I don’t answer Maddox. But I don’t need to. Somehow he knows what I’m thinking. He gives me a nod. “Go on. I’ll wait here,” he says, standing guard at the entrance.
I move a few steps closer. When I do, an unquenchable joy washes over me. Hopeful memories I buried long ago spin through my dizzy mind like a merry-go-round. When I stop, so does a memory. It’s one where I’m seven years old, squealing with laughter in my grandmother’s garden. Escaping under the canopy of honeysuckle. Hidden from the world in the shelter of my imagination, where love came through hugs, warm cookies, and summer clothes soaked by a cool garden hose.
Where I was a princess, and outside the canopy of vines was my kingdom.
Where I made a difference in the world, and fear had no roots.
Where I drank the nectar of the flower that shares my name, and the scent permeated my skin.
Where I believed the sweet drops could transform me into something beautiful like my mother.
Something worthy.
Something wanted.
Something loved.
A gentle wind rustles the branches of the willow tree. The glowing lights fade with the memory and so does the sense of joy. I tremble in the cloudy afternoon and wipe my face dry.
I take a second look at the warping air. A shadow lingers, but from this distance, it’s hard to know what it is. It’s not a person, as far as I can tell. Whatever it is hides behind a warping, protective Wall, much like the one at the gate. Maybe if I’m close enough, I can steal one quick look into this realm and have the answer.
But I can’t.
Not because my feet won’t move. Believe me, they bounce, wanting more than anything to impulsively run and peer inside. But something about the feel of that lingering memory stops me. If the Well has been revealing itself through visions for centuries, what right do I have to barge in and see, firsthand, what’s hidden? What damage could that choice do?
From afar the Well may not be beautiful, but in its presence, anything feels possible.
Belonging.
Love.
Peace.
Beauty.
A thriving hopefulness circles around me. Through me. Embeds itself somewhere deep inside me. I suddenly understand why the Alliance wants to protect the Well. Why they won’t fight if there’s a chance they could lose all creativity, belonging, and breath of hope.
I step back. I might have the power to reveal the mystery of this third realm, but it doesn’t mean I should. Going back to the house, listening and complying, accepting my fate—doing anything that will keep me from aligning with Sage—that’s what I should do.
Hard footsteps and curt voices sound through the graveled maze. Panic sticks in my throat. We can’t be found. Not together. Not here. Maddox quickly takes my hand. He doesn’t need words to tell me what to do.
I do the one thing I’ve had to do so many times before.
I run.
Together we run along the edge of the clearing, following the hedge of the maze. Maddox aims for a narrow path in the woods ahead. My legs burn as I pump them faster, hoping to duck into the shadows before we’re caught.
We race at full speed in unison, flying over the soft grass, the creamy light bursting under every step until Maddox ducks into the woods. I’m quick to follow. Luckily, no one else does.
The air is cool and damp. I’m panting as we venture along a trail teeming with bright wildflowers and thick undergrowth. Rustling trees and a songbird’s melody fill the strained silence of each hurried step. Maddox glances at me every now and then. But neither of us speaks.
We come to a camping spot in the woods where the dirt is cleared of vines and shrubs. The placid lake sits a few yards away. Broken and decaying pieces of a hand-built fort, or a fallen tree house, are scattered against the tree trunks. I sidestep him and go to the rocky shore.
“You okay?” Maddox stands in the middle of the childhood wreckage. “Did you get a read on anything that might give us the answers we need?”
I gaze across the lake, thinking about the Well. “Something in me couldn’t do it. It didn’t feel right. It was like I’d be stealing something sacred and private. Something belonging to the Alliance. Not me.” I turn around and glance at Maddox. He’s watching me.
I quickly turn back and concentrate on the muddy stones half-buried under the water and not how Maddox glows as the sunlight streaks taught ribbons of hazy light onto his shoulders. Or how close he stands. Or how his bright eyes stay pinned on me.
