Bound In Blue: Book One Of The Sword Of Elements (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

The light of the sun stabbed me through my closed eyelids and I knew I couldn’t hide in bed any longer. Bunching my thin quilt into a ball, I threw it across the room in the general vicinity of the laundry basket. It might have made it in too if the basket weren’t already overflowing with dirty clothes.

Pushing myself up, I rubbed my aching temples. Two months had passed since the day Mom died—since the day I fainted and hit my head—and the headaches from the concussion were a daily event. I winced as my feet touched the floor; all my nerves felt exposed. Purple irritation rushed across my sight and then, without warning, I was blinded by a spinning kaleidoscope of color. All the strength left my limbs and I fell off the bed onto the floor.

Normally my colors only appeared when my feelings were intense. I suspected I didn’t have much of an imagination either because they were predictable—pale blue for sadness, hot red for anger, and all the colors in between for the various shadings between those emotions. White was fear and black was despair, but usually everything was mixed up and confused without one color predominating. Over the years I’d become used to them slithering through my brain and streaking across my vision.

I wasn’t so used to them hitting me in my gut.

When my colors faded and I could see again, I used the bed to stand up, but sharp pain pulsed through my head at the movement. As vomit rose into my throat, I breathed slowly through my nose until my stomach settled.

After tottering into the shower and scalding my body back into submission, I felt better. Good thing because I had a hell of a day waiting for me. Mom could be pretty vague most of the time, but on some things she was crystal, even when she went all Wicca on me. As she got sicker, she made me promise to scatter her ashes at the lake by sunset of the third day after the next blue moon. She was that specific. This was the third day. It was also the first day of my last year of school, so, double whammy.

Picking through every piece of clothing I owned, even the dirty ones, I decided on white jeans, a striped t-shirt, and a navy cardigan. I hoped I looked nautical in a cute way, not a Popeye kind of way.

As if anyone would ever notice.

I was dragging a brush through my hair when there was one knock at the door, a slam, and then the sound of my battered couch groaning under the weight of a six-foot teenage boy.

“Oh, by all means, let yourself in,” I called as I gave up trying to force my hair into a sleek ponytail.

“Blah, blah . . . what was that? Couldn’t hear you!” Peter already had the TV on and was channel surfing when I came out of the bedroom, something he would have never dared to do while Mom was alive.

“What could possibly be worth watching before eight in the morning?”

Peter grinned. “There’s always sports on somewhere. Besides, I’ve been up for ages. I’m already bored out of my mind waiting for you to get ready.”

“You’ve only been here three minutes, jerk.” I tossed a pillow at his face, but he caught it and put it behind his head.

“Yeah, but when you have a high metabolism like mine, three minutes is actually like three hours.”

“What stupid comic book did you learn that one from?”

“Hey, graphic novels are an art form.”

“Sure they are. And the superbabes in skintight onesies have nothing
whatsoever
to do with your
art appreciation
.” I put my hand up just in time to block the pillow that sailed back at me.

Laughing, I crossed to the tiny kitchen facing the living room and opened the door of my ancient, avocado green fridge. The bare bulb flickering at the back couldn’t hide the fact that my only options were a can of diet soda, a carton of milk way past its expiration date, and a shriveled apple. Or maybe it was a plum.

I sighed. I’d have to rely on take-out again if I didn’t want to starve. I was sure I’d picked up groceries on the weekend, but ever since the concussion, I sometimes got mixed up in my days. That seemed to bother the doctor at the clinic a lot more than my headaches did. I almost thought I could see the canary yellow of his concern.

I didn’t go back. I didn’t need to start seeing colors for other people too.

Slamming the door and giving up on breakfast, I pushed Peter’s feet away as I plopped down on the other end of the couch. From the day we met when we were three years old, Peter and I were soul mates of the non-romantic variety. We did experiment with kissing once when we were twelve, but it was awful and we promised each other to never try it again. Luckily for Peter Larsen, being a handsome, blond, star athlete—with just enough nerd in him to be interesting—meant getting many more chances to find a compatible kissing partner.

