Bianca De Lumière : High Suspense Urban Fantasy Romance (The Re'em Prophecy Book 1)

by Lisette Prendé

  As I said the words a sinking feeling came over me.

  A big, dark shape chasing me through the trees.

  Bianca! They could find you here!

  “To make it even weirder,” I went on, “I think…I may have seen…something last night.” I swallowed and turned toward Fae.

  “You mean, last night, while you were…?

  I nodded. “I don’t know what it was. I can only see glimpses of it in my mind. But it was big, dark and fast. There was a voice too, warning me off.

  “Bee?” Fae said, her face full of concern. “What if this guy you saw this morning, was warning you about this, thing too? What if the creature you think you saw last night, the creature Coutts and Mrs. Litster saw is…”

  She trailed off but I knew what she was going to say: What if this thing was after me? And the strange guy I’d seen had in fact, been warning me.

  My heart thumped heavily in my chest. Last night I’d unconsciously put myself in danger. I was lucky to have made it home. A cold chill fluttered over my body, sending goosebumps down my arms. But what about next time?

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, Bee.” Fae placed a hand on my shoulder, instantly melting the chill. “You have track after school today right? That’ll help you keep your mind off things.”

  Then I remembered. “I have detention!” I groaned into my hands.

  Fae’s face darkened. “Oh no! Was it Marilyn’s fault? Why does she always pick on you?”

  I sighed. “She’s just bitter because her husband Neil left her. Then Mr. Eldritch caught me coming in late. So it was really a team effort. He must have been so excited that he finally got to—”

  “Hold up!” Fae said, raising a hand. “Did you just say Nasty Neil has left Marilyn?”

  “Nasty Neil? You know him?”

  “Know him? He owns Neil’s Accounting. You know, the big cheesy sign on the main road? ‘Let Neil Nail Your Taxes!’” Fae used jazz hands for effect. “Ha! More like your wife!”

  I shook my head.

  Fae laughed. “I don’t know how you’ve lived in this tiny town your whole life and still don’t know everyone.”

  I shrugged but said nothing. I had more attention than I wanted as it was.

  “Well anyway,” Fae went on, “Nasty Neil is notorious for getting up to no good with his secretaries.”

  “Well, that might explain why he left Marilyn for Judy.”

  Fae’s eyes widened. “OMG!”

  “Ahh, girls?” called Mr. Warren from the front of the class. “How are you going with your amphora?”

  Fae and I stared back at him blankly.

  “Your sketches of the amphora.”

  “Ahhhhhm…” I started. From a few seats down, Caleb sent me a smile and lifted his piece of paper, revealing a skillful sketch of a large-handled vase, two centaurs in battle painted across it. I smiled and raised my eyebrows. Caleb, it turned out, was quite the artist.

  “Ahmm,” I said again, trying to find a good excuse for why I hadn’t even taken my books out of my bag.

  “Sorry, Mr. Warren.” Fae’s voice was clear as a bell. “Bianca and I were just discussing the story of the centaur Cheiron. Now was it true he was immortal?”

  “Well yes!” Mr. Warren’s eyes lit up. “He was immortal, but you see, he was struck with an arrow dipped in hydra blood so…” He continued, now talking to the rest of the class as well.

  Fae really knew how to deflect unwanted attention.

  Chapter Five

  When the bell rang for the end of the day, I moped down the corridors, passing other students as they made their way home. I turned into F block, which had thinned out quickly; only a few stragglers remained.

  A freshman boy, sporting a backpack so big he looked like a snail, passed by. His wide eyes fixed on me. I smiled back at him.

  I guess I’m a bit of an enigma at Pentacle High. Kids who come in from other nearby towns have only heard stories about me: The Albino of Pentacle High. If only they knew the truth.

  My sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as I trudged down the lonely corridor towards room 104. The detention room. Sensing an aura nearby, I turned as Caleb called my name.

  “Bianca!” He jogged to a stop in front of me. “Hi.”

