Woodbury, Minnesota
Don’t Die Dragonfly © 2004 by Linda Joy Singleton.
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First e-book edition © 2010
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To my husband, David, for support, friendship,
and a wonderful life together.
And with a special thanks to my editor, Andrew,
for his help with this book.
“Don’t do what?” Manny’s beaded dreadlocks rattled as he turned from his computer screen to face me. “Sabine, is this dragonfly girl for real?”
“Of course not.” My heart pounded, but I kept my voice calm as I glanced up from the article I was proofreading. School had ended, and except for our teacher, we were the only ones left in the computer lab. “You asked for prediction suggestions and I made up some. If you don’t like my ideas, come up with your own.”
“It’s just a weird thing to say—even for my Mystic Manny column.”
“Use it or don’t. Whatever.” I leaned forward so my blond hair fell, partially concealing my face. If Manny discovered my secret, everything would be ruined.
“Help me here, okay?” He held out his hands. “My column goes to press in thirty minutes.”
“Use your psychic powers to figure it out.”
“Yeah, right.” He snorted. “I don’t believe that crap any more than you do.”
I gripped my red pencil tightly. “But your readers believe.”
“Nah, most of them know it’s just a big joke. ‘Manny the Mystic knows all and tells all.’ Ha! If I could predict the future, you think I’d waste my time at school? No way! I’d pick lottery numbers and predict a sunny future of wealth, women, and tropical beaches.”
“Get over yourself already.” I checked my watch. “And you have just twenty-seven minutes till deadline.”
“Beany, you’re one cruel girl.”
“Coming from you, I’ll take it as a compliment. And don’t call me Beany.”
“Most girls would be flattered if I gave them a nickname.”
“I’m not most girls. And you have twenty-six minutes now.” I flipped through last week’s edition of the Sheridan Shout-Out. My job was copy editor, not columnist. Working on commas and misspelled words suited my new image: helpful and orderly. After my problems at my last school, it was a huge relief to blend in like I was normal. And being on the newspaper made me part of Sheridan High’s “In Crowd” without having to reveal much about myself—a great arrangement I wasn’t about to risk. Next time Manny asked for help, I’d shout out a big “NO!”
But Manny didn’t give up so easily. He pushed his dreads back from his forehead and then scrunched up his face into a pitiful expression. “Come on, Sabine. You have the best ideas. The part about a girl with a dragonfly tattoo—genius. Really, it’s a great image—my readers will eat it up. But I can’t just say ‘Don’t do it’ without knowing what ‘it’ is.”
It. It. It. The word pounded like a headache and I felt that familiar dizziness. Vivid colors flashed in my head: crimson red swirling with neon black. And I heard a wild flapping of wings. Warning of danger.
Not again, I thought anxiously. I hadn’t had a vision since moving to Sheridan Valley, and I’d figured I was through with the weirdness. No longer the freak who knew things before they happened yet had no power to change them.
The dizziness worsened, and I fought for control. Stumbling, I grabbed the edge of a table so I wouldn’t fall.
From faraway I heard Manny’s voice asking what was wrong, then the lights in the classroom flickered and the drone of computers faded to a distant buzz.
Everything was dark, as if I were swimming in a murky sea at night. Then a light sparked and grew brighter and brighter, taking the shape of a girl. She was stunning, with waves of jet-black hair and olive skin that glistened like sea mist.
She lifted her hand to the sky, and a tiny purple-black creature with iridescent wings and quivering antennae fluttered to her wrist. A dragonfly. She smiled and caressed the wings. But her smile froze in horror as the creature changed, becoming a fanged monster that sank its sharp teeth into her smooth skin. Blood spurted, swelling like a tide. The girl opened her mouth to cry for help, but there was only a rush of crimson waves, then she sank out of sight.
No, no! I tried to scream. But I was helpless to save her, caught in a dark current of despair that pulled me down, down, into a pool of blood.
*
“Hey, Beany?”
Gasping for breath, I blinked and saw Manny’s black eyes staring at me with concern. The dizziness passed and my head cleared. “Huh?” I murmured.
“Are you sick or something?” he asked.
Lights grew bright again and I realized I was still clutching the table. I relaxed my grip. “I’m fine.”
Manny gently touched my shoulder. “You don’t look fine. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just tired.” My breath came fast.
“But you’re all trembling.”
“Guess that test in calculus wiped me out.” I managed a shaky laugh. “I—I just remembered someplace I have to go.”
“But Beany—”
“Sorry! Talk to you later.”
Then I fled—running as if flocks of winged demons chased after me.
By the time I made a sharp left on Lilac Lane, an unpaved, rutted road, the dark images had faded. Still, I was left with a stark fear.
