The Cure for the Curse Page 5

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I'm rambling. Anyway, yesterday—there I was—standing in front of your painting, watching my dream play out again. Only it was from a different angle, and I learned some things about what was happening. My actions in the dream made more sense, but there's no reason why. Why your painting? Why you?"

  He shrugged again, settled back into his chair and stared at the checkered floor. “Maybe I'm just crazy."

  Warrenna leaned forward. “Sounds to me like you have a gift. You've got an endless supply of story material, for one thing. I've already seen one result, and it's really great."

  "Yeah, I guess.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I think maybe the dreams are bad for me. Like maybe I'm not getting the subconscious release I need. Maybe that's why I flipped out yesterday."

  Warrenna frowned. “I don't know how you'd be able to tell that. Frankly, I'm jealous. I never remember my dreams. I'd love to dream half as vivid as you say you do. I think dreams are important. They take your mind away. All your troubles vanish for a few hours every night. You don't have to worry about who you really are."

  She stopped. Who you really are.

  "Yeah, you're probably right. I know I take the dreams for granted. I just can't help but feel like a freak sometimes."

  "I don't think you're a freak, Thomas. Maybe a little freaky,” she grinned, “but not a freak. And I think Mariah probably agrees with me."

  His face tightened. “She doesn't know about the dreaming. Nobody knows. Just you and my mom."

  Warrenna put her hand over her heart. “Your secret is safe with me. Though I don't think you have anything to be ashamed of."

  She blinked. A secret to be ashamed of.

  "I appreciate it.” The John Wayne drawl returned. “I reckon you're an all-right lady, Miss Warrenna, that I do."

  He grinned and downed the rest of his drink, but then his eyes bulged when he saw a clock on the wall. “Wow, we'd better go. I've got homework to do, and we've got a decent drive in front of us.” He pointed to her espresso. “About done?"

  She frowned. “Yeah. Um, sure."

  As they paid for the drinks, Warrenna's breath went short, like a hundred sobs had built up in her lungs and the slightest disappointment could make her explode. What's going on with me all of a sudden?

  They returned to the car, and she absently answered Thomas's questions on what route to use to take her home. The ache in her heart steadily grew, but she couldn't figure out why. She just made a connection with someone for the first time in months, and he was a sweet guy. So why did she feel so bad?

  Thomas turned the Beatermobile south on Highway 20 and accelerated. The sun still shined through Warrenna's window, so she arranged the tiny sunshade to keep the rays from stinging her pale face.

  "If you don't mind,” Thomas said over the hum of the engine, “I'd like to show you some more of my dreams. In the stories I've written, I mean. And maybe I could look at some more of your paintings to see if I weird out again."

  "I don't know,” she said, but wasn't sure Thomas heard her. “I don't know. I don't think that's a good idea."

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Look, I've got this weird thing about me, and I'm looking for anything to explain why I, of all people, dream this way every single night. If you had something weird about you, wouldn't you want to explore anything that might give you some clue as to why you are the way you are?"

  Warrenna's breath stopped, like a pair of powerful hands had suddenly throttled her. “Maybe ... maybe you just are what you are. Maybe there's no reason why. Like you said. No fate, no reason why. For anything."

  She closed her eyes. Sure, it was fun to have coffee with a boy, to chat about music, dreams and fate. It was exciting, sparked some dreaming, and chased the loneliness away.

  But this only happened because I forgot what I really am. And when I forget what I am, I put everyone around me in danger.

  "Turn left up there,” she said. “On Tebon Canyon Road."

  Thomas dutifully turned the wheel, and they began the winding climb up Burnham Peak.

  The black marble entered Warrenna's vision, but now, dark branches grew from its center, crawling up to wrap around her heart. I should know better. It's not safe for me to dream. I'll just end up killing someone.

  She knew she could do what her parents asked: she could blend into Thomas's world of hope and endless possibilities. But now it was clear that she would never belong there. And that meant she was in for a lifetime of loneliness.