  “Uh, hi,” I said back.

  “You heading to track practice?” he said, a slight puff on his breath.

  “Nah,” I sighed. “I have detention.”

  “Oh no. That sucks.”

  I nodded.

  “What you in for?” He grinned.

  “Just lateness.” I swallowed. My throat felt dry. “I wish it was something more interesting. Maybe I should make something up?”

  “Yeah, why not? You could say you were involved in some illegal operation. Like selling copies of Fifty Shades of Grey to freshmen.”

  I laughed. “That’s genius! Someone should actually do that.”

  He smiled at me and my cheeks grew warmer. I wondered why he was still here. Wasn’t he going to be late for practice?

  “So… ” He ran a hand through his long bangs. “I…ahh…wanted to ask you… ”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh wow. This is harder than I thought!” He laughed.

  “What is?” I braced myself. Caleb had always been kind to me. But so had all the others…just before they’d pranked me. I scanned his forest-green aura. All I could feel was kindness and something fluttery.

  “I wanted to… ” He laughed again, his cheeks turning pink. “Bianca, would you like to go to the prom with me?”

  His words hit me like a slap on the cheek. The prom? Me? Go to the prom?

  “Umm.”

  “If you’re not already going with someone else. I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

  “Seriously?”

  “I know. I wasn’t sure if it was really your thing.”

  His aura was flapping wildly, like a bird caught inside. He was nervous. The flutter in his stomach leaped into mine.

  I’d never been asked out before. Never even had a boy pass me a note or try to hold my hand. A warmth hummed in my legs, tingling my kneecaps. My heartbeat thumped in my ears.

  I mean,” he babbled on, “Usually you’re the only person in town who doesn’t go to dances so I didn’t know if…”

  “Yes.” I interrupted. “I would.”

  “You would?” He smiled. “Cool.”

  I smiled back. I’d never realized how cute he was. And now he had asked me to the prom. My throat felt like I’d gargled sand. I couldn’t speak.

  “Well. I’d better get to practice. But I’ll just get your number?” He handed me his phone. His lock-screen wallpaper was an album cover I knew well; I’d commandeered my mother’s copy of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness a few years ago. The CD was scratched but it still played.

  I swallowed, willing my voice to work. “Hey, you like the Smashing Pumpkins?” I swiped the image away and started thumbing in my name as a contact.

  “Yeah! You like ’em too?”

  “Yeah, I love them. My mom can’t believe I’m listening to the music she used to.”

  He laughed. “Mine neither. What’s your favorite song?”

  “‘An Ode to No One.’”

  “Ooh an angry one. But you seem so calm.”

  “It’s just an illusion.” I rippled a hand in front of my face and instantly regretted it.

  Caleb laughed and his eyes lit up.

  “What about you?” I asked. “What’s your favorite?”

  He squinted. “That’s a tough one. But I’m gonna say…‘By Starlight.’” He held my gaze for a moment. His eyes were green. Forest green, just like his aura.

  “Nice.” I handed back his phone.

  “Well, my real favorite is ‘Siva.’ Have you heard
it? It’s from an earlier album.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll have to play it for you sometime,” he smiled. “Better go or coach is gonna make me do sprints!” He waved and turned, bounding off towards the track field.

  What the heck had just happened?

  So this is what it feels like to be a normal teenage girl.

  I wandered towards room 104, grateful that no one was around to see me grinning like an idiot.

  Chapter Six

  Mr. Warren sat at the desk at the front of the classroom. He looked up when I entered. “Bianca! I was just reading your name on the detention list. I was sure it must be a mistake. Don’t you have track? You don’t want to miss that with nationals coming up soon.”

  I smiled a fallen smile. “Mr. Eldritch gave me detention this morning.”

  “I feel your pain.” He took a sip from his coffee mug. “I was just about at my car when I was asked to fill in for Mrs. Wilson. Bad tuna melt in the cafeteria apparently.”

  “I hope they’re paying you overtime.”

