AMANI: Reveal (17 page)

Amya Priam

“WE WON! We won, we won, wewonwewonwewon!!” Kristin sang, dancing around everyone. “Hey!” she yelled two inches from her sister. “Have you heard? WE WON!”
              “What did she win exactly?” Xander asked, frowning, but plainly entertained.
              I shrugged. I had wanted to win, but seeing the expression on Vivian’s face was worth it. Plus, Kristin seemed so happy, even her twin had a wide smile stamped on her face.
                “The initiation. No idea what she—well, the other girl, the one who’s about to punch someone in the face—won.”
              “Why isn’t she happy? Her girlfriend looks elated.”
              I chuckled. “She’s not her girlfriend.”
              I explained to him what the last task was and mentioned that Vivian had been reticent to ask anyone to do it.
              “Is that why you wanted me to come down?” Xander said, an unreadable expression on his face.
              For the first time, I noticed that Xander’s hair and beard had been trimmed. Probably Madame M.’s doing. He looked very handsome, his blue eyes shimmering more clearly on a clean face.
              Fortunately I was saved from answering when Patrick leaped beside me. “You must know by now that Kristin is very competitive.”
              “Told you we’d win!” I heard her shout.
              “If anyone hadn’t noticed before,” I replied, “then it’s pretty obvious right now.”
              Ultimately, there was nothing to win or lose because, according to Patrick, the club did not value the best ability or the strongest member, but our efforts and personal accomplishments. I was only glad I didn’t have to dive into the cold river or have ketchup and mustard thrown in my face. I had heard such horrible stories about initiations that I’d been imagining the worst punishments for losing.
              I introduced Xander to everyone, and only Vivian didn’t seem interested in the fact that he was a Rascal. She kept looking at her watch and eventually left, muttering to herself. The rest of the group, however, asked lots of questions. They’d never seen a Rascal—not that they knew of anyway—and they were curious about the fact that Xander hadn’t turned into a monster during his transformation. I told them how we thought it was because becoming a Rascal merely enhanced your own personality and Xander had always been such an honest and caring person. Then Kristin wondered how we’d met and the conversation became a little uncomfortable, so I suggested that it was getting late, and Xander and I headed back to Madame M.’s.
              “Why did you call me, Amya?” Xander asked after a few minutes of walking, breaking the silence of the dark, cloudy night.
              “I told you. I wanted to win and there was this last task I needed to accomplish…”
              He gently grabbed my arm, forcing me to face him. “I know that. What I don’t understand is why you called
me
. You had two guys to choose from, which would have been a much faster choice, and you could’ve actually won.”
              “B—but why are you asking me this right now?” I managed to say, while my head was spinning with Xander’s odor: fresh mint and aftershave. He was standing so close to me, I could almost feel heat radiating from his body.
              His eyes became serious and… was there a hint of shame in them?
              “I need to know, Amya. I need to know if there is hope…”
              I glanced down at my feet. Not because I couldn’t face him, but because I needed to look away from his kind blue eyes in order to put my thoughts in order.
              “I kissed you at Headquarters after the explosions. Doesn’t that count as hope?”
              “Hope cannot be scaled down to an impulsion. You were scared then. Your emotions could have clouded your judgment.”
              I frowned. Was that really what he’d believed all this time?
              “What if those emotions helped me realize what was hiding deep in my soul, something I was—and I am still—too afraid to accept?”
              The corner of his mouth lifted at last, sending shivers down my spine and into every limb attached to my body.
              Those words I said were the truth. But I
was
afraid. I was afraid to love again. I was afraid to get hurt again. And I was afraid to let myself be happy with someone when the world was shattering around me.
              He seemed to be reading my thoughts, because he drifted his hand slowly down my arm, a blazing path running after his thumb, and slid his fingers between mine. “Hope is all I need, Amya. It’s enough to keep me going a lifetime if I have to.”
              It was difficult to concentrate with the pulse in my head going nuts. There was neither explosion nor any life-threatening crisis surrounding us, yet I felt the same urge to get as close to Xander as I could. I wanted to burry my face in his chest. I wanted to feel the warmth of his lips on mine, and the firmness of his hands on my back. I longed for the delicacy of his fingers to linger in my hair…
              But instead, he broke the silence. “You’re shivering. Let’s hurry up.”
              We each held the other’s hand as we made the rest of the way to Madame M.’s. Karl was waiting for us in the living room, sitting next to Doc, Bashful, and Sleepy. He went to bed as soon as we’d safely arrived. As for Samera, she was apparently fast asleep, but a faint light under her door convinced me otherwise. Just before Karl entered, however, the glow vanished.