  It was all Warrenna could do to keep from beating her fists on the Escort's dusty dashboard. She could scarcely believe that Thomas's eyes had once given her a sense of relief.

  The Beatermobile slipped into the shadows of the pines. Warrenna looked at his eyes again. They looked ahead at the road, but they also bounced back and forth with thought as he tried to convince her to look at his dreams.

  And then she knew what she had to do.

  Ice water gushed from her heart down into her bowels, and she clenched her fists so hard that her fingernails dug tiny holes into her palms. She did have a say in what happened to her. She had the ultimate word, the final decision.

  The force of that resolution made her breath quiver. Maybe I was relieved because I somehow knew that Thomas would get me to this point.

  "Renna?"

  "You don't know how good you've got it."

  "What?"

  "Nothing. That's me right there.” She pointed. “Don't go on the road."

  "Uh, all right."

  He brought the car to a stop next to a wide dirt road that branched off the pavement. Tall fir trees and high bushes stood on either side of the path, blocking out the late-afternoon sun. The path curved out of sight about twenty yards away. Warrenna opened her door.

  "Look,” Thomas said, “please think about it. I won't take up too much of your time. Five more dreams, five more paintings, and then I'll leave you alone. Promise."

  She turned to him, her face clenched in anguish. “You need to stay away from me, Thomas. Forget you ever knew me. It's for your own good."

  He blinked. “What are you talking about?"

  "I'm bad news, Thomas.” She bowed her head. “The more time you spend with me, the more danger you put yourself in.” She climbed out of the car and closed the door.

  Thomas reached across to roll down the passenger window. “Wait!” he yelled. “Renna! Why? What danger?"

  Warrenna shouted her answer without stopping or turning around.

  "The less you know, the safer you are!"

  Chapter 6

  The silence in the bathroom was thick, broken only by the occasional drip onto the calm surface of water. Warrenna felt her sides caving in, like she stood on the floor of a deep swimming pool.

  She flicked on the overhead fan, and the hum relieved some of the pressure from the silence. She slipped out of her robe and hung it over the towel rack.

  Then she dragged one of her easel-stools to the door and wedged the seat beneath the knob.

  She tested the door; it didn't budge. Satisfied, she eased into the water.

  Her limbs trembled with the anticipation of what she was about to do. It's about to happen. Here, I take control of my life.

  She listened through the ceiling fan's whir for any sign of her father. He wasn't due to rouse her for two more hours.

  No sound.

  A clean razor sat on the soap dish. Warrenna slid the edge across a fingertip. Dark blood pooled into her fingernail, and she paused.

  Her hands were shaking. She couldn't make them stop.

  She took a deep breath. I have to do this. There's no other way out.

  A drop of water formed at the spout as she stared at her bloody fingernail.

  Maybe I'll start over. With a better chance. With cleaner blood.

  The drop fell to the surface with a plip. The fan droned on.

  Maybe I'll be a bird in my next life. Maybe I'll swim the skies and scratch
the clouds.

  She smiled, and her fingers were calm again. She found the spot on her wrist and closed her eyes.

  Pain ripped through her forearm. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. But she knew that pain wouldn't tell her what she needed to know. She had to look.

  It took a moment to gather the courage. She opened her eyes.

  A gash ran from the end of her palm three inches down her wrist. Crimson blood welled up in the wound, spilling down her pale forearm in branching streams. The rivulets flowed down her elbow and into the water, diffusing into pink mist.

  If she made another cut, the pain would go away. She picked another spot and clamped her eyes shut.

  She slashed again. It wasn't as painful as the first.

  But when she opened her eyes, she found the razor still buried in her wrist. Blood spurted from the companion wound, soaking her hand.

  The blade slipped out of her fingers, out of the gash, and splashed into the water, slowly sinking to rest on her stomach.

