Haven (13 page)

I shoved off the covers with a moan and stood, looking around for my bag. But when I looked over at the still-sleeping Cece, I stopped short. She was lying on her back, the covers bunched up around her waist. I’d never seen anyone lie so still. For a moment I just stood there staring at her, looking for that telltale rise and fall of her chest. But I saw nothing, no movement at all. She looked . . .
dead.

Fear raced through my veins. Maybe I’d been right;
maybe someone had put something in our coffee. Maybe we’d been drugged.

“Cece!” I shrieked, bending over her. I called her name one more time, reaching for her hand and giving it a shake. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Nothing. I shook her again, harder this time.

At once her body jerked and she sat up, gasping for air. “Hey, why’d you do that?” she asked.

“Oh, thank God!” I breathed, stumbling back from her bed.

She glanced at the clock. “How long have I been gone? Oh my God, it’s ten already?”

“G-gone? Where’d you go?” I sputtered.

“I was visiting Allison.” Seeing my confusion, she added, “Astrally speaking. I meant to come back before you woke up. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare me? I was totally freaked!” My heart was still pounding, and my hands were shaking like crazy.

“Sorry about that. I should have warned you, I guess. You’d think we’d be used to each other’s little gifts by now, wouldn’t you?”

“So, how’s Allison doing?” I asked, once I caught my breath.

“She seems okay. She’s back home now, so that’s good.”

“So what did you do? When you were there, I mean.”

Cece shrugged. “Not much. I mostly sat there watching
her. It was really weird—she was flipping through last year’s yearbook and writing the same word over and over again on a notepad.
Julius.
” She shook her head. “I don’t know anyone named Julius, not here at Winterhaven.”

“Me either.” I shook my head, and a wave of nausea washed over me. “I feel horrible,” I said, shuffling toward my desk and reaching for my bag. “I swear I feel like I have a hangover or something.” Not that I’d ever had a hangover, but I imagined this was what one felt like. I dug out the bottle of Advil and shook two caplets into my hand.

Cece swung her legs over the side of her bed and stretched. “It’s probably just the Kahlúa.”

“The Kahlúa?” I picked up the nearly empty bottle of tepid water that sat on my desk and unscrewed the cap with awkward fingers.

“Yeah, Jack had some Kahlúa in a flask. He put some in everyone’s coffee, just a splash. Didn’t you hear us talking about it? I thought you knew.”

No, I hadn’t known. I’d been way too distracted, I guess. I hadn’t heard from Aidan, hadn’t seen him since class on Friday. I had no idea where he was or what he was doing. So after my Saturday session with Sandra, I’d hung out with my friends instead—Jack and Kate, Cece and Marissa. Sophie had a date with one of Jack’s friends from the football team, some guy
named Ben who was telekinetic. The macro kind, like Kate. As it happens, that’s the more common type. The things you learn.

So I really
did
have a hangover; imagine that. Patsy would kill me if she knew. I popped the two caplets into my mouth and washed them down with water, nearly gagging as the pills scraped down my throat.

Cece got up and went over to her desk, smiling at her reflection in the mirror above. She looked all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, none the worse for wear.

“How come you look okay?” I asked. “You were drinking coffee last night too.”

Cece just smiled. “Yeah, I had one cup. I think you had three.”

Geez, three cups of spiked coffee, and I hadn’t even noticed? I was worse off than I thought.

I sat down hard on my chair. “I need something to eat.”

“Yeah, me too. I guess we’ll have to hit the machines. We missed breakfast.”

An hour later we had showered, dressed, and eaten stale bagels from the vending machine. The Advil had finally kicked in and my head felt a little better, so that was a start.

Once we’d returned to the room, I sat down at my desk and powered up my laptop, thinking I’d catch up on e-mails
and maybe do some research for my anthropology class. I had a paper due in a few weeks—folklore in West African cultures— and I hadn’t even picked a topic yet.

“I’m supposed to meet Marissa at the library to study for an English test,” Cece said, grabbing her backpack. “And then I’ve got a student council meeting this afternoon. Want to meet up later for lunch?”

