Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (70 page)

I wasn’t sure what lasting effects Mallory had after being hooked up to the Deleo. Nothing obvious, anyway. I do know one thing—for the rest of our time in Peru, Mallory couldn’t get enough of me. It was weird how often she’d just show up when I tried to spend time alone with Nadia. She laughed at all my jokes, and told me over and over again how grateful she was that I’d healed her burns, pulling up her t-shirt to show me how well her abdomen was healing. “I owe you,” she said, her big brown eyes brimming with tears. “Seriously, I would do anything for you, Russ.” It doesn’t get much better than that.

When the morning came to leave, we were more than ready to go home. This particular private jet was set up more like a commercial airline, with rows of seats grouped together in pairs. I boarded the plane and Mallory swooped into the seat right next to me. I was about to say I was saving it for Nadia, when Mallory pulled out her iPad and started talking. “You have to see this video. It’s hilarious. You’re going to die laughing, Russ.” She started the clip and linked her hand through the crook of my arm. With the distraction, I somehow missed Nadia coming past. I craned my neck and saw her sitting two rows behind me, but couldn’t catch her eye.

Once we were in the air, I watched more video clips with Mallory and listened to her tell me stories about the girls on her soccer team. After about half an hour, I excused myself and got out of my chair. “You’re coming back, right Russ?” Mallory said, her voice drifting behind me.

Nadia had her head back and her eyes closed. She held a pottery figure I’d never seen before—a mustached Peruvian man carrying a bunch of different stuff—a stack of money, a heart, a tiny bottle. I sat down in the empty seat next to her and placed my hand over her cheek and eye. My touch didn’t wake her. I directed all the energy and love I could muster and directed it to go through my hand into her skin. Her beautiful ruined face would be ruined no more.

Mrs. Whitehouse leaned over across the aisle. “What are you doing there, Russ?” Her voice had an accusatory tone.

I didn’t turn away from what I was doing. But I did answer. “Keeping a promise,” I said.

END OF BOOK TWO

While I hold the country of Peru in great regard, in the interest of storytelling this novel took liberties with the facts. Many of the specific locations depicted are fictitious, with details from other, similar places layered in to add some authenticity. Myths and legends abound in Peru, but the story of the burned angel was concocted for the purpose of this book.

If you ever visit a Mercado in Peru, I’d encourage you to buy a Lucky Man figure. I was once given one as a gift and it worked—I have had good luck! I’ve since passed it on to someone else to keep the good fortune going. I wish the same for you.

If you’ve enjoyed this novel, I’d love to hear your thoughts in a review. Without readers, a story is a dead thing, just words on a page. Thanks for bringing this one to life. I am grateful.

ABSOLUTION

Karen McQuestion

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright ©2013 by Karen McQuestion. All rights reserved, worldwide.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1493591992

ISBN-10: 1493591991

For Michelle Schrubbe

Nadia

I was glad our flight from Lima, Peru to Miami was more than five hours long because it gave me plenty of time to spend with Russ. The moments we’d had alone on this trip had been filled with real love. I knew that, I
felt
that, but I wanted more than just a happy memory. What I wanted was a lasting relationship. It was okay with me if it started off as a whirlwind romance, as long as it led to a lifetime of love. I knew that was a lot to ask, but the universe had dealt me a pretty crappy hand for the first sixteen years of my life. The way I looked at it, I was due for a lot of good things to come my way.

I made the mistake of lagging behind the rest of the group, and in those few moments, Mallory had already grabbed Russ and pulled him into a seat next to her. As I passed them in the aisle, she raised her eyebrows the way girls do to show they’ve got something on you. She acted like it was a joke, but I didn’t think it was funny. Russ wasn't even looking in my direction. His eyes were only on her.

