Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
At Avery’s yesterday, Leo reminded us psychics to keep our senses honed, especially while we’re walking around campus and town.
Unfortunately, I’m so well-practiced at ignoring or running away from emotions, that I don’t have the slightest clue how to pay attention to them, at least not while going about my daily life.
My strolls from class to class today were grueling.
What was that twinge of anger? Was that the weapon?
Why do I feel sad all of a sudden? Oh, it’s just that girl over there, frowning at her phone.
And now, as I trudge past the stadium to the practice fields to meet Rime, I’m consumed, for the millionth time, by misgivings. I’m a baby psychic who can’t even crawl, much less walk. How do I tame the chaos that is my ability and bend it to my will?
Sure, Leo could guide me, but he’s not going to be here. And trust me, I’m fine with that. His instruction these past few months may’ve been helpful, but considering the motive behind it, I’m better off without him.
I wrap my arms around myself, even though it’s not terribly cold outside.
Cloudy and damp, but not cold. Rain has darkened the tree branches, but a few of them are starting to bud, foretelling spring.
As I circumnavigate the baseball and lacrosse fields, I’m relieved to find it’s the women’s lacrosse team that’s practicing this afternoon, not the men’s.
Now is seriously not the time to cross paths with my ex.
I spot Rime in the small crowd along the tennis court fence, enjoying what appears to be a men’s match.
With elbows on the top rail, he watches, rapt, as the players send the ball back and forth over the net.
I hope he doesn’t ask me any questions about how the game is played, because I’m not much of a sports person.
I know a little about football and, because of Zander and Jamie, lacrosse.
But tennis? All I know is that you don’t want to miss when you swing.
I come up beside him and grab hold of the fence. “Having fun?”
“Betts. Hello.” He gives me a smile that has the girls behind me tittering. “I’m watching this… this tennis. It’s interesting.”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to come back here one day and watch the other sports. What’s that one?”
“Lacrosse. The Indigenous Americans invented it.”
“Ah. We have something similar in Nàdar, but our sticks have paddles instead of nets.”
I can’t even begin to picture that.
“And what’s that one?” he asks.
“Baseball.”
“Hmm. Base and ball.” His endearing ignorance makes him sound like some sort of alien.
Nervously, I peek over my shoulder at the giggling girls. They’re too far away to pick up the details of our conversation, but it probably wouldn’t matter anyway. The way they’re looking at him, he could be talking about the mother-ship and they wouldn’t care.
“Shall we?” I gesture in the direction of the river.
As we make our way, I tell him what I know about baseball—which is next to nothing—and he tells me about some of the Stag Clan’s favorite games: one that sounds like rugby and another that closely resembles capture the flag.
Dressed as he is, all in black, he looks more like a biker than an athlete, but with that physique, I’m sure he’s chosen first for every team.
He slows when the river comes into view. “Alright, so I’m supposed to take you to the area where Aaron heard the musket fire.” He points to our right.
“Do you know where that is? Were you with him?”
“No. He and Avery came with Leo. But they put a red circle on the spot.”
Literally? Oh, wait. “You mean on your phone?”
“Yeah.”
He goes to take it out of his pocket, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t show me. I don’t want to know where it is.” The power of suggestion might influence what I sense.
Rime nods. “I’ll keep my poker face on.”
I smile and give him a thumbs-up. Ten points for the proper use of an idiom.
The path from the practice fields comes to an end at a concrete retaining wall that’s almost as high as my shoulders.
I stand on my tiptoes to look over it. There’s not much of a bank here, just an abrupt drop into the river.
To our left, a poorly maintained path disappears into the woods.
Fortunately, Rime leads me to the right, where a more inviting grass verge stretches before us.
It’s not as slippery or muddy as I expected it to be, and I’m able to relax and focus on the natural beauty around me.
Thanks to a warm, wet winter, the river’s current is strong enough to serenade us with a steady, humming rush.
