again with another dry cough. “Water,” he managed.
“I’ll get it,” Dad said. He patted me on the shoulder as he sauntered toward the kitchen.
I rubbed Brent’s back and waited for my dad to return. “Are you okay?” I asked a red-faced Brent.
He shook his head and tugged at the collar of his shirt, as his gasping cough continued. His deep breaths sounded like they were being sucked through a straw and his face seemed to swell. Brent’s strained breathing suddenly stopped. Desperate croaks for air escaped his swollen lips. His hands went around his throat before he doubled over, collapsing to floor on his knees.
“Brent? Brent!” I screamed. I ran into the hallway. “Dad! Vovó! I need help!”
Dad pushed past me, setting down the cup as he took in the scene. He reached down and lifted Brent to his feet. Wrapping his arms around Brent’s stomach, he tried performing the Heimlich, but Brent frantically waved him off. Apparently Brent wasn’t choking, but he was still having trouble breathing. Dad obeyed, but kept his arms around Brent, who sagged back against him.
A gust of wind sent my hair in motion, swirling around my face. A small cyclone formed in the center of the room, the papers on the desk were swept into the air, and the glass of the display cases shivered. Brent’s distress brought on the storm. His elemental powers always increased during times of heightened emotions. Brent could barely gasp and I grabbed his hand. It was an eerie flashback to the first day I met him. That day, I could see the evil spirit choking him as it tried to possess him, but right now I had no idea what was wrong.
I squeezed his fingers. “Brent, please hang in there.”
His eyes stared into mine. My mom and grandma rushed in from the kitchen and Vovó instantly began checking him over.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. We were just sitting here talking and eating some peanuts—”
“Peanuts? Is he allergic?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Mom grabbed the phone and called 911. She left the room, talking frantically to the person on the other end, and Vovó turned her trained eyes onto Brent.
“Does he have an EpiPen?” dad asked as he lowered Brent carefully to the floor. The gusts of wind danced more fiercely around the room and the windows started to rattle. My parents knew of his powers and didn’t seem too surprised by the storm in their home.
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I didn’t know he had allergies.”
Dad checked Brent’s pockets, but found nothing.
“Calm him down,” Vovó instructed as a strand of her hair plastered itself across her face.
I leaned down, murmuring loving words to Brent and the wind stopped. Relief blossomed inside of me but withered when my ears heard nothing. No storm, no gasps of air, no instructions. Something was wrong. I glanced up—or rather, I tried to glance up, but I couldn’t move. I felt trapped, like my body had been encased in cement. Had some wire between my brain and my body short-circuited? Fear tingled in my fingers and toes, the sensation traveling up my limbs toward my heart, the feeling growing stronger, vibrating. My spirit was going to astral project without my permission. I couldn’t stop it, and my spirit burst free. I stood up, but my body still knelt beside Brent, holding him in my arms.
“Yara?” Brent asked from across the room. I spun around, my heart almost stopping in terror.
“NO!” My hand covered my mouth. “You can’t be dead!”
He rushed forward, his hands on my shoulders to keep me from collapsing. “It’s okay. I’m projecting.”
Relief crashed over me so hard, my knees felt like they’d turned to Jell-O. I wobbled on my feet, feeling light headed. I glanced around the room. Paper hung suspended in the air, my family stood like wax statues, concern etched in their faces. That’s why I hadn’t been able to move, my body had been frozen when Brent projected. But since I could project, unlike my
“I’ll get it,” Dad said. He patted me on the shoulder as he sauntered toward the kitchen.
I rubbed Brent’s back and waited for my dad to return. “Are you okay?” I asked a red-faced Brent.
He shook his head and tugged at the collar of his shirt, as his gasping cough continued. His deep breaths sounded like they were being sucked through a straw and his face seemed to swell. Brent’s strained breathing suddenly stopped. Desperate croaks for air escaped his swollen lips. His hands went around his throat before he doubled over, collapsing to floor on his knees.
“Brent? Brent!” I screamed. I ran into the hallway. “Dad! Vovó! I need help!”
Dad pushed past me, setting down the cup as he took in the scene. He reached down and lifted Brent to his feet. Wrapping his arms around Brent’s stomach, he tried performing the Heimlich, but Brent frantically waved him off. Apparently Brent wasn’t choking, but he was still having trouble breathing. Dad obeyed, but kept his arms around Brent, who sagged back against him.
A gust of wind sent my hair in motion, swirling around my face. A small cyclone formed in the center of the room, the papers on the desk were swept into the air, and the glass of the display cases shivered. Brent’s distress brought on the storm. His elemental powers always increased during times of heightened emotions. Brent could barely gasp and I grabbed his hand. It was an eerie flashback to the first day I met him. That day, I could see the evil spirit choking him as it tried to possess him, but right now I had no idea what was wrong.
I squeezed his fingers. “Brent, please hang in there.”
His eyes stared into mine. My mom and grandma rushed in from the kitchen and Vovó instantly began checking him over.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. We were just sitting here talking and eating some peanuts—”
“Peanuts? Is he allergic?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Mom grabbed the phone and called 911. She left the room, talking frantically to the person on the other end, and Vovó turned her trained eyes onto Brent.
“Does he have an EpiPen?” dad asked as he lowered Brent carefully to the floor. The gusts of wind danced more fiercely around the room and the windows started to rattle. My parents knew of his powers and didn’t seem too surprised by the storm in their home.
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I didn’t know he had allergies.”
Dad checked Brent’s pockets, but found nothing.
“Calm him down,” Vovó instructed as a strand of her hair plastered itself across her face.
I leaned down, murmuring loving words to Brent and the wind stopped. Relief blossomed inside of me but withered when my ears heard nothing. No storm, no gasps of air, no instructions. Something was wrong. I glanced up—or rather, I tried to glance up, but I couldn’t move. I felt trapped, like my body had been encased in cement. Had some wire between my brain and my body short-circuited? Fear tingled in my fingers and toes, the sensation traveling up my limbs toward my heart, the feeling growing stronger, vibrating. My spirit was going to astral project without my permission. I couldn’t stop it, and my spirit burst free. I stood up, but my body still knelt beside Brent, holding him in my arms.
“Yara?” Brent asked from across the room. I spun around, my heart almost stopping in terror.
“NO!” My hand covered my mouth. “You can’t be dead!”
He rushed forward, his hands on my shoulders to keep me from collapsing. “It’s okay. I’m projecting.”
Relief crashed over me so hard, my knees felt like they’d turned to Jell-O. I wobbled on my feet, feeling light headed. I glanced around the room. Paper hung suspended in the air, my family stood like wax statues, concern etched in their faces. That’s why I hadn’t been able to move, my body had been frozen when Brent projected. But since I could project, unlike my
Similar Books