I walked by and found a seat a few rows back and dropped my bag at my feet. When we’d left for Peru more than a week earlier, all of us, four students and our three chaperones, had buzzed with excitement. This time around, going in the opposite direction, things were a lot quieter. Except for Mallory's constant talking and the sound of a video clip on her iPad, all was quiet. Once the plane was up in the air, I leaned over to rummage through my bag, searching until I found the plastic bag with the few sleeping pills I’d filched from my mother’s medicine cabinet. There was no way I could stand to listen to Mallory and Russ talk all the way across the ocean. Better to be unconscious. I swallowed one of the pills and followed it with a swig of water. When I didn’t feel the effects after ten minutes or so, I took another one. This time it worked. Everything got pleasantly woozy and even Mallory's nonstop chatter faded into the distance. For now, I let my worry about Mallory stealing Russ slip away, saving it for later.

Going back to my bag, I felt around the bottom, until I found what I was looking for—the Lucky Man I'd been given by one of the vendors in the market. Smaller than a Barbie doll, it was a pottery figure of a mustached man holding an armload of stuff—money, medicine, a heart. All of it symbolic. Getting a Lucky Man as a gift, I was told, brought the recipient luck. Specific luck in the form of money, health, and love. I was okay for money. It was the health and heart that interested me. I stroked it tentatively with one finger and thought about how Russ had assured me he’d heal the scars on my face once we returned. I could still see the earnest look in his eyes, when he spoke the words.
First thing, once we get back. I promise.

Would it work, I wondered? Would the damaged skin that covered one side of my face respond to his touch, regenerating skin cells and making my face new? I longed for it to happen just that way. I yearned to be pretty, but if that was asking too much, I would settle for normal. I was sick of being the girl with the messed up face, the one with the disfigurement that scared small children and caused people to talk in hushed tones whenever I went out in public. I was ready to be transformed. It was time.

I fell asleep with the Lucky Man in my hand and the vision of a perfect, unscarred face. If only.

Russ

I kept glancing back behind us, but I was never able to catch Nadia's eye. Every time I turned around she was bent over looking at something by her feet or staring out the window. And then eventually, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Meanwhile I was stuck listening to Mallory going on and on about the drama between the girls on her soccer team. When I'd had about all I could take, I told her I had something to do and I got up from my seat.

“You’re coming back though, right Russ?” Mallory said, her voice rising in concern.

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure how to answer, because I was consumed with thoughts of getting back to Nadia. When I got to her row, I lingered in the aisle for just a second. Sitting next to the window with her head tipped back and eyes closed, she looked like she didn't want to be disturbed. She held a pottery figure I’d never seen before—a mustached Peruvian man carrying a bunch of different stuff—a stack of money, a heart, a tiny bottle. Something she must have gotten at the Mercado. I'd seen a lot of those kinds of things, some were made into candle holders and stuff like that, but it all looked like junk to me. She obviously didn’t feel the same way because her hands were curled around this pottery man like she was afraid someone would take it away from her. I sat down in the empty seat next to her and looked at her face. There was an almost perfect delineation between the part that had been burned and the rest of her skin. Like a make-up artist had created a scarred mask from jars of colored putty. I knew from our long discussions driving through Peru that she would have loved it if that was all there was to it. If it were make-up, she would have washed it off in an instant. I couldn't remove the damage that way, but I might be able to restore her skin to the way it was before the crazy man on the bus threw the acid up in the air, ruining her face and her life.

I placed my hand over her cheek and eye, just barely making contact. My touch didn’t wake her. I'd done this before, but it felt more important this time. Personal, for me and for her. I concentrated hard, trying to direct energy and love from my hand into her skin. I wanted life to be better for her, and this was a good start. She was going to be so surprised when she woke up.

Mrs. Whitehouse leaned across the aisle. “What are you doing there, Russ?” She was such a pain, always poking her nose where it didn't belong. Now she sounded accusatory, like maybe I was molesting Nadia or something.

