by Anna Rezes
“The shaman cared for the princesses, teaching and instilling them with magical gifts. The king feared the shaman and gave orders to kill the elderly woman. None of the assassins were successful, and the shaman died of natural causes on the girls’ fifteenth birthday, leaving the girls alone before they had fully grown into their sacred gifts.
“The princesses kept developing and maturing their abilities on their own. They spoke to each other without words, read emotions, held the power of persuasion, and were bestowed the gift of healing. However, it was the third born—the miracle brought to life by the sacrifice of the queen—who had the most potent powers. Maybe it was because she owed her life to magic or because she was favored by the elderly healer; whatever the reason, she learned how to take complete control over others. When she inflicted her mind on someone, she could induce whatever emotions she chose, and it would result in a physical response. With any passing emotion she experienced, those around her would feel it as well.
“One evening the king struck one of her sisters, and as a result the third princess went to bed angry, dreaming of revenge. She woke to the sound of screaming knowing immediately that her nightmare was real and discovered her sisters had killed the king. It was her fault because it was in her dream and in her mind. She killed her father using her sisters as the weapon. Once the king was dead, the girls were thought of as black witches and were forced to leave their home.
“Eventually, each sister bore children and discovered their offspring inherited their gifts. While both male and female children manifested their gifts around the age of sixteen, only females passed their gifts to their offspring.
“And there you have it,” Patrick draws to a close.
Silence fills the room. I stare down at my newly healed arms. I don’t want to believe any of this, but there are things in my life I can’t explain. Patrick can speak to me without talking, so maybe the voices in my mom’s head were real. I remember Dad’s words. “Your mother was gifted. She had certain abilities. She could hear things, see things, feel things, and people loved her because of her alluring, mysterious ways. She captivated everyone around her.”
My head is shaking, and a burst of hysterical laughter fills the room.
In the next instant, Patrick is on me, tackling me to the bed with his hand flush against my mouth. “It’s two in the morning. What are you thinking? Do you want them to find you in here?”
I swallow my laughter with a gulp, finding it impossible to breathe while he’s lying on top of me. His face is just inches from mine, and his hand captures the small breaths that manage to escape me. Pressed so close, I’m sure he can feel my erratic heartbeat. When he’s certain I’ll be quiet, he pulls his hand away and lies on his side next to me.
“It’s all ludicrous,” I whisper, scooting onto my side in an attempt to put more space between us. It doesn’t work. Just as I move to prop my head in my hand, he maneuvers so his face is level with mine.
“Give it time to sink in,” he whispers.
My first reaction is to make a sarcastic comment, but I have no words. Dropping my face into my hands, I try to wipe away the images, but I can’t. In my bewilderment, I say, “A shaman, an evil king, and princesses? Sounds like a fairytale, Patrick.”
“Perhaps our life is a fairytale, love, but you can’t deny the gifts we’re capable of.”
“If we both have these ‘gifts’ as you call them—which I’m not buying—and it’s passed down from our mothers, then are we related? Is that why you’re so familiar?”
His lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Those sisters lived over five-hundred years ago. I have an excellent knowledge of my family tree and you, love, are not even in the same forest. It would be over twenty generations before we could trace our lineage back to ‘fairytale’ princesses. Technically, you’re more closely related to . . . Let’s say . . . Ben. As for being familiar, perhaps it’s my abilities that are familiar to you.”
I think about that for a moment, doing my best to understand the lineage. “I’m still not buying that story. It’s ridiculous.”
“Sometimes the truth is more ridiculous than the lie.”
“Did you heal me?” I ask.
He nods reaching out to take my free hand in his.
“How?”
“It’s one of our gifts,” he says.
“How did I see the queen?”
“We have the ability to share our thoughts, like the way I spoke to you the other day. The vision I showed you tonight is the same concept but with images. It’s more involved, so many never successfully learn the art. I’d predict only a handful have actually mastered the skill.”
“Wait, there are others?”
“Yeah,” he says like duh, “but not as many as there used to be.”
I’m waiting for him to laugh and tell me the jokes on me. Instead, he stares back with eyes filled to the brim with the knowledge that I’m too much a coward to believe.
“I don’t believe it,” I say.
“Don’t or won’t?” he challenges.
I shake my head and try to pull my hand from his, but he holds tight pulling our linked hands to his chest. My heart leaps at the contact, and I relax into him allowing him to maneuver me, feeling unable to control my thoughts.
“I just want to test something,” he whispers.
Just like that, any remaining anxiety washes away. I’m captivated by his brilliant blue eyes. I am enraptured by his infinite calm as if he’s breathing it directly into me. I close my eyes and sink slowly into the deep, blissful ocean called sleep.
eleven
I open my eyes to find myself stretched out on Morgan’s bed. She appears to be gone and judging by the light coming through the window; I’ve overslept. I hop out of bed and rush to the door. As I enter the hallway, I run into a solid figure. I stumble back and arms shoot out to steady me.
“Good morning,” Patrick says, pulling me closer. His lips are stretched into a wide smile as his eyes find mine.
