Duality (Cordelia Kelly #1): Empath Urban Fantasy (8 page)

When I woke again I rolled over and snatched my journal and pen off my nightstand, opening the scarred leather and reading my own thoughts.

Today, I thought about death as I drove down the highway. With each passing pole and towering tree, the ominous whispers followed and echoed in my head.

“Hit me.”

“End your life.”

The last time I heard those voices I’d been thirteen and watching my father beat my mother. Then those voices whispered “coward” and “you’re weak” and the final nail in my mental coffin “It’s all your fault.”

Stress flipped my switch, along with emotional anguish. My inner turmoil would make most people buckle. For as long as I can remember, I’ve internalized other people’s problems. They are compelled to tell me their darkest fears and secrets, and I absorb their pain and give them back hope.

I don’t tell anyone about my ability. The few I’ve tried to explain myself to laughed me off and called me a liar, then accused me of trying to garner attention. Like I wanted that kind of attention. Who wants to be known as a freak? Who wants people calling them names and labeling them as a sociopath or schizo? Certainly not me. I’m neither of those things.

I’m just a girl who can sense others’ emotions and offer aid. I can filter darkness and replace it with light. At least, I think so. I’m not really sure what the fuck I do or who the fuck I am anymore.

I glanced at the date and cringed. I’d been so young and trying to get people to understand me. If only I knew then what I knew now. I curled onto my side and closed my journal, clutching the faded leather close to my heart and weeping on the inside for all I’d lost.

The rain hit the roof and lulled me into sleep and I dreamed…

I opened my eyes and noticed my cheek rested upon soft, springy moss. Birds chirped a sweet melody around me as I lay and poured the pain back into the earth with my tears, tears that cursed me even as they cleansed me.

My legs trembled and I thrust myself up and tore off my mask and gloves, throwing them as far away as I could. The sky above turned dark at my blatant defiance; thunderclouds rolled in fast, and lightening flashed the sky in streaks of fire. 

Tears streamed down my face, causing my makeup to cascade and create a kaleidoscope of color.

I was a beautiful mess. My lipstick smeared across my cheek and black spider webs surrounded my eyes.

My body ached from the tremors and wracking soul deep sobs. All of their agony coursed within me, and I’d had to hold it all inside and filter the negative energy back into positive. Now my desolate and depleted body thrummed as sweat beaded down my spine. The fine hair on my arms stood stalk straight, and my nerves were alive with electricity.

My fingers raked down my face as I screamed up into the sky, “Why me?! Why did you choose me for this?”

My pulse danced a chaotic punch line and crazy thoughts beat a frantic chorus against my temples.

The sky opened as the God of Thunder showed his wrath at my insolence and let the rain loose. I pounded my fists against the earth and rocks, blood dripping down my knuckles, as my mind and heart shattered like the stone strewn all around me.

“How did I get here?” I asked the wind with a shaky plea. “Why did I allow this to happen?”

I closed my eyes, trying in vain to forget my mistakes—all my missteps and misdeeds. All the ways I’d messed up despite my good intentions. The road may be paved with nobility, but if you weren’t careful, you could end up on the wrong path with no idea how you got there.

Or whether it’s possible to get back.

When I opened my eyes, I took a deep breath and fire lanced my throat. The roughness burned and singed liked I’d eaten hot coals or inhaled smoldering ashes, and it was then I noticed I knelt upon my bed, my entire body perspiring.

I looked down in fascinated horror at the blood dripping in rivulets down my hands, and wondered what I’d dreamed that had me so enraged I’d pummeled my fists into the wall above my headboard. Blood spatters and fist imprints decorated the white walls of my bedroom. My fingers ached, the skin broken in a myriad of places. My voice was hoarse, and my heart slammed against the ribs in my chest as if I’d run a five-mile marathon in four minutes flat.

As I climbed off the bed, my mind conjured up a photo. An image of Dixon’s lifeless eyes and clammy pallor, and I bolted towards the bathroom in sudden remembrance of why I’d punched the walls and tried to get out of my own skin.

I’d killed a man.

My bathroom was usually my oasis, my place of calm and peace. After I threw up astringent coated bile, I bent over the sink, refusing to look in the mirror. I knew what I’d see—a washed up, hollow eyed, filthy mess. I needed another shower and relaxing bath to steady my pulsing temples and cleanse my weary soul.

I glanced up quick and caught sight of myself in the mirror and froze. Dried mascara wove spider webs around my eyes, and black tear-stained streaks fringed my cheeks. My lips were crusty white and puffy. My light green eyes were listless and somber. Blood crusted my hair where I must have wiped my forehead, or maybe the sweat from my eyes as I raged. Who knew how long I’d even raged for? Minutes, hours?

My chest ached, and my core temperature shifted from hot to cold every few seconds. I couldn’t handle the pressure anymore. I closed my eyes and sought solace.

I imagined steel sheets encasing my brain and maneuvered them into place one at a time. I stacked them one on top of the other, butting them close together making sure it would be easy to fuse them with mind fire once I had them all into place. I laid the last sheet and envisioned flames welding the seams together. The steel glowed with deep blues and potent reds as I heated them. I finished the last piece and breathed a sigh of relief, a short reprieve from the emotional onslaught. I was content with the knowledge the shelter that housed my brain was virtually and psychically impenetrable.

The shakes subsided, and the thump of my heart receded back to its normal rhythm. However, I needed more power fueling my shields. I didn’t want anyone penetrating them or making me feel emotions I wasn’t ready to feel.

I formed ice with my mind and began to cover the steel shields I already had in place. I placed one ice brick, and then another, and kept going until my mind formed an igloo surrounding the now cooled steel. I used mind fire again to seal the cracks and then iced them over before they cooled. The fused pieces created a thick layer of solid ice with no holes, seams, or cracks.

