Reborn Page 6

  The stone tickles as it passes through me. It’s the same feeling as dropping a hundred feet on a ride at an amusement park. It’s not my favorite feeling in the world—my stomach rolling, my organs feeling as though they’re in my throat, my chest aching. I imagine if it were still necessary for me to breathe, it’d seize the oxygen and hold it hostage. I count my blessings though. I could be one of those shades forced to endure torture in the Electro-Triangle.

  Emerging on the other side, Jayne and Tanya turn toward me. Jane’s minimal furnishings—a small couch and a rug—are visible through their bodies.

  We aren’t allowed much. The dead can’t take anything with them and we don’t receive anything when we get here. If we could, I imagine Jane would have this room filled with knitting objects or clay masterpieces. She seems like the crafty type.

  “I believe Aiden will come willingly. Are you sure Reaper’s Breath will aid his passage?” Jane asks.

  I bunch my shoulders in a sloppy shrug before rubbing my jaw. “I have no reason not to believe it will. It seems to know what we want before we voice it.”

  Jane bobbles in a nervous nod, her fingers twisting together.

  Turning to Tanya, I ask, “And you’re sure he’ll join us? In the rebellion?” She nods her head, but I’m distracted by Jane and her nervous energy. “Jane?”

  Her lips turned downward. “It’s my turn to ask for a favor.”

  I sigh and run my hand down my face. Why does everyone want things from me?

  ELIZA PLAATS

  EARTH REALM

  Cassandra hands me a paper cup full of hot, steaming black brew. The smell reaches my nose, settling my insides and the dark feeling inside. My insides feel twisty, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to regret pushing Mrs. Tiller.

  Mrs. Tiller agreed to the surgery. She’s choosing life, which should have eased my fear for her. But instead, it heightened just the opposite. It’s rare for me to have feelings for others. I avoid it at all cost, but I’ve come to know Mrs. Tiller and her family. They’re good people, and once you grow attached to a patient, emotions tend to get in the way. Is this what that is? I’m too close to them?

  Pulling back the chair next to mine inside the hospital Attending’s Lounge table, Cassandra plops herself in it with a sigh. The chair protests the sudden weight, scraping against the tiled floor, and her afro quivers atop her head.

  She peeks at me without moving her head. “Think she’ll back out this time?” Blowing on her coffee and chasing away the steam, I can tell she has the same sinking feeling as me.

  My fingers drum against my hot cup, taking turns enduring the heat as I shrug, staring out the window that’s drenched in raindrops. We’re having a wet fall, and though I enjoy the rain, I can’t help but miss the sun and the sliver of warmth it gives me, especially on days like today. There are times when it feels like the sun has the power to chase away the dark inside me.

  Cassandra sits still—too still—as she studies me from the corner of her eye. She tries to remain inconspicuous with her perusal, and even though my attention isn’t on her, I still notice her staring. With barely a sound, she lifts the remote from the center of the table and aims it at the TV hanging on the wall. Cassandra likes distractions.

  Sound fills the room, a news anchor in mid-report. I continue to watch the rain, wishing I could be just like the drop that dribbles down the glass pane.

  What would it be like to be the very thing that provides all life, sent from the heavens to a planet plagued with death? To know that I had a purpose as I floated from the glass before dropping to the soil. I’d be feeding life. I’d be the sustenance before returning to the heavens, repeating the cycle again and again. Life would be more predictable that way, more light-hearted and unplagued.

  The news anchor’s voice switches to a deeper, more urgent town and I’m pulled from my thoughts.

  “The flu has arrived early this year. Mercy Memorial Hospital’s free clinic has reported a widespread outbreak of fatigue, disorientation, and unexplained blood loss.”

  I glance at Cassandra, my brows furrowed as I continue to listen.

  “They believe it to be a new strand of the virus and are urging the community to seek medical attention if you experience any of these symptoms.”

  Cassandra returns my frown before she mumbles, tracing the rim of her cup, “Have you heard anything about this?”

