Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3) (17 page)

17

            
 
The next few days are some of the most nervewracking I’ve ever experienced. I can hardly focus on anything I’m supposed to be doing; I’m too distracted by nagging thoughts about how the editing process is going, how Jenna’s contact is going to get this video out into the public sphere, how well it’s going to be received. Aside from a production in third grade where I played a coconut, I’ve never performed for an audience in my life. I don’t know how actors do it. I’m losing my mind, worrying over whether or not I’ve done a good enough job.

              Fortunately, I find the tiniest glimmer of relief in Emma’s message from our editing team. “They’re in love with the footage they’ve got,” she reports on the fourth day after the shoot. “In particular, yours. They’ve decided to split it up into a few separate videos, and broadcast one to test the waters before airing the others.”

              That doesn’t entirely put my mind at ease, though. “How are they going to broadcast anything?,” I ask.

              Emma shrugs, and answers, “Something about intercepting a satellite feed, or something. I don’t know. I’m not the hacker extraordinaire, that’s Jenna’s friend Kim. Needless to say, she’s putting her neck on the line for you, so you might wanna at least mail her a fruit basket.”

              “I’ll keep that in mind.”

              “Good.” Emma turns to walk out of my apartment, but pauses at the doorway. “Oh yeah, you might wanna stop by Jenna’s room at 7:40ish tonight. You’ll wanna see what happens for yourself.”

              “Okay…” I wait until Emma disappears through my doorway to start freaking out. The first video airs tonight. It feels so sudden; now I regret wishing it would happen already. I’m not sure if I’m prepared to see the results of everything my friends and I have worked for. The rest of the day drags on, which only prolongs my suffering. But I can’t decide if I want time to speed forward or slow down further; either outcome makes me just as nervous.

              Rachel and Jenna notice just how nervous I am, so they take pity on me and spend the few hours left until showtime distracting me. It’s eerie how much has changed; six months ago, the three of us hanging out would have felt normal. But after everything that’s happened, I’m not sure if I relate to my two best friends the same way I used to. I love them just as much as ever, but I still wonder if Rachel blames me for abandoning her family to New York’s fate, or resents me for rescuing her. I wonder if Jenna still sees me as her book-loving, nerdy friend, or if she’s constantly trying to think of the right tools to kill an angel-human hybrid. Nothing feels the same, and maybe it never will again.

              I’m too agitated to sit while we wait, so I’m hovering near the doorway, ready to make my escape should the footage be too embarrassing to witness.  Landon comes into Jenna’s apartment around seven thirty to join us, and is soon followed by Nick and Alyssa. Nick nudges my arm as he passes by, and whispers, “Everything will be okay,” before settling into his seat next to Landon for the event. Alyssa offers no words of encouragement. She understands that nothing any of them say will truly calm me down, so she just leans against the wall next to me. Her normally soothing presence is welcome, but there’s nothing that can stop my trembling hands now.

              Once Emma arrives, everyone takes a seat on the ground or the sofa, while I stand behind them, watching the blank TV screen apprehensively. Jenna turns on the TV, and we sit through a few commercials before the screen suddenly goes black. At first, I’m worried that something has gone wrong, but my own hooded face fades into being, with white smoke billowing from behind me. Though my lips aren’t moving, I can hear the first few words of my speech being added in over the video.
“Attention, America…”

              As the speech rolls on, footage of men and women turning into their massive were forms overlap with my face, eventually replacing it. The shot transitions to a young vampire baring her fangs. A middle aged spellcaster shooting sparks from his hands. A shapeshifter morphing his face so that he looks like Martin Luther King, Jr. A demon’s eyes clouding over, and turning bright red. Amy’s tiny faerie wings fluttering to keep her a few inches off the ground. Then, immediately after, the video shifts to footage of me flying through the streets of Cleveland, shortly followed by the shot of me spreading my wings while filming the speech.

             
“We are all connected,
”
the onscreen version of myself declares. In the same instant, I’m replaced by an overhead shot of a bustling city, with cars and buses whizzing by at breakneck speeds. The people exist as tiny specks, entirely indistinguishable in light of the big picture, and my heart swells with pride. That’s exactly the point I was trying to make; in the grand scheme of things, we’re not all that different. Not really. But people focus on the minor differences, instead of realizing our similarities. And that’s where the problems start.

              It isn’t until the video ends on a shot of me with my wings spread that I notice my nerves have completely melted away. This broadcast exceeded all my expectations; I was expecting a half assed effort out of people that I can’t pay. But they came through, and beautifully. Now all that remains is to see how other people react to the message.

              I’m not sure what I expected to hear once the video ended, but it certainly wasn’t applause. Everyone in the room except for me is clapping as soon as the TV channel goes back to its regularly scheduled programming. Even Alyssa puts her hands together for the occasion. Landon shouts for someone to play it again, but this TV isn’t equipped with DVR, so in the end, he just turns it off. He turns to me with awe, and says, “Gotta admit, that was pretty cool.”

              I wave him off, and lean against the wall beside the couch. “Cool isn’t really what I was aiming for.”

              “Fine. It was moving. Inspiring. Flawless. Insert adjective here. Point is, I think this is going to impact a lot of people.”

              “I hope so,” I mutter. And I do. This project may have started out as a jab at the hunters for making me look like a terrorist, but I really
do
believe in everything I said. If there are people out there who aren’t free to be themselves, then how can we possibly call these people free?

              “We need to celebrate,” Landon announces suddenly. He leaps off the couch, and yells, “Be right back,” before jogging out the door.

              “Where’s he going?,” Alyssa asks.

              Rachel looks up at her from the ground, and explains, “He went to get the party favors. We stopped by a liquor store on our way back from our last food run.”

