Prophecy Girl (Angel Academy) (22 page)

Chapter Nineteen:

Tin Man

I watched as blood spread across Jack’s chest in a wet, crimson stain.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

In a few seconds, he’d get up and yell at me to hurry with the portal so we could go snorkel in a cesspool, or something. And I’d grumble but I’d do it. Because whatever else happened, we stuck with each other. Maybe that’s why I got so angry when he sank to his knees on the cold white tile.

“Jack, get up,” I snapped at him.

He toppled sideways, his eyes searching the room in soundless panic. Blood dribbled onto the floor in tiny, dark rivers.

“Get up!” I repeated louder. “We have to go.”

Confusion clouded his gaze but he kept breathing, little air bubbles forming around the shaft of the metal bolt.

I sank to my knees beside him. With every passing second, it felt more real. More solid. More horrible. His eyes were glazed, his hand shaky as it patted the air in search of mine.

“Amelie,” Bud said from a few inches away. “Get back.”

But I couldn’t move. Jack’s lips moved in meaningless twitches. Inside me, something cracked and broke, a torrent of emotions flooding forward. Heat ripped through my brain, white-hot and strange like the chemical fires Gunderman made in the school lab. Green. Sharp-smelling.

The first flash of memory exploded in my head like a fireball.

It was kindergarten, my first week at St. Michael’s. The merry-go-round zipped in dizzy circles, Ty Webster pushing it harder and harder. I screamed at him to stop, that I was going to fall, but he wouldn’t. When I hit the ground, sharp rocks dug into my palms, embedded so deep I couldn’t tell what color they were.

A line of kids gathered to laugh at me. I remember thinking if I were tough like my mom I’d get up and shove Ty Webster. Maybe kick him, or call up a channel and turn his hair blue. Dad had warned me not to channel at school, since most kids didn’t get their powers until puberty. He didn’t want anyone asking questions. So I stayed put, curled in a ball, my head buried at my knees.

I cried that way until an older boy with blond hair and glasses pushed his way to the front and picked me up. He didn’t say anything, just carried me to the healer and stayed in the waiting room while she dug the pebbles out of my palms.

He was waiting for me when I came out. He asked if I was okay and walked me back to class. The next day, I gave him some animal crackers out of my lunch to say thank you. He smiled this awesome, crooked smile, then bit the head off each animal cracker, one by one. That’s how he gave them back to me, slobbery and decapitated.

There were a few more lightning flashes of memory, somewhat less intense. Lisa and me crouched behind the sandbox in first grade, spying on that same boy. His third grade piano recital when he screwed up his solo but I gave him flowers anyway. Pink tulips. He snapped the heads off those, too, and gave the stems back to me.

The memories unfolded like road maps of my life. Strange and complicated. But nothing prepared me for the searing hot needles that scraped across my mind at the next one.

It didn’t surface naturally like Dr. Evans promised. It felt more like someone had heated up a scalpel, then excavated the memory from my brain with sharp jabs.

I was in a sage-colored room with a carved white mantle and crown molding that descended nearly a foot from the ceiling. Rich tapestries hung on the walls, pictures of angels spun with deep reds and gold. Gilded wall-sconces shimmered unevenly, casting flickers of light across the polished hardwood floors. It was almost time to leave the PTA meeting, but all the kids had hidden for one last round of hide-and-go-seek. I’d chosen a spot behind the Christmas tree so I could look out the window.

I thought they were shadows at first. Black clouds billowed out of nowhere, thin seams of gray light staining the air. The sky was practically flooded before I realized they were demons.

Things happened fast after that. I stayed hidden. I heard my mother’s voice in the hallway, calling to me, but I was too scared to answer. By that time, the room was on fire. Tapestries flapped in the heat; oil paintings melted into the walls. Even the Christmas tree was in flames. More screams came from the hall, a few tearing sounds, and a crunch like chicken bones in the garbage disposal at home. I clamped my hands over my ears to shut it out, but I couldn’t. It was like a recording in my head. My mother’s screams. The chicken bones.

When the blond boy grabbed my sleeve and dragged me from the burning tree to behind a couch, I didn’t fight. He put his hand over my eyes, and tried to push me out the door. “
Run
!” he yelled, over and over again. “
Run
!”

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t do anything.