  I shake my head. “No. Have you?”

  “No.” Her lips twist as she speculates. “What kind of virus produces unexplained blood loss?”

  I turn my head back to the raindrops, my voice trailing off and my coffee left untouched. “I have no idea . . .”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  EARTH REALM

  Taking the last step up the flight of stairs, I grasp the cheap handle and turn it, swinging open the door and accidentally forcing it open too wide. It bangs into the wall and I jump a little at the sound. Cinnamon scented wax melts inside a warming pot filling the space with a pleasant smell. I flick on the lights and begin peeling off my shoes. Tember’s nostrils flare as she takes a big whiff, mentally assessing my living space. The T.V. is running, forgotten about in my haste to open the shop this morning. A news anchor is discussing some sort of medical emergency.

  Symptoms are displayed across the screen in some sort of power-point presentation as the news anchor verbally lists them. Tember’s attention instantly zones in on it, her eyes narrow until I break her concentration.

  I swing my arm out, gesturing Tember to step farther inside. “Here we are. Home sweet home,” I say a little too chipper. I clear my throat. I’m obviously nervous about having an angel live with me.

  My apartment is small, just the way I like it. It has one bedroom and original hardwood floors. The living room is the first area we step in to. Old, floral printed couches surround the small flat screen T.V. I found those couches on the side of the road a few years ago when I was renting this apartment out to a nice couple and not living in it myself. They were understanding when I needed the apartment back, and for that, I’m grateful.

  A small kitchenette looks over the living room, an island with bar stools the only thing separating the two areas. Nothing in my apartment screams luxury. I’m a single woman running a business. Though I make a decent living, I don’t see the point in granite countertops and fresh, handstitched leather couches. I make do with what I have, and I’m all the better for it.

  Tember walks further into the apartment, her head slowly swiveling as she takes in the details. I can’t tell if she’s trying to discover the layout, critiquing the fact that this isn’t a five-star hotel, or if she’s scouting the area for danger. I roll my eyes anyway, her brass attitude rubbing my nerves raw.

  “Make yourself at home,” I mumble as she heads down the small hallway, stepping inside my bedroom. I shut the door, laying the keys on the small dining table. The table is never used, except for being the holder of all things postal.

  I head to the kitchen, grab the kettle from the stove, and fill it with water. As I’m placing it back on the stove and turning the dial to heat the water, Tember pulls back a bar stool and seats herself at the island.

  “Do you eat?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder before heading to the fridge.

  “Yes,” she answers like I should have known that already.

  There isn’t exactly a book out there stating all the details about every supernatural and otherworldly creature walking the realms. Though I wish there was, and it would be really handy, that’d be a huge liability. If it were placed in the wrong hands it would have its own set of severe consequences with a big side of foreboding doom. Witches rely on legends told down through the generations. But, like a game of telephone, information can get lost or warped over time.

  Bending in front of the fridge, I release a quiet sigh, falsely regretting the choice of letting her stay here. If I were being honest with myself, I’d admit that having someone else in
my apartment set my heart at ease. My fingers curl around the leftover lasagna inside a small rectangular cakepan-size plastic Tupperware, before I turn to face her. “Why are you so uptight?”

  The perfectly sculpted eyebrows raise on her forehead. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  My lips thin into a line and I walk to the microwave, placing the container inside. “Of course you don’t. You’re all business, aren’t you?”

  I wait for the microwave to beep, drumming my fingers on the counter and feeling her eyes drill a hole into the back of my head. My teeth clench together, grinding with the anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach.

  Finally, she speaks, allowing me to release the breath I didn’t know I was holding, “Why did you do it, Kat?”

  Briefly closing my eyes, I resolve to the fact that I’m going to have to tell her. I told myself I would never tell a soul about the incredibly stupid thing I did, but if she’s going to stick around ‘protecting me,’ I might as well come clean. At this point, what could it hurt? She’s already seen the second soul—the beast—I’m connected to.

  “To save my coven,” I mumble through my clenched teeth.

