The Breaker's Promise (YA Urban Fantasy) (Fixed Points Book 2) (6 page)

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. I was there when Wendy died. I watched her lasts breath, heard her last words. She couldn’t be standing here talking to me, not really.

“You’re dead,” I said, looking at her.

“Among other things, Cresta Karr,” she answered. Hearing her say my name like that, flat and matter -of-factly, the way she did in the days before her death, sent a pain of fresh hurt through me.  “But I’ve come to believe that there are worse situations one might find themselves in.”

A stiff breeze trickled down Main Street, sending Wendy’s bangs dancing across her smooth forehead. “You’re just a dream,” I said.

“We are all someone’s dream, if we are lucky enough.” Her lips pursed together. “If not, we are their memory.”

“Did you pull me in here somehow? Did you do something to me, Wendy?” A door opened, and Mr. Carter came shuffling out of the general store; a sausage dog in each hand.

“Do you give a dead dream power over you, Cresta Karr? You will make a lacking Bloodmoon indeed.” She still wasn’t looking at me. Her clear, pupil-less eyes focused dead ahead.  Suddenly, Main Street came to life. The coffee shop, the filling station, even the long closed cinemas opened up. People came pouring out them and filled the sidewalks. I recognized them all; my almost friends from Desoto High, the ladies from the Methodist church Women’s League, the old men who sat on benches all morning and talked about how there was never anything to do. “If this is a dream, show me the proof, Cresta Karr.”

I bristled. “There is no proof. You can’t prove a dream is a dream, not when it looks as real as this.”

Wendy shook her head. “When you look with your eyes, you shame your teachers. There are other ways for Breakers to see.”

I sighed with the familiar frustration that I had only ever experienced when in Wendy’s’ fortune cookie speak’ presence. “Oh my God. Just once, would it kill you to be direct?”

“Look for what does not exist. Look for what does not belong,” she answered.

“You mean other than you?” I muttered. I scanned the area. Everything was the same as I remembered; dusty, dry, boring Crestview.  The only thing that seemed different was the fact that, instead of being frustrated with this place, I actually sort of missed it.

“Look for what never belonged,” Wendy said.

The old stop signs were the same. The unpaved dirt lanes that fed off Main Street were unchanged. Even the people, down to their clothes, were exactly as I remembered them. That’s when I saw her; Mrs. Goolsby hobbling down the sidewalk with her walker in front of her and her oxygen bottle trailing behind, just as slow as she had ever been.

But that wasn’t right. She had never been slow because she had never existed. Mrs. Goolsby was an illusion; a figment Owen created so that he could get close to me without drawing attention.  “It’s her. It’s Mrs. Goolsby,” I said. Turning to Wendy, I found that she was gone. I ran toward Mrs. Goolsby. The old woman flinched when she saw me coming, and turned to run. Luckily, old women with walkers and breathing disorders don’t run very fast, even if they are just figments.

I grabbed her and spun her around. Normally, I wouldn’t be so rough with senior citizens but, given that this was all fake anyway, I figured I might as well vent a little frustration. She was crying when I met her eyes. “It isn’t true,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. He wants it to be, but it just isn’t. Sebastian isn’t who he says he is.”

“Who’s Sebastian?” I demanded. “I don’t know any Sebastian.”

“You will,” she cried through gritted (and very likely false) teeth. “He has secrets. And everything changes after that.”

“What does that mean?” I asked and, apparently venting a little too much frustration, started shaking her. “What does it mean?!”

“The time hasn’t come for that yet.” Wendy was beside me again now. “And doing things out of order can leave everything in a mess. You don’t want things in a mess, do you?”

“I want to know what’s going on,” I said, looking at Wendy. My hands were still on Mrs. Goolsby, but when I turned back to her, there was nothing but stuff; clothes, a walker, and an oxygen tank, but no Mrs. Goolsby. And I wondered if that was how it had always been. Had I looked at nothing, at stupid things and seen an old woman in their place?

