Darkness of Light (14 page)

“What do you care?”

He gave me a leveled look and stepped aside to make way for me. I wanted to protest, but I didn’t have the energy or the desire. I let him walk me back to his motorcycle. He took off his helmet and pushed it roughly at me. I put it on without argument. I fastened the strap under my chin, feeling the warmth from his head still clinging to the inside of the helmet. 

I climbed onto the back of the bike. He mounted the bike and scooted back into me, my arms wrapping around him. As angry as I was, I found myself hyper-aware of his incredible body pressing into mine. The intense heat from his body warmed mine, making me feel the need to sleep—or throw up—I hadn’t quite decided yet. I just knew the closeness to Eli stirred contradictory feelings in me; he both unnerved and relaxed me.

Most of the way we rode in silence. I tried to stay awake but the hum of the motorcycle started to lull me to sleep. My life had changed today, and it left me feeling exhausted. 

We came to a stoplight, and the sound of Eli’s phone buzzing brought me out of my haze. He dug into his pocket, looking at the screen. There was a picture of a stunning, dark-haired girl blowing a kiss. She definitely wasn’t Sam. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Girlfriend?” My voice sounded more clipped than I had wanted it to. It wasn’t as if I cared if he had a girlfriend or
girlfriends
. Did I?

“Something like that.” He shrugged as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. 

“Right . . .” I got his meaning and quickly looked away, bile rising in my throat. 

We continued riding in silence until he steered the bike off the road, into my driveway. I slipped off the Harley and was unhooking the helmet when it hit me.
I never told him where I lived
. A meshed warning of confusion and alarm hit me. 

“How did you know where I lived?” My eyebrows scrunched down. 

“Don’t go walking into the woods or anything,” he said, ignoring my question.

“What?” I looked at him, baffled.

“Don’t. Go. In. To. The. Woods,” he spoke slowly, as if he were talking to an imbecile. It made me want to hit him—excessively.

“Answer my question. How do you know where I live?”

“Just do what I say, please.” He sighed again, sounding put out and extremely tired.

A guttural, agitated noise bubbled up from my throat. I shoved the helmet hard into his chest, and started up the stairs to the door.

“Brycin?” I turned. “This changes nothing between us. This is only a truce for now.”

I felt so zapped of energy, of pride, of emotion that I just nodded and turned back to the house. The roar of motorbike echoed through the air as he tore out of the driveway. I was tempted to throw my backpack at his head. 

I unlocked the front door and let myself in. Dropping my book bag in the entry, I headed straight for my room, fell onto my bed, and welcomed the sleep my body had been longing for.

***

“Wake up,
mo chuisle.”
Torin’s voice settled sweetly into my ear.

My eyes opened to see him leaning over me. Air hiccupped in my chest as I took in his beauty and his proximity to me. 

“Torin.” I sat up. I felt the forest around me, how it was breathing and communicating. It was as if I was part of it, but it didn’t scare me. 

A red fox sat in a patch of grass nearby, staring at me. The familiarity in its huge, beautiful eyes tugged at something in my gut. It cocked its head and whined. The pain and longing in its gaze made my heart break. I had to look away.

“Ember, I need you to understand what I am trying to show you—what you are. Your powers cannot be hidden any longer. Others are now aware of your existence, and she will find out about you soon.”

“Who will find out about me?”

A whimper came from the small fox as it stood up. Torin’s piercing gaze silenced the animal. It lowered its head and sat back down.

“I am forbidden to say.” Torin looked down, nervously licking his lips. My gaze latched onto them. I imagined what it would feel like to kiss him, to have those soft lips on mine. 

I really needed to learn to focus.

“Ember, I am trying to keep you safe and the only way to do that is for you to be ready for what is coming. You know what you are capable of. Stop denying the truth. You are not one of them.” His warm hand cupped my face. “Your mother did a good job hiding you, but she can no longer do that. She left clues for you. Clues you can and need to figure out.” 