Across the water, only about thirty yards away, is pure wilderness—no buildings, practice fields, paths, or streets—just a steep, forest-covered hillside.
As we walk along, my eyes snag on some bright green new growth beneath the trees lining our path. Curious, I stop walking and bend low to get a better look. Little white flowers push their way up among the roots and dead leaves. “What are those?”
“Snowdrops.” Rime crouches beside me and nudges their thick leaves aside, showing me how the flowers hang like teardrops from their shepherd’s hook stems.
“Isn’t this early for flowers?” I’d hate for these beauties to get nipped by a good mountain freeze.
“Not for snowdrops. In Nàdar, they’ll sometimes even bloom in January. They’re one of the first wildflowers of spring.”
I steal a glance at him as he rises. This man—faerie—whatever—is such a walking contradiction. A blond John Wick admiring delicate spring flowers. Is it strange that I trust him? Not really. What’s truly strange is that, even though I don’t trust Leo, I’m reassured by his begrudging faith in Rime.
With a sigh, I straighten and look out over the water, taking a moment to quiet my mind.
This area has a vibe of its own, that’s for certain.
An energy similar to a historic building or church.
As wild and beautiful as it is, this section of the river isn’t untouched.
Generations have lived, worked, and died alongside it.
I can feel the thrum of human activity, even though Rime and I are the only people here.
He asks, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” I start walking again, and he falls into step beside me.
“Did you feel something?”
I huff a laugh. “I always feel something. But, yeah, it feels like things happened around here.” It’s a lame way to put it, but it’s the best I can do. That’s the trouble with feelings: they defy words.
“Bad things? Good things?”
“All the things. At some time or another, people have lived down here.” It could’ve been four hundred years ago or forty. There’s no way to know for sure, other than that the energy feels old.
I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. It’s a good ten degrees cooler here by the water. The wind is having a fun time with Rime’s fine hair, blowing it across his forehead and making it stand up like a chicken comb. But even with rooster hair, he’s an imposing presence.
With every step we take down the path, my anxiety builds. How much closer are we to the musket fire? I feel like I’m at the doctor’s, waiting to get a shot. Any second, someone will jab a needle into my arm, and no matter how much I brace myself for it, it’s still going to hurt like hell.
This energy field I’m about to walk into, whatever and wherever it is, is going to suck.
It doesn’t matter how much I prepare myself for it.
Like I did with Jason’s panic in the O-Chi basement, I might be able to dissociate myself from it once it hits, but I get the feeling his overdose was small potatoes compared to what I’m going to face, maybe not today, but at some point during this seek-and-find mission.
I glance over at Rime as we walk. Maybe calming magic isn’t such a bad thing, because I’m really wishing he had some right now. It would make this easier. Like knowing you’re going to be sent home from surgery with painkillers.
“So, uh—” I conceal my nervousness in a joke, “—did Leo give you an hour-long PowerPoint lecture on what to do if I freak out?”
Rime chuckles. “He has me well-prepared.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That at the first sign of distress, I’m to get you away from the energy. As quickly as I can.”
“And what if I won’t move?”
“Then I should knock you into the river.”
“What?!”
He meets my glare with a hearty laugh. “I’m joking, little psychic.”
“How about you go into the river?” I bump him, hoping to make him stumble, but he doesn’t stagger, not even one step. I may as well have crashed into a redwood tree.
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Move!” I knock into him again. Nothing. Giggling, I plead, “Can’t you just pretend to stumble?”
“Go ahead, try again.”
I’m about to charge him, hands up for the ultimate shove, when a blast of fear flips my stomach upside down. I freeze, too overcome to notice him reaching for me until he’s seized my shoulders.
“No!” I hiss. “Not yet.”
“Betts—”
“Give me a minute. It’s not that bad.”
Trusting him to keep me upright, I go still and focus.
My stomach roils as my chest constricts with panic.
I hold onto Rime by his sleeves, fighting the urge to run.
