Ava wanted it.
She wanted it all.
It was giddy, the feeling of vast and unrestrained possibility, and she laughed at the thrill of it, the trees around her swaying and creaking in response. She was vaguely aware of the heat and vibration of her necklace against her chest and the low throb of her headache returning, but she couldn’t be bothered with it. Emma stood before her, toe-to-toe, as the rising wind whipped around them.
“Keep going,” Emma shouted over the gusts, her palms held out slightly from her body as she fortified Ava’s power. “It feels fantastic, doesn’t it? Not to fight it anymore. To be all that you’re meant to be.”
It really did.
Ava tilted her head back to watch the swirling wind—a hurricane of debris with the two of them at the eye. She closed her eyes, her power bursting forth to manifest a boulder . . . a huge snowball about three feet across . . . a crystal chandelier. Emma laughed, and Ava opened her eyes to see her watching the whirling cyclone, a chair and potted plant appearing overhead, then melding together into a blob of red clay . . . a ceramic vase.
“Can you do something bigger?” Emma shouted, bracing herself as the ground trembled beneath her, branches snapping off nearby trees and joining the melee.
Bigger. Something bigger.
Ava manifested a chest of drawers . . . a refrigerator . . . then with a frown of concentration and an exultant shout, the crumpled body of a Volkswagen bug.
Ava’s head pounded, but the pain faded into the background. It was nothing compared to the exhilaration of using her power—of letting it use her. She felt moisture on her top lip, wiped at it with the back of her hand, and smeared the blood on her jeans with an irritated sniff. She turned her gaze to a large pine tree at the edge of the clearing, and it groaned, its roots cutting up through the ground.
Emma’s thrilled “Yes!” made her smile.
The tree pulled free with an explosion of dirt and rock and joined the spinning vortex of everything Ava controlled, everything she created. The tree spun around, smashing the snowball and sending down a shower of ice crystals.
Ava laughed, twirling in the floating white flakes.
“More,” Emma demanded.
Ava wiped at her nose again distractedly, caught up in the moment. She could do more. She could do anything.
With a deep breath and a harsh exhale, her gift slammed out in a powerful burst. Emma grabbed Ava’s arms, steadying herself, and Ava felt her power erupt outward. Shockwaves rippled out through the forest, taking everything with them. Ava watched as boulders ripped through the underbrush and the tree she’d uprooted slammed into another until they both fell to the shuddering ground. The metal of the VW folded in on itself before wrapping around yet another tree. Then the wind died down abruptly, leaving them both gasping, and the forest fell silent around them as it absorbed Ava’s destruction.
She should have felt tired, but she didn’t. Instead, her gift danced along her skin, energy pulsing through every inch of her body.
“You should try something else,” Emma said, her dark eyes still focused on Ava’s. “Something alive.”
“Alive?” Ava stared into Emma’s blown pupils, bewildered. “Is that even possible?”
“You can do it. I know you can.”
“But, what?” Ava’s voice was small, unsteady, and confused. “I don’t know—”
“You can do it.” Emma’s fingers tightened on Ava’s arms. “Don’t you feel it? The power coursing through you? It wants you to push it. It wants to do it.”
Ava nodded slowly, mouth parted and lips dry. She licked them, leaning into Emma for support. She knew so much more about this. It was as if she knew Ava’s gift better than Ava did. “What should I . . . a rabbit? A dog?” she whispered.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Ava,” Emma snapped.
Is she mad?
“Bigger?” Ava asked.
“Bigger.” Emma smiled in satisfaction. “Now, concentrate.”
Ava closed her eyes, feeling the reassuring pressure of Emma’s hands on her arms. She cast about for something bigger. Something that would impress Emma, make her proud. She’d done so much to help her. It was the least Ava could do.