For mostly invisible me, not so much.

I grabbed the remote so I could check the time on the channel guide. “We should go in five.”

Peter grabbed it back and continued clicking through the channels. “Lots of time. How’s your head today?”

Peter’s constant concern was beginning to get on my nerves. My memory of the day Mom died was messed up. I could remember the awful moment when the rattling sound of her breathing stopped, but not much after that. I couldn’t even remember Peter coming to the hospital. He tried to catch me when I passed out, but I hit my head on the bed rail and was unconscious for ten minutes. It took ten stitches to close the gash inside my hairline and I spent the night in the hospital for observation. Peter seemed to think it was somehow his fault I’d fainted like a tragic heroine in a Victorian novel. All summer he’d treated me like I might break apart into pieces at any moment.

“It’s OK,” I lied.

“So, today’s the day, right?” Click, click, click.

I took the remote and turned the TV off. “Yup.” We both stared at the blank screen.

The couch shook as Peter slapped his knees. “Right, let’s do this then.” Taking me by the hands, he hauled me to my feet so fast I nearly fell. “Are you ready for the best year of our lives?”

Amber flared on the edges of my vision. “I’m ready,” I lied again.

Gathering my things, I followed Peter outside. I didn’t bother locking the door—the giant weeds surrounding the yellow stucco and green roofed house were proof that nothing was worth stealing inside. I scuffed my shoe at a vine that was beginning to creep onto the bottom step. Windfield Farm’s gardens were beautiful until Mom got sick.

I wondered if the Larsens would hire someone to replace her. The thought hurt. I doubted it though. Peter’s great-grandfather had established the stud farm in the Twenties and many famous racehorses had been born and trained here, but its glory days were over. There were still a few horses on the property, but Peter’s parents had begun selling the land off to developers and a new subdivision was growing behind the barns. I hated the thought, but I knew the city that had been creeping in for years would soon pounce and gobble the whole place up.

Mom had talked her way into living in a guesthouse in exchange for maintaining the gardens, but even then there were fewer and fewer visiting celebrities of the racing world to impress. I’d realized pretty young that our little house was basically charity from the Larsens. Now they were my guardians. I loved them a lot and had always spent most of my free time up at the main house with Peter, so nothing much had changed. I paid for my few expenses out of the little bit of money Mom had saved from her small salary.

I got into Peter’s car and we drove past the main house and out the wrought iron gate that led to the city road. A few minutes later and we were pulling into the student lot at our school—Eastdale High, home of the Screaming Eagles.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Peter muttered as he honked the horn at the car in front of us trying to navigate the broken concrete parking lot.

“What’s with you?”

“I’m meeting some of the guys before class. We’re working on how to get some intel on O’Neil’s team before the first game.”

Peter’s excitement was proof that our high school experiences had been vastly different. He had a ton of friends and the never-ending football rivalry with O’Neil, the school across town.  I associated school with the nervous mustard yellow crawling under my eyelids that matched our hideous school colors perfectly. Our team jerseys were bad enough, but our cheerleaders had the worst of it. In their teeny yellow and black striped skirts, they looked like cold bumblebees. That’s how I thought of them even out of uniform.

We parked and Peter paused with his hand on the door handle. “You know, I could go with you. It's going to be hot and the Celica’s AC doesn’t work. Dad’s truck would be better on the dirt road too.”

“It's OK. I think it’s something Mom would want me to do alone. Thanks though.”

He nodded. “You’ll feel better once it's over.”

“Yeah.” I got out of the car, and as we walked towards the school, I put my arm around his waist and gave him a quick hug. Some of the cheerleaders were lingering at the entrance, giving Peter flirtatious smiles. He was a big favorite with all the girls at school. He treated them like ladies, even the ones whose reps were more like ladies of the evening. I knew I was lucky to have such a great guy as my best friend and I hugged him again.

Go ahead, Bumblebees, stare.

But it was him they were looking at, not me.

Our lockers were on different floors and Peter ruffled my hair before bounding up the stairs. I felt a splash of crimson that almost immediately disappeared—I could never stay mad at him for long.