“The vision I had,” I say, speaking to the stones, “the one you drew, it’s a warning to the Alliance. I should have never asked you to take me there. In fact, I shouldn’t be near you.” I stride into the damp woods.
“Cera, you didn’t ask me to take you.” Maddox is right behind me. “I took you because, I mean, didn’t you feel it? Standing there, the way something about it makes anything feel possible? Like there’s a world that should be but isn’t.” He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s where I got the idea for Hesperian. I wanted to take what I feel when I’m standing at the Well and let others feel it too.” He steps closer. “We’re in this together. Maybe we can’t change the world by fighting Sage the way the Alliance can, but I think I might have found a different way.”
“Really?”
His eyes spark. “Sage expects a traditional fight, but if we put together a Ghost Army, then we won’t need a full one.”
Ghost Army? “That sounds oddly cryptic.”
He doesn’t hide his enthusiasm. “They used a Ghost Army in the Second World War. It was a group of unseen artists that used their talents to throw off the enemy. They’d stage battles, set up fake camps. We could do the same, use our talents and art to somehow outwit Sage.”
I want to latch on to his optimism, but my heart sinks. The fight is too big, and there’s not enough time. “Even if we could, I’ll be escorted out of the Garden by sunset with nothing to offer Global Council when they arrive except a vision that confirms I’m a threat as a Blight. And on top of that, I’m destroying the Garden. Leaves are changing color, dying everywhere I go.” I touch the leaf of a low-hanging branch for proof. The bold green fades to sickly yellow and falls off. “My mere presence is hurting this place.” I hand him the evidence. “Forget fighting. I was naïve to think Sage could be destroyed. He’s unstoppable.”
Maddox tosses the dead leaf aside. “You’re the one who’s unstoppable. Why do you think Gray feels so threatened?” He shrinks the narrow space between us. Not only does he smell as if he’s showered with a scent that could be appropriately called Warrior Storm, but he draws so close, I’m drowning in the warmth radiating between us. “Look, if there isn’t a clear way to take down Sage, then we’ll convince Council to let us use the Ghost Army to keep you and your mother hidden and safe. We’ll go back to Hesperian. Or find a new place if we have to. We’ll save Awakened. Create something new.” His eyes lock into mine. “Together.”
Something about his confidence, how he believes so much in what he says, as if his words were a song that could change the world, sends my heart racing through my blood, crashing into my spinning mind.
I should run.
But I don’t want to.
I look down at my grimy shoes. “Maddox, I can’t. I’m too impulsive, even though I’m trying to be levelheaded. I want to do the right thing the way Pop says I should. But . . .” I hesitate. “I’m terrified.” And I am. Terrified about getting close to him. About losing Mom. About Gray and the Alliance. But I only say, “I’m terrified that I’ll side with Sage and not even know it. That I’ll give him the chance to destroy the creative life that pours out of the Well and put everyone in danger. The vision it . . .”
“It can be stopped. You’ve proven that. Together we saved Harper.” Maddox rests his hand on my arm. Electricity courses through me. I keep my head down. He shouldn’t touch me. He shouldn’t be anywhere near me. For his sake. And my own.
But I don’t want to pull away. Ever.
I find the strength to look at him. In that moment, a gusty wind rushes over the lake and into the woods, finding us. It brushes back his hair, exposing the scar, as my own hair whips in my face. He quickly shakes out his bangs, covering the gash.
I want to believe what he says, I really do. But there’s just one thing. “Why do you hide it?”
“Hide what?”
“You have this amazing conviction. You see things in others and believe in them more than they can believe in themselves. But then you hide part of who you are. If you would let people see—”
“Then that’s all they see.” His voice is hard, and as clouds block the sun, his expression shadows. “They wonder about it. Wonder when and how and why.”
“Let them wonder. Besides, being mysterious is hot.” I grin, hoping to lighten the weighty air, because I suddenly feel like I’ve made a mistake.