  With shallow breaths, she watched the blood flow out of her wrist. Her heart pounded, her jaw quivered, her eyes bulged, but the pain vanished. Life still flowed out of her cuts, reddening her arm and turning the bathwater pink. But it didn't hurt anymore.

  The first twinge of self-doubt sprouted in her. Am I really ready to go?

  She had no idea what death was going to feel like. And who would find her?

  She pictured her mother and father weeping over her pale, naked body as her corpse floated in a black pool.

  They'll be devastated. They may even give up the fight, start feeding on people.

  Warrenna's eyes filled with tears at the thought of her parents’ despair.

  But then she heard a child's voice in sing-song chant:

  "Ren-na's a blood-sucker.... “

  She gritted her teeth. Maybe my parents should have thought of that before making me like this. They should have pictured me here before bringing me into a world where I can never belong.

  She smiled wanly and slid back in the tub, picturing the black marble floating uselessly inside her as it ran out of blood to contaminate.

  Take that, curse.

  Her arm dropped into the water with a small splash. Blood erupted from the cuts, red smoke billowing from a black fire in her veins. But after a few slow breaths, she rested in pleasant warmth. It could have been another lazy Sunday afternoon in Bellingham, just lounging in the tub as her father yelled at the football game. She could almost hear him."C'mon, play some defense!"

  A Sunday where she didn't have to be anywhere, but she'd make a trip to Gigi's CDs anyway, to see that cute clerk with the red goatee. Maybe she would finally take his advice and buy his band's CD. The guitars would be hypnotic and dreamy, but still somehow convey a message of love without sounding sappy.

  Sappy. She liked that word. It was a good way to describe most of the schlock on the movie screens.

  Pain streaked across Warrenna's sleepy fantasy like a lightning bolt across a stormy evening sky. She shook her head and told herself she was just tired. A good, long sleep would make up for the past couple of months. The ache in her arm would be gone soon enough.

  Her eyelids drooped closed.

  She heard the imaginary song, its subtle bass line, the singer's matter-of-fact declarations of love that sent her heart soaring higher than any overwrought romantic poem ever had.

  I'm flying. Drifting on the wind.

  Yellow rays split through gray clouds to bathe her in warmth. Wide dunes passed beneath her, like still waves of a sandy sea.

  A man knelt on top of one of the hills. A fleck of red shimmered in his black hair. Warrenna watched as he fell onto his back, clutching his right leg, gasping for air.

  She didn't want to watch the man suffer anymore. Those hills didn't feel like home anyway. But she knew she would be there soon.

  She let the wind carry her away from the thunder in the distance....

  * * * *

  The sandy hills were endless. Every step brought pain to his leg, and nothing he did would lessen it. The fire in his lungs stole his breath.

  Sacred Mount Zeraphet was not yet on the horizon. Was he to die among these low hills, his eyes never gazing upon Zeraphet's skies? Would he wander the land as a restless spirit because he was not strong enough to complete his journey?

  He fell to his knees. He willed himself to get up, to stumble forward, but his breath would not come. He fell onto his back.

  A gray hawk passed overhead, but quickly shrank to a tiny speck as it climbed out of sight.

  And then he heard footsteps.

  A woman wearing a thin doeskin wrap climbed the hill. She was small, and the black braid over her shoulder reached her waist.

  Again he tried to stand, and again he could not. “Leave me alone,” he said.

  Mother-to-Doves stopped before him and pointed to the west. “The healing waters of Telikiva Stream are just beyond that pass. The touch of the River-God will restore your strength."

  He shook his head. “I will not make it. I will die in these hills. And if you stay, the evil spirit I carry will overcome you."

  "You will make it. I will help you."

  He sneered. “The teachings say the warrior must complete the journey on his own. You would have me defy the ways of our ancestors?"

  "The teachings say nothing of the venom you carry.” She pointed to the sun. “The Sky-God has watched every step you have taken. The courage you have shown in these days honors Her. Now honor Her again. Let me help you."

