Wet (Elemental 1) (6 page)

“And according to her theory, there was one spot of
overlapped space where each of the four elements had gathered. It was from that
spot that the fifth sibling—the female—was born. And since each of the elements
had equal influence over the space that had created her, she was not able to be
a representative of any one element. But neither could they allow any one being
to control
all
of the elements, so
Mother Nature intervened one final time and gave the female a different power.
A different purpose. She was to protect and nurture the other four, and to
ensure that there would always, from that day forward, be four elementals to
fight for the planet.”

It was so much like one of the old Greek mythology stories
Brooke remembered reading back in high school that she couldn’t help but smile.
In a strange way, it was exactly what she’d expected. But she was still left
with one new question. “Okay, but I’m still confused. I get the ‘ensuring a
future generation’ thing, from what you already said, but how is your little
sister supposed to ‘protect and nurture’? And what if she just doesn’t want
kids?”

Blake stared for a beat before shrugging. “Then we’re the
last generation, I guess. As for your other question, she has a power, too. She
can’t manipulate any of the elements, but she can heal herself and others.”

“Heal?” Brooke repeated in disbelief. She couldn’t quite
wrap her brain around that one. Though how someone being able to heal someone
else seemed more unbelievable than someone being able to turn into water, she
wasn’t sure. And then another, much more disturbing, thought popped into her
head. Even as she chastised herself for watching one too many episodes of
The Walking Dead
, she asked, “So, can
she … bring people back from the dead?”

Blake valiantly attempted to muffle his laughter as he
shook his head. “No, no. Death is impossible to reverse, even for her.”

Brooke breathed a sigh of relief. “That kind of works for
me.”

Blake grinned
knowingly, but before he could say anything, his phone began ringing from his
jacket pocket. Grin shifting to an apologetic smile, he dipped one hand into
the necessary pocket and pulled his phone out. “Hey, bro.”

Brooke watched as
Blake listened to the man on the other end,
her calm patience turning
into concerned confusion as his expression changed. In the space of a few
seconds, he went from easygoing to angry, sitting upright and almost as quickly
springing entirely to his feet in alarm. And he hadn’t even said anything yet.

“I’m on my way,” he finally replied, before disconnecting
and dropping his phone into his pocket.

“Blake?” Brooke asked, standing carefully.

“I have to go, I’m sorry,” he said, already shrugging out
of his coat. He paused, tugged his car keys free from his jeans, and tossed
them to her, adding, “Could you take my stuff to my parents’ for me? It’s okay
if you have to leave my car here.”

Brooke blinked at him, entirely thrown. “What’s going on?”

He shook his head with a frown. “No time. I’ll call you
later.” And before she could even find the right argument to go with he was
dripping again. Only it didn’t seem to take as long for his body to liquefy
this time, but Brooke couldn’t really dwell on that because the puddle he’d
become immediately rushed to join the incoming tide. And then she lost sight of
him entirely.

“What…?” Shaking her head at herself, Brooke looked down at
the keys in her hand. Something bad must have happened for him to react like
that, she was sure. And in that case, she couldn’t begrudge him his haste.
But I don’t know where his parents live.
Still, the Hawkes were apparently fairly well-known around town. Georgia would
surely know. Although if she asked Georgia, she’d be stuck figuring out a
convincing lie, too. Instinct insisted what Blake had revealed to her that day
was supposed to be a secret, and no one with a brain in their head shared a
secret like that with Georgia Clarke.

Sighing, Brooke pocketed the keys and gathered up Blake’s
clothes. Maybe she could unlock his phone and find the address that way.
Otherwise she’d be stuck bringing it all home. And all the way up the sandy
slope she kept rounding back to one ridiculous thought: she was attracted to
Aquaman
. She was
really
attracted to
Aquaman
.

Chapter Six

Angela was walking home
from a friend’s house, her purse hanging over one shoulder and her earbuds
tucked securely into place, attached to the iPod resting in her pocket. The
weather was fairly mild, as winter was finally coming to a close, and there was
barely a cloud in the sky. It was an almost beautiful Saturday, and it made her
hopeful for the rest of the weekend.

Maybe me and Eric can do something more
interesting than going to another movie,
she mused with a small smile. They always scheduled a date for Sunday afternoons
when they weren’t saddled with family plans, and if the weather was anything
like this tomorrow, she intended to suggest doing something outside.
Like going to the park.
The park was her
favorite place in town, even over the beach.

She was about
halfway home, having taken her favorite scenic route in order to prolong her
time outside, when her iPod made a strange static-like sound. Stopping, she
reached into her pocket and pulled the slim device out, as if looking at it
would tell her what the sound was. But the music had already resumed, and
nothing on the screen indicated any sort of problem. So she shrugged and
slipped it back into her pocket.

A particularly
strong gust of wind kicked up, blowing her long, dark hair into her face and
dragging a sigh from the teenager. She reached up to move her hair from her
face, but paused with her fingertips just barely brushing her skin when she
heard a strange crackling sound. It wasn’t coming from her iPod this time, but
from somewhere up above her.
What—?