***

At seven in the morning, our host had prepared a rich breakfast of sausages, bacon, smashed potatoes, eggs, and bread. Xander, Samera, and I borrowed Madame M.’s car and went to the
Carrefour de l’Estrie
to buy winter coats. Xander kept saying he didn’t need any, but we made him understand that people would start asking questions if they saw him merely wearing a light shirt when it was five degrees out. 
              At a quarter to two in the afternoon, I met with Patrick in the library and gave him his onesie and scarf. I also set the book I’d borrowed back on its shelf before we spent one hour working on my ability. At first I tried to Sojourn while he talked to me, just like Samera and I had practiced at Headquarters. It was very difficult, though after merely thirty minutes, I’d managed to remain in Patrick’s head up until he decided to touch my arm.
              “Just wanted to push it to another level,” he explained. “It’s pretty impressive, you know? I told my family about you and they’ve never heard of someone who didn’t need a physical contact to Sojourn. Let alone be able to project your soul into someone who’s not even in the same room as you!”
              I’d told him about the time when I’d Sojourned into Michelle’s body while she was on a mission to find my father. I had failed to mention that my father was actually—
              “A Rascal.”
              “Excuse me?” Patrick said, startled. “What does a Rascal have to do with your ability?”
              It was like someone had abruptly switched the light on and everything was clear at last.
              “Everything! Oh my God, why haven’t I thought of this before?”
              My mom and dad. Me. My ability. It all made sense!
              “I told you before that my mother was a Seraph, haven’t I?”
              “Yes, you inherited your gift from her.”
              “Well, I think that maybe I also inherited something from my dad.”
              Patrick’s eyebrow rose. “What are you saying, Amya?”
              “I’m saying that I just learned yesterday that my dad is a Rascal,” I blurted out, and immediately held my hands in the air at his startled expression. “But he’s not dangerous or anything. Well, not that I know of. And wouldn’t it make sense that part of his—um—uniqueness was transmitted to me, in my genes, I mean? A Rascal’s eyes turn to black when they’re angry; my hair is black and I’ve never been able to dye it another color. Plus, neither of my parents have black hair. Not even my sister! And my ability is different from my mother’s and grandma’s. It is, in a way, more powerful, stronger.” I paused, panting as though I’d just run twenty miles. “And Meo, he tried to feed on my memories, tried to make them all vanish, but it didn’t work like it should have. Neither Wyatt nor Xander understand why certain events still trigger those memories he took from me. Maybe because I’m part Rascal? Maybe because, genetically, I’m sort of a little bit immunized.”
              “Wait, did you just say your dad’s a Rascal? Who’s Meo?”
              “Excuse me,” I muttered before I ran out of the room and straight out of the library to find Samera and Xander at the bottom of the steps. Xander was reading a book and Sam was on her dad’s cell phone, smiling.
              Karl had lent it to her in case we might need a lift to come back to the house. He was spending the day with Madame M, training in the basement.
              “Has it already been an hour?” my best friend inquired, looking at the time.
              “I don’t know. Guys, I think I’m a Rascal.”
              I told them everything I’d just babbled to Patrick, but found a much more understanding audience. Samera stood there, gaping at me, while Xander was frowning and nodding, like a lawyer listening to his patient’s confession.
              “What would that imply for your ability?” he replied after I was done.
              I shook my head, clueless.
              “Do you think you can feed on people’s dreams too?” Samera went on.
              “I’ve never tried… I’ve never felt the need to, either.”
              “Let’s see what Hibiscus thinks! Holy moly—crap! This is the most exciting news! Let’s go!”
              I hadn’t seen Samera this enthusiastic since the explosion on HQ and the disappearance of my sister. She was bouncing up and down in her furry red coat, waving at us to follow her. We ran to the Molson building and up to Hibiscus’s office. Only to find out that she was absent.
              “No!” Sam burst. “Why isn’t she here?”
              “Didn’t she have a seminar today?” Xander recalled.
              “Jeez! You’re right! Can we come with you tomorrow then? We won’t take much of your time, just a few questions…”
              “No, you can’t,” Xander replied, wide-eyed. “You
have to
. I’m not spending one minute alone with Hibiscus. You heard what she wanted to try on me! Who knows what she’ll have in store next time?”
              We spent the rest of the morning wandering around on campus, and decided against telling Mr. Jensen about my new possible explanation for my special ability. I wasn’t certain anyway, so why bother him?
              The scenery on campus was beautiful. The white rooftops filled by the second with thick snowflakes falling relentlessly from a heavy sky, which contrasted with the red brick buildings. Students wore purple hats and scarves to match their purple sweatpants and backpacks, and lingered outside between classes, watching their classmates start snow fights or simply enjoying this eerie weather.
              As for us, lunchtime was spent at Tim Horton’s, around a warm soup and a cup of tea.
              “But have you tried the French vanilla coffee?” Samera repeated every ten minutes. “It’s soooo good! You haven’t lived properly until you’ve tried it.”
              I finally bought one just before we headed back to the house. It was pleasantly sweet and I did appreciate that it did not actually taste like coffee. At all.
              On our way up, we met a student named Daniel, who invited us to yet another party tonight. This time, however, it was happening on campus. Samera instantly stiffened and told him we would not be going. The excitement that had decreased with Hibiscus’s absence had completely vanished by the time we reached Deacon Street, and my best friend was acting weird again.
              I was about to demand an explanation when my eyes fell onto a silhouette lying on the frozen ground, facing Madame M.’s house. It was mostly covered in tree branches. Sam and Xander followed my gaze…
              There, lying half under high bushes, was an elderly woman with extremely white hair and a Hello Kitty purse.
              She appeared to be dead.