And with a soft smile, she decided. She pictured it in her mind—muscular shoulders covered in thick, silver-tipped black fur, paws the size of dinner plates, curved claws digging into the dirt. She called on every memory she had to perfect the size—three hundred pounds? More? Ava shrugged, opting to let her memories guide her. She visualized it at the edge of the clearing and knew by Emma’s gasp that she had succeeded before she even opened her eyes.
“Yes,” Emma whispered, her eyes wide with awe.
Ava followed her gaze to the shadow of a large pine tree, tilted at an odd angle, half its roots out of the ground. Before it, immense and powerful, stood a grizzly bear on its hind legs, its eyes black and ferocious. It roared, the sound echoing through the dark forest, and Ava faltered for a moment, stepping back.
“It’s . . . magnificent.” Emma cast an admiring glance her way, and Ava couldn’t keep down a rush of pride at her accomplishment.
The bear fell to all fours, letting out another bellow, and Ava smiled. A smile that slowly fell when the bear collapsed onto the ground, its roars morphing into something else. It bayed, writhing in the dirt and debris, and Ava realized it was in pain.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, taking a few steps toward the bear.
It growled in warning, black eyes turned on her as its lip curled in a snarl.
She could see the twitches of agony rippling the animal’s thick fur and turned to Emma for guidance.
The girl sighed. “It’s not right,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Ava asked a little frantically.
Emma took her hand, squeezing gently. “It looks right on the outside—it’s what you know. But something’s wrong on the inside. It’s not your fault. How could you know?”
Ava watched in horror as the bear twisted on the ground, whimpering and frothing at the mouth. With sick realization, she absorbed Emma’s words. She’d tried to manifest something—a living thing—with no real knowledge of the intricate biology that made it up.
She was a spoiled child playing God.
Ava fell to her knees, retching onto the dirt, blood and bile seeping into the ground.
“You have to help it,” Emma said, her voice steely as she dropped to Ava’s side.
“But . . .” Ava swiped a hand over her mouth, fighting back another rush of nausea. “How? I don’t know how.”
Emma’s mismatched gaze locked on hers again. “It’s suffering, Ava. You have to put it out of its misery.”
Ava’s eyes blurred with tears as she turned back to the bear. It whined pitifully, and she choked on her own sobs. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You have to fix this, Ava,” Emma said, her voice low and soothing, but with a biting edge. “You know what to do.”
“What?” Her voice was rough, ruined. “Make it go away?” She turned toward the suffering bear.
“No,” Emma said firmly. “You must face the consequences of your actions.”
“How?” But as Emma stroked a hand over her head, Ava knew. She knew how she had to pay for her mistake. It was so clear.
Ava nodded, tears running down her cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed. She pictured the bear—its image imprinted so clearly on her mind—looked closer . . . closer . . . until she could see inside. Pictured the beating heart, so inadequate and imperfect, and squeezed it tightly with her mind—her gift a fist closing about it. Teeth gritted, she bore down, tightening the grip until the low whimpers became staggered breathing, harsh in her ears, then nothing. Silence, broken only by her own soft keens. She fell forward into the dirt and curled up in a ball, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to look at the helpless animal she’d created and destroyed. She felt Emma rubbing her back, her voice soothing as she tried to comfort her.
“It
wasn’t your fault.”
Ava gasped. “How can you say that? You saw what happened.”
“Ava, sit up.”
She hesitated only a moment before complying, wiping the still-streaming tears from her cheeks. For a moment, Emma looked far older than her seventeen years, her eyes dark with remembered pain and something else Ava couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“It’s not your fault,” Emma said again, shaking Ava’s shoulders slightly to emphasize the point. “You’re new to all of this, and I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Next time—”
“Next time?” Ava said harshly, outraged. “Are you kidding? There’s not going to be a next time!” Ava felt sick at the very thought of it, another wave of roiling nausea twisting in her stomach.
Emma rubbed her shoulders gently, her gaze penetrating. “Relax, Ava. Calm down. Take deep breaths.”
Ava nodded, breathing in sync with Emma.