The question hadn’t
even formed in her mind before there was a flash of blinding light off to her
right. The flash had barely faded before she registered the sound of a nearby
explosion, which was followed almost immediately by more crackling and a sudden
surge of heat.

Angela spun,
wide-eyed and confused, and felt her breath catch in her throat. She was on an
old paved path that ran alongside a steady stream which eventually curved into
the ocean. In the spring and summer, the trees that were scattered alongside
the stream were in full bloom and brought a sense of serenity to the area,
which was why she loved it so much. In the winter time, of course, the trees
were barren, the branches craggy outcroppings of wood. And now, as Angela
stared at the quickly building fire only a dozen or so paces away from her,
those barren trees were nothing but fire accelerant.

It was at this
point that Angela realized what that flash of light had been.
Lightning,
her mind supplied. In her
memory, she could see that the flash had started in the sky above her before
extending down, out of her peripheral vision. Lightning had struck the ground,
and since the ground was dry and covered with burnable twigs, the lightning
strike caused an immediate fire. And now Angela was trapped between the growing
inferno and the cliff overlooking a rushing stream.

She immediately
moved backwards, away from the heat of the flames, and thrust her hand into her
pocket to pull out her cell phone. Her fingers automatically found the
speed-dial button she needed, and she put the phone to her ear. Fortunately,
her brother answered almost right away.

“Dean,” she gasped
when she heard the line connect. “I’m trapped between a fire and Darien Creek.”
She was trying to keep her voice steady, to get out all the words he would need
to know, but the more she thought about it, the more the reality of her
situation settled in. She wasn’t sure that even Dean could drive that fast.

****

Fortunately Blake’s
phone lock was only a swipe-lock, and Brooke had easily located his parents’
address. Since she didn’t know how to work his GPS, however, she’d taken a
couple of wrong turns before finally winding up on the correct street.

And what a street
it was.

The homes were set
widely apart from each other, and deep driveways coupled with tall shrubbery
and tall fences of brick or steel added a heavy level of privacy. These homes
weren’t houses but mansions. It was no wonder Blake thought nothing of the size
of his house! The gate to the first home on the street was open and a large
moving van was parked in the drive, its back open. Brooke couldn’t stop herself
from gawking at what she glimpsed of the property. It looked like the owners
were moving, and for a brief moment she wished she could afford a place like
that. Would she ever even feel the need to lock her front door again?

You’re being ridiculous.
Sure, it’d be nice to have enough money to
live comfortably—let alone lavishly—but that was the last thing she should have
been focusing on. What she needed to do was navigate the magnificent piece of
machinery she was sitting in further down the lane until she found the correct
number. Returning Blake’s belongings, which he had so valiantly entrusted her
with, was much more important than lamenting her lack of finances. She was a
working college student—wasn’t she pretty much required to be broke?

There!

Up ahead, the next
driveway—that was her destination. At least according to the mailbox on the
side of the gate. The gate itself was open as if inviting her in. Or perhaps
they were expecting her? She had no idea what had startled Blake so much, after
all. What if he’d actually come here and just hadn’t had the time to drive?
That would make explaining easier.
But
somehow she doubted it was that simple.

Brooke eased
Blake’s Mustang to a stop between the garage and wide front steps, not wanting
to block anyone in. Then she gathered his clothes, and phone, in her arms and
climbed from the car with a stupid pang of remorse. He had a beautiful car.

Up the steps, shift
the pile, and the familiar chime of the doorbell rang beyond the expensive
front door. And it wasn’t until that moment that Brooke wondered what she was
actually going to say. Would Blake get in trouble if they knew she knew? But
how else would she explain the clothes?
I
could say I found them abandoned by the shore…
She’d come off looking more
like a bad stalker if she did that, though.

The door swung open
before she could think up a better option, and Brooke found herself looking
into the faded blue eyes of a stranger. A woman, maybe in her mid-forties, with
dark hair piled up in an elegant bun and a natural smile. Brooke felt
immediately at ease in front of her despite having no idea who the woman was.

“Can I help you?”
she asked politely. Her eyes flicked past her as she spoke and lingered on
Blake’s car. The smile on her face dipped into a frown, and Brooke could guess
what would have followed.

“I’m sorry to
bother you,” she offered lamely, “but Blake asked me to bring this stuff over
for him… That is, you are Mrs. Hawke, right?” Oh, how awkward would
that
be?

Frown fading a bit,
the woman returned her attention to Brooke and nodded. “I am. Call me Lillian.
Please, come inside.”

Brooke awkwardly
stepped into the foyer, trying not to gawk or restlessly juggle the bundle in
her arms. She hadn’t expected to be invited inside.

“Is Blake all
right?” Lillian asked as she guided her guest down the main hall.

“I … think so,”
Brooke offered. “I don’t really know what’s going on. He got a phone call and
it seemed pretty urgent.” She paused, remembering how he’d answered the phone,
and added, “From one of his brothers.”