Hurrying into the nearest bathroom to check on the damage, I smoothed my hair down and then paused, surprised. Someone came in and brushed past me as they went over to the farthest sink and turned on the water, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the girl in the mirror. Rhiannon Lynne was such a fancy name that I’d always felt more comfortable with Rhi—short and sweet—but the girl who gazed back at me could actually pass as a Rhiannon. Her hair was long and wild and forgotten trips to the grocery store had produced a face that was sharp and defined. Her eyes were smoky grey and mysterious.

A wave of dizziness passed over me and I grabbed the sink to keep from falling. Head swimming, I looked at the girl in the mirror again and had the strangest feeling that she was the real Rhiannon and I was some pale copy—an imposter. Her eyes darkened with fury and I knew I had to hide before she could find me and punish me for taking her place. White fear blossomed and I heard my mother’s voice.

Rhiannon, listen to me. We cannot be seen. We must be small, so very small together. Hide, Rhiannon, hide. Hide in the shadows and be still and silent.

I closed my eyes and imagined a blue shadow covering me—a barrier between me and the fear. After a moment, the tension flowed out of me into the deep, soft blue and I was calm again.

“Hey, how’d you do that?”

A slap of yellow and I opened my eyes, blinking at the fluorescent lighting; I’d forgotten where I was.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but that was fairly impressive.” A petite girl in a black mini tutu and baby doll top was observing me with a crooked smile. Her black hair was punctuated by two white stripes caught up in ponytails above her ears and she stared at me with almond-shaped eyes thickly lined in black.

“What?” I asked stupidly.

“You know, how you were there and then, poof . . . .” She waved her fingers in the air. “And then you came back.” She tilted her head and frowned. “Maybe not all the way though. What’s the trick?”

I hadn’t had a lot of practice responding to questions and I certainly didn’t know how to answer this one. When I didn’t respond, the girl shrugged and pulled an eyeliner pencil out of a battered leather bag. “Forget it.” She began to darken the winged lines around her eyes.

I glanced at the mirror and was relieved to recognize the face looking back—not a Rhiannon, just a Rhi.

The mind plays tricks when it’s been bashed up a bit.

I pushed open the door to leave, but when I glanced back, the black-haired girl was leaning on the sink smirking at me.

Warning yellow trailed between us like ribbons.

CHAPTER THREE

After the final bell rang, I trudged to my locker and dumped my books into it. The rest of the day had been just like every day—I was still Eastdale’s own invisible girl.

I bet no one would notice me even if I walked naked into the cafeteria and started playing the ukulele. While tap dancing.

It was a running joke between Peter and me. I knew I wasn’t literally invisible—I wasn’t crazy—but being seen and being
seen
were two different things. When I was younger and very shy, it was a relief when someone’s eyes would pass over me or go distant when I spoke.

Now it’s just annoying.

I hadn’t even managed to collect a dirty look from Lacey McInnis. It was almost disappointing. Head cheerleader, the top of our class, the lead in all the plays, and the most popular girl in school—Lacey was basically a walking, talking cliché. Dirty blonde and ten pounds heavier than was ideal on someone only five foot two, she still entranced everyone she met. They loved her and she loved them back.

Except me. She hated me.

Because our last names were so close in the alphabet, our lockers always ended up next to one another. Unlike the rest of the student body, Lacey was painfully aware of me, but today she was preoccupied. She and another Bumblebee were watching a knot of students at the end of the hall with Peter at the center.

Lacey adjusted her ponytail. “They’re supposed to be brothers, but they don’t look much alike so I’m not sure. And there’s a new girl too. She’s . . . interesting.” I guessed she was talking about Bathroom Girl. As if conjured by Lacey’s words, the girl came around the corner, her skirt hiked up to the very limits of public decency. She smirked at me as she passed and the yellow ribbons were back.

“Wow,” Lacey mouthed.

Peter had detached someone from the group and was steering him our direction. Lacey straightened and looked up hopefully, but Peter was watching Bathroom Girl and walked past without noticing. Flushing, she glared at me and dragged the other Bumblebee down the hall.

