the room. “Excellent. You know the Safe Zone won’t hold up much longer, not with—”

  “Don’t say it. You never know who might be listening.” Boredas meets my eyes and smiles, and my heart pounds wildly around my chest, ricocheting off my ribs like a pin ball.

  I opened my eyes, gasping for air, teetering on the edge of hyperventilating. But as soon as I looked around our room—Derick sleeping on his stomach next to me, the fan gently swooshing overhead, the moonlight peeking through the blinds—I realized I was only dreaming.

  I wouldn’t go back to sleep any time soon, though. The warmth in my chest from earlier spread to my toes and fingers and made it impossible to stay in bed next to Derick. Sweat was not my friend.

  Neither was restlessness.

  I slid the covers off and escaped the bed with only a slight groan of the mattress. I had to know more about us. We couldn’t find anything last night while searching together, but maybe now, after having some sleep, I’d find something.

  What if we were dying? What if we were having premonitions? What if, what if, what if?

  The hall was dark and annoyingly comfortable, as almost everything seemed to be since the incident on the beach—minus my nerves about being so relaxed. The sound of the news drifted from the TV; we’d left it on for background noise, but now I didn’t feel as though I needed the distraction.

  History of Kalós sat on the coffee table, taunting me with its thickness, just daring me to find something useful. Curling up on the sofa, I set the book in my lap and rubbed the aged cover—and felt something I hadn’t noticed before, something raised under the title. I turned on the side table lamp and inspected the book closer, then noticed an embossed symbol barely visible from years of use, like the worn title on a family Bible passed down through generations and generations. The symbol interconnected; there was no beginning and no end, each of the five points almost triangular, with a circle linked through them. Since the embossed design decorated the front of the book, I could only imagine this represented Kalós.

  “What secrets do you hold?” I whispered. “Why are you so important? What are we supposed to do to get back to a normal life?”

  If the book answered, my next words would have been: Dr. Pavarti.

  I didn’t know where to start or what to look for. There probably wasn’t a section marked Tingly Feelings. Derick’s earlier plan kind of made sense, and dropping the book kind of worked, but we needed to know so much that any page we looked at would help.

  I opened the dust jacket and stared at the title. No regular book markings filled the beginning pages, no author name, no random numbers or copyright information, no publishing house. “Where should I start?”

  Black letters and numbers faded onto the paper, written as if someone used a quill and ink, replacing History of Kalós with Page 2500.

  What the hell? Could the book understand English?

  I closed my eyes. Please don’t answer. Please don’t answer.

  Getting my wits about me, I flipped to 2500 and then read the header and the fine print under it: Brendan Doran, Guardian Elder 1994-1995, Deceased, Survived by his only daughter Abigail.

  My heart pounded wildly, and breathing—well, I couldn’t breathe. How come Mr. Crawford didn’t tell me the book responded to questions? Why would they leave us to accidentally figure out vital pieces of such a large and important puzzle?

  Running my finger over the words, I took a deep breath and read them aloud, “Survived by his only daughter Abigail.”

  Derick and I skipped over this section too fast before. We looked for current Elders, read about current problems. He assumed I was the Elder’s heir mentioned, but not that I was the Elder’s child.

  A symbol sat next to my dad’s name: the same rounded triangle, loops crisscrossed but never breaking through each other, cut through with a circle; the exact symbol as on the cover. I couldn’t find a key explaining what this symbol meant, so I skimmed through other Elders, prior to Aedan—who had only the top part of the triangle next to his name—and found the same image on each one of them. Every Elder before Aedan was a Guardian, so the symbol must belong to them, not the entire plane as I’d thought earlier.

  I read farther down the page, soaking up as much about my birth father as possible. “Betrayed the Guardians by marrying a Cognizant. But their union served as first step in redeeming the Guardians in the eyes of the people.”

  Redeeming? What did they do?

  The book didn’t reveal any other page for me to turn to—figures—so I continued
.

  “Brendan and Marla conceived their daughter shortly after Elder elections. Guardian blood had never been mixed; everyone worried about the outcome for the child and what the new pairing would mean for her powers. Once the child was born and Brendan held her, he felt the powers within her were whole. He crowned her his greatest achievement.”

  Huh. None of what I read felt real, or made much sense. My parents’ names were Joseph and Rebecca, and they lived in Virginia. My dad drove a pick-up truck, and my mom commuted to DC in a small sedan. They didn’t travel through planes—or keep planes locked. Hell, we didn’t even lock our doors. I couldn’t fathom being adopted, having another person I could call Mom or Dad. Would I even want that?

  I glanced at the TV and saw my face flash on the screen, the little headline blinking “losing hope”.

  My poor parents. They know Derick’s keeping me safe.

  I could at least take comfort from that.

  I clicked the buttons on the remote, but increasing the volume turned out to be a bad idea. “Witnesses claim they saw the Virginia teens in a parking lot outside Jacksonville. Investigators are following more leads in the area.”

  Stupid TV. I didn’t need to watch it. I needed to read.

  Squinting at the thin pages, I continued, “Brendan’s longtime friend Aedan Mordha complained that human wars ravaged his homelands, and he requested access to Earth to put a stop to the fighting. But Brendan knew Aedan was desperate after losing his family, and a Kalóan would go far when desperate.”

  So my dad’s rejection as Guardian Elder caused a rift between him and Aedan. Nice.

  “Aedan threatened to hunt down and kill every Guardian until someone opened the door.”

  That explained the ‘good authority’ comment Mr. Crawford made about Brendan transplanting Guardians.

  “Brendan evacuated those in danger, including his daughter. Battle loomed, and he had to maintain the Order of the Guardian’s secret. That secret held the key to protecting the planes, a key no one but a Guardian could gain access to. As long as his race was away from that information and safe outside Kalós, humans would remain safe from Aedan.”