Source Fire: A Young Adult Fantasy (Arcturus Academy Book 5) Page 15

  I walked Georjie to her bedroom, one door down from Tomio, and two doors down from me. We whispered good night in the dark hallway, then slipped into our rooms.

  12

  Besieged

  It began with a dark, horizonless void the color of an eggplant. Flickers of light licked at the periphery of my vision momentarily, there and then gone, making me wonder if there was something wrong with my eyes, or silent fireworks were going off somewhere behind me.

  I’d gone through my bathroom routine and dressed for bed in a bit of a haze, the edges of everything blurry in the gloom, or blurry because I was just too tired to focus anymore. Multiple flights across several time-zones in such a short time were murder, even for a young person.

  I was dreaming. I had to be, but it was so lucid. Was I traveling through space? The rainbow flickers of light were perhaps projected from passing galaxies?

  I felt a psychic tug on my mind, like a toy boat on the end of a rope with a boy’s gentle fingers guiding the vessel this way and that.

  After landing in London, after the airport. What happened next?

  The pull was gentle but insistent, and came with a flash of lemon yellow to my right. I turned, seeking a better look. A light source could not be seen, but the movement kicked off a sensation that reminded me of the steady slide of a curling stone, a slide and a turn I was powerless to stop. It was a familiar feeling. But the yellow light ceased, and only that depthless purple-black presented itself, no matter which way I turned and drifted. Frustration glimmered deep inside my mind, but there was a flash of tangerine orange from above and the frustration was overruled in favor of curiosity. I wondered vaguely if this was how Alice felt after following the white rabbit into its hole: confused, intrigued, puzzled by the quaint place in which she found herself.

  A sense of being gently redirected brought my awareness back to the topic at hand, with another inquisitive tug. Some force probed my mind for answers: After the airport. Run it through your mind. Play it back, like a film.

  It had been raining, and the temperature was warm enough to leave a layer of mist over the tarmac as we stepped from the plane and waited for the van. I stood beside Tomio, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, his head against my hair, as we were asked to wait five minutes. The van would be delivered from the service parking lot. Someone had spoken in a strong East London accent. Not to me, but to Basil. Ms. Shepherd had gone already, Mehmet and Shereen had gone shortly afterward—her tall, slender frame disappearing against the glimmer of glazed illumination from the terminal building. Orange lights flashed, safety lights, or the ones held by airport personnel. I couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter.

  Another soft tap to send me in the right direction: These details are unimportant.

  In my mind’s eye, I watched as Davazlar and Ryan oversaw the extraction of the wooden crate. It emerged from the belly of the plane, slowly, gingerly, with the word ‘Fragile’ stenciled on the side. It was so bright, that crate, almost like the wood had been permeated by a reflective substance. Funny. I hadn’t recalled it being so vibrant. Why had Basil chosen such an attention-drawing box in which to house—

  My mind recoiled like a snail’s antennae, suddenly shy. There was a nebulous, ill-defined sensation of danger being close. I pulled away from the memory, twisting and drifting again, like that curling stone swerving around its mark.

  There came a flash of red on black on red, a full-frontal assault, accompanied by a throat-tightening, face-blistering feeling of rage that was not mine.

  It was gone before I could linger on its origin, but not before I shrank away on reflex, sending my formless weight gliding in reverse.

  Green threads emerged on either side of my vision, narrow rivers of emerald and lime, like the northern lights. So beautiful. So, comforting. A feeling of utter peace and sedation leeched into me. I almost felt numb.

  Think of the box. What happened to the box?

  My memory resurfaced as images appeared to be painted across a backdrop of heavily saturated pigmentation: the unmarked van, windowless, clean, and in pristine condition, had approached slowly. It had stopped, then reversed so its rear double doors were presented to the group standing at the foot of the plane, the box on the pavement between them.

  The box.

  Yes, the bright, glowing box with the letters stenciled on the side.

