Sparked (32 page)

“Sure,” he said.

She looked at him expectantly, but he wasn’t entirely sure where to begin.

“I’ve agreed to try,” he said. “But I need you to set your expectations realistically, Cora. There’s a very good chance that our efforts won’t work.” He thought back to the first time he’d ever manifested the energy in his mother’s garden—how angry he’d been. It had been the same with Cora, too, but the consequences were so much worse. “My emotions, they seem to have greater control than I do.”

“You know, it was like that in the beginning with my powers too. At first I could only make it happen when I was feeling things very intensely. The first time it happened I was angry with Butch and I nearly drowned him in the laundry water.”

She took a few steps closer to him, and he tried not to back away. She seemed to sense his discomfort and paced past him in a wide berth.

“But that just sort of went away. The more I practiced, the less dependent I was on my emotional state. Now it’s more about my concentration. And even that’s become so much easier.”

“We have no guarantee that it will be the same for me.”

“I know. But that’s why I want you to try. As long as you try, I’ll be happy.”

“And where do you suggest I start?”

“I’ve been thinking about something,” she said, leaning up against a tree. “Last night, with the water, you said you could feel that there wasn’t any life force inside of it.”

“Yes.”

“So you have a sense for it—when things contain the kind of energy you need for your power and when they don’t.”

He hadn’t really thought about it, but he supposed she was right. He did sense it last night, and he could sense it now as he stood near a large boulder—there was nothing inside of it that he could use.

“Yes. I think so.”

“And you can do that without touching anything? You weren’t touching the water last night.”

Clayton looked around. He’d be damned if she wasn’t right again. He hadn’t even realized it—hadn’t thought to even try to look at things that way. But he did have a sense for it. The tree that Cora was leaning on was teeming with energy—so were the shrubs and wildflowers and grass. Cora herself was the greatest source. It pulsed within her almost as fast as his own beating heart, calling to him with a sickening pull. But once he scanned the rocks and the water beyond them, he could see that there was nothing there.

“Yes,” he said. “You’re right. I do feel it.”

“It’s like that with my power too. I don’t have to touch it to know it’s there. At first, I thought it was just the sight of it—I mean, water is water, right? But it’s more than that. Something about me has changed. I can sense it. I still have to see it to control it, but I know when it’s there.”

His chest tightened. He thought he understood where she was going with her questions, and he didn’t like it.

“I guess I’m wondering if it’s the same with you. Can you—do you have to touch something to pull the power from it?”

“Cora—”

“I know. I know what it means. I know it scares you more if it’s true. And I’m not saying that if you can our agreement doesn’t matter. But we have to know, don’t we?”

He didn’t necessarily agree with her. What if now that he knew, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself? The idea of it took away what little hope he’d had of being able to be near her.

“I think you should try,” she said.

“No.”

“Wouldn’t you rather find out now than through another accident?”

It was a fair point. 

“I won’t do it with you around,” he said.

“I knew you’d say that,” she said, taking a deep breath. “And I understand.”

Did she? With her around, what she was asking would be impossible.

“I’m going to walk back to the boat,” she said.

Relief spilled over him. “Thank you.”

“Just promise me you’ll try.”

“I will.” 

He meant it. He would try. She was right, he had to know.

As she disappeared around a bend in the path, he realized he could sense her distance—sense the energy she held leaving his periphery. The space was emptier without her.

As much as he feared what could happen if she was there, he hated what it felt like when she was gone. Was he so weak that he couldn’t be without her, even for her own good? He feared it was the truth. It had to be the truth—if not, why had he let her convince him to put her in danger like this? 

He couldn’t be without her. 

The realization stung. He hated being without her so much he was willing to take chances that he shouldn’t. 

Which meant that there was only one answer now—one impossible answer. He had to find a way to control his abilities. Otherwise, what would become of them both? He would ruin her with his love.

But if he
could
control them, if he
could
….

With the possibility in his mind, he began to envision better things too—what life could look like with her by his side. His mind flashed a year into the future, five years, ten. An image filled his mind of them in a different boat. It wouldn’t be flashy or fast. This one would be slower, safer—large enough for children. He could see them now, a crew of sweet small faces. Little girls with her eyes and little boys with her smile. Suddenly all the trouble between his family and hers felt like nothing at all. They could overcome that. They could overcome
that
if he could overcome
this
.

He had to do it. He had to try.

He tried to clear his head of all of it—of what it meant to get himself under control, of the life they could share if he did, of even the smallest thought of brushing his fingers across her cheek one more time, of kissing her full lips.

He closed his eyes and tried to see what was around him. Without his natural vision, his senses grew even clearer. He could feel things moving, so vividly it was almost as if his eyes were open. The wind kicked up and he could
see
the wildflowers sway in the breeze. He could see the trees bend slightly against it too. There was another movement to his left—one he couldn’t place—he opened his eyes and saw a bird pecking at the ground for food.

He nearly laughed. This was unreal.

Each source of energy was distinct. He could sense not only the amount of energy in each being, but its frequency. The way the energy moved, its flavor. And now that he noticed it, it was as easy as breathing to tell the difference between a flower and a bird, between a blade of grass and a creeping vine. There was something else he felt too—a connection.

It was as though a string tethered him to each being. He could sense a pulse, tiny but clear, that seemed to bounce off of them and radiate back to him. Like a telegraph, perhaps. Or rather, more like the sonar systems in a submarine.

He decided it was time to try. He focused on that pulse—the one that connected him with a nearby wildflower—and willed it to come to him. 

Just like that, it did. The energy seemed to twine through the air—a spiral of glowing blue dots that curled toward him and formed into a perfect sphere in his palm.

He hadn’t touched the flower at all.

