Chaos (The Realmwalker Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

Chapter 30

I’m frozen in
place as my mother skewers me with a frightening look.

“Um,” I swallow nervously. “Hi?” I try tentatively.

“We need to talk. NOW,” she says in a dangerously quiet voice. She turns and marches out of the front room. Heartbeat quickening, I follow her, filled with a sense of dread that only a mother can inspire. I try anxiously to think of what could have upset her. Receiving the donation has made the last few days the happiest, most cheerful we’ve shared in a long time. What could possibly have upset her enough to chase away even that joy? As we sit down at the kitchen table facing each other, a sickening thought hits me.

She knows.

I search her eyes. Could she possibly have found out about Chaos? Does she know about my new life? I wouldn’t blame her for feeling angry, even betrayed.

“Explain this,” she says through tightly pursed lips. She slides a large white envelope across the table. I look down at it, fearing at first that she has found my Walker account credit card. Instead, this envelope is new. It’s been opened. I pull out the papers and briefly skim over the words on the first page.

“Oh,” I say as I realize what it is. I look up at her meekly. Her expression doesn’t change.

“UCLA?” she says with deceptive calmness. “Next fall?”

“Uh,” I say, tapping my fingers on the table searching for some way to explain. In the hustle and bustle of the last few days, I’d forgotten I was supposed to be easing my mom into this. My oh-so-clever plan had been eclipsed with my new training priorities.

“When were you going to tell me?” Her voice rises as she begins to lose control of her temper.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I guess I forgot,” I apologize. She gives me an incredulous look.

“Forgot? To tell me you were planning on leaving home? Moving out of state for school?”

“I applied forever ago! When I didn’t hear back right away, I figured that meant I was rejected. I never even thought I would get in.” I try this excuse out, mentally crossing my fingers.

She puffs air out and hangs her head down, rubbing her forehead with her fingers.

“Well, you got in,” she says shortly.

“Oh.”

We sit in silence for a few moments as she massages her skull.

Quietly, in a softer voice she asks, “Why there? Why UCLA?”

“Mrs. McCowen suggested it.” I pull the idea out of the blue. “She gave me the application, said their art program was great.”

“Your art teacher?” she asks, looking back up at me.

I nod. “And well, Gram lives there. I thought, on the off-chance that I even got in, it might not be such a bad idea.”

I could see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she reluctantly considers this.

“I meant to tell you, Mom, really. But then I thought, why stress you out about tuition for an out-of-state university when my chances of getting in weren’t great anyway?”

Her expression finally begins to soften. “And why wouldn’t you get in? Your grades are above average, your art has won awards. Of course they were going to accept you.”

I shrug, hoping to play up on the youthful naiveté angle.

She looks at me steadily. “I don’t like secrets, Addy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“When I saw this, I thought …” she trails off.

“What?” I prompt gently.

In a self-deprecating manner she says, “I guess I thought, I don’t know, that you were trying to get away from me.”

“What? No!” I insist. “How could you think that?”

“Well, you never mentioned UCLA before,” she says defensively. She seems to be questioning herself now. Shaking her head, she says, “I always worry. Constantly. I can’t help fearing that I’m not doing enough. Since Dad, well …” tears brim on her lower lids. “Sometimes I feel like I’m failing. I thought, ‘Addy’s sneaking around, applying to colleges out of state so she can get far away from me.’”

“Mom. That’s crazy.” I lay my hand over hers. “You’re not failing. You’re the greatest! I won’t go, okay? I won’t go to UCLA.”

“No, that’s not what I want.” She laughs at herself through her tears. “I’m sorry, Addy. I guess my hurt turned to anger. I haven’t really thought about this.”

“It’s okay,” I say, eager to pacify her and stop her tears.

“No, it’s not. You got a full ride, Addy. A FULL RIDE,” she emphasizes. “I should be telling you how proud of you I am. And I am. I’m so proud of you. Had I known you applied, I would have expected no less.” She’s smiling now, draining the tension out of the atmosphere. She scoffs, “Can we chalk this one up to pre-empty nest syndrome?”