The fox whined again, sounding more desperate. When I looked back to where it was, the fox was gone. When my head snapped back to Torin, I found he had disappeared too. I was alone. 

***

My lids cracked open and I saw that the sun was setting. I lay there, getting my bearings before I swung my feet onto the floor. Torin’s face was still so vivid in my mind. 

It was funny I had dreamed about a red fox. They had been my mother’s favorite animal. She would go to Canada for weeks to study and take pictures of them. She had her articles and pictures featured a lot in
National Geographic
and with WWF. The fact that they were in danger of becoming extinct made her crazy with rage. I guess dreaming about them was the same as dreaming about my mother.

Torin’s voice replayed in my head.
“Your mother did a good job hiding you. She left clues. Clues you can and need to figure out.”

I stood up and headed towards the door. Even if it was just a dream, my curiosity got the better of me. After what had happened today with Kevin, and the incident with Lorcan, how could I keep pretending all these things didn’t mean something?

As long as I could remember, I had had certain abilities—the way I felt the energy of nature when I was around it, the way I healed in record time, the way fire seemed to be attracted to me just as much as I was drawn to it. It wasn’t until after Mom’s death did I think there was something wrong with me—that these things weren’t normal, that I was a freak. How could a mother not know something was strange about her child? She had to, right? Did she really leave clues for me, like Torin said? But why? What was it that she couldn’t just tell me?

The only place I knew that had any important documents or ties to my past was the trunk at the end of Mark’s bed. It was full of photo albums, old report cards, and other stuff my mom had saved that neither Mark nor I could get rid of. If she was aware of my “talents,” this was the only place I could think of that might hold some answers.

I opened my door, listening for any movement in the house. “Mark?” I shouted. “Are you home?” Silence greeted me in response. Maybe he was still at work.

Mark wouldn’t care if I went into his room, especially to look at my mother’s old photo albums and documents. He would have joined me, but that was exactly what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to be asked why I was going through them. 

I snuck into Mark’s bedroom. As I had suspected, he wasn’t there. I knelt down in front of the old, wooden, steam trunk. The lid whined in protest as I opened it up. On top were several shoeboxes filled with my drawings and paintings. My heart stung as I pulled out one that had, “Mommy, I love you” in crayon across the top. I flipped it over to see my mom’s handwriting: “Ember, 5 years old.” I traced her handwriting with my finger, the pain in my heart growing. I placed my drawings aside and continued searching. There were several photo albums full of Mark and Mom’s wedding and our camping trips. It hurt so much to see my mom’s beautiful face smiling, laughing—alive. 

I shut the books and moved on. Grabbing my baby book, I flipped through the pages. I had never noticed or cared before, but my baby book didn’t start until I was at least a few months old. There were no pictures of me at the hospital or pictures of us coming home—nothing. That seemed odd. Most people take a video or pictures of every moment of their new baby’s life. Granted, I didn’t have a father who would’ve been there with a video camera, but you’d think someone would have been. No friends or even a nurse. If not, then wouldn’t Mom take pictures when we got home? I also found it odd she didn’t list any of my firsts—my first steps or my first words. It was like she didn’t want any written record of me. 

I was about to toss the album aside when I noticed a cut on the back of the leather cover. Sliding my hand inside, my fingers hit upon a soft piece of fabric. I tugged it out. It was a two-inch cut of cloth. The fabric was nothing I had ever felt before. It seemed as if it was made of something softer than fleece, cotton, and velvet all rolled into one. It was a beautiful yellow. It must have been from a baby blanket of mine. One I couldn’t remember. 

Something along the edge of this fabric caught my attention. I examined it closer and a gasp escaped me. Woven into the cloth, creating a border on the blanket, was my tattoo design. It was the exact motif of symbols I had seen in my dream after my mother died and was the same design I had sketched out and had tattooed on my back.

Thoughts tumbled around in my brain like clothes in a dryer. I found it difficult to breathe. My subconscious must have made me dream of the markings. Somewhere deep in my brain, I must have had remembered the blanket. It was the only thing that made sense. 

