realized, was that these were all people I knew well before I drew them, and that my drawings weren’t so much of them but of events surrounding them. That was what was so shocking about Ethan’s sudden appearance in my sketchbook and then again in real life. I didn’t know him, and I had no way of knowing if my drawing foresaw his arrival in my life or pointed to some event involving him that hadn’t happened yet.
This was a good segue into point two: the strange symbols surrounding Ethan in my drawing and his ominous appearance in general. He’d been surrounded by a storm of darkness and frightening objects. He’d been furious. So if my drawing represented a forthcoming event, it was bound to be bad. For at least the fiftieth time since waking, I wished for my missing drawing so I could study it again. I ran through what I remembered, lightning fast: soaring light like doors in darkness, bloody talons, broken knife, ragged book, smashed heart. Remember it. Be ready.
Point three: My drawing was missing. Someone had sliced it neatly free from my sketchbook. Someone had stolen my property and my proof. My hands curled into fists, the injured one throbbing mildly in protest as my burning, oxygen-deprived chest matched my suddenly blazing anger. Someone had been in my house and stolen my property. I wasn’t sure which upset me more: the drawing and all it represented, or its theft and the violation of my home. I couldn’t think of a motive or a suspect. Logan hadn’t known the drawing existed, Amberlyn didn’t understand its significance, and Ethan had been with me the entire time.
Lack of oxygen finally drove me to the surface in an explosion of droplets. I flipped my hair backwards, out of my eyes, and gripped the edge of the tub. Ethan. Point four, and by far the most unsettling. I thought about the black leather jacket folded neatly across the back of my winged-back reading chair. I awoke slightly before the alarm, nestled underneath it with all my clothes on. He’d covered me with it and tucked me in. That much I remembered, along with his light piercing eyes and his promise that he’d see me again.
That, and the dreams.
I squirmed in the tub, letting the hot water swish around me in mild waves as I remembered the Ethan dreams. Storms swept across my dreamscape; I remembered a world of mist and wind, pierced occasionally by lightening. I drew with my fingers in the thick mist, shadows streaming from my fingertips in thick jagged lines. I stood on tiptoe and carved great dark rips in an otherwise hazy white world. "This is dangerous, Caspia," someone said from far away. Ethan. "It's not allowed. You'll draw their attention." But I didn't want to stop. His river-colored eyes flared slightly as he grappled with me. In my dream he held me close, around my waist.
I blushed, quite a feat when I was flushed from the hot water anyway. I had no business dreaming about a man I barely knew who had an as-yet undefined role in my life and could do things like move faster than my eyes could follow. And speak cat.
As if on cue, Abigail nudged her way into the bathroom through the connecting door to my room. She looked at me with queenly impatience. “Oh, ok already,” I grumbled, climbing out and toweling vigorously. “Breakfast in five, your highness. You have to wait like everyone else.” She flicked her tail to show her displeasure and stalked back out the door.
The black leather jacket tugged at the edges of my thoughts as I rifled quickly through my closet. I held two long-sleeved shirts up in front of my full-length, freestanding mirror. My long hair was starting to dry around the edges, framing my face with wild wispy strands. I was tall for a woman. At five foot nine, I towered over most of my female classmates, including the petite Amberlyn. I would never qualify as thin or tiny, but my tall frame and the fact that I walked almost everywhere, carrying all my belongings and purchases, kept me reasonably fit.
This was a good segue into point two: the strange symbols surrounding Ethan in my drawing and his ominous appearance in general. He’d been surrounded by a storm of darkness and frightening objects. He’d been furious. So if my drawing represented a forthcoming event, it was bound to be bad. For at least the fiftieth time since waking, I wished for my missing drawing so I could study it again. I ran through what I remembered, lightning fast: soaring light like doors in darkness, bloody talons, broken knife, ragged book, smashed heart. Remember it. Be ready.
Point three: My drawing was missing. Someone had sliced it neatly free from my sketchbook. Someone had stolen my property and my proof. My hands curled into fists, the injured one throbbing mildly in protest as my burning, oxygen-deprived chest matched my suddenly blazing anger. Someone had been in my house and stolen my property. I wasn’t sure which upset me more: the drawing and all it represented, or its theft and the violation of my home. I couldn’t think of a motive or a suspect. Logan hadn’t known the drawing existed, Amberlyn didn’t understand its significance, and Ethan had been with me the entire time.
Lack of oxygen finally drove me to the surface in an explosion of droplets. I flipped my hair backwards, out of my eyes, and gripped the edge of the tub. Ethan. Point four, and by far the most unsettling. I thought about the black leather jacket folded neatly across the back of my winged-back reading chair. I awoke slightly before the alarm, nestled underneath it with all my clothes on. He’d covered me with it and tucked me in. That much I remembered, along with his light piercing eyes and his promise that he’d see me again.
That, and the dreams.
I squirmed in the tub, letting the hot water swish around me in mild waves as I remembered the Ethan dreams. Storms swept across my dreamscape; I remembered a world of mist and wind, pierced occasionally by lightening. I drew with my fingers in the thick mist, shadows streaming from my fingertips in thick jagged lines. I stood on tiptoe and carved great dark rips in an otherwise hazy white world. "This is dangerous, Caspia," someone said from far away. Ethan. "It's not allowed. You'll draw their attention." But I didn't want to stop. His river-colored eyes flared slightly as he grappled with me. In my dream he held me close, around my waist.
I blushed, quite a feat when I was flushed from the hot water anyway. I had no business dreaming about a man I barely knew who had an as-yet undefined role in my life and could do things like move faster than my eyes could follow. And speak cat.
As if on cue, Abigail nudged her way into the bathroom through the connecting door to my room. She looked at me with queenly impatience. “Oh, ok already,” I grumbled, climbing out and toweling vigorously. “Breakfast in five, your highness. You have to wait like everyone else.” She flicked her tail to show her displeasure and stalked back out the door.
The black leather jacket tugged at the edges of my thoughts as I rifled quickly through my closet. I held two long-sleeved shirts up in front of my full-length, freestanding mirror. My long hair was starting to dry around the edges, framing my face with wild wispy strands. I was tall for a woman. At five foot nine, I towered over most of my female classmates, including the petite Amberlyn. I would never qualify as thin or tiny, but my tall frame and the fact that I walked almost everywhere, carrying all my belongings and purchases, kept me reasonably fit.
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