Laughing with her, I say, “Sure, Mom. Only, don’t ever think those things again,” I say more seriously.

She nods, too choked with emotion to say anything.

Over dinner we discuss UCLA more. She even remembers, without any prompting from me, that Ember’s moving there this summer. I can’t believe my luck when she suggests we get an apartment or dorm together. Victory! While it isn’t the way I envisioned achieving this goal, it’s a victory nonetheless.

As I’m getting ready to sleep, I hear an electronic chirp come from where my phones are charging by my bed. Looking at my Chaos phone, I see I have a text waiting for me. It’s from Sam.

Adelaide, please join Harmony and Kira in Logistics first thing tonight to give a progress report of your training. Thank you. –Sam

Will Sam be there too? Suddenly I’m filled with hopeful anticipation. It’s only been days since I last saw him but it feels like weeks. Nervousness spreads through me as I think of reporting my progress from the last week to him. I hope I’ve done enough so far, but there’s only one way to find out. I crawl under my covers and pass through the gateway of sleep.

Chapter 31

Before heading to
Logistics, I take some extra time to make myself presentable. I shower and fix my hair so that it’s slightly curlier than normal. I put on my favorite outfit—navy cargo pants and a snug, dark grey T-shirt. As I‘m getting ready, I notice how my physique has changed. My frame is more slender, not as soft as it used to be. There are defined lines of muscle along my arms. The change is good. It’s evidence of my hard work.

Satisfied with my appearance, I head to Logistics and find Angel, Kira, Sam, and—surprisingly—Timothy waiting for me. They’re gathered around Sam’s desk, talking, with Angel sitting cross-legged on top. I’m willing to wager she’s the only Walker who can get away with sitting on top of the boss’s desk.

“Hi guys,” I say from the doorway, nervous again. This is a performance review after all. It would be impossible for me to NOT be a little edgy.

“Adelaide, come in. Have a seat.” Sam indicates an open chair next to Kira. I examine him as nonchalantly as I can, looking for any signs that he is injured or unwell.

He looks good. Aside from a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin and a vague kind of tiredness around his eyes, he’s the picture of health.

One of the first things I notice as I sit down is the way I’m increasingly aware of each individual and their “frequencies.” Each person’s output has a different feel to it, as unique as their personalities. If I’d entered the room with my eyes closed, I would’ve been able to tell you exactly who was present.

Angel smiles warmly in greeting. “Kira and I were just telling Sam how far you’ve come this last week.”

Sam nods, approval in those crystal blue eyes. “They both tell me you’ve been working hard. They say they’ve taught you nearly all they can. Very impressive for a short week,” he says.

“Really?” I look from Angel to Kira in surprise.

“It’s true,” Kira says. “Your physical basic training is complete. Now is when we’d typically start your field training.”

Field training. Finally. I’m filled with an odd mixture of apprehension and excitement at the thought of actually testing out my skills on real live Shades.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sam cautions. “Your case is anything but typical.”

“I can’t field train?” I protest.

Sam holds his hands up defensively. “Now hold on. I didn’t say that,” he explains. “I just think we should be more cautious about this. None of the other Walkers have had to field train with a Greater Shade keen on their demise.”

As disappointed as I am, I have to concede he may have a point. Reluctantly, I remind myself that he is Boss and try to trust his judgment.

Timothy interjects, “He’s right, Addy. Something strange is happening out there, and we really should have a better understanding of the situation before we send you out.”

“Do you mean the increase in Lesser Shades?” I ask, looking from face to face.

“It’s not really anything to worry about,” Kira explains. “The Lessers are easy to defeat. It’s just the sudden influx has kept us running near-constant hunting missions just to keep the numbers under control.”

“An exceptionally clever and dangerous Greater Shade shows up in Chaos,” I say, “and all of a sudden there’s swelling numbers of Lesser Shades? It can’t be a coincidence.”

Sam runs his hand wearily down the side of his face. “That occurred to us too.”

“So, what does it mean?” I wonder aloud.