I didn’t want to probe into old memories anymore, which only seemed to conjure up more questions than answers. Returning the contents to the trunk, a paper slipped out of one of the albums onto the floor next to me. I reached over and picked it up. It was my birth certificate. Without knowing why, my heart pounded as my eyes ran over the document. 

Name:
Ember Aisling Devlin Brycin

Date of Birth:
November 28

Place of Birth:
Sedona, Arizona

Mother:
Lily Brycin

Father:
Unknown

So many things stood out that didn’t seem right. First thing was my date of birth, which said November 28. My birthday was October 23. Why would they have mistakenly listed my birthdate over a month later? And why didn’t they fix the mistake, if it was one? The next was my place of birth. As far as I knew I never stepped foot in Arizona. Mom had never mentioned that I was born there. I always thought I had been born in Colorado. We lived there until I was two then moved to California. Why was my birthplace wrong? Everything on the paper, except my name and my mother’s name, was incorrect or what I had believed was the truth.

The certificate only brought up more questions. It made no sense. Why had my mother lied to me? What else had she kept from me? They could have been simple errors, but something in me said there were just too many coincidences in my life right now for these to be just mistakes. 

Sixteen

The next morning an old, red 1969 Ford Bronco was parked outside my house. I stiffened with apprehension. Eli was leaning against the car.

“What are you doing here?” 

He ignored my question. “You ready?” 

I sucked in a deep breath.
Is it too soon to start on that future alcohol problem?

“Sure.” I shrugged, tugging my bag higher on my shoulder. I was tired of trying to figure him out. 

I climbed into the Bronco and watched his lean, muscular form swagger around it. His hair was still wet from his shower and slicked back off his face. I had to force myself to look away, a flutter stirring deep in my stomach, as he climbed in. The smell of soap and something else I couldn’t place filled the car. The flutter turned into a pounding.

“Whose car is this?” I tried to distract myself.

“Mine,” he replied. 

“Till the police come for it?” I was only half teasing.

“You think I stole it?” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “I saved this baby from the car graveyard and fixed it up a bit. Put in an old diesel engine, so it runs off vegetable oil now.”

I gave him a double take. “I’ve never met anyone who has done this from our age group. My mom had a car she changed over so it could run off vegetable oil, too.” I was astounded. “Sorry, I’m just surprised.”

“Why? Because I care about the environment?”

“N-No—I just . . . well, yeah, to be honest with you.” I laughed, not sure why I was so surprised. He was constantly throwing me off kilter one way or another. “I’m impressed.” 

He shrugged, not seeming to care about my opinion.

“What about the Harley?” 

He smirked as he pulled the Bronco out of my driveway and headed north. “I won the Harley off some guy at Mike’s Bar, a guy who bet more than he could back.” He didn’t say anything else, making me extremely curious about the full story. I was sure it wasn’t good or legal. 

I had already heard of Mike’s less than stellar reputation. Eli’s admission that he hung out there only confirmed he was really a part of that world. If he could hang out there and have enough authority, at such a young age, to ride off on another man’s Harley-Davidson, I wondered how frightening Eli truly was. And I was alone with him. The idea sent a cold chill down my spine. Shaking my head, I forced the scary thought from my mind.

The sun nudged the thick fog, casting a warm glow on me through the windshield as we drove. I turned my face up, trying to heat the chill in my body. It felt so good to feel any kind of warmth. 

“You miss living in California?” 

My eyes flew open at the sound of his deep, rumbling voice. I was shocked by the sincerity of his question. “I do, a lot. I miss that area. I really miss my house.”

That house represented my mom. When we were happy. When she was alive. I could still recall the sound of my mother’s voice and the sweet smell of cinnamon and apples filling our home. Tears pricked my eyes as I thought of her. Realizing how vulnerable she made me feel, my stomach dropped in fear. I didn’t like feeling weak or exposed to anyone, even more so with Eli. But it didn’t feel like I was being forced to talk as I sometimes did with therapists or other people. It was more like I
wanted
to tell him these things, to finally open up to someone.