Kelley Armstrong - The Awakening

“ You got you in trouble. I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

She stepped closer. Her skin looked yellow, and purple underscored her brown eyes. “I’ve got a sister just like you, Chloe. She’s the cheerleader, the cute little blonde, bats her eyelashes and everyone comes running. Just like you at Lyle House, with Simon tripping over himself to help you. Even Derek rushed to your rescue—”

“I didn’t—”

“Do anything. That’s the point. You can’t do anything. You’re a silly, useless Barbie, just like my sister. I’m smarter, tougher, more popular. But does that matter? No.” She towered a head above me, staring down. “All anyone cares about is the helpless little blonde. But being helpless only works when there’s someone around to save you.”

She lifted her hands. Sparks leaped from her fingers. When I fell back, she grinned.

“Why don’t you call Derek to help you now, Chloe? Or your little ghost friends?” Tori advanced, the sparks swirling into a ball of blue light between her raised hands. She whipped her hands down. I dove. The ball shot over my shoulder, hit the wall, and exploded into a shower of sparks that singed my cheek.

I got to my feet, backing toward the door. Tori raised her hands and swung them down, and an invisible force knocked me over again. The room shook, every piece of furniture rocking and chattering. Even Tori looked surprised.

“Y-you’re a witch,” I said.

“Am I?” She bore down on me, her eyes as wild as her hair. “Nice for someone to tell me. My mother insisted it was all in my head. She shipped me off to Lyle House, had me diagnosed as bipolar, and gave me a cartload of meds. And I gulped them because I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

She slammed down her hands. Lightning bolts flew from her fingertips, heading straight for me.

Tori’s eyes went wide with shock, her lips parting in a silent no !

I tried to scramble out of the way, but I wasn’t fast enough. As those crackling bolts came at me, a figure materialized—a girl in a nightgown. Liz. She shoved the dresser, and it shot from the wall and into the bolt’s path. Wood splintered. The mirror glass shattered, raining shards down on me as I crouched, head down.

When I lifted my head, the room was silent and Liz was gone. The dresser lay on its side with a smoldering hole through it, and all I could think was: That could have been me.

Tori sat huddled on the floor, her knees pulled up, her face buried against them as she rocked. “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it. I get so mad, so mad. And it just happens.”

Like Liz, making things fly when she got angry. Like Rae, burning her mom in a fight. Like Derek, throwing a kid and breaking his back. What would happen if I got mad enough?

Uncontrollable powers. That wasn’t normal for supernaturals. It couldn’t be.

I took a slow step toward Tori. “Tori, I—”

The door whacked open, and Tori’s mom barreled in. She stopped short when she saw the destruction.

“Victoria Enright!” The name came out in a snarl worthy of a werewolf. “What have you done?”

“I-it wasn’t her,” I said. “It was me. We argued and I—I…”

I stared at the hole blasted through the dresser and I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know very well who’s responsible for this, Miss Chloe.” Tori’s mom turned that snarl on me. “Though I don’t doubt you played your role. You’re quite the little instigator, aren’t you?”

“Diane, that’s enough,” Dr. Davidoff snapped from the doorway. “Help your daughter clean up her mess. Chloe, come with me.”

Instigator? Me? Two weeks ago, I would have laughed at the thought. But now…Tori said this all started with me, with the guys wanting to save the helpless little girl. I hated that idea. Yet she had a point.

Derek had wanted Simon to leave Lyle House and find their dad. Simon wouldn’t leave Derek, who refused to go because he was afraid he’d hurt someone else. When Derek figured out I was a necromancer, he found his weapon to beat down Simon’s defenses. One damsel in distress, to go.

I was the poor girl who didn’t know anything about being a necromancer, who kept making mistakes, getting closer and closer to being shipped off to a mental hospital. See her, Simon? She’s in danger. She needs your help. Take her, find Dad, and he’ll fix everything.

I’d been furious with Derek, and I’d called him on it. But I hadn’t refused to go along with the plan. We needed Simon’s dad—all of us did. Even Derek, who’d eventually joined us when our escape had been uncovered and he had no choice.

If I’d known what was going to happen, would I have stopped searching for answers back at Lyle House? Would I have accepted the diagnosis, taken my meds, shut up, and gotten released?

No. Harsh truth was better than comfortable lies. It had to be.

Dr. Davidoff took me back to my room, and I told myself I was fine with that. I needed to be alone so I could try again to contact Liz, now that I knew she was still around.

I started slowly, gradually increasing my efforts until I heard a voice so soft it could have been a hiss from the vent. I looked around, hoping to see Liz in her Minnie Mouse nightshirt and giraffe socks. But there was only me.

“Liz?”

A soft, hesitant “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, getting to my feet. “I know you’re angry with me, but it didn’t seem right not to tell you the truth.”

She didn’t answer.

“I’m going to find out who killed you. I promise.”

The words flew to my lips like I was reading a script, but at least I’d had the sense to shut my mouth before promising to avenge her death. That was one of those things that made perfect sense on the screen, but in real life, you think Great…and how exactly would I do that? Liz stayed silent, like she was holding out for more.

“Can I see you?” I said. “Please?”

“I can’t…come through. You need to try harder.”

I sat back on the floor, hands wrapped in her hoodie and concentrated.

“Harder,” she whispered.

I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined myself pulling Liz through. Just one huge yank and—

A familiar tinkling laugh sent me scrambling to my feet. Warm air slid along my unbandaged forearm.

I yanked my sleeve down. “ You . I didn’t call you.”

“You didn’t need to, child. When you summon, spirits must obey. You called to your friend and the shades of a thousand dead answered, winging their way back to their rotted shells.” Her breath tickled my ear. “Shells buried in a cemetery two miles away. A thousand corpses ready to become a thousand zombies. A vast army of the dead for you to control.”

“I—I didn’t—”

“No, you didn’t. Not yet. Your powers need time to mature. And then?” Her laugh filled the room. “Dear Dr. Lyle must be dancing in Hell today, his agonies borne away on the thrill of his triumph. Dearly departed, scarcely lamented, deeply demented Dr. Samuel Lyle. Creator of the prettiest, sweetest abomination I have ever seen.”

“Wh-what?”

“A bit of this, a bit of that. A twist here, a tweak there. And look what we have.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against the urge to ask what she meant. Whatever this thing was, I couldn’t trust her, no more than I could trust Dr. Davidoff and the Edison Group.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“The same thing you do. Freedom from this place.”

I settled onto the bed. As hard as I looked, though, I couldn’t see any sign of her. There was only the voice and the warm breeze.

“You’re trapped here?” I asked.

“Like a fairy under a bell jar, metaphorically speaking. Fairies are a product of the human imagination. Little people flitting about on wings? How positively quaint. A more fitting simile would be to say that I am trapped like a lightning bug in a bottle. For magical energy, nothing quite compares to a soul-bound demi-demon. Except, of course, a soul-bound full demon, but to summon one and attempt to harness its power would be suicide. Just ask Samuel Lyle.”