It does the trick because Maddox shakes his head, returning a faint smile. He should definitely smile more. A lot more.
“Right. It freaks girls out.”
“The wrong girls, maybe.”
Another intruding gust blows his hair away from his face again. He glances at me. I’m betting more than anything he wants to cover his scar, but he doesn’t. He lets me get a good look. I’ve seen the wound before, but never this close.
The scar is unsettling. The red ridge puckers the skin and curves all the way down in front of his ear, disfiguring his cheek. His face must have been cut open to the bone. A twinge knots my stomach. I stifle it as Maddox watches me study the deep rippling. A mark like that couldn’t have come from a knife. It had to be something much worse. The air turns heavy. I force myself to breathe normally. I don’t want him thinking I’m grossed out. If anything, I want to trace the depth of his wound as he stands in front of me, vulnerable. Trusting. As if I’m the first person he’s ever let fully see. Maybe I am.
My hand reaches up slowly.
He swallows hard.
I run my fingers over my lips instead. “Seriously, Maddox.” My heart won’t slow down. “A scar says you know how to live through the fight. Anyone with a scar like that is a hero in my book.” I try another lighthearted grin. “Like I said, it amps up the hotness factor.”
When my eyes meet his, I forget to breathe. Daring, impossible thoughts churn behind those stormy eyes. Thoughts I desperately want to know. Thoughts that hold the same look he had in the alcove before he kissed me.
His glance falls to my lips.
“I should go.” I don’t want to. But I step back anyhow, knocking into the tree. Am I luring him right now? I don’t mean to . . . I feel my way around the tree. Words tumble from my mouth. “I haven’t had lunch. I left Milton. I mean, Cole was—we were—”
Maddox’s turbulent eyes shade a troubled blue. “Cole might not be the best person for you to hang around.”
So, he is jealous. “I don’t get a choice.” I fidget with the Cord on my wrist, twisting the irritating tracker, and head for the trail. “He was assigned to guard me.”
Maddox stays close. “That’s what bothers me. Gray is intentional about everything. He chose Cole for a reason.”
“Because you volunteered, remember?” I forge up a sloped path similar to the one near Gray’s training room.
“It’s more than that. What if Cole’s time with Sage will trigger something? Influence you somehow.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t know what being around Sage does to an Awakened if they don’t dissent. What if Sage has influenced Cole somehow without his knowing? And what if some part of you senses it, making your dissenting pull stronger and blurring what you think is right?”
I’m sure he means well, but I can’t help but feel insulted. He has no idea what Cole’s done to help me. Maybe it’s me he doesn’t really trust. “Is that your way of saying you don’t believe I’ll make the right choice when it counts?”
He intercepts me before I step onto the backyard lawn. “I believe in you, Cera.” Frustration cracks through every word. “I’m saying, be careful.”
“What makes you think I haven’t been?”
“I’m only say—” He reaches for my hand but stops. “How did your Cord get loose?”
Sure enough the loopy thread hangs just above my knuckles. “I was only twisting it.”
“Maddox?” Gray’s voice cracks through the woods behind us.
“Go. Now.” Maddox urges me, shielding me from Gray’s sight. I don’t wait. I sprint fast and hard across the lawn heading straight for the kitchen.
I need to find Cole.
Cole isn’t in the kitchen.
“He went that way.” Harper points me to the back door, leading to the east corridor. I clutch the Cord tight against my wrist. He has to fix it so Gray won’t know it’s been messed with. My heart stills a moment. Maybe Gray already knows.
I rush out the back door and into the corridor. Rich notes from a brooding cello seep through the walkway, changing the tempo of my stride. It’s the same melody that sings me to sleep. I follow the weeping bass tones as they glide into a yearning tenor. I stop at the second door. It’s cracked slightly open enough for me to see Cole. Fluid notes flow from his gentle hands. His body leans in, swaying with each stroke, playing so unguarded; it feels wrong to barge in.