Bingo. All’s right with the world again.

“Hey Rhi, this is Daley. He’s new. Daley, this is my best friend, Rhiannon Lynne.”

“Ow!” I jumped away from the wall of metal lockers as static sparked across my arm. My cheeks went hot.

Great first impression, Rhi. He’s going to think you have Tourette’s. That’s if he even remembers you at all.

Daley was tall and lean, and his sandy hair, dark blue eyes, and straight jaw all added up to movie star gorgeous. His face was hard though; he didn’t look like he belonged in high school. Around his neck he wore a strangely feminine necklace—an aquamarine stone in silver filigree. As he stared at me, mauve unease gathered along the edges of my vision. I felt exposed.

I change my mind. I’m just fine being a naked, ukulele-playing tap dancer that no one notices.

I forced myself to speak. “Aren’t you kind of old to be a senior?” It was the first thing that popped into my head. Hearing the stupid words out loud, I could have cheerfully kicked myself.

Finely arched brows pinched into a frown. “We move a lot because of our dad’s work.” He paused as if he was thinking over his answer carefully.  “I need to pick up some classes before I can graduate.”

I nodded. Daley stared at me. I stared back. It took me a moment to realize he was actually expecting me to respond. I normally followed along in whatever conversation Peter was involved in, nodding and interjecting occasionally. No one usually bothered responding so my contribution to the discussion ended there.

I’d heard the expression before, but never actually seen anyone’s eyes glaze over with boredom before. Turning, Daley called down the hall, “Hey Ty, come here!” Relieved of the pressure of his gaze, I blinked and my colors disappeared.

The guy who approached us was big—almost scary big—but he had young face and dark hair a bit on the shaggy side.

Sexy shaggy, not shaggy dog shaggy. I give it a week before the Bumblebees abandon Peter and start stalking this guy.

“This is my brother Tynan. Ty, meet Peter Larsen and Rhiannon Lynne.” Daley gave our full names the way adults do when they introduce people.

Daley’s brother brushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled shyly. “Hi.”

Peter grabbed his hand and began shaking it; the Larsens were big on proper etiquette. “Man, you’re huge! Have you ever played football before? We could use someone like you.”

Tynan shook his head. “We might not be in town long. Dad’s work moves us around.” He looked at me and smiled. “You have a pretty name. Do you know your genealogy?”

It took a moment for the startled pink starbursts to clear. “What?”

Tynan launched into a string of enthusiastic sentences. “Your family history. Where you come from. Rhiannon is Gaelic. I speak Gaelic—a little bit anyway. Your name means Great Queen so I thought maybe you might be Irish or Welsh. That’s what we are. Welsh, I mean. That’s how I know. Rhiannon’s a figure in Celtic mythology and there’s even a cool song about her. Lynne is Gaelic too. It means ‘lake’. What are your parents called?”

Peter and I shared a look and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. Tynan had gone from zero to sixty in five seconds flat. Peter might find it amusing, but it was making my head ache.

I change my mind about this whole talking to people thing.

“My mom was Viviane Lynne,” I said finally.

Tynan’s eyes widened. “Really! That’s the same name as the Lady of the Lake in Arthurian myth. Your mom’s name literally means ‘Viviane of the Lake’. Where was she born?”

He’s so excited. It makes me feel bad that I want to punch him in the mouth to make him shut up.

“Rhi’s mom died a couple of months ago,” Peter said quietly when I didn’t answer.

Tynan hunched his back as if he could somehow make himself smaller. “I’m sorry,” he said very quietly as he stuck his hands in his pockets and bent his head so his hair shadowed his cheeks.

I shrugged. “It’s OK.”

“Your mother’s name was Viviane Lynne?” Daley interrupted, staring at me with weird intensity. I almost gasped out loud when the light caught his eyes funny, almost as if something bright had streaked across them.

My mouth was dry and I had to swallow before I could answer. “Yes. Why?”

He blinked and turned away. “Nothing,” he muttered. “We should go soon, Ty.” Daley strode down the hall and out the back door.