I place my hands against him, his flimsy t-shirt doing nothing to hide his muscular chest from my touch. As I push away from him, all the previous night’s events fill my head, and I grab his shirt and pull him into Morgan’s room.
Shutting the door, I glare at him. “What did you do to me?”
“Relax, I didn’t do anything inappropriate. I helped you sleep and carried you to bed. You don’t need to overreact.”
“Overreact! You put me to sleep with your mind! How else should I react?”
“Less like a victim for starters,” he snaps, before calming himself. “I wouldn’t have done it without your permission, but if you recall you allowed me to help you.”
“From now on, I want you to stay out of my head.”
“Well, then maybe you should do the same.” His tranquil mood is giving way to frustration.
“What does that mean? You think I’m getting in your head?”
“Ha!” He laughs without humor. “That’s exactly what I mean. Yesterday in the kitchen with Morgan, if you’d been listening to the conversation, you would have known I was barely coherent myself, what with you drooling over me.”
“Drooling!” It’s barely less than a shout. I quiet myself before I continue. “What are you talking about?” Embarrassment creeps up my neck. Had he noticed me gawking at him?
“You’re just lucky Morgan was there or . . .”
“Or what?” I demand, letting my hands ball into fists.
He shakes his head. “You still don’t get it.”
“Maybe if you would talk to me like a normal human being, I could understand. You continue to give me riddles and fairytales!”
His voice assaults my head from the inside. All I can do is cringe and close my eyes to the intrusion. “Emily, do you not understand that your mood swings are driving me crazy! Your every emotion plagues me. I’m barely holding my own with you constantly talking into my mind, yet you get mad when I speak into yours. You asked for the truth, so I gave it to
you, whether you believe it or not. You have these special abilities that you obviously have no control over. It might be news to you, but I am only trying to help.”
When I open my eyes to look at him, something feels different. My mind is racing to figure out what it all means and why he thinks I’m in his head.
“You are,” he replies out loud.
My eyes widen with horror. If Patrick can hear my thoughts, then he is the one intruding.
“I wish that were true, but you are in here.” He points to his head. “And I can’t seem to block you out.”
I test him.
“Seven, zero, two, six,” he says, without skipping a beat.
Realization dawns as I think back to the incident in the kitchen with new awareness. My breath catches in my throat as I begin to comprehend what this means. Embarrassment floods me, and I want to crawl under the bed.
“I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.” He takes a deliberate step toward me. I move back in response and collide with the wall. He continues taking methodically slow steps until he’s only inches away. His eyes meet mine before he ducks his head down to whisper in my ear.
“You think I’m irresistible,” he taunts. He closes the little space between us until the warmth of his body presses against mine. My arms hang powerless as I feel his soft breath against my neck. “But nothing is more enticing than you, love.”
My attempt at pushing him away is stilted by the urges racing through my body, but when his lips graze my neck, only one impulse remains. It’s a visceral reaction, one I certainly hadn’t expected.
My hand grips his throat, reacting so automatically that I’m shocked by my own behavior. I catch a glimpse of fear before his mask of unfettered calm melts back into place.
My whole body—wired with tension—fights to control my tightening grasp around his neck. I try to let go, but my hand has a mind of its own. His face becomes flushed from the restriction of blood and oxygen, and his eyes search my face.
His hand casually wraps around my wrist, and he moves my hand away from his throat speaking softly as he releases my arm and steps away. “As I said, you’ve had a lot of mood swings lately, and that’s because this is all so new to you. I should have known better. I seem to . . . intensify your emotions.”
Intensify? He somehow has a way of overriding my logic. I don’t know where my violent reaction came from. Sure, it makes me angry he can hear my private thoughts, but a large part of me wanted him to kiss me. I have no idea how those feelings translated into strangling him.
I take a step forward. “I need you to teach me how to control this, so you don’t hear anything unless I want you to.”
“It will take time, Emily. We’ll work on it but now is not the right time. Morgan is already waiting for you.”
I glare at him for a moment before a smile stretches across my face, an idea taking form. “Fine, suit yourself.” I rush downstairs to search for Morgan, worried he’s still listening to my thoughts.
I find her down in the kitchen sitting at the counter talking to her mom. The two are snacking on a fruit tray, and Morgan is dressed for the day with her bikini strap peeking out of her shirt. I’m surprised it’s already afternoon.
“Hey, I was about to come wake you,” Morgan says brightly.
“Sorry I slept so long.” I take the seat next to her, attempting to look as though my mind is not preoccupied.
“Don’t worry about it. You needed the rest.”
Julie says, “You girls have fun. I’m going to help your father with the boat.” She leaves through the back door, and the outside heat wafts through the room before the door closes.
“It’s already ninety-five degrees out,” Morgan says. “I figured we’d go swimming. I think I have a bikini that’ll fit you.”
I nod with fake enthusiasm. I already feel exposed, knowing my thoughts are not my own. Now my body will be on display as well. At least Morgan and I are about the same size and tiny string bikinis aren’t her thing either.
“Are you hungry? We’re having a cookout this afternoon, but I figured you would want something to hold you over.”
I grab a hand full of grapes and begin to munch. “This should hold me until later,” I reassure Morgan with a full mouth, not wanting to hold her up any longer. She eyes me skeptically.