  He laughed. “Overtime? Never heard of it!”

  I trudged to the back of the room. There were four fellow detainees but no one I knew well enough to sit with.

  A junior girl coughed and muttered “Khaleesi!” Her friend next to her giggled. I narrowed my eyes and lowered myself into a seat near the windows.

  “Jenny,” Mr. Warren said in a dull tone. Her face went crimson. She’d obviously thought her insult would go unnoticed. Not likely. Even teachers watched Game of Thrones––Mr. Ross, the history teacher, had read all the books too. Every time someone was late to his class, he threatened to write spoilers up on the blackboard.

  “Sorry,” Jenny replied meekly, her eyes still on Mr. Warren.

  “Don’t say it to me,” he said, nodding in my direction.

  She turned to me, her pink aura still chuckling. “Sorry, Bianca.”

  Jenny and her friend sat on the other side of the classroom. They both wore a heavy mask of makeup. “Too much,” Fae would say. “Less is more.”

  Jenny looked up at me and gave me a weak smile. Then she turned to her friend and whispered something. It was quiet, but after sixteen years of living in whispers, I could read them like a book. I didn’t hear it all, but I heard enough: Mumble-mumble-albino?

  At times I’d actually considered placing an item in the school newsletter.

  ATTN: All Students and Staff. Bianca Taylor is not actually an albino. She is what is known as a medical anomaly. She lacks pigment in her skin and hair but is technically not albino. She’s just really pale. Okay? Good. As you were.

  But then that would open an even bigger can of worms. If I’m not albino, what am I? I wish I knew. I am what the doctors call “a real baffler.” I believe that’s the technical term.

  “The tests are inconclusive at this stage,” Dr. Simons had said, his wild eyebrows pinching together, a hand on his chin. “The nystagmus tremor is very faint indeed. I can hardly detect it.” He ran his fingers through his silver beard and began pacing the room. “Your eyesight seems fine, Bianca, but these halos you describe that shine around everything? That does sound like a sign of it.”

  Not everything. Just people.

  He opened a drawer, pulled out a red lollipop, and handed it to me. “You’re very lucky though, most patients with albinism have a lot of trouble with their eyes.”

  He turned to my mother and began to explain the importance of wearing protective sunglasses outside at all times. My mom asked about surgery but Dr. Simons shook his head.

  “No. There is currently no surgery for nystagmus. No correction is available at all. But she is lucky. As I say, very lucky. Some people with nystagmus see double. All the time. Bianca’s vision is quite good. Oddly good. You can’t wish for better vision for a child with albinism. And it is rare to have eyes of this color. Mostly they are pale blue. Sometimes red or violet. Not often bright green like this.”

  It all seemed so bizarre to me that my pale skin and my eyes were connected. That because I was albino it was inevitable I’d have this “wiggly eye disease” that Dr. Simons specialized in. I was older when I finally figured out the halos I was seeing were not a symptom of nystagmus. Then I learned to shut up about them.

  I was at camp when we got the news that the doctors didn’t know what the heck I was.

  I loved Camp White Fern. It was the only time in my entire childhood I felt like I belonged somewhere. Albino kids would come from all over the world to be at Camp White Fern for just a few weeks. Like me, most of them had scholarships.

  The camp was mostly nocturnal. The hours were changed to suit the needs of the campers. We’d rise late in the day, sitting in the shade of the large oaks, applying excessive amounts of sunblock to our translucent skin.

  We’d dare each other to take a running leap into the lake; our feet thudding against the pier before we flew momentarily, braced for the cool splash. We’d cheer each other on until we were all in the water, a greasy slick of sunblock floating on the surface.

  Dinner was at midnight. A loud rumpus of laughter and cheer. Afterward, we’d stay up long into the night playing games in the darkness; spotlight and glow-in-the-dark Frisbee.

  For the first time in my life, I made friends. Easily. There was Betsy from Sydney who used to intrigue me with her tales of bushfires and eating kangaroo meat.