Amya Priam

As reported by the police officers, who spoke mostly French—only Samera and Madame M. understood a word they were saying—the woman’s IDs were those of a twenty-year-old Bishop student.
              And she was, in fact, dead.
              It wasn’t the first dead person I’d seen in my life, having been forced to watch Billy, Gareth’s little brother, kill himself last month because of a Rascal. And there was Nevada, Xander’s sister, who’d jumped out of a window in high school, again because of the same joy-feeding monster. But somehow, this woman’s frightened facial expression—forever printed on her face—wrinkled, white skin, and glassy eyes gave me the creeps.
              Worst yet, she had died right in front of Madame M.’s house.
              And that, according to Mr. Jensen, could not be a coincidence.
              “If this is the work of a Rascal, we are not safe here anymore,” he said when the police had gone.
              Sam crossed her arms. “We cannot assume it’s a Rascal just yet. She could have died of old age… she looked to be in her nineties, after all. What if she died of a heart attack after climbing this impossible hill that is College Street? Even I feel like dying every time we come back from the university.”
              “How would you explain the Hello Kitty bag and the IDs? And why in front of Madame M.’s house?” her father said.
              “Coincidence? And maybe they’re her granddaughter’s? Or maybe she’s using the ID of a younger person to continue going to college. I don’t know! I’m not the expert! I’m just saying we shouldn’t jump to conclusions too fast.”
              Xander shook his head. “That makes no sense whatsoever. No. I agree with Karl. We need to keep in mind that it could be the work of a Rascal. What if the IDs are hers?”
              “But how could…” Sam began, but never finished her sentence.
              It became clear to all of us just then how such an incident could have happened if a Rascal was involved. Of course, we did not know if such a Rascal existed. It was one thing to feed on memories, strength, or emotions, but to live off a person’s youth… Surely, we would have heard of similar cases.
              We spent all afternoon on Madame M.’s two computers, looking for reports on people who had mysteriously grown old in a short, unnatural timespan. Madame M. called an old colleague of hers who still worked for the Protectors in Canada and Karl contacted his wife. But no one found sufficient information. There had been a few instances in Trenton, New Jersey last year where people had grown older in one day, but the police had never put much thought into it. “Stress makes a person grow white hair,” they had concluded. None had ever died, either.
              Mrs. Cohen did say she would try to communicate with Protectors from all around the world.
              “Are you back at Headquarters?” Karl asked her, changing the subject completely.
              Michelle cleared her throat. “We haven’t come up with a good enough plan. Amya’s father and I fear that if I just barged in with him by my side, Protectors will get mad at me for bringing yet another Rascal to HQ… and who knows what they’ll do then?” The mention of my father raised several questions in my head, but I kept quiet. “We’re staying at Magdalen’s for now, where no one will come looking for either of us. Sylvia is here too. She’s slowly accepting that her husband, um, hid the truth from her since the beginning…”
              I had difficulty believing my mother had never known about it. Surely she would have noticed
something
. Didn’t my father ever get angry? Had they never fought? Although my father’s eyes were dark brown, and turning pitch black wouldn’t make such a big difference, she ought to have made some dubious observation at some point…
              Michelle hung up soon after because her deputy at Headquarters, Ian Cohen, was calling her.
              “How do you think Magda reacted to the news?” Sam inquired.
              My grandmother had always remained calm in situations where everybody tended to freak out. “I don’t know,” I said. She did have a low tolerance for those who hurt the people she loved. “But if my mother’s been crying in front of her, I doubt she took it that well.”
              Around seven-thirty, while Madame M. and Samera were preparing dinner and chatting in French, Xander found something on the Internet.
              “It was in
The Telegraph
this morning:
Double murder in Oxfordshire. A sixty-year-old man has been arrested after two women in their nineties were found dead in the man’s front yard. The owner of the house was taken to the Cowley police station, where he remains in custody. Both of the victims and the man arrested are believed to have been known to each other, but they are not related. Police were called to the house on Bartlemas Road at eight pm on Monday. Although there were no apparent injuries, the two women were pronounced dead at eight-twenty pm. Formal identification has not taken place yet since the only ID cards found on the women are those of young student girls.
              “The next of kin will be informed as soon as the police identify the victims. Officers remain at the scene and will be speaking with residents for more information and to provide reassurance. At the moment, detectives are not seeking anyone else in connection with the investigation…”
             
