Brush of Shade (22 page)

***

I cringed and
whimpered. No more. Forget the memories locked away in my mind. I don’t want to
do this, I pleaded silently into Sister Willow’s frosted eyes. The stream of
images froze. The still picture—the one of the arm stretched through the
windshield with a hand locked onto my dad’s face—turned fuzzy and dissolved
into indistinguishable fragments. Aunt Claire’s muffled cries pulled me into
the present. Fury promised retribution.

Calm.
Safe.
Sister Willow’s
gentleness smothered my burning mind. Not immune to the brutality, her cane
thumped against the sofa. Some of her horror and outrage bled through the
joining, reigniting my desperate desire for the truth. The same terror that
drove me to seek escape now drove me to struggle, but it was like swimming
against a rip tide to pull back from Sister Willow’s firm grip. Perhaps sensing
my determination and wanting answers herself, she allowed the memories to fold
over me once again.

***

My arm, heavy
and useless, drapes awkwardly across my body as hot fingers drift across my
forehead, spiraling through my blood. My head blazes and my body
convulses
. “No! Please, don’t,” I beg as the world turns
gray and slips away with that relentless voice at my side.  

Sounds intrude,
opening a sliver of my world to pain and my father’s watch tapping against
metal as his body twitches uncontrollably. The wind picks up, chilling my face.
A beam of light traces the spider web fractures that hold together what is left
of our
windshield.
In the lower left corner, a
triangular wedge of glass cracks into thirds. Fissures race across the surface
of the one next to it. I hold my breath as piece after piece rattles loose. A
few fall, tinkling together onto the dash. The breeze dies down. Silence
lingers.

Flashlights
click on and off their locations constantly changing, toying with my terror. I
listen for footsteps, branches snapping, anything to mark their movements. The
only sound I can hear is Dad’s labored breathing. I want to help him, but I
don’t understand this cruel game.

“Olivia?” Dad
murmurs.

Twin beams of
light click on at the front of the car as though whoever was out there had been
waiting for my father to revive. A stream of air rushes through the front
window, snapping off glass slivers and pelting them at my dad. Warm blood
splatters my face and right side. I squirm and twist, shredding delicate tissue
on the jagged metal of my prison. Tears stream down my face. I can’t move. I
can’t stop this.

“Stop!
Please, stop! Someone, help us,” I beg.

My pleas elicit
a cruel laugh from outside the car. “Olivia!” Dad cries, breaking his stoic
silence. His bloody hand grabs the dashboard. Slowly, he lifts his body towards
our assailants. “Olivia, you will hang on until help arrives,” he slurs. “I
love you, baby girl.”

The hand is
back. Briefly, the flashlight illuminates fingers coated with our blood.
Fingers splay and then clench into a tight fist. “What the hell? No, I reject .
. . get out,” a man yells, dropping his flashlight.

Bang.
Thud.
Hurried footsteps stumble past my side of the car. Out
in the dark, interspersed amongst moaning and cursing, garbled voices argue.

“Dad, what are
you doing? You’re bleeding. Stop, you’re pushing me into . . . it hurts.
Stop!”
I scream. He ignores me and drags himself closer to
the shattered windshield. I can hear his chest rattling with each rasping
breath. Shrill cries pierce the night. Rocks clatter. Footsteps fade. Tremors
take possession of my body. Blood runs down the side of my nose and drips off
my chin. My heart hammers in my chest. Blackness taunts as I wait for the next
round of burning pain. “Where is the man with the cutting voice?
Dad?”
I sob.

“You’re safe—”

He gurgles and
starts coughing so hard that his chest bangs against the dash. Then suddenly,
mid cough, his body crumples. His leaden weight drops onto my side, shoving me
against mangled metal. Panic slices through me. I thrash helplessly, numb to
the damage I’m doing to my body. I fight my way out of the gray tunnel that
threatens to suck me under and surface to a chilling plinking sound, the heavy
smell of gas, pungent body odors, sticky hair matted to my face, and what I
think is dirt and blood coating my tongue, souring my stomach with its sharp,
metallic taste.