Lillian arched one
perfectly manicured brow at her as she indicated one of the massive sofas. “And
he left his clothes and car keys with you?”

Well, it sounds awkward when you phrase it
like that.
Swallowing,
Brooke carefully set the pile down on the cushion beside her. “Yes. He asked me
to bring it to you, but he didn’t have time to say why or what was going on.”
The tricky part was next, and Brooke sincerely hoped she wasn’t messing
anything up. “He just took off his jacket and, uh, liquefied. Or whatever the
word is for that. Then he disappeared in the ocean.”

“I feel like I
walked in at the wrong time to this conversation,” an amused male voice
declared before the man Brooke could only assume was Blake’s father stepped
into view. Extending a hand, he added, “I’m Christopher, Blake’s father. And
I’m going to assume he trusts you if he willingly told you about his
abilities.”

Brooke shook his hand
as a sort of surrealism overtook her. Lillian’s expression had betrayed
surprise at Brooke’s words, but Christopher seemed calm. Almost happy. “I’m
going to assume that, too,” she said honestly as her arm fell back into her
lap.

Claiming a seat
beside his wife, Christopher asked, “So what’s going on?”

****

At first, she had
been mildly hopeful, because the flames had spread out to the sides more than
toward her. However, soon enough that had changed. And now the flames were
coming closer and closer.

They were licking
at the air in front of her. It was only a matter of moments before she felt the
burn when the wind unexpectedly picked back up, blowing fiercely against the
flame and holding it back—if only slightly.

Hope lit up in her
heart, and Angela turned her head to try to find her rescuer. “Nate!” She could
hear the desperation and relief in her own voice, but she didn’t care. What
mattered, she realized, was that she couldn’t see her brother. And that only
meant one thing. Angela groaned and clapped a hand over her eyes firmly. “You
better blow me out of the way if the fire gets too close!”

The words were
barely out of her mouth when another sound reached her ears. This one was wet
and roared not unlike waves on the ocean in a storm. The waves in her mind’s
eye crashed onto the fiery shore, producing a chilling, terrifying sizzle and
undoubtedly thick, black smoke. But she could still feel the heat; still hear
the crackle of stubborn fire. It wasn’t all out.

“Blake!” she
called, praying her brother had been riding
on
the wave like an epic movie-star surfer. No way was she going to risk peeking.

The wind died down
for a second before kicking up again, and the faint crunch of twigs beneath
someone’s feet indicated that Nate had pulled himself back together. A hand
landed on her shoulder, and Nate’s familiar voice said, “Just stay close,
Angie. Dean’s almost here. I saw him when I was flying over.”

“No offense,”
Angela began, her hand still firmly over her eyes, “but I don’t want to stand
that
close when you’re naked. It’s
gross.”

“Glad you think
so,” Nate returned, his humor noticeably more strained than usual. But he
dropped his hand from her shoulder obligingly.

“Blake’s not naked,
too, is he?”

“‘
Fraid
so,” Nate replied, his voice strained.

“Stay where you
are, Angela,” Blake called from several feet away. “The fire’s almost out.”

Doing her best to
melt her fingers permanently over her closed eyelids, Angela said, “Trust me,
I’m not moving until no one’s naked!”

She barely heard
the shift in the crackle of the fire over her exclamation. It sounded as though
the fire was receding, but she hadn’t heard another rush of water. She hadn’t
felt an increase in the wind.
Dean.
The only answer was Dean.
Please don’t
let him be naked, too.

The sound of
crunching, rolling gravel reached her ears shortly before the accompanying
sound of heavy breathing. “Angie! You okay?” It was Dean. And that could only
mean the fire was finally out.

“No!” Angela
replied, turning her face in the direction of his voice. “Two of my brothers
are naked and one of them touched my shoulder! I’m scarred for life!”

It was Blake who
commented next. “Ange, seriously, are you hurt?”

Angela sighed. “No,
I’m not hurt. But someone please tell me Dean’s at least wearing pants.”

“Fully dressed, I
promise,” Dean replied, his voice closer now.

The ground beneath
their feet lurched just slightly before anyone could comment further, and
Angela knew that meant her fourth brother had arrived.

“You’re late to the
party,” Nate called a moment later, confirming her suspicion.

“And you better be
dressed,” Angela added pointedly.

Ignoring both
Nate’s and Angela’s comments, Logan asked, “Is she hurt?”

“She’s not hurt,”
Angela said. “She’s just scarred enough as it is. I don’t think I could handle
three of you not wearing pants.”

There was a pause,
and her stomach sank. She might have even thrown up if it had lasted any
longer.

“I’m dressed,”
Logan assured her.

“Speaking of,” Nate
interrupted, “I don’t suppose either of you has any clothes handy?”

“Pants, at least,
would be great,” Blake added.

“In my trunk,” Dean
replied, unknowingly saving his sister yet again. This time from having to
blindly navigate a hillside covered in tripping hazards.

Angela remained
quiet until the crunch of their feet had mostly faded. “So … is it safe for me
to look yet?”