He practiced it several more times. Honing it until he barely had to concentrate anymore. Each time, rather than destroying something with the energy, he either sent it up into the air or tossed it in the water as he and Cora had practiced the night before. He wondered if she could see it from the boat. He hoped so, imagining her silently cheering him on from afar.

Finally—after he had satisfied himself that at least this part of his power was fully under control—he was ready to show her. It wasn’t a solution to his problem. If anything, his newfound strength made her even more vulnerable to him. But it was progress, and it was progress that she had helped bring forth. He couldn’t wait to share it with her.

He darted through the trees and came upon her kneeling on the dock. She was leaning over the water, the sleeves of her sweater pulled up to her elbows, splashing water onto her forearms.

Something about them looked wrong. He rushed forward.

“What happened to your arm?” Clayton asked.

“Nothing,” she said, startled. She pulled her sleeve back down to hide it. 

He knelt next to her, clasped her wrist gently, and pulled the fabric back up. There was a constellation of tiny blisters scattered across her forearm. His eyes snapped to hers.

“Tell me what happened.” Panic made his heart race. Had the fireworks he’d made done this? Had they rained down after all, too far away for him to see?

“It was stupid, I was frying eggs and I dropped the pan. The grease went everywhere.”

She was a bad liar. He could see it in her eyes. Something had happened and she wasn’t telling him the truth about it.

“If I hurt you, I need to know. That was part of our deal.”

“Oh!” she said. “No, Clayton. It wasn’t you. I promise.”

He looked at her more closely. She looked uncertain—maybe since the first time he’d met her, she looked like she wasn’t sure what to do. Then he noticed something else when she shifted in the moonlight—a swelling on her cheek that he hadn’t ever seen there before. No wonder her hair had been down. No wonder she’d worn that sweater in the middle of June. He’d been so stupid—blind to the fact that she’d been hurting the whole time. Anger bubbled inside him, threatening to boil over.

“Your face,” he said, sliding her hair behind her ear.

Her hand flew up to her cheek.

“Who hurt you, Cora? Tell me. I want the truth.”

She sighed, “Before I tell you, you have to promise not to overreact.”

He wasn’t making any such promise. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, looked into his eyes.

“Tell me, Cora.”

Her eyes darted away from him. “I got into a fight with Butch this morning.”

“A fight? What kind of fight?”

“It was nothing. He was just mad about me being out all night. He thought I was with you.”

“Did that bastard actually hit you?”

Her silence said what her mouth wouldn’t.

Anger flared in his chest, even hotter than before. He took her hand and guided her back to the boat in three quick strides. 

“Clayton, you can’t—”

“I’ll be damned if he’s going to hit you, Cora.”

“It’ll only make it worse.”

He heard her, but he no longer agreed with what she said. They’d tried to deal with the problem by hiding, and look what had happened. He had been a fool.

“He crossed a line. Someone has to put a stop to this.”

Cora pulled her hand away from him. “No! I won’t let you.”

She shot out her hand toward the water. 

In an instant, a wave rose from the lake—large and strong and churning. With a roar, it carried his boat away, its force so hard and fast it snapped the tether from the dock.

“You’re
defending
him? After what he did to you?”

What kind of control did Butch have over his sister, to make her value herself so little? Clayton felt his rage building, a monster in his chest, and with it, a desire for power. It called to him, begged for him to use it, to destroy everything. The energy hummed around him everywhere—the trees and the grasses and the creatures that made their homes there.

And Cora, too. Cora burning bright and hot and blinding in front of him. Her presence so much greater that it tempted him beyond anything else.

It didn’t just tempt him, it tortured him. He longed for it. His need was overpowering. He felt on the very edge, a whisper away from taking everything she had.

Calm down
, he warned himself.

He looked at her, and could see that she knew what was happening. Fear sharpened her eyes. Vigilance focused her stance.

She was ready to fight him. And as powerful as she was—as strong and clever and prepared—he knew she would lose.

Calm down.

He closed his eyes. 

Calm down.

He closed his eyes and remembered her face. Pale and drawn and lifeless. He remembered her body, so still that he feared she would never move again.

And that fear—his fear for her—pulverized his anger, crushed it until it was only dust, blew it away on the breeze.

When he opened his eyes again, he knew without question that she was out of danger. And always would be.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Clayton

“I’m not protecting him,” Cora said. “I’m protecting her.”

She was still standing across from him, still ready for war. The sight of her like that made him wince. He vowed never to make her look at him that way again.

“If you fight him, you’ll win,” she said. “And he’ll lash out in any way he can. He’ll hurt Bethany. I know he will.”

Clayton met her eyes. His power was stowed in a vault, locked safe.

“I’m sorry,” Clayton said. “I’m so sorry, Cora. You’re right.”

She seemed to relax a bit at his words, stand up straighter.

“You don’t know her, not very well, but she’s too sweet to fight him. And too young to have to even think about it,” Cora said, her emotions making the words thick. “She doesn’t have anyone else, Clayton. It’s only me and her. It’s always been only me and her. So please don’t make me choose between you. Please don’t make me do that.”

Clayton went to her and held her close. “Never again. If she’s a part of you, then she’s a part of me too.”

He twined his fingers in her hair, kissed the top of her head.

“You were right,” she said. “Every night in that house puts her more and more at risk. I thought, if I was there, they’d pick on me instead. But I don’t think so anymore. I think I was wrong.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“I know,” she said. “I do.” 

She reached for his hand, wove her fingers into his, and took a deep breath. “I’ll do it. I’ll use the money you gave me, like you asked.”

A pang went through his heart. He knew what a sacrifice it was for her to accept his help. He took her face in his hands and kissed her.