The flashlight
rolls off the dashboard, tumbling upright into a drink holder in the console
between our seats. Its light strikes Dad’s face. A low wail spills out of my
lips. I can hardly recognize his warm, loving face behind the hideous mangle of
flesh and blood. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror stuck between the steering
wheel and the gear shift. I shudder and blink the tears away to clear my
vision, wishing he would do the same.

“Dad?”
I cry as his head slumps against my shoulder. “No,
Dad, please don’t leave me.
Daddy!”
Rasping breaths,
dripping blood, terrible silence, and finally, thankfully a long dark tunnel
that silences the sobs.

Sadness.
Grief.
Tenderness.
Three separate mental caresses cushioned.
Calm.
Love.
Safety.
Physical awareness of
the plush cushion against my cheek, the sound of someone crying, and a dull
throbbing behind my eyes brought me forward that last reluctant step.

Trembling
fingers pressed against my brow. “Olivia, open your eyes. You’re safe,” Aunt
Claire pleaded, her voice thick with tears.

I stirred,
opening my eyes slowly. My aunt’s teary face leaned in closer. She folded me
into a crushing hug, crying into my hair. I was alone again with my terrible
memories. The accident . . . what was it Dad had said? Everything was so
jumbled. The tremors started first in my hands, and then quickly spread
throughout my body.

“Sip some hot
chocolate,” Shade suggested, holding a mug to my lips.

I obeyed like I
was five years old again, swirling the warm liquid around my mouth, relishing
the sweet and salty combo of the caramel and sea salt flavor that had been my
mother’s favorite. Hot
vibing
fingers slipped behind
my neck. Warmth radiated throughout my chilled body, dissolving cloying
residuals of memories that would undo months of counseling. At least I am not
and I never was crazy. He nodded as though he has followed my thoughts.

“I would never
have allowed this if I had any idea. . . .” Aunt Claire’s voice broke.

Shade thrust a
blanket into my aunt’s hands. “Tuck this around her.”

“Forgive me,
Olivia,” Sister Willow
said,
her voice a gentle
flutter against my cheeks. “I offered the healing aid of the Whisperers, and
then failed in my duty by allowing my need and the need of the clans to come
before the wounded. I felt the turmoil building, and I saw the depths to which
your mind buried the details in self-preservation. By my hands you were made to
suffer again. It was inexcusable.”

“Grandmother,
you see deeper than most. Did you catch a face or a name?” Shade demanded. “Who
amongst us tried to force Ethan by torturing his injured daughter?”

Aunt Claire
jerked, her arms tightening about my shoulders.

Sister Willow’s
moist eyes were kind when she patted my hand. “The beam of the flashlight
blinded Olivia, keeping her assailants’ identities hidden. Perhaps a name or
what they demanded of Ethan is still buried. Unless necessary, I advise against
treatments to unlock what has been hidden. As is too often the case, the
treatment is worse than the illness. And in Olivia’s case, it may be more than
her mind can presently withstand. It’s certainly more than I want to stomach.”

“But I need to
do this for my parents. I want this solved, so I never have to face that night
again,” I said, pulling out of the hug. Aunt Claire resisted, then dropped her
arm and intertwined her fingers with mine.

 “Now that the
festering wounds have been opened, more details may surface as you heal,”
Sister Willow explained.

I thought of my
hysterical episodes when the days refused to order themselves into the proper
sequence and of a voice that hounded no matter the medications prescribed. No
cure could be worse than living this way. “But it was murder, not a disease,” I
argued, flashing on the image of glass shards spraying the inside of the car
like Shade’s well-placed ice pellets.

“We’ve not
forgotten,” both Aunt Claire and Sister Willow said together.

Shade touched
his grandmother’s hand. “What if we’re looking at this wrong? Murder may not
have been their primary objective.”

Self-loathing
clamped down hard, choking my words. “I should’ve been able to stop the car. I
tried, really I did. But we were being shoved off the road. It was slick and
raining. I—”

“If I have to
tell you a thousand times for you to believe, then I will. You’re not at
fault,” Shade said with conviction. “There was no way you could’ve
outmaneuvered their car. Only someone with faster reflexes stood a chance.”

“They expected a
Whisperer?” Sister Willow said, sitting forward now, her eyes narrowing in
speculation. “Protocols require a guard to accompany the warden during all
trips outside of the valley. It would be logical to assume a guard would’ve
been present that night.”

