Read Online American Goth by J. D. Glass - Free Book Online Page A

of things, of people, I didn’t want to think about, and the sharp lance of memory, only a few months old, bore hot and heavy through my ribs. For the first time, the strings didn’t calm the tangled mess that filled my mind, rode restless and hot under my skin. I put my guitar down and jumped to my feet, only to start prowling the floor again. Okay. I flipped the light, then faced myself in the mirror. Let it never be said, I thought, that I never faced the issues head-on.
    My face had thinned, there were smudges above my cheeks just under my eyes, faint purple from exhaustion. Cobalt blue , I thought as I looked into my own eyes under hair that had gotten darker since I’d not really been out in the sun. “Moon on the ocean blue,” Nina had told me once when we’d sat by the pier on a faraway bay. I closed my eyes for a moment against the remembered glare of the water that burned into my sight and the memory-sting of the wind that blew the hair back off my face as I’d felt her fingers do the same the last time we’d really seen each other, the last real words we’d ever exchanged. I would graduate the next day and leave that continent the day after.
    We held each other, close, safe, and silent in the warmth of the sun and the breeze that blew off the water, content for the moment to have this, just this, because I knew, we both knew, we had the rest of our lives to work this out, we had the assurance of tomorrow. If I’d only known then what that tomorrow had held, if I’d had a clue …that would have changed everything. If…if… if .
    There is no “if,” I told myself sternly and shut the too-vivid recollection down and away where it wouldn’t hurt. I had other things to think about, things to learn, to focus on. I would.
    I already knew there wasn’t enough motion I could do to make me feel better. Playing guitar was out of the question, and the wave that once more threatened to descend…those little razors were so close, I just had to reach for them. I dressed again in sweats and sneakers and went down to the first floor, to the back room where Uncle Cort had said he’d be. The light shone from under the door, and as I opened it I saw him, face screwed in concentration as he sat in front of his workbench, his gloved hands carefully tapping at whatever shone before him.
    “Need something, dear heart?” he asked over his shoulder as I entered.
    “Do you trust me?” I tried not to shift as I waited for his answer.
    “I do,” he said solemnly, his gaze steady on me as he gently laid down his tools. “Do you need something?”
    “Can I…can I have the sword?”
    He got up slowly and crossed the room to the large oven in the corner and opened its door, then pulled the sword and its scabbard from within. He handed it to me and I felt just that much calmer as the hilt fit into my palm.
    “Thank you,” I told him.
    “You’re welcome,” he answered, his voice quiet, deep, and grave, as if we were trying not to wake the house itself.
    “I just want…I want to do an exercise,” I said as I turned away and reached for the door.
    He nodded. “See you in the morning.”
    “Yes.”
    My heart felt heavy in my chest, a burn that climbed into my throat even as I climbed the steps to the study and, once there, kindled a fire in the grate.
    I took a centering breath, then drew the blade from its home and let the firelight wink off it before I drew the circle around me, on the Material, in the Aethyr, then took my accustomed position with it—head high, arms straight, posture perfect. It felt so light without the weights on my wrists…
    Closing my eyes, I forced my mind to empty and focused on the Light within and without, the swirl of matrices from the sword in my hand, a loop that fed back and forth. I felt it clearly, the current that entered me from the surrounds: it flowed from my hands to the metal and through it, then back to me, the endless circle, the endless Light that sang and pulsed and