  I loved to listen to her talk. I’d lie on my bunk bed for hours listening to her voice, her odd drawling accent that flowed like honey off her lips. I loved hearing her say funny words like “doona” instead of “comforter” or “bathers” instead of “bathing suit.” I dreamed of going to Sydney one day and staying at her house.

  “Are there really koala bears around your house?” I asked, my eyes closed, feeling her yellow aura next to me.

  “Yeah. Sometimes,” she said. “What kinda animals do you get?”

  “Oh, we get all kinds. Deer, elk, skunks.”

  “Ew!” Betsy wailed. “Has one ever sprayed you?”

  “No. But a boy at school said his dad got sprayed once. His mom made him sleep outside in a pup-tent.”

  Nalulu came from Tanzania. She’d come to America when she was adopted by a couple from upstate New York. Her hair wasn’t quite white but light auburn; it grew upwards in two pigtails, secured by Minnie Mouse hair bands. She stood out to me because her aura was lit with so much pain it had grown weak and dull.

  One night I found myself sitting next to her as the leaders piled sticks together for a campfire. The kids from overseas were excited to try s’mores.

  “So why’s it called a gram cracker?” Betsy asked. “Does it only weigh a gram?”

  “It’s Graham cracker,” Shelley, one of the leaders, replied. “G-R-A-H-A-M.”

  “Oh you mean Gray-am,” Betsy said, her Aussie twang dragging out the syllables. “Why do you say it funny?”

  “We don’t,” Danny from Maine said. “You do!”

  Betsy giggled and the rest of us joined in. Except Nalulu.

  Shelley passed around the crackers and Cliff handed out sticks for roasting our marshmallows on.

  “Take some and pass it on,” Kimby from Texas said, passing me a jumbo pack of marshmallows; enough for dozens of s’mores each.

  “Thanks.” I took the bag from her. I grabbed a handful and passed it on to Nalulu. ”Here you go. Take as many as you want and pass it on.”

  As she reached up to take the packet from me our hands touched. Our auras too. A jolt of pain ripped through me. A scream flew from my lips. Nalulu jumped and stared back at me, her pained aura standing up at attention.

  “Bianca!” Shelley said, her eyes wide with concern. “What happened?”

  I looked up and realized everyone was staring at me. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I thought I saw a huge spid
er on my hand… But it was just a leaf.”

  “Geez Louise!” Cliff said, his hand on his chest. “You gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled again.

  I turned to Nalulu. She was still looking at me. Her face somber.

  “Sorry,” I smiled. “I hope I didn’t give you too much of a fright. I really hate spiders.”

  “Me too,” she said, finally smiling, passing the marshmallows on.

  I sat there in the dark for a moment processing the pain I had just felt and the images that had come with it.

  Nalulu, hiding under her bed with a boy about her age, pale, like her.

  “Quiet!” she said.

  My ears didn’t know the language, but my mind did.

  “Shhh, Safi! Or they’ll find us.”

  But the boy had started to whimper.

  There was a scuffle on the floor, then Safi was slipping away from her, pulled out from under the bed. Now the night sky shone above. A man holding a machete carried Safi to a truck as he wailed.

  “Get his sister too,” the man said to another.

  Nalulu began to scream as the man with the machete got closer and closer.

  There was shouting from behind. A group of villagers appeared in the distance, armed with weapons.

  Soon Nalulu was being carried away by kind, strong hands and taken inside.

  But Safi had not followed.

  “Bianca?” Kimby said. “Do you want some chocolate or not?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Sure.” I took the block of Hershey’s from her.

  “You okay?” she said.

  I nodded. “Fire smoke always makes my eyes water.”

  Over the next few weeks, I made a point of making sure Nalulu was included. I invited her to come and play with Betsy and me and join in on our afternoon discussions.

  “Sydney is always hot. Even in winter.”

  “Lucky. Pentacle can get pretty cold in winter. I hate cold weather. But at least it means I can still go outside. I hate sunblock. It’s so sticky!”