“Except Ethan
caught an earlier flight home, alone,” Aunt Claire said, shaking her head.

“Dad had hardly
been home in months. And when he was, he worked late into the evening. He’d made
a point of clearing his schedule for us. He promised us just family, the great
outdoors, hours to catch up, and chats about my college plans. After a while,
rules with endless hours of seemingly pointless negotiations got to him. I can
see him skipping out without a guard for us,” I said, struggling not to break
down.

 “Ethan had
skills. Higher than normal human dexterity, flashes of speed, and a strong
centered mind,” Aunt Claire revealed in a hushed voice even though there was no
one besides us in the house.

“Who knew?”
Sister Willow asked.

“I don’t know.
Growing up here as a human mix is difficult. Like most teenage boys, he liked
to show off. It was a constant source of contention in our house. It’s possible
their assailant was aware that it was only the family in the car and knew that
with his unique abilities, Ethan would be able to stop safely. What they got
was a terrible accident.”

“Trapped,
wounded, possibly dying, Ethan wouldn’t cooperate,” Shade announced his voice
the rumble of distant thunder. “Look at the facts. Given the decimation our
kind can inflict upon a body, their attackers chose a mental assault. Why? If
the intent was to force Ethan’s cooperation, watching his child’s body being
vibed
apart would’ve been horrific. He would’ve agreed to
anything to stop her suffering. They wanted information and they couldn’t risk
Olivia dying from her wounds before Ethan gave them what they wanted to know.”

“Or maybe, they
believed Ethan had given the information to Olivia,” Aunt Claire said, searching
my face as though I knew the answer.

Starburst ice
ridges sliced across green seas. In a voice that trembled with rage Sister
Willow said, “Olivia was tortured by a relentless hunter, well versed in
illegal mental arts. I know of less than a handful of individuals capable of
these actions. I can’t imagine anyone so sensitive stomaching the brutality.”

Aunt Claire
froze with her hand curled about the handle of the teapot. “Surely her attacker
couldn’t have expected to gain anything useful out of a mental assault? Marie
had just died. Olivia’s mind suffered great trauma, both mental and physical.
With her seriously wounded and in shock, it would’ve taxed even you to collect
coherent, mental imagery.” Aunt Claire paled and slowly set the teapot onto the
trivet with a soft ting. “That’s why they didn’t bother to kill her. If she
survived, they planned on her trauma hiding their tracks. The nightmares, the
irrational moods, the panic attacks were a result of the torture. Oh, Olivia .
. . I should’ve brought you here straight off.”

“It’s not your
fault,
Claire,
You had no reason to suspect such
cruelty.” Shade reassured.

A dull pain
migrated across the top of my skull. I was wrung out. I didn’t think I could
handle any more surprises, but I had more questions for my aunt while she was
in a talkative mood. “Dad had abilities like the Whisperers. Is that why Shade
got so worked up when I caught his memory? My mom was half Whisperer, so
genetically it stands to reason that I might have abilities, too?”

Her lips pursed
and her expression became guarded. “It’s not a given. I never manifested any
latent abilities.” Like my aunt had done so often during those scary days in
the hospital, she fiddled with the hummingbird charm on her bracelet and looked
away. Avoidance mode to hold back the truth was about to intervene.

I touched the
bracelet. Aunt Claire’s fingers stilled. “Please don’t worry so much. I’ll do
better. You’ll see.”

“Claire, you
won’t lose her, too,” Sister Willow said understandingly.

My aunt sniffed,
nodded, and said, “Yes, please do.”

I pivoted to
face the elder lady; annoyed that I’d been excluded from a conversation. Her
watchful gaze looked straight past me, to my aunt. I don’t know why, but I felt
a trace of the panic I used to get at the hospital when Aunt Claire would leave
my room for too long. During my self-absorbed, depressed state, had she coped
with too much? A pulse of warm air drifted past my cheek and ruffled my aunt’s
hair. These people were perceptive and generous with their hearts. It was
comforting to know that my aunt had such friends. A feathery touch skimmed my
cheek. I too had a perceptive friend. My pulse quickened. Don’t be silly. He
only took the oaths to safeguard his valley. He’d have done it for any heir.