I couldn't allow myself to be distracted so I didn't turn away from what I was doing. But I did answer. “Keeping a promise,” I said. I kept at it, my hands hovering over her face in a stroking motion, expecting her to wake up but she was completely out of it. The plane must have hit an air pocket because it moved like a bus going over a bump. In front of me, Jameson said, “Whoa,” in an exaggerated way, and I saw the candy bar he’d bought at the airport jump up over the top of his seat, like it had been knocked out of his hand. Instead of falling back down, though, he used his telekinesis to make it hover over Mallory’s head in a slow circle. When she noticed it and made a grab, he had it move just out of her reach. “Hey!” she said, laughing.

I went back to Nadia, pouring everything I had into her face, especially the part around her eye, which she’d been told would be hard to fix even with plastic surgery. I heard Mrs. Whitehouse turning in her seat to see what I was doing, but my back blocked her view. Up front I noticed Jameson had switched seats so he was next to Mallory now. Good. She wouldn’t ask me to come back.

When I finished, I shook out my hands. It was an odd feeling, knowing I’d done all I could do. Like pouring water out of a pitcher and knowing it was empty without having to check. I was through, and I didn’t have any more to give. Now I was able to really look at Nadia’s face and I was disappointed at what I saw. Her scars looked better, much better in fact, but they weren’t completely gone. The color had faded and the ridge above her eye, the one she thought looked like a protruding earthworm, was flatter against her skin, but it was still there. The line between the damaged and unaffected skin was blurred.

What a letdown. I’d healed bullet wounds and cured a baby who failed to thrive because of a digestive problem. I’d brought a woman back from near death. I’d been so sure I could fix Nadia’s face. I felt like I’d let her down. I’d done as much as I could, but it wasn’t enough.

Using my healing powers always took a lot out of me and I suddenly felt tired. I reclined the seat, and taking my cue from Nadia, put my head back and closed my eyes. After our time in Peru, worrying about being killed by the Associates, it felt good to relax. Unless something happened to the plane, we were safe for now.

Russ

Four days later, I was one of hundreds of people sitting in my high school auditorium paying tribute to my science teacher, Mr. Specter, who’d died while we were in Peru. He was well liked, so there was a good turnout of students, past and present, and a ton of people from the community too. I overheard people in the crowd talking about him before it started. Everyone seemed to know him and everyone had a story about something he’d taught them or done for them. “Nice guy,” was the phrase I kept hearing. I understood where they were coming from. I used to think Mr. Specter was a nice guy too.

On the other side of the auditorium I saw Mallory walk in with Jameson, but I didn’t see Nadia anywhere. I hadn’t talked to her since we’d been home. At the airport, her mother had come to pick her up. She didn’t make a scene but angrily yanked on Nadia’s arm and dragged her away from our group. Nadia hadn’t even protested. It was like she was being taken prisoner. After that, I waited to see if she’d astral project to me at night the way she used to, but so far, nothing. I didn’t think she’d be allowed to come to this memorial service, but I still looked for her. I hadn’t told her about what I’d done to her face when we were on the plane because I wanted it to be a surprise. Since I hadn’t heard back from her since, I could only imagine that she was disappointed it hadn’t been completely healed.

On the auditorium stage, Kevin Adams, Mrs. Whitehouse, Dr. Anton, and Rosie from Rosie’s Diner sat on chairs on one side of the podium. In the program they were listed as friends of Mr. Specter’s who would be speaking. All four of them were members of the secret organization, the Praetorian Guard. Of the four, two of them—Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse—had been on the trip with us. It was a little surprising to see all of them lined up in public.

I sat with my parents, my sister Carly, and my nephew Frank. I was glad to be on the aisle next to Carly, where my mother couldn’t reach me. Mom had an awkward habit of giving people reassuring pats when she thought they needed emotional support. Earlier at home, when I was getting dressed and having some trouble with my tie, my mother had tried to get me to cry or have a breakdown or something. “It must have been terrible witnessing Mr. Specter’s heart attack like that,” she said.