by Ayer, T. G.
"How was your day, dear," my foster mom asked him. Or had she said "date"?
Aidan mumbled something and I strained my ears. ". . . too busy," he said.
My heart lurched. Aidan, to my amazement, hadn't gone out with Cherise! But I didn't dare hope. Who knew what other plans the happy couple had already made? There were many more Saturday nights to come and if I knew Cherise at all, I knew she never gave up when she wanted a guy.
Aidan spent the evenings and nights poring over his books. And scowling at me when I stalked past him, a cool and indifferent smile pasted on my face.
***
Sunday morning hovered like a calming mist over Craven. The house creaked and groaned as it warmed in the lukewarm fall sunshine. Ms. Custer had left early for church and the kids were enjoying a lazy morning.
Our foster mom was a deeply religious woman, and often I'd sit on the porch with a book open on my lap, listening to her glorious rich voice render divine church songs. Her voice and her songs had soul.
But with Aidan and my lack of appetite occupying my mind, not even the Divine melody could help ease my worries.
My room offered much needed comfort, as far away from Aidan as possible.
***
After a late breakfast of pancakes, Brody and Simon begged me to take them to the playground, and I relented. The desire for fresh air overpowered avoidance of a certain biker.
The wooden seat of the swing moved back and forth in the filtered sunshine. The boys leaped and hurled themselves from bars manufactured especially for the two human monkeys, giggling with such abandon. A smiled curved at my lips, where in the last week no smile had dared to dwell.
A hollow ache bounced at my temple, a side effect of my turmoil. The image of the Valkyrie twisted and turned over and over in my mind. Who was the woman in the painting? Was it just a coincidence?
The name. The face.
As far as I knew, my parents had no connection with archeology. But the Valkyrie's name was Brunhilde. The root of my birth name of Brynhildr. The painting itself dared me to deny what my eyes knew.
I shivered in icy trepidation.
It didn't help when a large shape moved into my sunlight.
I stiffened and looked away from the two brats to Aidan, who stood staring at the boys as they giggled and squabbled. He turned, his smile congenial, almost conversational, but I rose. My knees wobbled as I tried to dampen the tiny spurt of joy, which flared on seeing his face this morning. Damn my traitorous emotions.
"Since you’re here I can probably head back," I said. "Bring the boys with you." I stepped away.
"When was the last time you ate?" Aidan's words were quiet and serious and I stopped. A cold breeze sent frigid fingers down my collar and I pulled my jacket close. Close against the wind and his scrutiny.
"Why is that any of your business?" I stiffened, ready to flee to the safety of my room if he so much as stepped in my direction.
The smile on his face froze and fell away at my cool response. I should have felt guilty but the words of the text message scrolled across my eyes like a neon sign. He'd left me in the lurch in mid-conversation. No explanation. And worse were those guilty glances I'd caught ever since that night. Didn't take a rocket scientist to tell he was guilty. He had no idea I'd read the text message from Cherise. I had no intention of telling him. Why give him the satisfaction of knowing I was burning with embarrassment and jealousy? I'd played the fool and I refused to audition for the part again. Ever.
A boisterous shout from the boys on the monkey bars gave me an excuse to turn away from him. Not that I needed one. When I glanced back, he shrugged, still staring at my face. "You're not anorexic are you?" He shook his head and answered his own question. "No, no signs of weight loss or dehydration. You don't look like you're starving so where are you getting your nutrition from?"
"Look, it's really none of your business, but I do actually eat. I'm not anorexic, or bulimic, nor do I suffer from any other kind of eating disorder. I eat when I'm hungry and drink when I'm thirsty just like every other person on the planet. So leave me and my food intake alone." Heat filled my cheeks as the lies tripped off my tongue.
I looked away from his face again because my heart always melted when I stared at him. Because I had to acknowledge that deep inside I was thrilled he cared enough to challenge me on my health. Because I hated lying. And because the topic itself scared the crap out of me.
