been
able to open up to anyone. The depth of her own emotions, the
emotions she must be forced to endure from the others . . . it's
like being ripped apart. I want to turn to stone, but I fight it.
Letting my body adopt a harder form will do nothing to relieve the
emotions fighting to escape. They need release, and I have to find
a way to give them what they need with minimal damage.
Emma is moving away, but I ignore her,
focusing instead on the one thing I know well. Stone. I call on it,
watching as a small boulder works its way out of the hillside where
it is embedded. It rolls toward me slowly, and I see Emma pause as
I place a hand against its smooth side. And then I let go, shoving
every bit of Emma's power into the rock. It crumbles, and I control
it, using my own power to keep it from exploding. The fragments
coalesce instead, and I force them back to the ground. They form a
mound and grow still.
Then, and only then, do I look for Emma. She
is standing a few feet away, her eyes on the rocks before me.
"Emma," I begin.
She shakes her head.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."
I am in front of her before she can say
another word. My hands grip her arms. The grasp is hard enough to
bruise, but I need her to look at me.
"Don't, Emma. I'm the one that's sorry. I had
no idea."
She is looking at me now, and I can see the
fear in her eyes.
"There has got to be some way to control
whatever that was," I whisper. "Maybe Luther is right, Em. It's
time to embrace it, to learn to channel it. If you don't want to
hurt anyone with it, then let someone help you."
She looks at me.
"What you felt . . ." she begins, her face
turning red. I know instantly what she's referring to, and I loosen
my grip on her arms, letting my hands fall to my sides.
"I'll be there for you as you learn if it
makes you feel better."
I have changed the subject, and she notices,
her gaze moving away from mine. She nods, and I step away, spinning
her until she is facing the cottage in the distance.
"Go, get some rest," I say, but just as she
starts to step away from me I take her by the arm one last time, my
head coming down until my lips are next to her ear.
"Those other feelings . . . you're not
alone."
It's all I give her. I think it's all either
of us are willing to give. And with that she walks away. Twilight
has descended, the landscape in that sleepy in between period when
the day is ready to give up its hold and the night is ready to be
born again. Somehow it seems symbolic, but I'm not scholarly enough
to try and figure it out.
Ace ambles along behind Emma, pausing briefly
to swing his big head in my direction. His wide snout hangs open,
and I can make out his teeth as drool slithers to the ground. I
grimace, my side throbbing with memory. I point at him.
"Now you . . . yeah, no. I just don't like
you."
Chapter 9
Emma
The cottage is far from quiet when I enter
it, and I grit my teeth against the onslaught of emotions. The
casetta is a quaint one, two-level with a mudroom that opens into a
small kitchen, a space only big enough to hold a plain, white
foldout table. The appliances are outdated and useless, but other
than occasional quick meals we throw into a borrowed microwave, we
rarely eat there.
"Emma? That you?" Deidra exclaims.
The small imp bounces into the kitchen clad
in blood red, cotton pajamas. There are black bats on the long
bottoms, and a top sporting plump red lips with elongated fangs.
The words "bite me" are clearly visible in black permanent marker.
Leave it to Deidra to graffiti her own clothes.
"Come to warn me?" I ask, my gaze on the
door.
She doesn't have to answer. I feel the
turmoil in the room beyond, and I stop only long enough to grab a
bottled water before moving into the living room. Like the kitchen,
the space is small. A threadbare brown sofa sits before a stone
fireplace chipped by time. Blankets are thrown across a smaller
brown armchair next to a tall lamp with a plain beige shade,
able to open up to anyone. The depth of her own emotions, the
emotions she must be forced to endure from the others . . . it's
like being ripped apart. I want to turn to stone, but I fight it.
Letting my body adopt a harder form will do nothing to relieve the
emotions fighting to escape. They need release, and I have to find
a way to give them what they need with minimal damage.
Emma is moving away, but I ignore her,
focusing instead on the one thing I know well. Stone. I call on it,
watching as a small boulder works its way out of the hillside where
it is embedded. It rolls toward me slowly, and I see Emma pause as
I place a hand against its smooth side. And then I let go, shoving
every bit of Emma's power into the rock. It crumbles, and I control
it, using my own power to keep it from exploding. The fragments
coalesce instead, and I force them back to the ground. They form a
mound and grow still.
Then, and only then, do I look for Emma. She
is standing a few feet away, her eyes on the rocks before me.
"Emma," I begin.
She shakes her head.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."
I am in front of her before she can say
another word. My hands grip her arms. The grasp is hard enough to
bruise, but I need her to look at me.
"Don't, Emma. I'm the one that's sorry. I had
no idea."
She is looking at me now, and I can see the
fear in her eyes.
"There has got to be some way to control
whatever that was," I whisper. "Maybe Luther is right, Em. It's
time to embrace it, to learn to channel it. If you don't want to
hurt anyone with it, then let someone help you."
She looks at me.
"What you felt . . ." she begins, her face
turning red. I know instantly what she's referring to, and I loosen
my grip on her arms, letting my hands fall to my sides.
"I'll be there for you as you learn if it
makes you feel better."
I have changed the subject, and she notices,
her gaze moving away from mine. She nods, and I step away, spinning
her until she is facing the cottage in the distance.
"Go, get some rest," I say, but just as she
starts to step away from me I take her by the arm one last time, my
head coming down until my lips are next to her ear.
"Those other feelings . . . you're not
alone."
It's all I give her. I think it's all either
of us are willing to give. And with that she walks away. Twilight
has descended, the landscape in that sleepy in between period when
the day is ready to give up its hold and the night is ready to be
born again. Somehow it seems symbolic, but I'm not scholarly enough
to try and figure it out.
Ace ambles along behind Emma, pausing briefly
to swing his big head in my direction. His wide snout hangs open,
and I can make out his teeth as drool slithers to the ground. I
grimace, my side throbbing with memory. I point at him.
"Now you . . . yeah, no. I just don't like
you."
Chapter 9
Emma
The cottage is far from quiet when I enter
it, and I grit my teeth against the onslaught of emotions. The
casetta is a quaint one, two-level with a mudroom that opens into a
small kitchen, a space only big enough to hold a plain, white
foldout table. The appliances are outdated and useless, but other
than occasional quick meals we throw into a borrowed microwave, we
rarely eat there.
"Emma? That you?" Deidra exclaims.
The small imp bounces into the kitchen clad
in blood red, cotton pajamas. There are black bats on the long
bottoms, and a top sporting plump red lips with elongated fangs.
The words "bite me" are clearly visible in black permanent marker.
Leave it to Deidra to graffiti her own clothes.
"Come to warn me?" I ask, my gaze on the
door.
She doesn't have to answer. I feel the
turmoil in the room beyond, and I stop only long enough to grab a
bottled water before moving into the living room. Like the kitchen,
the space is small. A threadbare brown sofa sits before a stone
fireplace chipped by time. Blankets are thrown across a smaller
brown armchair next to a tall lamp with a plain beige shade,
Similar Books