“It’s okay,” Emma said, soothing her with her words, her touch. “You didn’t mean to do it, did you?”
“No.” Ava hiccupped. “No, of course not.”
“Then you’re not responsible for it,” she said firmly.
Ava found herself nodding again, her thoughts calming. “I’m not,” she said, swiping at her tears. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. You’d never hurt anything on purpose, would you?”
“No.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Not unless it was trying to hurt you . . . or someone important to you, right?”
Ava nodded again. Her head felt muzzy, full of cotton, Emma’s words the only thing cutting through. The only thing making sense.
“You’re so strong, Ava,” Emma said, smoothing a hand over Ava’s hair. “And you’re only going to get stronger with time. You’ll see.”
A crackling of branches had them both jumping to their feet, one of Ava’s boulders doing a half-hearted defensive jump.
Caleb appeared at the edge of the forest, climbing over a downed log as he took in the destruction around him with a mixture of shock and confusion. His gaze landed on the bear and he choked slightly, taking few hurried but cautious steps toward Ava.
“What happened, Ava?” he asked. “What did you do?”
For a moment, Ava was overcome by guilt and shame—confusion as she saw what she’d done through his eyes. Emma ran a hand down her arm gently.
“It’s all right,” she said in her calming, hypnotic voice. “He just doesn’t understand.”
Yes. That’s right.
Caleb didn’t understand. Maybe Ava could explain it to him.
He stood a few feet away, watching her carefully. “Ava, are you all right?” he asked. “Your nose is bleeding again.”
Ava raised a shaking hand. Her chin and lips were wet. She stared blankly at the red smudges on her trembling fingertips.
What? Why?
“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said, pulling a napkin from her coat pocket. “It will be fine.”
“It’s fine.” Ava nodded slowly, Emma’s dark gaze calming her fears.
Emma cast a glance over her shoulder at the bear. “You can make it go away now.”
Ava didn’t look at the bear, only into Emma’s hypnotic eyes, visualizing the empty space where the dead bear used to lie.
Emma looked over again. “Good,” she said. “You’re doing so well, Ava.” She rubbed a palm over Ava’s head again, smoothing her hair. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Ava, what’s going on?” Caleb asked, stepping forward slowly. He seemed worried. In fact, he looked almost . . . afraid of her.
“I was practicing,” she said. Her throat felt raw and she swallowed thickly.
“In the middle of the night?”
Ava shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to him.” Emma patted her arm. “He doesn’t understand.”
“Understand what, exactly?” Caleb asked, turning his attention on Emma. “And why are you here?”
“I’m helping.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” He looked around at their ravaged surroundings and focused, wide-eyed, on the twisted pile of fallen trees.
“She’s very powerful,” Emma said. “You can’t hold her back.”
“I don’t want to hold her back!”
Ava felt a wave of irritation at how he was talking about her as if she wasn’t standing right there.
“I also don’t want to see her hurt,” he said.
“I’m not hurt,” Ava said quickly. “I’m fine. Emma’s helping me.” Her head throbbed and she rubbed absently at her temple.
Caleb came toward her, his face softening. “You’re not fine, Ava. You’re pale as a ghost, and you’re covered with blood. Something’s wrong. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Emma snapped. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
She turned to Emma, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I know.” She squeezed Ava’s shoulder gently. “It’s all right. I’m going to help you. But you have to see, Caleb is only keeping you down.”
Ava glanced at Caleb, a tingle of worry twisting in her gut. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Would he?
“Not on purpose, but people fear what they don’t understand.”
“Ava, don’t listen to her.” Caleb stepped forward, taking her hand and holding it firmly. “She’s doing something to you. You can’t trust her.”
“Of course you can trust me,” Emma said in her low, reassuring voice.
Ava couldn’t keep herself from looking into the girl’s eyes. They pulled at her . . . comforted her. They told her that Emma understood her. She wanted to help her.
“He doesn’t want you to reach your full potential,” Emma said sharply. “He’s afraid of your power.”