“I’m not much of a breakfast person. You know that.”
She nods and stands from her seat. “Let me show you the suit.”
I follow her to her room where she pulls a royal blue bikini and black board shorts from her dresser. She tosses them to me, and I spot the tag hanging off the shorts.
“Have you ever worn any of this?”
“No, I washed the bathing suit, but haven’t worn it and the shorts, well, obviously I haven’t worn those. You can have them if you like. I thought I’d be on the beach all summer, so I went overboard buying bathing suits when I was in Florida.” Sadness seems to creep over her, but she pushes it away and smiles. I admire her attitude, her ambition, and her confidence, especially after the situation she went through.
“I’ll try them on,” I say with as much spirit as I can muster.
Before changing, I make sure both bathroom doors are locked. Once I’m certain I’m alone, I slip into the suit. It’s a sporty, halter bikini top with thick straps hooking behind my neck and back. I have a little more cleavage than I’m comfortable with, but I have that in every bathing suit. The royal blue bottoms narrow almost to strings at the sides, but the black board shorts make up for the skimpy bottoms. I walk out of the bathroom with a smile.
“Oh good, it fits!” Morgan exclaims from across the room. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect.”
She grabs the beach towels folded on her bed and starts for the door. Reality rings like an alarm in my head. I turn to look at my bag as if I can see my phone through the canvas.
“Morgan, go ahead. I need to call my dad. He’s probably worried.”
“Sure, I’ll wait for you downstairs.” She shuts the door behind her on her way out.
I have two missed calls and a new voicemail. It’s from Dad. “Emily, I understand you’re angry with me. I hope you’ll let me explain. Patrick called me . . .” Dad’s message continues, but I stop listening, caught by the mention of Patrick. No, it wasn’t just the mention of Patrick; it was the idea of him calling Dad. Their last interaction was hostile, and I’m confused why he would contact my dad at all.
I’ve reached the end of the message and a female voice chimes in with options. I replay the message. “. . . Patrick called me tonight to let me know you’ll be staying with Morgan until Thursday. I hope you come home soon. I love you.” There is a heavy sigh before the line goes dead. I am not ready to talk to him yet because I can’t forget his deception. Although I feel a little guilty, he knows I’m safe and won’t be gone forever.
I meet up with Morgan on the back porch. “Are things okay?”
“Yeah, things are fine,” I lie.
“Good.”
A hundred feet from the back door the yard becomes a small beach which opens into a serene lake, heavily wooded on the far side. The rest of the lake is bordered by steep slopes of untamed grass among scattered trees. To the right of the beach is a small dock securing a wooden rowboat with two paddles. It’s the only way to travel across the lake. The clear water becomes cloudy a few feet below the surface and in that murky water hides randomly scattered boulders. To avoid the hazards, Morgan’s parents designated a safe swimming area years ago.
Streams feed the lake which keeps fresh water circulating. There is one distant peek across the lake where the water stands still in a quiet cove surrounded by trees. Cattails and lily pads grow wild there. A few brave stragglers grow along the outskirts, and occasionally a lily pad will detach from its stem and drift over to the swimming area.
I’ve forgotten how much I love this lake. Although I’ve never been close with the rest of Morgan’s family, they’ve always welcomed me. I
think it’s odd I’ve spent so much time here and never heard of Patrick before. I wonder why he’s living with them now.
We’re just to the edge of the beach when Morgan yells over her shoulder to someone behind me. “Do you need help?”
I turn to see Morgan’s dad and Patrick coming from the driveway. The two of them are carrying opposite ends of a wooden boat. It looks identical to the rowboat sitting in the water, only newer and freshly polished. Morgan’s mom follows behind with an oar in each hand.
“We’ve got it,” Tom calls. They make their way down to the small dock and slide the boat into the water. We wander closer to the dock, watching them work.
“Isn’t it perfect?” Julie exclaims, dropping the paddles in the boat.
“It is perfect!” Morgan agrees.
I feel Patrick staring at me before I make eye contact. He’s wearing that overconfident half-smile. I look away as I begin singing an annoying ditty from a car commercial in my head. If what he told me is true, he won’t be able to block it out. I look up just long enough to see him cock his head to the side looking curious. I’m not sure how all this works. In his story, he described it as speaking without words. I continue singing in my head and anyway what’s the harm?
Tom, Julie, and Patrick return to the house while Morgan and I swim and boat for the next few hours. I don’t know how close Patrick needs to be to hear my thoughts, so I continue to sing in my mind. I’m surprised how easy it is to come up with a variety of irritating jingles. I’m not getting all the words right, but the idea is to annoy him enough to persuade him to teach me how to keep my thoughts to myself. I take breaks to have conversations with Morgan, but I unintentionally get the catchy melodies stuck in my head, so I can’t stop even if I wanted.
Patrick comes to get us when the food is ready. He informs us Morgan’s sister, Nellie and her boyfriend, Noah, have arrived. He grins like he’s enjoying an inside joke. I don’t let my guard down, continuing the arrangement of terrible ditties in my head just in case.