My mind clawed at comprehension like fingernails through a sandcastle. Demons were close. My mother was dead. I would die soon, too.

Oddly, what troubled me most was the heat. Not the heat from the room, but from the black fire growing inside of me. Power burned at my skin, staining my thoughts. The fear, the rage. I had to get it out. My eyes were cemented shut, but somehow my hand managed to find a shard of broken glass.

The boy didn’t yell when I stabbed him, or when I stabbed myself. Even when the Crossworld energy brought him to his knees and shudders of agony ripped through him, he didn’t let go of my hand. That boy.

Jackson Smith-Hailey.

Through my pain, I saw the room flood with pink light, a seashell glow we could feel as much as see. A burst of power hurtled out of us. I’d never felt anything so violent. It burned through the walls, tore up the ceilings. In the back of my mind, a thousand anguished cries echoed—souls of the damned as they scurried back to hell.

That’s all I remembered of the fight.

Jack held me after, for hours it seemed. The rescue crew tried to pry me out of his arms, but he kept screaming at them to leave us alone. I think they must have drugged him, because he was unconscious when they finally hauled him away.

And me?

I let him go.

I sat there like a useless lump and let them take him. Just like I let my mother get ripped to pieces while I hid.

Disgust pulsed through my body as the momentary flash faded back to reality—to Jack, bloody and limp in my arms. I wouldn’t let him go this time.

“
Inergio
,” I yelled at the portal.

Jack’s head lolled against my chest as I hooked both arms under his shoulders, careful not to disturb the wound.

“Amelie, don’t make a fool of yourself,” Alec said from across the room. “I won’t let you escape again. Jackson’s death isn’t the end, it’s the beginning. Your sister needs you. The Guardians need you.”

I glared at him. “What you need is an attitude check.
Doloré.
”

Instantly, Alec crumpled to the floor. I didn’t entirely know what the curse would do to him, since it wasn’t in any of our books. But it’d been effective enough when Ms. Hansen used it on Jack. And if
she
hadn’t been damned to prison for throwing an illegal curse at a Watcher, then I probably wouldn’t be, either.

“
Inergio
.” I tried the portal again.

In a wash of power, it flared to life, casting flickering shadows across Bud’s stunned face. Jack’s feet trailed dark smears across the tile as I dragged him toward the portal. I’d made it halfway there when I felt the burden lighten.

“I’ve got him,” Henry said. “Amelie, I’ve got him.”

He had to say it a few times before I understood. Together, we hefted Jack to the mouth of the portal, then Henry grabbed my dad by the shirt. Alec would be released from the curse the instant we left. If he had a death wish, he might even try to follow us. But what else could I do? Even if I had enough power to channel a killing curse
and
make the jump, I didn’t know if I’d want to. Despite what everyone thought, I wasn’t a killer.

“Ready?” Henry tightened his grip on my dad.

“The shields will be weak,” I warned. “Don’t let go of me.”

Henry nodded. “Do it.”

“
Familia fides.
”

Every atom in my body stretched and squeezed like Silly Putty as the portal activated, sucking us in. Demons thrashed at my shields, but I clung to Jack. He was my source. As long as he lived, I could use his power as an amplifier.

After what seemed like an eternity, a tiny speck of light appeared in the distance. I fumbled toward it, my grip tight around Jack. It was like being stuck at the bottom of a lake. For the first few seconds it isn’t bad—kind of dark, heavy. Then your oxygen gives out and you know you need to breathe, but the surface is still twenty feet above you. So you kick and thrash, and your lungs keep getting tighter and tighter ‘til you can’t feel anything but dizzy.

In short, it sucked.

I was barely conscious when my body slammed into something soft and a cloud of Strawberry Shortcake perfume erupted around me.

Jack had fallen silent. He lay beneath me on his side, the wet stain of blood from his chest leaking onto my bedspread.

“
Exitus!
” I closed the portal with a wave of my hand, and glanced around to make sure I hadn’t lost anyone. Bud lay in a crumpled ball at the foot of my bed. Poor Henry half-dangled off my dresser, covered with the shattered remnants of a vanilla body glitter jar.

“That went surprisingly well,” said Henry, sliding off the dresser with a
thunk
.