“Holy moly—crap. Now
that
can’t be a coincidence,” Samera said before Xander could finish reading. She and Madame M. had stopped cutting their vegetables and had gathered around the computer screen with us.
              “Such a Rascal does exist after all,” I muttered to myself. “But it doesn’t mean this one is after me. Who knows how many of them there are in Amani?”
              Karl firmly shook his head. “We can’t take this chance, Amya. We shall leave tomorrow morning.”
              “No!” The word escaped my mouth before I could help it. “I’ve met people who can help me with my ability here. I’m not ready to leave yet. Not when I’m so close to finally discovering what I am and the extent of what I can do. Plus, we still need Hibiscus’s help with Xander.”
              “Amya, we cannot risk your life, not when we’ve put so much effort into keeping you safe all this time.”
             
What if I am kidnapped?
I thought.
Then I could find my sister and make sure she’s all right…
             
“This is not only about
me
. Michelle sent us here to help with Xander’s case. We can’t come back empty-handed, and the solution lies with Hibiscus. She seems to know more about Rascals than she let us understand and I’m certain she’ll come up with an answer that will ease the Protectors’ minds. My dad’s safety is now on the line as well and I’m not going to let the people I love down just because I’m scared that a group of psychopaths might be after me.”
              “She has a point, Dad,” Samera said. “We can’t give up just yet. Not when we’re so close to finding the truth, to clearing Xander’s name. Though if we stay, Amya should not be allowed to leave the house on her own. And there’s something you should know.” She glanced at me, a silent question on her face, and I nodded. “Amya thought of something today…”
              We told him about our speculations that I might have inherited my father’s abilities, which would explain why I was more powerful than any of my family members. During our narrative, Karl remained stiff, which kept my hopes of staying in Sherbrooke pretty low. He might as well be frightened by me now.
              When Sam was finished, the house fell silent, except for the purring sound coming from the living room, where Sleepy, Bashful, and—was it Sneezy?—were vibrating on the couch, Snow White at their feet. Dopey, Doc, and Happy trotted around the dinner table.
              I could tell from the anticipation in her eyes that even Madame M. did not want us to leave so soon. It had become clear that she did not receive guests at her house often, whether they were friends of hers or old colleagues.
              As for Samera, she was silently biting her upper lip, as if torn between two choices that would change her life forever. From what she had told us, she felt responsible for Xander and me, so staying here would be against her “duty” to keep me safe. But I could tell she liked it here. What if we ended up going to a place where there was no Tim Horton’s?
              “Okay,” Karl finally said, making Dopey jump and Snow White’s ears rise in surprise. “We stay here for as long as we need to, but you three are under house arrest. You are not to leave this place without me. Ever,” he added, looking directly into my eyes. “You understand?”
              “I do, sir,” I answered.
              His expression softened. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all. Do you realize how it made me feel when you told me your Seraph friends had kidnapped you under this roof and I hadn’t noticed? Training with Madame M. has been the best experience. She’s by far the most qualified mentor I’ve had.” Our host blushed, making her red hair stand out. “But from now on, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
              There was such finality in his voice that I did not dare ask if he would be joining me at the Seraph meeting tomorrow. We ate delicious pasta with shrimps, veggies, and garlic. Xander and I did the dishes while Sam locked herself in her room and Karl and Madame M. practiced fighting techniques amongst the cats in the living room.