              When Landon returns, it’s with a clinking duffel bag and a wolfish grin. “Alright ladies… and Nick. Pick your poison.”

              Everyone crowds around Landon, and rummages around in the bag for their liquor of choice. Apparently, he and Rachel grabbed a wide variety; people come away with bottles of vodka, wine, rum, and more. Even Nick grabs himself a bottle of whiskey, and settles back in his established seat on the couch. Landon offers me the bag as well, but I tell him, “I’m fine with water.” I’ll only drink whatever doesn’t
taste
like liquor, and it doesn’t look like there’s anything suited to my tastes here.

              Someone turns on a stereo, and plays some soft music in the background. Alyssa unscrews the top of her cherry flavored vodka, and raises the bottle high. “To a successful airwave takeover,” she says. “May the overfed, undereducated, apathetic masses finally have their eyes opened for them.”

              The rest of the group raise their bottles as well, and drink to the hopes for a better tomorrow. After her first sip, Emma grimaces, and observes, “You know, this means we’ll probably have to move.”

              “Why would we have to move?,” Nick asks.

              “Because knowing the hunters, they won’t take this lightly. There’s every chance they might track down where the broadcast was coming from, and torture our whereabouts out of poor little Kim.”

              Emma brings up a good point, but she’s ruining the celebratory vibe in the room. So I take a seat on the arm of the couch, and try to get everyone back in a good mood. “That’s a problem we can deal with tomorrow, or the next day. For now, no more sad shit. Everyone in this room has had more than their fair share, so we need to stay positive right now.”

              “And how do you propose we do that?,” Emma asks.

              After a moment of thought, an idea comes to me. “Happiest memory,” I blurt out. “We go around in a circle, and talk about the happiest thing we can remember. Starting with you.”

              “Fine.” Emma takes another sip of rum, and grumbles, “I saw a deer once. Alive. It ate grass and did cute things. Someone else go.”

              “That is not your happiest memory,” Nick declares. I almost ask him how he would know, but I realize before I do that he probably knows his sister better than anyone. Nick leans forward in his seat, and asks, “What about the weekend we spent at Aunt Wendy’s back when you were seven?”

              Emma blushes, and stares at the ground. “Shut up! I was a stupid little girl who’d never seen a horse before. I’ve changed. Now, what’s your dumb memory?”

              Nick steals a glance at me, and says, “I’m sure everyone here can guess what my happiest memory is. But the one I’m actually gonna talk about is a close second. It was May 19
th
of this year. The day I became human again. It was all I’d been wanting ever since I was turned. And I’d been hoping for a miracle, and after five years, I finally got it.”

              “Okay, my turn,” I interrupt. I’m worried that Nick is dangerously close to claiming that
I
was his miracle, and I’m not about to let that happen. “My happiest memory would have to be from way before any of this started. I was in ninth grade, and it was the first month of high school. My English teacher, Ms. Jacobs, gave us a writing assignment about who we are and who we wanted to be. I mean, I was thirteen, so I had no idea what the answers to either of those questions were. I said so in the paper, and I handed it in, expecting an F. But when we got them back, mine was handed to me with an A+ written on it, and a paragraph on the back about how much potential I have as a writer. It’s lame, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

              I look over at Alyssa expectantly, but she folds her arms across her chest. “Pass. I’d just embarrass myself.”

              I shrug, and move on to Rachel, who has no problem sharing. “I think mine is when I broke my wrist in sixth grade,” she says. “My parents sort of forgot all about me after my little sister Claire was born. She got the best of everything, she was never in trouble, and she got the majority of their attention. But it was nice to have my parents worrying about me for once, and making sure I was alright. It happened right when I was starting to question if they loved me at all.”

              Jenna needs no prompting; she seems to have had her story ready for a while. “Before we moved to Queens, my family lived out on Long Island. And my friends and I used to hang out in this park in East Meadow, usually playing softball. One day, this all-boys team tried to kick us off the diamond, and instead we challenged them to a game. We tied, and most of the boys were pretty angry, but they complimented me on my batting skills. That’s probably the best I’ve ever felt.”

              The only one of us left is Landon. He leans back in his seat, thinking, and eventually decides on a memory. “March 1
st
, 2007.
Petals in the Rain
. It was the first painting I’d ever sold. Looking back on it, the composition was horrible, I could have shaded better, and nearly every layer of paint was added so sloppily that I’m surprised it looked buyable. But it did, and now it’s hanging up in some rich guy’s office. And that sale is what pushed me to keep working, and improving. If it weren’t for that, I’d have probably moved on to accounting, or something.”

              “See, was that so hard?,” I ask. “Life sucks sometimes, but it doesn’t have to right this second. Right this second, we’re all alive, and we’re all together. And I don’t know about you, but to me, that matters a lot.”

              “What a touching sentiment.” Everyone turns to face the doorway, and get a good look at the newcomer standing there. Lily leans against the door frame, her eyes sweeping the room. I should have been able to sense her arrival; she must have her power cloaked again. “Hope I’m not interrupting,” she says. “I have business with your fearless leader.”

              I roll my eyes, and stand up to cross over to her. “You could have called.”

              “Wasn’t sure if the line would be clear, after seeing your little stunt on TV.”

              As I’m walking across the living room, Rachel jumps to her feet. “I’m sorry, but what is
Lily
doing here?!,” she demands.

              Shit… maybe I should have mentioned that Lily and I have a truce. I’d assumed that Nick and Alyssa were the only ones who needed to know. “It’s not what you think…”

              “Heather, do you remember who she is?” Rachel steps carefully around the coffee table and creeps toward Lily, leaning forward as if she’s prepared to pounce. “This is the woman who murdered my family.”