Sister Willow
poured both herself and my aunt more tea, and then waited until my aunt had
taken a sip before speaking. “Due to the close-knit nature of our community,
limited abilities have passed into the human population. The odds that Olivia
will have any within a testable degree are naturally higher because of her
genetics and her Pepperdine ancestry.”

While she’d been
speaking, I considered an image that had terrified me in my dreams. “Dad’s eyes
clouded over like yours and Shade’s.”

“What?” Aunt
Claire choked on her tea. Once she was finished coughing, she demanded, “When
did you see this?”

“That night in
the car, reflected in the rearview mirror. In my nightmares, Dad’s bloody face
stares at me with stark-white eyes. I’ve been telling myself I was in shock at
the time.” Actually, I’d thought I was crazy. Wisely, I kept that to myself.
This conversation was too important to interrupt with discussions of my ongoing
mental state since the accident. “The men outside the car made a strange sound.
They didn’t return after that, not even to see if Dad was still alive. Do you
think my father did something to them?” I asked. I couldn’t think of anything
my dad had done or could’ve done, considering he was moments from dying.

“Against Whisperers?
I don’t see how that would’ve been
possible,” Aunt Claire answered.

I faced Shade
and demanded. “Had my father’s protection detail reported threats?”

“Trust me, if
they had, your family would’ve been brought to the valley.”

“Unless, Ethan’s detail didn’t know.
They didn’t go overseas
with him. Ethan had gotten very insistent on that point over the last few
years,” Sister Willow said, thrumming blurred fingers against the knob of her
cane. “He refused to risk the discovery of the valley.”

“Just as he
refused to resign from the State Department,” Shade said bitterly.

“His job was
important to him,” Aunt Claire replied, coming to her brother’s defense.

“More important than us?
Than bringing his
daughter home?”

Sister Willow
shook her head. “Shade, now is not the time.”

“He’s only saying
what the valley feels,” Aunt Claire responded. “Ethan sacrificed his time with
us, but not because we were less important. We were too important for him to
give his safety enough consideration. His e-mails were filled with side trips
to out of the way museums and town halls to view historical records.”

Sister Willow
sat up straighter. “Ethan was still searching for the missing clans? That’s
what you think the attack was about?”

“Someone might
have wanted him stopped,” Shade suggested.

“Someone from the valley?”
I asked, my voice quivering.
Oaths, fear, instinct, something pulled my gaze up to meet that of the man
who’d sworn oaths to keep me safe. Glaciers devoured raging seas.  I
swallowed hard, unable to look away. Oddly enough, I found Shade’s reaction
comforting.

Aunt Claire
pushed her teacup to the side and said, “Now I wish I’d paid more attention to
Ethan’s ramblings. I’ll go back through his correspondence. I know what
protocol requires, but until we know more, knowledge regarding the breaching of
Olivia’s mind does not leave this room. I want a task force charged with
investigating as discreetly as possible those who had a motive and the means to
kill my brother. Shade, speak with Commander
Bradeck
.
It’s the Enforcers’ skills that we need now. Tell him to give Mayor
McCowan
a heads up.”

“The Protectors
won’t be happy when they find out.”

“Make it a joint
task force, but
Bradeck
is on point.”

“I want in.”

“I thought you
were guarding my niece?”

“I can do my job
more effectively if I don’t have to wait for an abbreviated report.”

“Tell
Bradeck
he’s to report to you as my liaison. If he’s got a
problem with the chain of command, remind him that he answers first to his
warden not the elders,” my aunt said firmly.

The angry lines
about Sister Willow’s mouth smoothed out as she turned to face me. “Given the
terrible ordeal you’ve just relived, the extreme level of mental anguish that
you’re broadcasting is perfectly understandable. Outside of this house, it will
be wondered upon by those of our people gifted with sensitivity. If we are to
learn the facts of this heinous deed, your emotions need to be muffled.”

 “I don’t
know if I can calm my thoughts enough to hide what I’m feeling.”

“What are you
feeling?”

“Well for
starters, I don’t feel safe in the valley. I don’t think I can look at or be
near anyone without wondering if they were involved. I’ve got . . .” I ducked
my head afraid to voice the ugliness of my thoughts.

“Anger?
Hatred?”
Sister Willow
said.