Spring Tide (30 page)

“That’s really cool. So I whisper—”

“Not yet. Whispers are tricky. It takes careful thought, the right wording, and supervision. Don’t worry about it now. Julia’s all about spells.”

“Sounds like witchcraft.”

He’d laughed and raised an eyebrow. “You believe in all that crap, Kris? Witches, vampires, werewolves … how ’bout ogres?”

“Like I really know what to believe anymore.”

“Fairy tales. Humans make up all that stuff to explain evil or entertain themselves when what they really need to worry about is the nosy woman who lives down the street or the quiet guy who works in the next cubicle that’s been watching, wanting, hating …”

What he’d said made sense and appealed to my logical side, but was kind of a bummer at the same time. I liked stories about creatures and demons and junk.

He was blissfully happy. He smiled all the time and some of the seriousness disappeared. At first, I assumed he was relieved that he didn’t have to keep an eye on me anymore, but it was all about my metamorphosis. He had commented many times in the first two days that he thought he was going to go crazy waiting for me. He’d have to keep waiting. I was sleeping fourteen to sixteen hours a day, my body adapting to the integration of my power.

In the morning, I was sitting on the deck wall, feet crossed at the ankles, watching a crab below go in and out of its hole. I snapped my fingers, having a great idea for a seafood calzone, and a little flame of green light sprouted from my middle finger.
Whoa.
I touched it. It wasn’t hot, didn’t feel like anything. I pointed my hand down and so burned the flame.
No way.
Experimenting, I transferred it back and forth from one finger to another on either hand. With attention, I could increase its size or change its shape, make it however I wanted it to be.
Done.
Mere thought extinguished it. I snapped my fingers and the flame returned.

He came out of the house and sat beside me. “It’s neat, huh?”

“I’ll never buy a lighter for a concert again. No one but me will be able to see it, but still.” I put out the fire, bit my finger, and felt nothing, no sensation.

“You’ll get feeling back the more you use your energy. Can we try something?” A four-inch blue flame sprang from his palm. “Light up, hon.”

I did. As his hand touched mine, the flares spiraled around each other, growing higher, the energies thickening. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the column of intertwined blue and green increasing to eight feet in height.

“You are mine,” he whispered.

“It’s beautiful, mesmerizing.”

“So are you.”

Attempting to divide the coil, we laughed; it didn’t want to come apart. It took much concentration and effort, but finally the energies separated with a loud crack. I snapped my fingers with both hands and two green flames appeared on each middle finger. I gave him the lit-up version of the bird for kicks and he flipped me off accordingly.

“Is that how you started it? Snapping your fingers?” he asked.

“Hold up.”

I transferred the flames to all my fingers and dropped my hands, leaving ten little pyres hanging in the air in front of me. Staring hard, I coaxed them into spheres and then united them into one big sphere. With a small motion of my hand, I threw the ball of light ten feet away and using the opposite motion, it returned to me. My fingers were magnets for my energy. I turned it back into ten bubbles, returned the bubbles to flames, and put them out with a blink of my eyes. Body, mind, and energy were consolidated.

“Don’t snap your fingers. Picture it in your mind.” He demonstrated.

I did and flames torched from my digits like pyrotechnics at a rock show.

He whisked his hand over the top of my light. “You control it well. It’s time to get to work.”

“I like work.”

“I know you do. Tell you what. I’m gonna give you a ten-second head start, then I’m gonna chase you. When I catch you, I’m gonna tickle you until you can’t breathe and keep tickling you until you throw up. All you have to do is not let me catch you and avoid my energy.”

“You’re teasing, right?”

“I’m counting, Kris.” He shot a small wave of blue light from his palm to my stomach. It prickled then stung.

I jumped from the deck wall and sprinted down the beach. He caught up so quickly there was no way he’d counted ten, but I was more concerned about the rays of blue light coming from behind me. I spun left and swerved right to keep his energy from touching me, but his magic singed my right arm with a burning itch. I stopped short, ducked under his arm, and went back the other direction. The chase continued while I shrieked at him to stop it and he replied, “Make me.” I ignited green energy from my fingers and condensed it into beams like his, contacting his light a few yards away. The bands of energy clashed with fury, green and blue biting each other, the movement as fluid and forceful as the waves pounding the shore. Pressure resounded to my outstretched fingers, signaling the strength he was emitting, but I held my magic firmly in place, countering his slow steps.

“Damn it, Kris! Quit jackin’ me around and get it right!”

It happened so fast, I didn’t feel it coming. Heat blistered the back of my neck, a burst of power exploded from my fingers, and I killed his energy. He was taken off his feet and propelled ten yards backward, where he hit a dune. In a second, he was on his feet again.

“Didn’t expect that.” He wiped the sand from his jeans. “Right on.”

I walked to him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I—”

“It’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. I was trying to provoke you. Hon, it’s okay to get mad. You’ll learn to advance your energy without anger, but right now it’s your best weapon.”

“Against who? Anger’s not an option for me.”

“It’s okay to have rage.”

The image of my father came into my vision and I shrank away from it.
No it’s not.

Blue light from his palms came right at me. I flipped sideways, firing up my fingers and pushing back against him before my feet touched the ground. I formulated my energy’s direction, velocity, and potency, putting him on the defensive. I overcame him again, but not without exhaustion.

“Lightheaded?” He walked to me.

“Very.”

“It’ll get better. C’mon, I wanna show you something.”

He put his arm around my waist and took me to the garage. I had never been in the garage proper, nor did anyone park in the garage. The surfboard room at the entrance was the closest I’d ever been. In the middle of the space was a mass that went to the ceiling, covered by a drop cloth. He pulled it away, revealing a sculpture. Two large pieces of metal, one blue and one green, twisted together like a double helix, each piece embellished with hundreds of small flames.