I stared at the romping boys—and cupped my hand to my mouth to stifle a gasp. A sudden chill, icier than the wind, nastier than any winter snap, crept through my blood and froze me to the ground.
Aidan, puzzled, stared at me. "What’s wrong?" he said. His jacket rustled as he turned and touched my arm but I didn't move and didn't answer. At my neck, tucked beneath my sweater, the amber talisman burned against my neck. Hot like the tears burning my eyes.
I gasped in silent shock and horror and utter grief.
Brody glowed, a beautiful tender gold.
***
I sat on my bed, staring at the back of the closed door. A jumble of mismatched hooks were filled with a rainbow of winter scarves and unused bags I'd either grown out of or hated with the tepid passion of teen trend-followers.
It was funny how such bland little details stood out from the fabric of my daily existence now. Things like the rusty doorknob I really should shine someday soon. And the missing light bulb above my dresser. And the broken dowel in my chair back that stayed put with masking tape and a prayer.
The clock ticked, a floorboard creaked, the pipes grunted, the TV blared. Everyone shuffled around the house, living the day and waiting for the next one.
But Brody had only a few weeks left of his beautiful life. I'd figured it out. From the first time the glow appeared on a person, it grew steadily brighter. And as the day of their death neared, the light blazed, brighter and more stunning, until it was so strong it hurt to look at the person.
Thinking of Brody brought another face to me. My eyes prickled as I swam the sea of helplessness and self-pity again. Behind lids shut tight against a wave of aching grief, Joshua smiled his serenely beautiful smile. As if he was trying to comfort me.
My throat twisted on unshed tears. I dared not cry. If I did, I would have to admit Brody was staring his mortality in the face, none the wiser. How did I deal with this?
When I was younger the glows had seemed benign, simply people with a different aura. But it had happened often enough for my father to make the decision to homeschool me, just in case. After his death, I'd spent short bursts of time in various new places. Long enough to notice a gleaming body but never long enough to find out what happened to them.
I had to wonder though. Was it me? Was it my proximity to these people that caused it? But even as the thought surfaced, I squashed it. I hadn't known Aimee Graham or the man at the funeral with the clingy wife. If I were to have this pity party, it wouldn't come with stupider and more irrational thoughts. But was it worth it to know people were dying and be unable to do anything about it? Could I even do anything about it?
I stared around the darkening room as the sun fell away from the dull sky and night clawed its way back into the heavens. No stars smiled down tonight. Fitting. Glittering lights in a black velvet sky would be all too wrong when the days and minutes and hours were ticking away for my little foster brother.
The amber teardrop gem shimmered at my neck, shedding a tiny light, not large enough to light the room, but well-contained like the bottled gleam of a firefly.
The desire to confide in Aidan was immense, a desperate wind buffeting me toward the edge of a dark and rocky precipice. Visions of doctors and hospitals turned my empty stomach. I breathed deep to tamp down that nausea. A few more short breaths settled my stomach a little but the tightness in my chest remained.
Perhaps I risked a padded cell but for my sanity, it was worth it. Brody's honey curls and bright sparkling eyes haunted me. I shivered as his laughter rang out from the living ro
om below. Deep rolling honest laughter that tugged a smile from behind my wall of grief.
Joshua's death had reduced my confidence to rubble. Forced me to accept that someday soon I would need help. The time was now, had come sooner than I'd thought. Where did I begin? Whom could I trust? I hadn't the vaguest idea.
And it hit me, a frigid reality.
Aidan.
Little Brody's life faded away the brighter the light around him grew. I had to risk it.
Chapter 9
Sleep teased at the edges of my consciousness, laughing at my desperate hope to rest. What little time I spent in the Sandman's arms was pilfered away by the dreams. Fleeting images of bloody, half-dead men. A raven rested on a lonely outcropping, one gleaming eye staring at me. The eerie howl of a wolf in the distance shimmied up and down the ridges of my spine. I woke for a few scant seconds, wincing as a stream of moonlight stabbed my sleep-drenched eye.