  The microwave finishes its cycle at the same time the tea kettle whistles. I open the microwave, cooling its contents, while gathering the teabags, mugs, plates, and silverware.

  Her pause in response causes my nervous energy to rise another level as I wait for her to berate me once more. “So, it was you who sacrificed to save the witches from the Red Death. How did you do it? How did you resurrect Myla?”

  Turning to face her, surprise lights my features. She knows so much information and chose not to chastise me. Why?

  I place her mug and plate on the counter and hand her a fork. She cuts a piece of steaming lasagna as I pull out a stool and gingerly sit beside her. “I summoned Erline. How do you know about the Red Death?” She pauses in lifting a bite to her mouth, one eyebrow raised. I roll my eyes. “Right. I’m your charge.” My brows furrow as another thought hits me. “How did you know about the Red Death but not about me summoning Erline?”

  Chewing her bite, she waits until she swallows before turning to face me. “Until recently, you weren’t my only charge. Erma has,” she pauses, considering her next words, “taken a special interest in you. I was allowed to come here, to walk with the humans, to watch over you.”

  I laugh without humor, waving my fork in the air. “Watch over me? I don’t need watching over.”

  She takes another bite, this time not waiting to swallow before she answers, “You laugh, but I don’t think you fully understand the situation you placed yourself in.”

  Lifting my mug to my lips, I take a scalding hot sip before placing it back on the counter. “Enlighten me then, oh wise one.”

  Her back straightens and she shifts herself on the cushion of the stool, clearly unnerved by my attitude. “Your actions have had consequences. They always do. Allowing Erline to split your soul, replacing Myla as the second half—this will affect all of the realms, like a ripple in the water.”

  Anger bubbles inside me, threatening to spill out my mouth with a lash of impolite words. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this, and frankly, I’m getting sick of being told. Yet again, I’m being chastised for saving the witches. Yes, I share a soul with Myla’s beast—with the First Born Witch. It would be great if everyone stopped reminding me.

  “Your eyes are glowing,” Tember says as a simple observation.

  She lifts the last bite of her lasagna and stuffs it into her mouth, chewing with simplicity. She remains unaffected by me and I don’t know whether to take it as an insult or to be relieved that someone doesn’t see me as a monster. My entire coven is frightened of me, assuming me more beast than witch. It’s slightly relieving that someone isn’t. Maybe I should be frightened of her . . .

  Tember’s eyes roam my small kitchenette before they land on mine. “I must say, it’s nice to finally meet the legendary Myla.” I shake my head, forcing Myla back inside me, and the glow with it. She continues, “Legend has it, Myla wasn’t only the First Born Witch. Our stories say she turned into a beast of fire at will. I’m curious. Is it Myla’s beast inside you, or is it Myla herself?”

  I fidget in my seat, my secret unfolding before me. Tember knows too much and it makes me nervous. I’m sure she has good intentions, she is my angel after all, but I’ve worked too hard to keep this secret hidden—to keep all my secrets hidden. To have someone march into my life, knowing most of them, sets me on edge.

  “Kat?” Tember calls, bending forward to capture my eyes with hers. “Which is it?”

  I glare and lean slightly back. “Is it important to know?”

  Her jaw clenches, the muscles rippling underneath her cheek. “Yes. If I am to protect you, I need to know the circumstance.”

  Sighing, my spine hits the backrest of the stool. “Her beast. Though, I’ve gained all of her powers.” I gulp, a lie getting ready to pass through my mouth. “I’m in control here.” I mentally chastise myself. Only an idiot would lie to her angel.

  Tember searches my face, her expression blank. “You can try to fool yourself with words of dishonesty, but you can’t fool me.”

  TEMBER

  EARTH REALM

  Nestled under her covers, Kat snores, the soft air passing through her nose before it mingles with the air. I stand in Kat’s bedroom doorway, listening to it, mesmerized by it. Angels don’t sleep, so naturally, I find it fascinating.