“You can’t know. No one can until they get where they’re going. You have to understand, the knowing is what makes it so dangerous,” Wendy answered.

“Who are they? Where are they going?” I asked.

Wendy pointed forward, toward the old sign that let you know you were leaving Crestview and told you to ‘Come back, should you get the itch to!’ A man stood by the sign. He was tall, probably middle aged, and sorta hot for an old guy. He had dark brown hair and a strong chin. And his eyes, swear to God, they were gray.  “They are going where you need to be,” Wendy said.

“Him?” I asked. “He’s just one guy.”

“Some can be many if they choose to be,” she answered.

Adding that to the list of things Wendy has said that I would never be able to understand, I asked. “Who is he?”

“Mother’s man,” she answered. “It won’t end until you find him.”

“Wendy I need more-“

“There is no more,” she interrupted. “Not yet, not with the pieces start falling out of place.” There was a frustrated edge to her voice that didn’t mesh with my idea of Wendy; like she was fed up with me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about Casper,” I said.

“That die is cast. That road is set. There is nothing left but to drive it.”

“Cars drive on roads,” I said reflexively, thinking of Casper and what he used to say to me whenever things got tough.

“They used to,” Wendy said, scolding me with her eyes.

“Will they ever again?” I asked. I knew she wasn’t real. Wendy was dead, and this person standing next to me was just a product of my guilt and the stressing situation I had found myself in. But if she told me that, one day, there was even a chance that Casper and I would be together again, it would be enough to keep me going; whether she was a real seer or not.

She stared at me a long time, her vacant eyes seeing whatever weird stuff it was that seers saw when they looked at you. She cleared her throat and, with dread in her voice, said, “Hey there Sunshine.”

“What?” I asked. Heat rose in my face. “Just tell me! Tell me that I’ll see him again!”

“The doctor searches. Find Mother’s man and it all falls away.”

“I don’t care about Mother’s man. Just tell me about Casper. Please,” I begged.

She leaned into me, pressing her hands against my chest. “Hey there Sunshine.” Then she pushed me. Hard. I fell back, but instead of the streets of Crestview, I fell onto my bed.

“Sunshine,” Flora’s voice echoed in my ear. I looked around, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Be visible,” I croaked. My throat felt raw and burned. My joints ached something fierce. “Now what did you say.

“Sorry.” She came into view dressed in Breaker battle fatigues; a skintight black and white suit with accents of gold at the shoulders. She was holding a bottle of water in one hand, while her other traced her hair nervously. “It’s time to get up. You’ve been asleep for almost seventeen hours. Breakers get up with the Sunshine, especially today.”

“Seventeen hours?” I moaned. “It’s tomorrow already?”

Flora tilted her head. “I’m unsure of how to answer that question. Yes, it is the day after the one that you’re inquiring about. But, as we are currently living in it, tomorrow is technically…well, it is technically tomorrow.”

I sat up, spasms of stiffness wrenching at my body. “Why’d you let me sleep for so long?”

“Because I was unaware that your sleep patterns fell under my jurisdiction,” she answered flatly. “And you looked just plain adorable.” She gave me a crooked smile. “Who is Casper?”

         My heart jumped. “I was talking in my sleep?” I asked, as the pieces of my dream came floating back into my consciousness. Flora nodded. “He’s someone that I used to know.”

“Someone from home?” Flora asked.

I nodded. “He came with me here though; was here during the whole Allister Leeman thing.” My eyes flickered down to the bed. “He got freaked out though, not that I blame him. He left afterward. I have no idea where he is now.”

Okay, so yes, I was lying to Flora. Knowing my secret was one thing, but the Council had asked about Casper’s whereabouts pretty immediately after that night in Crestview. And letting anyone, even Flora, know where he was or that I knew where he was might lead the Council to him. And I wasn’t about to risk that. Lord only knew what those crazies would do to him if they had the chance.