When I slipped through the iron gate of Nona’s driveway, my fears eased. The weathered yellow house had been my touchstone since I was little, a haven where nothing could get me. I loved Nona’s cozy farmhouse, with its big wraparound porch, rambling red barn, cows, goats, horses, chickens, dogs, and cats.
Ten acres of tangled woods stretched far behind the pasture, bumping up against new developments. Sheridan Valley used to be a quiet farming town, but its central location made it an easy
commute to Stockton or Sacramento and the population had skyrocketed. Still, it maintained a slow pace and country charm, and I’d been truly happy since moving here. Even with upscale houses squeezing in from both sides, Nona’s home was my paradise.
And there was Nona. Crouched on her knees in the garden, a wide straw hat shading her deep-lined face. She’d done so much for me: taking me in when my parents sent me away, holding me tight to heal the hidden hurts.
Watching her tend her garden, I longed to rush into her comforting arms. She knew all about visions and predictions. She would understand my anxiety more than anyone. But I couldn’t confide in her—because of the lie.
Sighing, I avoided Nona by doubling around to the back of the house. Since there was no one I could talk to, I’d purge my demons with loud music and a bath of scented bubbles.
As I hurried up the wooden steps, chickens squawked out of my way and a white cat with mismatched eyes regarded me solemnly.
“Don’t give me that look, Lilybelle. I’ve had a bad day and I don’t need any of your attitude.” I patted her silky fur and pushed open the screen door.
There was an odd scent in the air—musty and a little wild. As I made my way through the laundry room and kitchen, I tried to identify the unfamiliar odor. It reminded me of a sunny morning after a summer storm. Fresh, light, but also a little sultry. Had Nona concocted a new herbal carpet freshener? She only used natural cleaners and remedies like crushed pine needle shampoo, goat’s milk soap, and a honey rose-petal elixir for sore throats. The smell grew stronger as I walked down the narrow hall, which was decorated with family pictures: Mom as a baby, my parents on their wedding day, and portraits of Nona’s three deceased husbands.
A sloshing sound stopped me cold.
From the bathroom. But that wasn’t possible. Nona and I lived alone.
I started down the hall, but then doubled back to the kitchen to grab a broom—not that I’d need a weapon, but it wouldn’t hurt. Holding it out in front of me like a sword, I moved cautiously down the hall. The bathroom door was open a crack, and through it I could see the sink, filled to the top with water. And perched on the silver faucet was a large bird. A falcon! Why was a falcon taking a bath in my sink?
But the bird wasn’t alone.
When I saw the shadowy figure by the hamper, I was so startled I dropped my broom. The bird screeched and ruffled its powerful wings. Before I could scream, the shadowed person lunged for me. He slapped one arm across my shoulders and clamped down over my mouth with the other hand.
“Shush!” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “Don’t make a sound.”
I struggled, hitting and jabbing with my elbows. But his grip was firm. He dragged me away from the bathroom. My shock switched to anger. How dare this guy attack me in my own home! I kicked him in leg as hard as I could.
He grunted with pain. “Cut it out!” he cried.
I kicked again, and when he jerked back, his hand over my mouth loosened, so I bit down. Hard.
“HEY! That hurt!”
“Good!” I squirmed and slipped out of his grasp. “I hope I drew blood.”
“Geez, you bite worse than a badger.” He sucked his injured hand. “Nona was way off when she told me about you.”
I backed against a wall. “You know my grandmother?”
“Why else would I be here?”
“You tell me! And what’s with the bird?” Hugging myself, I stared, really seeing him for the first time. He was youngish, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He was a few inches taller than I was, maybe five-foot-ten. He was wiry, with muscular arms, sandy-brown hair and eyes like silver-blue mirrors. His jeans were dark, and he wore an unbuttoned, brown flannel shirt over a faded blue T-shirt.
“He’s a falcon, and he got oil on his wings, so I brought him inside to clean up. Sorry if I scared you,” he said.
“I wasn’t scared.”
“I didn’t want you to startle Dagger.” He glanced toward the bathroom where I heard a soft swish of water.
“You own a falcon?”
“Wild creatures can’t be owned. But he trusts me. If you’d screamed, he would have panicked and hurt himself. Hey, relax. I’m not going to attack you.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said sarcastically. “I am so reassured. What do you call what just happened? A friendly handshake?”
“Hey, I’m the one bleeding.” He held out his hand, where a reddish half circle of teeth marks contrasted his tanned skin. Blood trickled from the deepest mark.
I ignored his hand and gave him a sizzling look. “Explain yourself,” I demanded. “What are you doing here?”
“I invited him.”
Whirling around, I saw Nona. She still wore her wide-brimmed straw hat and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek.
“You—you did?” I stammered. “But why?”