  The blankets are tucked around her shoulders while she lays on her stomach. I can’t see her face, but I imagine each muscle is relaxed instead of pinched with stress and lines of worry.

  It’s late, most of this side of Earth’s Realm is sleeping, placed inside their dreams by one of the many sandmen that cross over and roam this realm. Sandmen are not given the credit they deserve. Without them, each of these humans, and all those who partake in sleep, would be monsters in their own right. Sleep re-sets them. It is the very thing that rests their minds and works through their subconscious problems, all for a fresh start when they wake.

  The sandmen cross over from the Dream Realm to this Realm, aiding the humans in this necessity. It won’t be long now before one arrives.

  Careful to remain noiseless, I cross my arms and lean against the door frame, my mind drifting to our earlier conversation. She has no idea how much danger she is in. Myla was a strong creation. Though loving and passionate, she was a force to be reckoned with. If she wanted something, she sought it out and grasped it in her fingertips.

  If Erline brought her back, there must be a reason. Most Fee tend to not grant favors unless there is something in it for them. Though Myla is her daughter, I’d bet my wings that Erline has a second agenda. Only time—and evidence—will tell. I need that evidence.

  A shimmer begins at the side of Kat’s bed, a ripple in the air, distorting Kat’s nightstand. I push my shoulder off the door frame, letting my hand drop to my side. A figure forms, a man dressed in burlap clothes long enough to reach his knees, and wearing no pants. His skin is black, similar to the marble floors back on my realm. His pitch is so dark that I could have mistaken him for a shadow. I watch as he holds out his large palm. Tiny white grains gain in numbers, swirling on the surface like a small tornado before clearing, leaving behind a pile of white sand inside the dip of his palm. It sparkles without light, like the reflection light casts against a freshly fallen snow. He pinches the sand with his free hand, but before he can sprinkle it over my charge, I clear my throat.

  White eyes that sparkle and match the sand inside his hand meet mine. I’m briefly startled by the lack of irises. I would assume he’s blind, but as he holds my gaze, I come to the conclusion that he can clearly see. His fingers cover the sand, hiding it from my view, as if I were here to steal it for myself.

  A deep frown dips his barely visible eyebrows. I show my nature, my eyes illuminating a bright gold, causing the halo to form around my head.

  “An angel,
” he mumbles, his voice deep with awe but his expression blank. His tenor is so low, it’s almost unintelligible, like the rumbling of a lion’s purr.

  I place my pointer finger over my lips, shushing him before he wakes Kat. Nodding my head toward the hallway behind me, I gesture for him to follow as I turn and leave Kat’s room. My steps are confident, as is my attitude. He will aide me in this small quest, that I am sure. I’m aware that it may not be of free will.

  Once in the living room, I turn to wait for him, but instead, I’m briefly startled, rocking back on my heels before pulling my face back into a mask of security. He’s right behind me and I didn’t even hear his advance. I’ve never met another creature so quiet.

  “What do you want?” he rumbles. It takes me several moments to work through the deep-toned words.

  “What do you know about her?” I nod my head toward the wall that shares her bedroom and the living room.

  He glances at the wall before returning his white eyes back to me. “Kat or Myla?”

  Double blinking, my head snaps to attention. “You know?” How did he know before I did? For the past few months, she’s been my sole charge. I’ve kept a constant watch over her and I didn’t know until our conversation in her office. I must give her more credit. Kat has been extremely careful about hiding her secrets.

  He inclines his head, briefly shutting his eyelids in affirmation. “A sandman knows everything about the dreamers he cares for.”

  Tilting my head, I consider this information. “How?”

  “I know of her dreams. A sandman can see the dreams.” His voice is emotionally lacking. Sandmen aren’t built with emotions for a reason. Their Fee creator designed them this way so they’d never grow attached to their dreamers and would remain loyal to their Fee.

  “Good.” I nod once, fighting the urge to cross my arms. Sandmen frighten easily and I need to remain impassive. “Who dreams? Myla or Kat?”