  She extended her hand. “Do you want to see the skies of Zeraphet or not?"

  * * * *

  Thomas focused on the dotted yellow line as he drove, determined not to drift away again and repeat yesterday's embarrassing hallway awakening. But it wasn't easy. The pain in Warrenna's eyes and the resignation in her voice kept returning to mind.

  "The more time you spend with me, the more danger you put yourself in."

  What was happening? What was she afraid of?

  He made a point of waving and saying hi to his friends as he walked to the spot where he woke the previous day. Even though he waited past the first bell, he didn't see Warrenna. He wasn't planning to confront her at first. A hello, a smile, and a “How are ya?” were all he wanted to give. He would pursue the danger question later. But she didn't show up.

  After first hour, he patrolled the art hallway where he saw her the day before. But the only person there was a tall man with a short white beard. His white linen suit was hard to miss as he slowly walked by the classrooms.

  So she's not at school today. I hope she's all right.

  As Thomas drifted across campus toward his second-hour class, he began to feel hopeless, like every decision he made was futile and irrelevant. He wondered why he should bother finishing the day at school.

  Thomas bit deep into his cheek and chided himself for being stupid. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't do anything about Warrenna just then. There were only so many days left before high school ended and his friends spread out around the country. He couldn't waste them feeling sad for no reason.

  It's time to be me again.

  He pulled open the door to his second-hour business law class and winked at the first pretty girl he saw.

  * * * *

  One hour of good-natured teacher-torture later, Thomas felt better, and he looked forward to another fun hour ahead of him in English. As he entered Mrs. Hayes's room, he glanced toward the corner. Warrenna wasn't there, but he got an idea. He could take his notes to her after practice. That would provide an opportunity to ask her what danger he was in.

  Inspired by his sharp thinking, Thomas made his way to his desk as he had most every day before this strange week, with a clear head and a silly grin.

  He spotted his friends and said, “'Sup, C-Rod?"

  "Nuthin', man,” Corwyn replied. “Psyched for Sunnyslope this weekend. It'll help me forget about last week's game."

  "Yeah,
we take care of the ball and keep feedin’ the big guy, and we'll be set. Isn't that right, B?"

  Brendan scratched his chin and yawned. “Yeah. Just can't lose our heads. Or let cheerleaders distract us.” He smiled at Corwyn, then looked hard at Thomas for a quick moment. “How you doin'?” Brendon's question was amiable, but his look was serious.

  Thomas returned Brendan's look with a speedy everything's—cool nod. “I'm good. Real good. You still want me to look at your Lawrence paper before you turn it in?"

  "Yeah, if you can."

  "Get a draft to me Monday, I'll get it back to you Tuesday, and you can work on the changes over the week."

  Brendan nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks."

  Thomas spotted Mariah's trademark golden hair as she entered the room. He smiled at her.

  "Hey, lady."

  "Hey yourself, Tommy. How are ya?"

  Her words were casual, but her eyes were steady and grave. Thomas couldn't help but feel flattered by his friends’ concern. “Good,” he said. “Doin’ real good."

  "Happy to hear it.” She smiled at him.

  Thomas didn't have any quick comeback, but that didn't matter just then, not while those eyes sparkled at him.

  "Hey, guys,” Brendan said. “Janey's cookin’ up some kinda after-game party at her father's place on Saturday. Sounds like there's gonna be a ton of people there. You guys wanna come?"

  Thomas jumped at the opportunity: “Sure, sounds like fun.” He looked at Mariah. “If you're interested."

  "I'm interested,” she said with a sly smile. “Should be a good party. Sweet Jane's daddy lets his little girl do just about anything to stay in her good graces. Pick me up?"

  "Sure. I'll need to get cleaned up after the game."

  "But Tommy, you know how much I love riding in cars with sweaty, smelly boys."