  Keys had been exchanged, and some small-talk, between Basil, Davazlar and the driver, who seemed in a hurry to get on to his next task. He tipped a finger to the brim of his newsboy cap and loped toward the nearest terminal, moving with the boundless energy of youth. The mist swallowed him the way it had swallowed Shereen and Ms. Shepherd.

  Back to the box. The delivery boy is of no consequence.

  This thought was accompanied by a bouquet of pretty pink bubbles, inflating slowly and then bursting in slow-motion one after the other. The effect was mesmerizing. With the pop of each bubble, the visual of a bright wooden crate with the word ‘Fragile’ stenciled on the side became sharper. It sat on wet pavement, throwing a short confusion of shadows in the synthetic lights.

  Well, the box. It had been loaded gently into the van, hadn’t it? Why else had the van been necessary? It had slid perfectly between a set of bench seats, each bolted to the floor and facing the other. Tomio had held the van door open for me because it tended to swing shut. Then he’d followed me in and settled on the seat beside me. Basil and Ryan had come in after, and the driver’s side door had slammed. Davazlar turned on the engine, and the van rolled.

  Where did the van roll to?

  My memory balked. I couldn’t see, could I? There were no windows, and I had to crane my neck to look out the windscreen. And why would I bother when I was so tired?

  These thoughts were petulant, annoyed, and ever so slightly tinged with something else. Rebellion? Deviousness? I tasted something sour in my mouth and wrinkled my nose, or tried. I had no hands, no face, but the sensation of wrinkling my nose was still there. The sour taste turned bitter.

  Focus!

  An explosion of teal lights, jagged and retina-searing, startled me, above and to my left. The sliding sensation increased as I turned for a better view.

  Saxony. Wake up!

  The words echoed as though shouted into a canyon: You’re in danger… anger… anger!

  This echoed too, only it came back to me changed: I’m in danger… anger… anger!

  My skin prickled, and I became aware of my body, my weight, my breath. I gasped so harshly that my throat burned, and I came awake at once. Lying in my bed at the academy, I was safe in my bedroom, yet the feeling of being in danger yanked me upright, like I was tied to a ceiling fan by a rope. The sliding sensation sent me upward, straight through the ceiling. Alarm coursed through my nerves, hot and acidic. How could I still be sliding?

  An equally powerful force pulled me the other direction, stretching and snapping me back, sending me sailing down through the floor.

  The van. The box. Think of them. It’s of the utmost importance. You must… focus. I demand it!

  I.

  One word. I felt as though I’d been slapped. This “I” was not me. This I was an invader.

  My heart throbbed and my stomach clenched as a powerful, sickly-sweet feeling of being violated punched me in the throat. I scrambled for the surface of my consciousness, screaming, though there was no sound. A different scream echoed mine, a deep, evil-sounding howl from somewhere behind me. No. Not behind me, below me. It sent my body in a spasm of panic, my mind crawling desperately away, hand over hand, clawing into whatever I could hold.

  I lurched upright for a second time, this time for real, dizzy and gasping. I clutched at my ribs, my arms. My body finally felt solid.

  My sheets were soaked, my skin felt like ice—a sensation I’d not had since I was a natural. All of the hairs on my body pricked upright, and this time they were accompanied by goosebumps so strong they actually hurt. Panting like I’d just sprinted a hundred-m
eter dash, I raked my gaze around my bedroom. It was quiet and dark and empty save for me.

  Rubbing my legs vigorously to get rid of the horrible gooseflesh, I swung out of bed and reached for my water glass. My throat and mouth were parched. Gulping the cup’s entire content, I got to my feet and turned on the desk light, happy to see my vision was sharp.

  But I was shaking and shuddering uncontrollably, as though hypothermia had gripped my nervous system and musculature. An absurd notion for a mage. Shock penetrated like a million tiny needles down my spine. I stood there in the middle of my room, holding an empty glass and looking around without registering what I was seeing.

  What the hell was all that?

  But I knew exactly what it had been: a full-on psychic attack, by a mage who must have gained access to the vulnerable sleeping minds of lesser magi. This was a weapon I had no idea how to fight. The thought of going back to sleep left me feeling weak with fear and shot through with adrenaline. Was this why the hairs on my body had stood upright in the lounge, when I’d gone to turn off the light? Had Nero been scoping me out, to see if I was asleep yet so he could make a move on my subconscious?

