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Authors: Cecily White
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flight. Colors flashed through my head. Then, before I could consciously register what was happening, my mind flipped channels and Jack and I were dancing. I didn’t recognize the place—some huge hall filled with golden light—but the “me” in the vision seemed comfortable there. Near us, people whirled and swirled around a giant ice sculpture of an angel, its wings outstretched in flight. Jack wore a tuxedo and I was in a fitted white dress with pearls embroidered down the bodice. And even though I kept stepping on his toes with my stupid high heels he didn’t seem to mind. He just smiled and held me tighter.
It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before my eyes fluttered open, the vision melting away. For a moment, I thought I might faint. My brain hummed lightly. His forehead was pressed against mine, eyes shut and breath shallow. A wash of dizziness hit me, but it couldn’t eclipse the warm, wonderful feeling of being right where I was supposed to be.
“Jack?” I whispered.
He swallowed, Adam’s apple working nervously. “Yeah?”
I didn’t know what to say. All the questions I had—What just happened? Who are you? Is this normal?—died before they reached my lips. His breath was so sweet, his fingertips digging into my ribcage. The world spun in little circles and for a second, I felt a need to kiss him so fierce I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist.
“Jackson,” I whispered again, because I couldn’t think of anything else.
The sound of his name seemed to shake him out of whatever trance he was in. With a muffled grunt, he sprang to his feet, nearly tripping over one of the fallen chairs in the aisle. I reached out to help him, but he jerked away like I was made of acid.
“I-I have to go.”
“Wait!” I scrambled after him, the barest hint of a golden sheen beneath my skin. My head vibrated from the power draw and I struggled not to wobble as I stood. “Let me come with you. I can help. Don’t you see that?”
But he didn’t see it. The way he blew all the air out of his lungs, fists balled at his forehead, he was definitely angry. I hated to admit it, but the guy’s reaction made sense. Even for an R.G., this kind of boundary violation was so far from the borders of “helpful,” it might well have been declared its own country.
For a moment, he stood still, staring down at me in bewilderment.
“Say something,” I begged.
But he didn’t. It was like he was afraid to speak.
Thin trails of light draped between us, cobwebbed and delicate, but I barely noticed. I couldn’t stop looking at the unhappy shape of his lips, thinking about how badly I wanted to kiss him and how ludicrous it was to want that.
“Go to the infirmary,” he said quietly, “then go home. If I see you again, I’m filing an incident report.”
I watched in silence as he walked away. Every bit of me screamed to go after him, to get away from the burned stench of demon death that filled the hall. It didn’t matter whether he wanted my help or not. Without him, I had no reason to stay.
Chapter Five:
Shaking the Tree
For the record, infirmaries suck. Fluorescent lights. Strange smells. People in lab coats peeking at your orifices. Pretty unrelaxing, if you ask me.
Most of the beds were empty when I reported for my exam, though a few curtains had been drawn. Probably survivors from the demon attack in Slidell last weekend. Smalley tried to keep us shielded from the front lines until after graduation, but with the Elders carting in fallen warriors all the time it was hard not to notice. Too many wounded, too few facilities to treat them, I guess. The patients’ low moans and ragged breathing made for a weird soundtrack to my physical exam.
“Are you seeing spots?” Dr. Gunderman flashed a penlight in my eyes, making it impossible not to see spots.
“No,” I said. Lie number six. Or was it seven? Crud, I’d lost count.
“Dizziness?”
“No.”
“Nausea? Vomiting?
It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before my eyes fluttered open, the vision melting away. For a moment, I thought I might faint. My brain hummed lightly. His forehead was pressed against mine, eyes shut and breath shallow. A wash of dizziness hit me, but it couldn’t eclipse the warm, wonderful feeling of being right where I was supposed to be.
“Jack?” I whispered.
He swallowed, Adam’s apple working nervously. “Yeah?”
I didn’t know what to say. All the questions I had—What just happened? Who are you? Is this normal?—died before they reached my lips. His breath was so sweet, his fingertips digging into my ribcage. The world spun in little circles and for a second, I felt a need to kiss him so fierce I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist.
“Jackson,” I whispered again, because I couldn’t think of anything else.
The sound of his name seemed to shake him out of whatever trance he was in. With a muffled grunt, he sprang to his feet, nearly tripping over one of the fallen chairs in the aisle. I reached out to help him, but he jerked away like I was made of acid.
“I-I have to go.”
“Wait!” I scrambled after him, the barest hint of a golden sheen beneath my skin. My head vibrated from the power draw and I struggled not to wobble as I stood. “Let me come with you. I can help. Don’t you see that?”
But he didn’t see it. The way he blew all the air out of his lungs, fists balled at his forehead, he was definitely angry. I hated to admit it, but the guy’s reaction made sense. Even for an R.G., this kind of boundary violation was so far from the borders of “helpful,” it might well have been declared its own country.
For a moment, he stood still, staring down at me in bewilderment.
“Say something,” I begged.
But he didn’t. It was like he was afraid to speak.
Thin trails of light draped between us, cobwebbed and delicate, but I barely noticed. I couldn’t stop looking at the unhappy shape of his lips, thinking about how badly I wanted to kiss him and how ludicrous it was to want that.
“Go to the infirmary,” he said quietly, “then go home. If I see you again, I’m filing an incident report.”
I watched in silence as he walked away. Every bit of me screamed to go after him, to get away from the burned stench of demon death that filled the hall. It didn’t matter whether he wanted my help or not. Without him, I had no reason to stay.
Chapter Five:
Shaking the Tree
For the record, infirmaries suck. Fluorescent lights. Strange smells. People in lab coats peeking at your orifices. Pretty unrelaxing, if you ask me.
Most of the beds were empty when I reported for my exam, though a few curtains had been drawn. Probably survivors from the demon attack in Slidell last weekend. Smalley tried to keep us shielded from the front lines until after graduation, but with the Elders carting in fallen warriors all the time it was hard not to notice. Too many wounded, too few facilities to treat them, I guess. The patients’ low moans and ragged breathing made for a weird soundtrack to my physical exam.
“Are you seeing spots?” Dr. Gunderman flashed a penlight in my eyes, making it impossible not to see spots.
“No,” I said. Lie number six. Or was it seven? Crud, I’d lost count.
“Dizziness?”
“No.”
“Nausea? Vomiting?
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