“Dominic is going to stay here to help with repairs and care for the animals.”
“Why hire someone? I can help you.”
“Not in the way he can. So stop scowling and welcome him, Sabine.” Nona smiled. “Dominic is part of our family now.”
After slamming the door to my room, I sorted through my CDs looking for something to match my mood.
If I were at school, I’d listen to the trendy artists everyone raved about. But at home, I could be myself, giving into my secret passion for eclectic music. I indulged in music the same way some people ate certain foods for emotional comfort. Classical for introspective moments, jazz for happy times, and heavy metal for dark, furious moods.
But not even the pounding sound of Metallica and rose-scented bubbles could calm me. How could Nona invite a stranger to live with us without even asking me? It wasn’t right! Nona and I had settled into a comfortable routine and got along great. We didn’t need anyone else. Not my parents or neighbors—and definitely not some weird guy with a falcon.
I held my breath and sank deep under the warm water.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, a voice said.
“Go away, Opal,” I replied with my thoughts. “I have enough problems.”
You don’t know how good you have it. When I was your age—
“Not one of your My-Life-Was-Torture stories.” I couldn’t hold my breath anymore and came up for air. Music vibrated the walls, but the voice in my head came through louder. With my eyes still closed, I could see Opal’s critical arched brows and dark eyes. For a spirit guide, she was a terrible nag.
You were rude to that young man, she complained. Didn’t I teach you better manners than that? He’s important, you know—or you would know if you listened instead of being so stubborn.
“Stay out of my head,” I told her. “I’m normal now. I have a cool best friend who is even a cheerleader; I’m on the school newspaper staff; and kids like me because I don’t hear voices, see spirits, or predict death. No one knows what happened at my other school. I’ve started over, and I don’t want you to interfere.”
Whine, whine, whine. You can’t run from who you are, so why fight it?
“Go away.” I sloshed out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and snapped off the CD.
After I was dressed, I climbed up a curved staircase to my bedroom. It used to be an attic until four months ago when I moved in. Nona had offered me the guestroom next to her office, but I’d begged for the cozy attic room, with its arched ceiling and view of the woods.
Nona also gave me free rein to decorate my room. I chose a lavender theme, draping silky fabric around the windows and arranging daisy-shaped rugs on the polished wood floor. Along with my taste in music, I had “different” taste in hobbies. I’d recently started embroidering a pillow to match my white and purple quilted comforter. I kept my craft materials in a cedar trunk that used to belong to Nona’s mother.
Working with my hands always relaxed me, so I slid open the trunk and pulled out the pillow. Using yarn shades from snow white to pale lavender, I’d already embroidered half of the winter landscape picture. At first glance, the soft threads were a
ll white. But as you peered closer, shapes clarified—an owl, a snowman, hills, trees, and a snow-covered cottage.
Weaving my needle in and out, I leaned against the cushion in my window seat and stared across the tops of lush green pines. It was great here at Nona’s and I’d never been happier. So why did Nona have to spoil everything by inviting him?
“It’s just not right,” I complained to my best friend the next day at school. “He’s not even friendly. After that whole mess in the bathroom, he’s avoided me.”
“Maybe he’s shy,” Penny Lovell—nicknamed Penny-Love—said as she slammed her locker shut. We met every morning at our lockers and caught up on the latest gossip. Bright as sunshine with curly copper-red hair, Penny-Love spun the social wheels around school, and usually did all the talking. But today I had plenty to say.
“His only excuse is a bad attitude. Yet the way Nona treats him, you’d think he was royalty. He doesn’t bother coming in to dinner; Nona takes a tray out to him—like she works for him, not the other way around.”
“Your grandmother is only being kind.”
“This is beyond normal kindness. She gave him the barn apartment, which is bigger than my room and has electricity and a private bathroom. And Nona says she’s going to get him a small refrigerator. Can you believe it?”
Penny-Love paused to wave at a group of girls passing by. Then she turned back to me. “Uh, sure. But you haven’t told me the important details. Like what he looks like.”
“He’s just weird.” I frowned. “There’s something strange about him. I can’t figure out what exactly; it’s just a feeling I have.”
Penny-Love giggled. “Maybe you should ask Manny the Mystic for advice. Did you see his column yet?”
“Is it out already?”
“Yeah. And it’s better than usual. Here.” She unzipped a pocket of her backpack and withdrew a folded newspaper. “Check it out.”
My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded the paper. A dragonfly with bloody wings flashed in my mind. I shut out the image and focused on the paper.
Penny-Love was right—Manny had outdone himself. He’d added a “spotlight on the future” feature where he picked a random student and predicted her life ten years from now. Sophomore Amanda Redmond was destined to have a great career as a fashion designer, marry an airplane pilot, and have three children—all boys.
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