“Caleb?”
“Come with me, Ava,” he begged, tugging on her arm. She didn’t move, and Caleb glared at Emma. “Let go of her.”
Emma laughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t understand . . . what’s happening?” Ava swayed a bit on her feet. Emma turned back to her, giving her power a boost, and Ava steadied.
“He wants to take you away from me,” Emma said. “He wants to keep you for himself. Keep you weak.”
“That’s not true. Don’t listen to her, Ava.”
Emma continued as if he hadn’t spoken, and Ava couldn’t look away. “He’s afraid of you, Ava. He knows you’re going to become one of the most powerful people on earth. Much more powerful than him. He’s jealous.”
“Ava, she’s twisting your mind.” Caleb’s voice came to her as if from a great distance and then faded away.
“You have to show him,” Emma said, her eyes piercing and black, that little sliver of pale green the only lightness in her gaze. “Show him he can’t keep you from what’s rightfully yours.”
“Mine?”
“He’ll put you at the mercy of the Council. Or worse, the humans. You’re better than that, Ava. You deserve more than that.”
Ava blinked. She didn’t like the sound of being at anyone’s mercy. She turned to Caleb. “Why?”
“Ava, no.” His face crumpled. “You can’t believe that. You need to come with me. I can help you.”
“Help me how?”
“We can run some tests. Find out what’s happening to you.”
“I heard him talking with Gideon.” Emma brought a hand up to cup her cheek, her fingers pressing in hard. “They want to take you to New Elysia.”
“Is that true?” Ava asked, feeling sick with betrayal at the expression on Caleb’s face.
“Only as a last resort,” he said. “And not against your will, Ava.”
She shook off his hand. “How could you?”
He reached out to grab her again, and her gift flared up, throwing him backward.
“You can’t trust him, Ava,” Emma said, standing next to her.
“She’s the one you can’t trust!” Caleb shouted, getting to his feet.
“You know that’s not true.” Emma took her hand, and Ava relished the feeling of Emma’s power surging through her, making her stronger. “There is something I didn’t tell you Ava, because I wasn’t sure you were ready. I think you are now.”
“What? What is it?”
Emma raised their joined hands, and Ava caught sight of her tattoo—the curved lines, parentheses facing opposite directions, a line crossing both in the center.
Like a sideways H.
Ava turned Emma’s arm slightly.
Like the H on the corner of the baby blanket back home.
“Yes,” Emma breathed. “You know it. Don’t you?”
“It’s . . . on my blanket.”
Emma nodded. “You remember what I told you?”
Ava stared at the symbol, now so obviously the same. How had she not noticed it before? “It’s the symbol for Pisces,” she said, her words slurring a little. Her head throbbed as she tried to understand what was happening. “Your sign.”
Caleb started toward her, but Ava held him back without conscious thought, her gift protecting her.
“Not really my sign, no,” Emma told her, tilting her head with a slight smile. “In the Zodiac, it’s the twelfth sign.”
“Twelfth?” Ava’s mind whirled.
The blanket. The symbol. Destiny.
“The Twelve.”
“Yes.” Emma smiled. “I’m one of The Twelve, as well. My father is Elias Borré.” When Ava continued to gape at her, she added with gentle touch to Ava’s cheek. “We’re sisters, Ava.”
Sisters?
Caleb pressed his palms against the invisible barrier keeping him from Ava, feeling his way along it in hopes of finding a hole—an opening of some kind. But no. Ava didn’t even seem to be paying attention to him, but she was somehow keeping him at bay. Her gift, it appeared, had developed the ability to work without her direct control.
And Emma, it appeared, had control of Ava.
He could feel her presence inside Ava, a foreign presence mingling with her gift. A thick black stain tainting what had once been pure. What had once been his.
“Ava!” he shouted. She paid him no heed, though, absorbed in Emma’s words.
The Guardians (MORE Trilogy) Page 22