The rest of my sleep was dreamless.
The week passed in agonizing slow motion, the better to experience the full brunt of my misery and grief. And through the week, Brody's light grew stronger, brighter, more luminescent. More rapidly than Joshua.
I explored the possibility that age could make a difference and it only increased my fear. I'd never be able to forgive myself if Brody died and I did nothing to save him. I couldn't take that chance.
The decision to reveal the truth to Aidan was way easier than the actual spilling.
Friday night arrived and Aidan ensconced himself among his books at the dining table. I lurked around the house until at least ten, and he was still bent over those books. Ms. Custer did her own bit of lurking too and almost shadowed me.
"Bryn, dear, is something the matter?" Her hand on my shoulder made me jump.
"No, I'm fine." I said. "I was just—"
"Looking like you have nothing to do," she said, interrupting me. "I can always find you something to keep you busy."
Her smile said she was teasing but I preferred not to test her. Mumbling some excuse, I escaped to my room and forced myself to stay put until she forgot about me. I didn't want her to hear when I finally orchestrated the opportunity to speak to Aidan.
In the end I was forced to wait and ambush him on the way to his room two doors down the hall. I headed for my room, leaving my door wide open to watch for Aidan. Minutes passed, and I'd almost given up hope. I had in fact nodded off several times and awakened with a start as my head slipped off my hand and fell toward the desk.
At last, footsteps creaked along the stairs, paused on the landing as he drew abreast of my door. I didn't dare call out to him. That might alert Ms. Custer, and she had strict rules about fraternizing after bedtime. A teenage girl found in a teenage boy's bedroom at night while everyone else was fast asleep was unacceptable behavior. But I followed him anyway.
He quickened his pace toward his room. Head down, he opened his door and turned, closing it behind him. I thought of sticking my foot in the gap but decided against it as I'd bravely padded around barefoot on the cold wooden floorboards. I preferred my feet whole and uninjured, thank you very much. Instead I placed my hand on the door, stalling its movement.
The lack of a click from the door latch alerted him that I was there. He turned and frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked. His tired eyes were red, widening at my sudden appearance after hiding out most of the day.
"I need to speak to you about . . . something." I scanned the passage up and down, nerves spiking.
He hesitated, flicking the darkened room a hesitant glance. He flipped the light switch and nodded me inside to safety. I chose a chair at a small table strewn with papers, books—both school ones and more Norse ones, and a new Mac laptop. More super-technology.
I swallowed. Concentrated on the reason I was risking my hide to be in his room this late. He cleared his throat. Impatient? Or annoyed because I'd ignored him for most of the day and now I barged in on him, demanding his time like some flighty, over-emotional female?
"Do you think it's possible for a person to know when another person is about to die?" My throat convulsed again, struggling with the last few words.
Aidan blinked. "Sure, there have been countless records of people predicting deaths. Even parents and spouses sometimes know when a family member is about to die." As he spoke, his features relaxed.
"So you know much about this stuff?"
He hesitated. "It depends. The whole death-prediction subject is so controversial. There's always an argument both for and against it." He rubbed the back of his head, and yawned.
Sorry to keep you awake.
"Why do you ask?"
"I have this friend. She thinks she can tell when people are about to die." At the last second, I chickened out. Decided it would be safer to broach the subject by gauging how he felt before I shoved a handful of horrible reality down his throat.
"And how can she tell? Are there signs? A feeling or a sensation?" The sleepy haze had disappeared from his face.
I explained how the golden aura appeared, ending with the death of the person, ending my narration with half a sob posing as a hiccup. I swallowed hard, holding back tears that threatened to overcome my composure and my semblance of sanity. "But this time it's different. The brightness increased so quickly. . . ."
Aidan paled, his face tightening into a fearful mask.
"What? What do you know?" I rose and walked to him, holding his arm, forcing myself not to shake the answer out of him.
"How long has she been seeing this glow?"
"Most of her life, really," I said, nerves firing.
"And how many people has she seen with this glow?"