  What would it mean if my memory had followed our van all the way here, to the academy? What if the psychic pressure had pulled the image of the statue’s hiding place from my imagination, like a loose thread being pulled from a knit sweater?

  Terror lanced through my stomach, and it gave an unpleasant heave.

  Staggering into my bathroom, I flipped up the toilet seat and got myself positioned over the bowl, thinking I was going to throw up. But after a few seconds of deep breathing, the nausea passed, leaving me feeling trembly.

  Going into my bedroom, I stood in the middle of the carpet casting about my room for an idea of how to defend myself. My gaze fell on the clock. It was nearly one a.m. Most of the night was still ahead of me. Raking a hand through my mass of curls, I let out a forceful sigh, then another thought struck me. If Nero could reach my mind while I was sleeping, could he reach any one of us, or was I just the most mentally weak of our group, the easiest subconscious to penetrate? Now that I was conscious, did that mean he’d seek out someone else’s memories? Could he only search one mage at a time?

  Shivering from stress, I snatched my bathrobe from the back of the door and peeked out into the hallway. All was gloomy and quiet as a graveyard. Bare feet padding on the hall runner, I went to Georjie’s room and listened at the keyhole. Nothing. But Georjie wouldn’t be a target anyway. Leaving Georgie’s room, I went to the room Tomio had claimed before we’d left for the Arctic. He’d picked it to be near me, and I loved knowing he was close by.

  His door stood open an inch. I pushed at it with a fingertip, peeking through the crack. He was a lump under a thin bedsheet, dark hair spiked out against his pillowcase. I crept in further, listening to his deep, even breathing.

  He didn’t look like he was under attack. He lay on his side with one hand tucked under his pillow and the other open against the mattress, his tanned skin dark against the white sheets. The muscles of his arm and shoulder were soft and relaxed with sleep. The skin of his back was bare. Tomio slept shirtless, I knew that from Naples.

  I backed up, feeling like a creep, even though I’d only wanted to make sure he was okay.

  A floor board creaked under my foot, and I froze with a wince.

  Tomio shifted, the frame of the wooden bed squeaking softly. He raised his head, eyes still mostly closed. “Saxony?”

  I waved my fingers and smiled. “Hi.”

  “What are you—” He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of one eye before peering at me with more focus. “Are you okay?”

  Well, now that he was awake…

  I padded forward until I was past the foot of his bed, not sure how to start. “I am, but… I wasn’t. I think—”

  I hesitated. Now that I was fully awake, I wasn’t sure anymore that what I had dreamed had actually been an attack. What if it had just been a vivid fear-dream? But then again, what if that’s what Nero wanted me to believe, so that I would lower my guard and brush it off?

  Tomio sat up, the sheet falling away from his chest. He shuffled over and patted the mattress. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to go back to sleep until you tell me.” He smiled crookedly. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re welcome here anytime, day or night.”

  He lifted the sheet and it was all the invitation I needed. I thought no further than how it would feel to have his arms around me. I slipped off my robe and scooted onto his bed, turned my back to him and lay my head on his pillow. He lay behind me and put his arm around my ribcage. The feeling of his solid bulk against my body immediately soothed me and my eyes drifted closed.

  He didn’t push me to talk. Maybe he was too tired or maybe he figured I’d talk when I was ready to talk, but he pulled me into his body, put his nose in my hair and inhaled.

  “You smell so good.” His voice was husky and the sound of it did something delicious to me.

  Warmth and longing pooled in my stomach and pelvis, my eyes drifted open as Tomio ran his palm over the back of my hand and interlaced his fingers over mine. He drew a lock of my hair back from my ear with the tip of his nose and planted a kiss behind my ear—gentle, a question. It sent shivers down my spine and made my thighs feel weak. Rolling into him, I turned my face up to his.

  That was it.