An urge that could just as easily be my own as it could be the energy I’m sensing.
Ripples of horror lift the hairs on my arms, and anger burns my skin. Good lord, what happened here?
“Little psychic—”
“I’m okay.” I’m not angry. I’m not afraid. It’s just energy, it’s just energy, it’s just energy.
“What are you feeling?”
I gulp down the saliva pooling in my mouth and list the emotions.
“I’ll bet this is where Aaron heard the gunfire.” Rime glances this way and that, as though a rifleman might come crashing out of the underbrush.
I nod. No doubt this river has seen its fair share of drownings, animal attacks, and hunting accidents, but the distinct vein of hate and anger I’m picking up suggests something out of the ordinary happened here. Some sort of human versus human conflict.
Rime keeps a supporting hand on my arm as he pulls his phone from the chest pocket of his jacket. He hands it to me and watches over my shoulder as, with shaky hands, I work the map app, letting the GPS find our current location. Sure enough, we’re standing right where Leo dropped the pin.
“Same spot,” I croak.
“Same spot,” Rime echoes.
He stays close as I meander about the space, trying to see how wide the energies stretch.
They’re consistent—fury, fear, and horror—but as I walk about ten yards further, they begin to fade, just as they do when I get closer to the river.
I swing wide on my walk back, hugging my own shoulders as I hug the edge of the woods.
Somehow, I know I haven’t felt the worst of it yet.
The distance stretches between me and Rime.
By yards and yards and yards. Even though I’m walking toward him.
He’s speaking, but I’m not hearing. I’m drowning—I must be—because no air is getting into my lungs.
I grip my chest, shocked to find it solid and whole.
Anguish floods me, so intense my legs start to give.
“Enough!” barks a voice. Strong hands push me forward, one unsteady step after the next. The further we walk, the better I feel, until finally the band around my lungs releases and the fog around the edges of my thoughts recedes.
“I’m okay,” I gasp. “I’m fine.”
Rime halts, spins me around, and studies my eyes.
“Really,” I insist. I can breathe and I can stand. I can even think, sort of. What I obviously can’t do? Walk through a tragic energy field without an escort.
“More of the same?” he asks.
“Worse.” I point in the direction we came from. “It goes that way for, like, twenty, thirty feet. It’s in that whole space.” I gesture to the line of trees, only half-aware that I’m walking back toward them. “Here is where—”
“No, don’t go back up there,” Rime orders, echoing almost word for word what Leo said when I tried to run back to the mill-workers’ site. A realization powerful enough to drain the fight out of me.
I take one last glance at the trees. “Somebody died there. More than one person, I think. And violently.”
Rime’s blue eyes widen.
“Not because of the weapon, though,” I say. “At least I don’t think so.” The terror was too intimate, like the victims were looking directly into the eyes of their killers.
“Come on.” Rime’s throat bobs as he drops his phone back into his pocket. “Let’s get you away from here.”
“You don’t think we should go further?”
“The others already did. Leo said they walked nearly a mile out.”
I’m too shaken to argue with him. He takes me by the elbow and leads me, numb and trembling, away from the site.
As the increasing distance lifts the weight of the energies off my shoulders, relief loosens my tongue. “If I had to guess, I mean, if the settlement was here, and if there were muskets and all that… don’t you think… I mean, I wonder…”
Rime draws me up short. “Breathe, little psychic.”
Breathe? Oh yeah, I suppose I should. I let him coach me, yogi-style, through several deep breaths. It’s hard work, but finally my brain starts to clear. Leo would’ve probably calmed me with his magic ten minutes ago.
“Now, tell me what you think happened.” It’s a gentle command.
“This is pure speculation, but based on history, and based on what I felt, I think the settlers had some sort of fight with the Indigenous Americans. And some of them were killed.”
“Who was killed?”
“I have no idea.”
He nods.
While terrifying and admittedly fascinating, this revelation brings us no closer to the weapon.