              “You’re too stiff,” Madame M. kept saying. “You need to relax your muscles. Your movements need to—how do you say in English?—flow. Like a wave. Flexible but deadly.” They moved like two people performing a harmonious dance. “No, no,” she chastised as Xander and I were almost done putting the dishes back into their respective kitchen cabinets. “Look at my cats. Flexibility. Stop resisting. You need to comply with and welcome the movements your body performs.
              “Look,” she continued, pointing at Dopey, who kept jumping at its owner’s arms. “He jumps, goes into full extension, and falls back on his legs. My cat doesn’t resist gravity; he works with it. Don’t resist my attacks—work with them, around them, and use them against me.”
              Madame M. was mesmerizing to look at. Her agility and gracefulness reminded me of her feline friend’s movements. Xander tried to follow the lesson, but he was even stiffer than Karl. The way they moved their limbs was more like Snow White, or a dog in general; it was short and rigid, tense and hard. Madame M. had no difficulty disarming them.
              Around ten in the evening, Karl’s cell phone rang. It was Michelle.
              “Can you put me on speaker so that Amya can hear me?” she said.
              “She can hear you,” Karl replied. “What is it? Did you think of a way to introduce Kellen to the Protectors?”
              “No, that’s not the reason why I’m calling.”
                As opposed to Mr. Jensen, I hadn’t thought she had news about my father. I was somehow certain Mrs. Cohen was calling regarding my sister. Far from immunized against bad news, although that was all I was getting these days, I told her to cut to the chase. There was no need for subterfuge. I could handle it.
              “Ian told me he might have located your sister.” A jolt of unexpected happiness rushed through me. “He received information yesterday that a girl who looked at lot like Delilah had been identified in Oxford, England. Unfortunately, no one could verify this information, so he did not send a team right away. You have to understand that sending Protectors to England, when it could have been any other girl, would have been foolish. Especially since no one wants to come face to face with a Rascal after what happened at HQ. They’re all frightened.”
              “Is she still there?” I asked. “I don’t mind going! Just tell me where in Oxford and I’ll do it.”
              “And give those creatures exactly what they want? No, that’s not going to happen. Besides, no one has seen her since…”
              “In Oxford?” Karl interrupted. “Amya, she is not in England anymore. If my theory is correct, she is in Sherbrooke.”
              “Why would she be in Sherbrooke, Karl?” Michelle inquired.
              “You said that Delilah was last seen in Oxford yesterday, right? Michelle, we discovered that two other women died the same way as the one in front of the house today. Those women were found in Oxford
yesterday
. If the three victims died of the same circumstance—if a Rascal fed on their youth—then it would be absurd to think they were killed by two distinct murderers.”
              “Why were they in Oxford?” I wondered aloud.
              Xander stepped in. “From what I gathered during the short time I spent with Wyatt, last month was a distraction. They killed people’s Blue and Yellow selves to create a sense of panic, while they looked for something or someone. Maybe that’s what they’ve been doing in England all along. Searching.”
              “But why bring Deli with them?” I asked.
              Xander shrugged, pensive. “Maybe they thought you’d go looking for her.”
              “I should have.”
              “Right, and what good would that have done her, huh?” he snapped, his pale blue eyes filling with black ink. “She wouldn’t be safer if you were with her. Maybe she’ll become useless to them once they get their filthy hands on you, and they’ll get rid of her. Hadn’t thought of that now, had you? We don’t know what they’re capable of. Clearly they need you for something. You’re some kind of tool in their scheme. And if killing people and almost starting a Third World War is just a distraction, I can’t begin to think what they’re really planning… Meanwhile, you just want to hand yourself to them and give them what they want!” His fists were clenched to his side, shaking.