I rolled Jack onto his back, trying to keep the crossbow bolt steady. The blood flow had slowed, but I could still feel his pulse.

“Dad, show Henry where the linen closet is. I need clean towels. Lots of them. Then go downstairs and make me some coffee. Extra caffeine.”

My voice must have sounded authoritative, because the men scrambled to their feet and scurried away without question. By the time Henry returned with the towels, I’d ripped off Jack’s shirt and started mopping up the blood with a Beanie Baby. It’s a real testament to how freaked out I must have been, because the whole shirtlessness thing didn’t even distract me.

“Don’t you die,” I ordered as I tugged the bolt out.

My dad hadn’t returned with the coffee yet, thank God. Don’t get me wrong, I really did need a boost, but the thought of having Dad around while I did it made me uncomfortable on levels I wasn’t ready to visit. Healing Jack touched me in ways I couldn’t describe. Ways I couldn’t control. Ways I didn’t want to share with anyone.

Carefully, I laid my hands over his bare chest and pulled open the Crossworld channel.

“
Salve pacem.
”

Every ounce of strength I possessed poured into the charm—every bit of love, every memory I had of him. Light welled inside me and hovered for a moment, tentative. The portal had drained my Crossworld energy horribly and for an awful moment I wondered, will there be enough? Will
I
be enough? Tears of frustration formed in my eyes as I squeezed them tighter.

Finally, painfully, it gushed at Jack.

“Yes.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Shadows from the channel slithered ugly pathways over my skin, but I kept going. Healing. Pulling. Forcing life into his body.

“What’s she doing?” Dad demanded from the doorway.

Henry smiled sadly. “What she has to.”

Under my hand, the vibrant hum of electricity pulsed, hot and vicious. It knitted his flesh together—first the deepest wounds, then the tissue surrounding, then, finally, his skin.

The whole room smelled like burned leaves and vanilla body spray; the air practically crackled with magic.

After what seemed like forever, Jack’s breathing stabilized and I collapsed beside him, the channel still lingering. Blood coated my bedspread in thick puddles, its sweet, coppery smell stinging my nose. I hated that smell. It was death. Death and magic.

I must have dozed off because I didn’t even struggle when Bud finally dragged me off Jack and wrapped a Hello Kitty blanket around me.

“Hey,” I said, drowsy. “Guess I should have stayed home from school, huh?”

“You think?” He sank onto the edge of the bed and combed the hair out of my eyes, like he used to when I was little. “You remembered it, didn’t you? The attack?”

I nodded.

“I was afraid of that.” He looked at the ground. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I said honestly. The truth was, I didn’t want to think about it. If I thought too hard about it, I’d have to admit it was my fault. It was
all
my fault. Mom’s death. Jack’s bonding. If I had just answered Mom, none of it would have happened.

“I could have saved her,” I whispered. “If I’d been braver—”

“Baby, no,” Bud said, his lips warm against my forehead. “Don’t do that to yourself. You were seven years old. A lot of people would have died that night if not for you.”

“But she called to me. I was too scared,” I said. “God, Jack was right not to want me. I’m nothing but a coward.”

“Oh, Ami.” Bud sighed. “There are a lot of names I want to call you right now, but ‘coward’ isn’t one of them. You think a coward could have done this? You think a coward could love that boy as much as you do, even knowing you’ll lose him? Love takes courage, sweetheart, maybe more than most people know. That’s not something a coward can handle.”

Tears pricked behind my eyes, blurring Jack’s outline into a mush of white and red. How had everything gotten so screwed-up?

Bud held me as I cried—deep wracking sobs that cut through ten years. It took what felt like hours to cry it out. When he finally scooped me into his arms, all I wanted was an endless stack of pancakes and maybe a
Star Wars
marathon followed by a year of sleep.

The worst part was, we weren’t even safe yet. Jack still had the stupid prophecy on his head and aside from knowing the Graymason was female, we weren’t any closer to figuring out her identity.

Dad lugged me to the bathroom and sat on the toilet while I showered. I mean, he had the seat down and everything. I guess he just wanted to make sure I didn’t pass out and crack my skull open. On any other day, it would have been mortifying. Okay, scratch that. It was pretty mortifying. Not scar-my-psyche, white-padded-walls, long-term-therapy
awful,
but still nothing I cared to tell Lisa about.