“Lunch?” I asked distractedly, waiting for my computer to log on to the school’s network. “We just ate breakfast.”

“Good point. Okay, I’ll see you later, then.”

I nodded. “Later,” I called out.

She paused by the door, then turned back to face me. “Oh, and if Lover Boy calls, tell him you’ve got plans. Don’t let him think you’re sitting around here waiting for his sorry ass to call.”

I started to protest. “I am not sitting here waiting—”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Cece interrupted. “I know he’s hot, but come on.”

She didn’t know the half of it.

Once she left, I opened my e-mail. Nothing. I guess Whitney had finally given up on me.

I dropped my hands to my lap, my frustration mounting. It wasn’t that I didn’t miss her—I did. It was just that I didn’t know what to tell her. Anything I told her about my new friends would have to be edited. I’d have to keep the truth
from her, just like always. And Aidan . . . what could I possibly tell her about him?

I couldn’t tell her about being able to speak to him telepathically, or about the way he’d taken over my visions. So how could I explain the connection we had? The abridged version would sound so shallow, such a washed-out version of the truth. Anyway, what did it matter, since he was back to avoiding me?

Thank God I hadn’t had a repeat of the last horrifying vision—all that blood soaking the grass. I must have misinterpreted what I saw; if anyone had lost that much blood, they’d be dead, and there was no way I’d seen Aidan’s death.

No way.

My mind refused to accept it. Besides, it’s not like my visions were usually so coy—I’d seen my father’s death in full Technicolor glory, no detail spared. To this day, I was still haunted by those images. But this vision . . . it had somehow sped up, as if it had been edited. I had no idea what had happened between someone shouting “Now!” and the blood everywhere.

I stood, shutting my laptop. I needed to get out, to get some air. And then I’d go to the gym, to the fencing studio. It had become my refuge, my private retreat. As long as there was no class, no practice, I had the place to myself, and everything about
it comforted me—the wall of mirrors reflecting my image; the smooth, shiny handle of my foil, heavy in my hand; the faintly rubber smell of the piste, lingering in the air.

There I could lose myself for a while, forget the sting of Aidan’s rejection, forget the terrible images from my visions. I could focus on my parry instead—on the slash of the foil whistling through the air rather than the painful slash across my heart.

One wrist pressed firmly to the small of my back and the other holding the foil aloft, I silently called out the commands in my head:
advance, advance, retreat, lunge, recover, retreat, retreat, advance, lunge.
The rhythm was comfortable, like a familiar melody, soothing my nerves. Over and over I repeated the steps, randomly changing the order, till my legs and arms began to ache.

Exhausted, I collapsed to the piste, my foil clattering loudly to the ground beside me as I wiped the sweat from my brow. I knew without turning around that Aidan was there, in the doorway, watching me. He’d been watching me for the past fifteen minutes, silent and still as a statue.

“What do you want, Aidan?” I asked aloud, refusing to look in his direction.

“You’re good,” he said, taking several steps in my direction. “Really good.”

“And that’s a surprise because . . . ?” I looked up and saw his reflection in the mirror behind me.

He shrugged, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. “Tell me more about it.”

“Fencing? What do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “Everything.”

“Let’s see . . . two years ago I was the junior varsity state épée champion. All-around, not just girls. Then I injured my rotator cuff, and I had to give up the épée for the lighter foil. That’s this,” I said, hooking my thumb toward the weapon beside me. “Anything else you want to know?”

“I’ve hurt you,” he said, sounding surprised.

“I’ll survive.”

“I had my reasons. This isn’t easy for me, you know.”

I scrambled to my feet, retrieving the foil and facing him across the empty studio on shaking legs. “No, I don’t know, Aidan. All I know is that you’re keeping things from me.” Absently I waved the foil in the air with a flourish, emphasizing my point.

I could see the indecision playing across his features. The desire to tell me the truth battled against . . . something. Finally, he shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you my secrets, Vi.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. Why don’t you just go, then, and—”

“And what? Continue to drive myself mad thinking about you? I try to stay away from you, but I just can’t do it. I’m working night and day, trying to figure it out, trying to find a way to . . . to make it possible.”