Tynan didn’t seem to realize his brother had left him there alone. “I’m really, really sorry, Rhiannon.”

Bright red swirled with purple swamped my vision as his concern ignited equal parts anger and irritation. “It’s OK!” I snapped. Tynan stiffened and Peter looked at me in surprise.

So this is why nobody ever talks to me—I’m a bitch.

“It’s OK,” I repeated in a softer tone and smiled to hide the lie. “But don’t call me Rhiannon. It’s just Rhi.”

Tynan brushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled back shyly. “I think Rhiannon suits you.”

I was grateful for the change of subject when Peter jerked his chin down the hall. “Hey, Ty, do you know that girl?”

Lacey and some of the Bumblebees had surrounded Bathroom Girl and seemed to be trying to engage her in conversation. Even from where we stood, it was obvious that Bathroom Girl couldn’t care less.

Tynan’s smile faded. “Yeah.”

“Can you introduce us?”

When Tynan hesitated, I decided to help Peter out. “Me too. We met this morning, but I didn’t get her name.”

“Sure, c’mon,” Tynan agreed and we followed him down the hall. Bathroom Girl raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment when we approached.

Lacey looked grateful for a new and more appreciative audience. I doubted she was used to anyone being as obviously unimpressed with her as Bathroom Girl was. “You’re Tynan, right? Where have you been hiding?” Lacey asked brightly, ignoring me and Peter.

“I was just getting to know Rhiannon.”

Lacey blinked. “You mean Rhi.”

“I mean Rhiannon.” Tynan smiled as if we shared a secret.

Lacey tried to smile too, but her jaw was clenched so tight I almost felt sorry for her. She was the only person in the entire school who was even vaguely aware of me most of the time, probably because she was crazy about Peter and saw me as an obstacle to getting him. They’d been out a few times, but he just wasn’t into her. To Lacey, that was unacceptable. In her mind, I was the real problem.

Tynan gestured to Bathroom Girl. “Miko, this is Rhiannon and Peter.”

Before the girl could speak, Peter grabbed her hand and began shaking it up and down like he was pumping for water. “Hi!”

“Hi.” She retrieved her hand and began twirling one of her ponytails.

“How was your first day?”

“Fine.”

“How long have you been in town? I can show you around if you want. There’s a few cool places.”

Miko didn’t look like the kind of girl who needed any help finding the cool places, but she surprised me. “OK,” she said with a crooked smile.

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

Monosyllabic must be the new black.

Peter was grinning and I felt another unexpected flash of sympathy for Lacey as she wandered away with the Bumblebees. Peter never even noticed.

“We could go now, if you want. Unless there’s somewhere else you have to be.”

Instead of answering, Miko turned to me. “Are you coming?”

All the unexpected attention was beginning to wear on me and I was glad I had an excuse to bow out. “Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got to be somewhere soon.”

“Maybe we could all do something together this weekend,” Tynan said.

It took a moment to process that someone was asking me to make weekend plans. “Sure, that’d be great.”

Daley opened the door and reappeared. “C’mon, we’ve got to get going. Dad wants us home right away.”

“We’ve got to go,” Tynan parroted his brother as he walked around me to join him. They stood silhouetted in the doorway and it was true what Lacey said: they were nothing alike. Tynan was hot, but beside Daley, he seemed unfinished somehow. I rubbed my arms as they prickled with static electricity again.

“Are you coming?” Daley asked Miko, but she shook her head. A nod from him and a quick wave from Tynan and they were gone, the door slamming shut behind them.

Miko was watching me. “They’re not real brothers,” she said as if she could tell what I was thinking. “More like foster brothers. It’s Taliesin’s thing; he picks up strays. Me included, I guess.”

“Who’s Taliesin?” The name rolled off my tongue, strange but somehow familiar.

“Their father.” She air quoted the word father.

Peter was as confused as I was. “So you’re their foster sister?”

Miko snorted. “No.”

“But you came here with them?”

The girl shrugged. “I stay with them, so when they move, I do too. We move around a lot.”

So they all keep saying.