“I’m sorry,” Flora answered. “Perhaps it’s for the best though, given the nature of your life now.”

The nature of my life? I suppose that’s one way to put it.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” I muttered. “So, what’s with the monkey suit?” I gestured to her fatigues.

“Dr. Static has requested an early morning training session,” she answered.

“Ugh. For which class,” I sighed.

Please don’t say Tactical Arrangement. Please don’t say Tactical Arrangement.

“Tactical arrangement,” she said.

“Damn,” I murmured and throw myself flat against the bed. My joints ached. My head spun.  I had slept for over half a day. Why was I still so tired? “Can’t you just tell him I’m sick?”

“Are you sick?” She asked with arched red brows.

“Would it make it easier for you to tell him I was if I said yes?”

“Hmm,” she pondered this. “Perhaps, at one point. But I feel like I’m getting really good at lying now. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

“I guess you’re welcome,” I shrugged. “Just tell him I have some stuff to think about.”

“Of course,” Flora said. Then, pointing to a covered plate sitting on the counter by the door, she said, “Owen brought you that last night. It’s roast beef.”

“Thanks,” I said, making my way to the plate as Flora closed the door behind her. Opening the covered plate, I saw not only a dish of cold (and totally unappealing) roast beef accompanied by mashed potatoes, green beans, and one of those small hard biscuits that the Breakers seemed to eat with every meal; but there was also a note sitting on top.

Unfolding it, I saw that it was protected by anchors, the same sort of anchors that kept the truth about Owen’s tattoo a secret for so long. Whatever was in this note, Owen wanted to keep it safe from prying eyes; which probably meant that it was mushy. I stared at the creased parchment until the anchors, built for my eyes alone, melted away. I smiled as the letters took shape before me.

My Love,

I know the last few days have been hard on you, and I’m sure that this plate of subpar food probably won’t help in making things better. But know that it was delivered with love and concern. If there was a way that I could make things better for us, I would. If I could take everything that had ever happened to you or would ever happen to you, and throw it into a garbage can- and then set that garbage can on fire- and then dump the smoldering remains of that garbage can out of the refuge slot of a space shuttle- Well, you get it.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’d much rather be in some cottage in Vermont with you, bottling maple syrup or something. But, until the day when I can actually make that a reality, I’ll treasure every moment of this crappy existence and know that I’m the luckiest guy on the face of the earth; because, even though I’m constantly afraid, and worried, and sometimes even mad, I get to be all those things with you beside me.

No rush, but whenever you feel like coming out, I’ll be waiting.

Yours forever and ever,

Owen

Warmth; renewing and revitalizing rushed through me. It brightened all of me. I was stupid for ever feeling alone; for ever feeling like being alone was even a possibility for me. I’d always have Owen. It said so right there; ‘forever and ever’. Prophecies be damned; stupid Mason councils be damned; perfect former perfects be damned. I could do this.

I was about to fold the paper into a ball and take a match to it, the way I always did whenever Owen sent me these kinds of letters. Even with anchors in place, it was better to be safe than sorry. But I wanted to look at it for just a minute longer. I wanted his words to really dig into me. I needed that today. Just as my hands started to ball though, crumpling the paper, the letters started to glow and shuffle. I had seen this before, when Wendy contacted me the first time, when she guided me to her Seer’s tower. But Wendy was gone, and who else have reason to hijack Owen’s letter to me. I squinted as the letters went red, black, and red again. They danced around, taunting me with the promise of words before they reshuffled, settling back into gibberish. It was a full five minutes, long enough that I thought I was going to pass out or have a stroke, before the letters finally formed a sentence.

Mother’s Man

My face went white. A visage of my dream; Wendy, Mrs. Goolsby, and the man with the gray eyes played out in front of me.

My God, it all means something.

And just like that, the Owen induced warmth washed away.