“To make what possible?” I shook my head in frustration. “Friday you came to class just to check up on me, didn’t you?” I asked, the realization dawning on me all at once. “You knew I’d had a vision, and—”

“I heard you yelling. My name, over and over again. Do you want to tell me what you saw this time? And while you’re at it, would you mind dropping your weapon?”

I glanced down, surprised to see that I still held the foil in one hand, pointed directly at his chest. “Sorry.” I shook my head as it clattered to the ground by my feet. “But I can’t talk about it, not right now.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

I let out my breath in a rush. “I don’t know. Both.”

“Were you—was someone hurt? You’ve got to tell me, Violet.”

“Why?” I whimpered, my bravado fading.

“Because I need to know. It seems like they’re escalating, and they always seem to involve me. I want to understand why, to know what I’m going to do to—”

He abruptly cut himself off, glancing down at the mat. I saw him swallow hard, a muscle in his jaw flexing. Finally his
eyes met mine once more and the anguish I saw there nearly stole my breath away. “How else can we stop it?” he said, his voice soft now.

I didn’t want to remember what I’d seen. I didn’t want to give voice to it. But I had to. I had no choice. He was right— otherwise, how could I stop it from happening?

“I think it was . . . your death,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper.

“Is that all?” He actually laughed. “Don’t worry, then. It won’t happen.”

I couldn’t believe how sure he sounded. “My visions have never been wrong. Never,” I added, hoping he understood the seriousness of the situation.

His gaze met mine, steady and penetrating. “Then tell me exactly what you saw.”

So I did, trying to remember every tiny detail. The leaves, the grass, the voice, the blood—that was all I had. Not a lot to go on.

“Interesting,” he said, once I’d finished telling him.

“That’s it? I foresee your death, and that’s all you have to say?” I asked, my voice rising in panic.

I heard him sigh. “It’s . . . I can’t explain it, but I don’t think you should worry, okay? At least, not about me.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Aidan. You didn’t have to see—”
I fought back tears, choking on the words. “There was blood everywhere.” I took a deep breath then, fought to control my emotions, my pain. I allowed anger—a far more comfortable emotion—to take its place. “Why is it that I always have to tell you everything, but you get to keep your secrets?”

“Soon enough I’ll tell you what you want to know—if you don’t see it first, that is. And then I’ll lose you, just like that.” I saw pain flit across his face, and I felt it too—his pain.

“You won’t lose me,” I said, taking a tentative step toward him. Despite my anger, despite everything, I felt an overwhelming urge to comfort him. “No matter what your secrets are, no matter how terrible you think they are, you won’t lose me.”

He reached for my shoulders and drew me against his chest. “I’ll make sure to remind you that you said that, okay? When you’re running away from me as fast as you can.”

“Not going to happen,” I said, my voice muffled against his shirt.

He sighed loudly. “What makes you think you can forgive the unforgivable, Violet? Pardon the unpardonable?”

I breathed in his scent, unable to imagine what he meant by that.

“You didn’t answer me,” he prodded, his hand stroking my back, drawing gooseflesh on my skin. “Why? Why won’t you run from me?”

I didn’t know what to say; didn’t know what he wanted to hear. All I knew was that I cared about him, way more than I should care about someone I barely knew. But I wouldn’t say it—couldn’t say it.

Several seconds passed in silence, and then his lips brushed my ear. “Well, until you
do
run, I’ll just have to take what I can. Next weekend is the Halloween Fair. Will you go with me to the dance?”

My heart did a little flip-flop—he was asking me to a dance! An official school function, which meant going public.

“Do I have to wear a costume?” I asked, as
if
I would turn him down either way.

He released me then, taking a step back as his mouth curved into a smile. “Of course you have to wear a costume. That’s half the fun of it.”

“Well, then, how can I say no?” That meant I had to come up with a costume, and fast.

On most days I felt like the Violet I showed the world
was
a costume, a mask. No one knew the real me. But, as I looked up into Aidan’s eyes and watched him smile that slow smile of his, I realized with a start that
he
did. He knew the real Violet McKenna, the essence beneath the mask.

And somehow that excited me and terrified me, all at once.