  The world tilted on its side and every nerve ending came alive. The heat of his mouth soaked through the full length of me. I ran my hand around the back of his neck, deepening our kisses. I couldn’t get enough of him and wondered if I might actually die if we stopped.

  His skin was so soft under my hands, so smooth and perfect, encasing hard curves of muscle that fit perfectly under my palms. He was made for me to touch, to smell, to taste. His scent clouded my mind and blocked out everything else. His sounds, the little moans in the back of his throat and the deeper sounds, like growls, made my toes curl and my eyes roll beneath my eyelids. The feeling of his kisses, his lips, his hands gliding over my body and lifting off my shirt, skimming the sensitive sides of my breasts. I was consumed by him.

  As air hit my naked skin, he stopped, looking me over and pausing so long that I felt I might melt away under his gaze, like candle wax. I held my arms up for him, realizing that I was on my back now, and wanting nothing more than to feel his weight on me. He tossed my shirt aside and came for me, blocking out all things visible and invisible.

  There was nothing else but him.

  It was almost half past two when a soft rain started. The wind picked up, blowing gently through the eaves. We were spooning again, breathing in time. I glanced at the clock on the desk and took a slow, deep breath. Tomio was relaxed, but not asleep. His thumb drew slow circles on the palm of my hand.

  Sleeping with him had done wonders for my emotional state, but worries now crept in at the edges, like hungry wolves circling injured prey. If I let myself fall asleep, would it happen again?

  “You going to tell me what’s on your mind?” Tomio’s breath brushed against the back of my neck, making me shiver.

  “How can you tell something is on my mind.”

  His voice was a low, sleepy rasp. “As much as I would like to think you snuck in here in the middle of the night for naked hugs with your super-hot boyfriend, I’m not quite that cocky. Close, but not quite.”

  I smiled. “Well, even if that hadn’t been my original intention, plan B turned out to be better than plan A ever was.”

  “What was plan A?” He dropped a kiss on the back of my shoulder.

  “I’m not sure, but it involved making sure you weren’t having an unpleasant episode in your sleep, and possibly not going back to sleep myself. At least, not alone.”

  He stilled. I could practically feel him orienting all his thoughts in my direction.

  I cleared my throat. “There might have been a breach.”

  He lifted his head. “What?”

  I turned my face in his directio
n, seeing the alarm etched in his eyes. So much for post-coital cuddling.

  “In my mind,” I clarified.

  Dismay and confusion wrangled across his features as he sat up, gaze latched on my face. I straightened too, sitting with my back braced against his headboard. I wrapped my arms around my knees as I drew them up to my chest.

  “The memory of it is faded now, but I think Nero got into my dreams.”

  “You had a nightmare?”

  I shook my head, trying to recall the experience, which already seemed as unclear as a distant ship on a foggy, windswept night. “No, it wasn’t a nightmare. Not exactly. There was no scary imagery or anything like that. There were a lot of colored lights, and I had no body. I felt like I was sliding through the universe on a sheet of ice, which, come to think of it, was a bit like traveling with the orb. But there was this other quality, too. A kind of internal pressure to go back over details in my mind and relive our arrival at the airport. And there was a lot of… compulsion to focus on the crate. Specifically, where it went after the airport.”

  Tomio’s breath hitched. He had no trouble believing that it had been a psychic invasion and not just a dream, I could see it in his face. “Holy crap, Saxony. Did you show him where we are?”

  “No, I woke up before it got that far. But, well, if that was him digging around in my mind”—I shuddered with revulsion at the feeling of being violated—“then he knows we landed in London.” My skin prickled as something that should have occurred to me earlier now came into my mind with outstretched talons. “And, he knows Basil was there.”

  Tomio ran his hair into spikes with his fingers. “Damn it, Saxony. He’ll come here for sure. Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

  He got out of bed, his beautiful form bare before my hungry gaze.

  “I… hadn’t thought about it in so much detail as to put two and two together like that.” I rushed out of bed, casting about for my shorts and t-shirt. They were nowhere to be seen, probably tangled up in the bedsheets. I picked up the bedding and shook it out.