After resting a moment harnessing the calm I created, I opened my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror once again. Deep grey eyes stared back at me, no longer spring green, illuminated from within by the icy cold of my shields.

I inhaled and tasted the dry tang of moss and gritty stone dust. Since I’d turned off my baser emotions, my other senses heightened, and I turned to start the shower. Maybe the steam would help regulate my temperature. I folded my arms across my chest and shivered at the coldness of my body.

As I stood waiting for the water to heat up, I heard a pounding at my front door. I debated whether to answer or let the angry person leave because I wasn’t in the mood to deal with rage, but the male voice stopped me.

He yelled, and the sound chilled my already frozen skin. “Cordelia! Open this door right now!”

My satin robe hung on the back of the bathroom door. I slipped it on and turned off the water. I found I didn’t want to let him in, but my feet made the decision, and I stood rigid, my hand hovering over the dead bolt as I silently argued with myself about whether to open and allow him to see me like this or not.

“Cordelia?” he asked with a tone reserved for small children and puppies, a tone that belayed his concern for my sanity.

I slid the lock back and opened the door, pasting a smile on my face, hoping he’d see I was fine.

“Morning, Sol. Would you like to come inside?”

Sol’s eyebrows bunched together and confusion settled in to mar his handsome face. “I’ve been pounding and yelling out here for the last ten minutes. I heard you screaming.”

“Uh, I guess it’s a good thing Aunt Bea is hard of hearing. Besides why didn't you just so that magic thing of yours and unlock the door?”

Sol growled. “Is that the best you can come up with? Cordelia, I may be a bit of a rogue, and some might consider me a scoundrel, but I respect your privacy. I will not enter your home uninvited unless your life is in danger.” His eyes took a faraway cast for a flash, and then he continued. "Another three minutes of hollering and pounding at this door though, I might have burst in."

Now, it was my turn for confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re not sure if you’re sorry? Are you okay? I was two seconds away from breaking down your door. You stopped screaming and your home got eerily quiet. I worried for you,” he said as he reached out and touched my arm, but he let go just as fast. “You’re freezing, Cordelia.”

“I know.”

“You know? You know? That’s it? That’s all you have to say? What is going on?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?”

“What are you, a parrot? Why are you repeating everything I say, expecting me to say something different? I said I was fine.”

“I can’t feel you, Cordelia. All I sense is cold. What did you do?” He tried reaching out again, but stopped just before touching me.

“I did what I had to.”

“Why are you hiding?”

The concern almost undid me, but I had to be strong. Show him I was fine, so he wouldn’t worry. I didn’t like when others worried about me. When you’ve been on your own as long as I have and been burned as many times as I have, you keep your secrets close.

“I’m not
hiding
. I’m shielding myself from further harm.”

“You don’t have to shield yourself from me.”

Well, since I barely knew him, I doubted the validity of his statement automatically. No matter he made my insides quiver, and my mind quiet. It didn’t matter that when I was in his presence, I calmed and relaxed.

He walked further into my home, and I shut and locked the door, then turned and made my way to the kitchen. Maybe hot tea would ease me. “Do you want some tea?”

“Are you going to smother it with chocolate syrup, like your coffee?”

I stared at him with a blank expression because who puts chocolate syrup in tea?

“I drink my tea black. Or, well, as is. Do you want cream and sugar?” Did I have cream and sugar? I started a running inventory of my cabinets in my head and briefly wondered if I had anything to offer him to eat.

“Honey. I take honey in my tea.”

“Okay, I have honey.”

“Dixon is dealt with. I handled the delicate situation, and you don’t have to worry.”

My throat constricted. “How did you handle it?”

“You were the last person seen with Dixon, so there is no denying you were with him at some point in the evening. I undressed him, put him in the bathtub, and used his cold fingers to dial 911 on his own phone. I croaked out a
‘help me’
and let the phone drop to the floor without breaking the connection. Congrats, the dickhead had a heart attack while bathing." He stopped for a moment, his breath labored, and I noticed for the first time his face was haggard and worn. "If the police come around to question you, tell them he was alive when he dropped you off at home because he wasn’t feeling well.” He held up his palm and said, “Before you ask, I won’t show up on any security cameras. The magic I used fouls up electronic equipment. It’s similar to how vampires don’t show a reflection in a mirror.”

“Wait, vampires are real?”

“Do you think we’re the only race of supernatural beings out there? Don’t be so naive. That’s like the human race thinking there are no other life forms in the universe.”

My fingers tightened around the handle of my mug, nearly shattering the fragile porcelain. I mumbled, “Thank you.” I’d definitely be thinking about other supernaturals at some point.

“Don’t thank me. I want to know how to help you. Tell me what’s wrong and how to fix it. Don’t bullshit me, either.” He walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter facing me.

"Are you okay Sol? You look exhausted." He did. His skin appeared dry and cracked. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his normally thick and luscious hair seemed lank and listless.

He looked away, studying my cabinets and knick-knacks. "I had to do something I've never done before. I had to make it look as if Dixon had just died when I called 911, otherwise the coroner would have noticed he passed away hours before." He shrugged and waved his hand in the air. "I'm drained, but I'll be okay." Sol turned back to face me and our gazes locked.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I don't. Not right now."

As I stared into his warm honey brown eyes, I started to lose a grip on my shields, so I looked away and blinked remember his earlier question. “You can’t even touch me, how do you think you can help me?”

In a move so fast I didn’t see his hands coming, he snatched my arms and pulled me up against his chest. I clutched the fabric of his shirt in my hands, my cheek resting over the steady beat of his heart. He fastened his arms around my back and held me so tightly my breath barely had a chance to enter and leave my mouth.