“Nate thinks it’s the friends she hangs out with, that they’re a bad influence. He’s sort of an expert on all that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, curling up under the covers.
“Oh, he’s a brilliant man. He has all sorts of theories and ideas on humanity and ethics. Why people are the way they are. It’s amazing he chose the medical field. He could have easily gone into philosophy or history. You know, he even has a theory about that funny scar on your hand.”
My ears perked up the moment the words came to her lips and I clutched my right hand tightly beneath the covers. Only a few, select people knew the truth about my scar. It was pure luck that the fire in the woods burned my hand, camouflaging my mark.
“So, what’s his theory?” I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Just that it looked a little unusual for a scar. He said it actually looks like an ancient brand.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Brand? As in ownership of livestock?”
My mom let out a laugh, “Yeah, I guess so. He said it was similar to a mark of protection he researched years ago, but it’s just coincidence. He said maybe the heavens branded you for protection from the fire, and that’s why you were given the strength to not only survive it yourself, but to save Garreth as well. It’s kind of a nice thought when you think about it. You were both very lucky that night.”
I tried not to think about that night, when I thought Garreth was lost for good. It had seemed his time here on earth, eight amazingly short days, was up.
But even though my guardian stayed earthbound, it seemed he was still lost.
Oblivious to my sudden silence, my mother kept on talking about Dr. Dean and his “theories” and how he thought there were answers to everything and everyone; like a blueprint mapped out for everyone since the beginning of time, and how my mom thought he was an amazingly deep man.
“He keeps every theory logged so he can refer back to it if he needs to. He’s so organized,” my mom continued.
“What do you mean ‘logged’?”
“Oh, he writes all his thoughts down in a journal.”
“Sort of like a diary? Isn’t he a little old for that?” I was beginning to yawn and it occurred to me that my homework was still sitting on my desk and it wasn’t getting done by itself.
“It’s more like a record book, with actual dates and times. Real-life accounts for strange phenomena. He’s been keeping the journal forever and it’s kind of battered and old looking. Hey, that’s a great idea for a Christmas present for him. Don’t let me forget that one.”
Bits and pieces of the conversation I had overheard in the bathroom at school came floating back to me and I wondered, could the book Brynn’s friends said she was hunting for be the very same journal my mother was describing? If it was in fact one and the same and Dr. Dean had some crazy notions about my scar, then I certainly would be an entry in that journal. Wouldn’t Brynn just love to get her hands on any information she could use against me? Especially if that information was surreal.
But what would Dr. Dean want with information like that? Was he just a studious adult nerd that liked to keep track of strange subject material? And what were the odds that his stepdaughter was Brynn Hanson, of all people. It seemed too strange to be a coincidence.
There was something else, something I had overheard in the bathroom.
Shoot! What was it?
I wracked my brain for it to come back to me. It was just a snippet that didn’t mean anything … at least not until now anyway.
Then I remembered.
“Do you think he put her up to it?”
Who was “he”?
As the subject we were just on blended into a new one, I excused myself, responsibly saying I had homework to finish up. But before leaving her room, I lingered in the doorway.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you believe in guardian angels?” I asked warily.
A sweet, reflective smile appeared across her face.
“Of course I do, honey.”
I returned her smile and went to my room.
I felt the overwhelming need to talk to Ryan just then. He was the only person right now who I could talk to about this, the only one who understood how Brynn despised me. He knew how twisted and sick she really was, and the lengths she would go to get what she wanted.
My head was dizzy from thinking.
Brynn, Dr. Dean, my mother … how did this all connect?
An unsettling feeling washed over me. Whatever this puzzle was, it couldn’t be good.
Oh Garreth, I need you.
He was supposed to protect me but where was he? Suspended for underage drinking during lunch hour. Of all the idiotic things. I felt tight, scalding tears form in the back of my throat. I had no idea what to do about Garreth but if it came down to me helping him again, then yes, I would help him.
I looked at my hand and willed my mark to appear full and strong on my palm. I was so confused. Was I to be the one to save my guardian from here on out? Was I the stronger one now? I didn’t feel very strong. I felt lonely and hurt and confused. Then to make matters worse, let’s just throw Hadrian back into the mix. I was seriously beginning to think he was haunting me, with the feathers and all. I mean, face it. I’m a magnet for chaos. I had my doubts that had anything to do with Brynn unless she was striving to make me insane. Which, I suppose, did sound like her. No, face it. I was good at attracting the weird and unexplained and keeping it close at hand. Why couldn’t I just be normal?
I tried to cast aside my confusion and paranoia. Right now I had to focus on the task at hand.
Right now I needed to get my hands on that journal.
Sleep had not come easily.
In fact, it was hours before my body finally melted down and gave up. But even then it wasn’t restful. It was garish and unpleasant, full of strange dreams and even stranger faces. I felt like an unseen ghost, a whisper of someone else’s thoughts traveling through someone else’s nightmare.
Sitting up, I placed my hands over my eyes to filter out the light billowing in through my window. My sensitive eyes blinked painfully as the blinding yellow glow made a beeline for my sleep deprived head. Then I remembered, I needed to talk to Ryan today. But wading through the six hours of school would be torture, not that it wasn’t when I didn’t have something important on the threshold. But this, the waiting to talk to him, to tell him about the strange, old book and Dr. Dean’s hobby—this might get us somewhere and the closer we got to stopping whatever Brynn was up to, the better.
I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around whatever Brynn was planning. I honestly thought I had been through it all after dealing with a dark angel last year. It seemed that Brynn and Hadrian had traded places this year. Now I was more concerned about a high-heeled, cheerleading menace than a malicious archangel.
There was no way I could stand waiting until after school to tell Ryan about Brynn and the book or my plan for us to sneak into Dr. Dean’s house tomorrow night and search for it.
Complaining to myself was only making matters worse. I needed to vent. As the overwhelming need to get things off my chest became more unbearable, a thought came to me. A soothing little piece of reassurance. Despite the few minutes left before I needed to get downstairs, I seemed to float effortlessly over to my computer. There was someone who would hear me out and not judge or look at me sideways. Someone who would just plain listen.
I drummed up the nerve before the fleeting moment of inspiration left me. Why not email Claire again? It had made me feel a million times better the other day and besides, who’s going to tap into the closed email account of a dead person?
No one, that’s who.
The deep breath I took filled me with confidence and once again my fingers flew across the keys, my heart and soul pouring out through their tips like never before. I had written to Claire the other night, but it wasn’t like this. Today there seemed to be a silent desperation within me that was lacking in the previous email. Finally, all the emotions I had stored up inside over her absence, her death, seemed to have boiled over, and now there was no stopping it. In my mind, I could picture Claire so clearly, as if she were in the room with me and because of this, the words flowed effortlessly.