"Too many." I turned to the window, staring out into the darkness. Aidan watched me in the reflection.
"How many have died?"
"Three. Now, four." My mind overflowed with images of Aimee, Joshua and smiles that still haunted me. But I recalled the man at the funeral. "Two people she knew and one stranger. And now one more close to her. And those are just the deaths she knows about."
"And she's sure it means they are going to die?"
I nodded and my shoulders fell, as if I no longer cared to carry the weight of the world upon them.
"She thinks she's going crazy. She thought it was a premonition but then it happened again with a close friend. Now she has no idea how to handle it." I was super careful as I spoke not to speak as if she was actually me. I hated lying.
He gave me a strange look. "This friend of yours, I haven't seen her at school. You always seemed like a bit of loner."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped.
He hesitated then said, "Nothing, I guess. Can you ask her to come and speak to me?"
"I . . . I don't think so. No, it's just not possible. She won't come."
"Even if it meant I could help her?"
"I could speak to her and . . . be like the middleman."
He scanned my face, a thousand thoughts running across shadowed features, until at last he nodded and said, "Fine, I guess it will have to work for now."
I breathed a silent sigh, still shaking on the inside. "So what myth is it you were talking about?"
"It's information I came across recently. Not a very well-known story."
"From what you've been translating?" I stiffened, regretting the words as soon as they slipped out. Now he knew I'd been nosing around his books. I winced, one eye open to a tiny slit as I waited for the explosion.
Perhaps my stance was amusing, because he laughed, although annoyance still painted his face. "Sorry," I said. "I passed the books on Saturday night when you ran out the house like hell-hounds were hankering for a taste of your bacon." Impossible to keep my tone neutral.
And Aidan scowled. "I didn't leave that fast." He snorted.
"Well, whatever Cherise wanted I'm sure she got, so let's get on to my questions now, thanks." I lifted my chin, keen to get off the topic of Cherise's message and desperate to find out more about my cursed premonitions.
A smile bloomed across Aidan's face, and recognition flared within his eyes. "I didn't leave to see a girl. Who did you think it was?"
"It's not my business." My cheeks burned, caught but still betrayed by his choices. "You don't owe me anything." Great time to act like an adult, when I craved an explanation.
"Wait, you thought I went to meet Cherise? What gave you that idea?" He scowled, his brows scrunched up. "You saw my text didn't you?"
"I didn't mean to. Can't help it if I can read upside down," I mumbled.
He shook his head. "I had to meet my boss. The guy I'm doing the research for. The translations . . . ?" His eyebrows raised.
"You don't owe me any explanations." I held my hands up, defending my suspicions and deflecting his reasons. I'd been out of line and all I wanted was for the discussion to end without further embarrassment.
"Yes, I do. I can see why you were angry. I left you so suddenly and the message gave you the wrong idea. I did owe you an explanation. I'm sorry."
Confused by his apology I shook my head. Too late to acknowledge I'd been nosy when our relationship wasn't even a legitimate one. Two kisses, no matter how heated, did not make a relationship.
His warm fingers linked to mine and he pulled me to my feet. "What is it you want, Aidan? I'm not girlfriend material. I'm not an easy one-night stand. What's happening here? Between us?"
"Something you and I can figure out together. And something we don't need to rush. It's nice as it is, don't you agree?"
Our proximity was not conducive to coherent thought. I cleared my throat and asked, "So will you help me find out more about the premonitions?" But my words were more of a heated whisper.
Aidan nodded and his cheek crushed my temple. How did we get this close this fast? I didn't recall either of us moving together. A dance to music only he and I could hear.
Breath mingled, heartbeats tangled. Mine spiked every time our bodies touched. The heat of his fingers entwined with mine scorched my skin, unbearable and incredible. Blood thrummed in my ears, smudged my thoughts. Just wanted him closer.
And, as if he'd heard me, as if he knew just one more step would be a step in the wrong direction, he breathed deep and stepped away. He'd stolen away the warmth and I shivered.