He glances my way.
The music stops.
I push the door open, stunned. I shouldn’t be. Probably another prodigy boarding school requirement, but still.
“What do you want?” He delicately rests the cello on its side and then reaches for the fedora on his rumpled bedsheets.
“Just . . . I was . . .” For some reason I can only focus on one thing. “Cole, you’re amazing.”
“Bach’s amazing.” He sets the bow on a dresser piled with books.
“You didn’t have to stop playing.”
“I don’t play in front of people. In fact . . .” He holds the door open. “Unless you have something worth telling me, then get going.” Why is he so cranky? Is he embarrassed that I caught him?
Cole tries to usher me into the corridor, but I dig my heels. “The Cord.” I hold out my wrist. The thread droops low.
Cole spins me back into his room. He quickly shuts the door and then glides around clothes and books pig-piled on the floor to slip his knife out from behind the bed’s headboard. I don’t dare step anywhere near the cello. Knowing me, I’ll accidentally stumble and knock it over.
He takes my hand, turning my wrist over. I brace for the pain.
Cole runs his thumb over the thread, studying my wrist. “Surfer boy know you’re skulking around my door like a groupie?”
“I’m not a groupie. Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap as Cole works the thread. “Why do you have to twist everything around?”
Cole shrugs, but his focus is laser locked on my wrist. “You’re cute when you get mad.”
“I’m not mad.” I narrow my eyes, hoping he can feel the heat from my glare, because he’s not looking at me.
An unbelieving smile brightens his face. “Embarrassed I called you out?”
“No!”
Sparks fly. The knife sizzles. Sharp incense tickles my nose.
“There. It’s done.” His smile falls as he drops my wrist. He’s back to being annoyed.
What? I glance down. Sure enough, the thread fits snug against my skin. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Told you, distractions work in my favor.” He ushers me into the hall where the damp air sticks to my skin.
&
nbsp; “Cera.” Devon appears at the end of the corridor. The knotted vines that canopy the ceiling shade his expression, but it’s clear he’s frowning. “We need you.”
A car door slams. “Is it my mom?”
“Not yet.” Devon walks to the front drive, and I follow. A line of cars and motorcycles are parked along the fountain. “There’s been another attack. Your mom’s in a temporary location until it’s safe to move again. Gray has the details.” He walks up the front steps.
“But she’s fine, right?”
“As far as I know, yes.” There is a slight crack in his strong voice. “But Cera . . . It was Hesperian. We don’t know who survived.”
A crushing weight presses in my chest, nearly buckling my knees. Juniper. Tanji. Kellan. Amide. Claire. And Gladys. Along with other nameless faces . . .
My feet twitch, wanting to sprint down the drive and not stop until I reach Hesperian and . . . then what? “I could have commanded the Legions or Cormorants to flee.” My voice is a strangled whisper. “I should have stayed.”
“And Sage would have found you.” Devon takes me into the house. “We have a plan against Sage, but we need your help.”
Voices rumble through the entryway. The War Room is filled with tense-jawed Blades who greet one another with hard slaps on the back and what looks to be crushing hugs. Fresh pine replaces the smell of antique lacquer as Blades carry crate after crate into the room. Devon leads me through the crowd as we make our way to the library, passing Lina and her food-filled cart along the way. Despite the buzzing chaos, time stops around her. There’s something beautiful about the way she cups each person’s hands with a gentle squeeze, passing a blessing as they receive the meal. Harper works in tandem beside her.
Devon enters the library first. I stay at the door and peer in from behind him.
The room is packed. Gray paces by the fireplace, giving a lecture to a group of people I don’t know. Most of them are older. All of them are dressed in dark denim or black fatigues. Several occupy both couches, while others stand along the back wall behind Pop, who sits in his wingback chair. I find Lieutenant Foster near his desk. Maddox is right beside him.
Realms of Light (The Colliding Line Book 2) Page 11