“It’s us. It’s our magic.” I circled it. “Did you do this?”

“I had a vision of it years ago, like a picture in my mind that wouldn’t go away.”

“It’s beautiful, J. Really, truly beautiful.” I looked at it, tilting my head from side to side and tentatively touching the barbs.

There was so much detail in each and every flame, no two thorns alike. Some were small, some wide, others long and curving, their coloring glossy blue or green or a mixture of both. The texture of the two large pieces randomly alternated between areas that were hammered and areas that were smooth and shiny, inspiring a feeling of movement. It was extraordinary in its design and size, but mostly in its meaning, our energies entwined like our souls.

I looked at him. “What do you call it?”

“‘Waiting.’”

I closed my eyes and nodded.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

H
e spent the next week keeping things light. We went fishing on a really cool boat that had a cabin with sofas and a galley and stuff. We went to the movies and saw a horror film that made my skin crawl. He was greatly agitated by the flick, watching me cringe as the serial killer mutilated the poor, inept girl with a paring knife, blood spouting from her body. He couldn’t handle it and we left halfway through. We went to the Rasp concert in San Antonio—it rocked and ruled. We made pizza together, but it wasn’t as good as the real deal. We sat on the beach and talked.

“What’s on your mind?” He twirled my hair between his fingers.

“Tyler.”

His eyebrows went to his nose.

“Tyler and I talked about wave formation. I understand now how the waves break at Laces as compared to the beach break by the pier or the reef break at Pipe. Why are you scowling at me like that? Touchy …”

“He’s a better surfer and I saw how he looked at you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was fantasizing about you right now. Wipe that smile off your face. You should know that some humans, not many, but some are drawn to the magic within us.”

I nudged him. “So that’s why I fell into your lap?”

“No,
I
fell into
your
lap because we’re meant to be together. I’m talking about crushes.”

“I’m not following. Give me a better example.”

“Bet you can think of one.”

I shrugged.

“So you’ve been Princess Almost Aware all summer, your magic trying to get out, sparkling in your eyes. Can you think of someone who took a sudden, intense interest in you?”

Duh.
“Joshua.”

He nodded. “People that are sensitive to our energy react differently to it. Tyler’s thing for you is mild. Joshua’s was strong, really strong.”

I took the sea glass in my hand. “But Joshua was way out of control. Was he compromised?”

“Not unless you laid him. He was just really drawn to your magic. Sorry, you’re grimmed out now, huh?”

“Very. He was infatuated with me because of energy that I didn’t even know about?”

“Yeah, like I said, it doesn’t happen all that often. It’s something for you to keep in mind, watch for.”

“But how does it happen? I mean, how’d he pick up on it?”

“I don’t know. That’s kinda like asking why Sarah’s favorite color is purple or why you like dark chocolate but think all other candy is disgusting. People like different things and no one knows why—sometimes not even that person. Joshua didn’t know it was your energy that was makin’ him wild for you. He just knew he wanted you. When compromising happens, the human that’s been with a Chosen gets super mega-obsessed, way unpredictable, and sometimes even destructive. It’d be like how Joshua’s acted toward you on steroids plus possible violence while he begged you to stay with him forever. Humans and Chosen can’t have physical relationships. Look at it like this: before you were aware, when we made out, didn’t you say something once about how it made you feel like your mind was filled with water—?”

“More like full-scale drowning.”

His mouth gaped. “Oh my God, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I kinda liked it.” I hooked my arm around his knee. “I like being in balance more though.”

“That feeling of drowning was a sign to you that something wasn’t right. You actually liked it?”

“I didn’t know any different. And I’m kind of a busybody—it was relaxing, shut off my brain and let it rest for a little bit.”

“You liked feeling trapped underwater … you’re a very special girl, Kris.”

“That’s what my mom says too.”

He shook off my words. “Brights fall in love with people sometimes, not often. But we don’t act on those feelings. We can’t. It’s the worst thing for both parties. I loved you, so I waited … kind of.”

“I guess I’m glad you did then. Anyhoo, I need to get this out in the open. I’m worried I’m gonna be a major disappointment to you.” I held up my hands and lit my eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing or am supposed to be doing with this.”

He turned my body toward him. “Disappointment? Do you have any idea how substandard I felt when we met and the feeling only got stronger the more I got to know you? You cook, you read a lot, you play guitar. You’ve fascinated me since—”

I coughed hard. “You’re a professional surfer, professional with titleage and magazine covers, which makes me feel real uncoordinated and stupid in the water. But regarding music and cooking and all that, it comes down to two things. One, I didn’t do the dating thing. The not primping and preening or caring about what I wore to school really freed up my time. Two, I had good teachers. Derek made tennis fun. Bertram, the chef at La Maison, was dedicated to making his kitchen a learning environment for everyone in it. Then there’s Mom. She suffered, and I do mean suffered, listening to me learn guitar up until I started decoding the compression waves. And you, you have been ultra-patient in teaching me to surf and you know I’m not lyin’ when I say that of all of ’em, you’re the best yet. With you there was no pressure, no timetable. You knew when I was diggin’ it and when I wasn’t, when to push me and when to hold back.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that ’cause you’re my responsibility until you’re comfortable with your power. We’re gonna take it slow, like surfing. I want you to have fun with it, understand it. I’m a good teacher?”

“Very good.” I kissed his bicep. “But with your insight you’re a big, fat cheater. What’s that like? Knowing what people think?”