“We aren’t certain,” Timothy says, “but we have an idea.”

“Of course,” I say as it dawns on me. “It’s a distraction. We’re being kept busy on purpose,” I offer, looking to the others for confirmation.

“That’s what we think,” Angel says.

“What’s that Greater Shade up to?” I muse.

“A very good question,” Sam adds. “One we need more time to answer.”

Angel jumps down from her place on the desk. “And in the meantime, Addy, as a Mimic you should begin learning as many of the other Walkers’ abilities as you can.”

“Starting with mine.” Timothy claps me on the back. “Feel up to some target practice?”

The others take this to mean the meeting’s over. As I follow Timothy out of the room, I glance back regretfully at Sam. I wish we had more time to visit. I’ve missed him and the comforting effect his presence has on me. When our eyes meet, one corner of his mouth lifts in a half smile. That simple gesture, that smile just for me is enough to make my heart skip a beat. I smile back and wave good-bye, unsure when I’ll see him again.

Timothy leads me to an area of the training wing that I haven’t used before. The large room runs the length of my high school’s gymnasium. Along the far wall are a number of targets. Most of them are shaped as various Shades, both Lesser and Greater, which makes sense. Some however, are shaped like men—with the target rings focused on the head and chest—and others are simple, traditionally shaped circles. In an attached room there’s an array of weapons, most of which I’m seeing for the first time tonight.

Timothy has a way of making everything he does look effortless. As I stretch my mind out to observe his process, I’m intrigued and startled to find that it’s mathematical in nature.

Each time he takes aim, equations run through his mind telling him where to point, the exact angle to throw, the force required behind it, and the precise moment to release. This information is sent at lightning speed to the rest of his body, coordinating perfectly with his muscles, and takes just a fraction of a second to transpire. The best part is he isn’t even aware of how he’s doing it. It comes naturally to him.

He’s patient with me. We move from one projectile to the next as I mimic him and master each one in turn.

“You see, it’s conceptually the same for any type of projectile,” the Scotsman says matter-of-factly. “Once you know how it’s done, you only need to become familiar with the different types of weapons.”

We manage to get through most of the arsenal, save for the larger weapons (like the grenades and “Junior Nukes”) that aren’t safe to practice with inside Major Calm.

Throughout the night I come to know Timothy and his personality well. The towering carrot top is kind and humorous. I grow quite fond of him through our training and am grateful for this one-on-one time.

As the hours pass away, the holes I create on my targets slowly migrate closer to the center ring. By the end of the night, I’m hitting bull’s-eyes with perfect consistency.

“Well done, Grasshopper,” Timothy teases.

I thank him profusely before saying good-bye. I’m excited about my newly acquired talent, and buzzing with adrenaline, I nearly skip all the way back to my room. Before I put myself to sleep, I remember that I have my art exhibit tomorrow evening. After such a good night here, it will take all my effort to stay present and pretend to still be a part of that world.

Chapter 32

The moment I
awake Friday morning, I can tell something’s wrong. The air in my dark bedroom feels different. It’s too thick. It feels full, pregnant. Eerily still. I’m sure I’m not alone. My hand darts to my lamp, bathing my room in light, while at the same time I throw back my covers and spring out of bed. Crouching in a ready stance, I quickly look around me.

Nothing.

I drop to the floor and look under my bed.

Nothing.

I throw my closet door open.

Nothing.

A bird sings outside my window at the same time I hear my mom’s bedroom door open. The moment has passed.

What’s wrong with me? This is starting to happen too often to be my imagination. Or maybe I’m cracking. Maybe having an active mind around the clock, with no chance for rest, is taking its toll. I’ll become famous for being the first Realmwalker to go insane. Shaking my head in annoyance, I resolve to speak to someone about it. I’m sure Ember can help me. Besides, she graduates tonight and I need to call and congratulate her.

At school I’m excused from most of my classes so I can spend my time in the library putting the finishing touches on my section of the exhibit. Once I’m happy with the arrangement of the display, I offer my help to the other students there. At times I’m again overcome with the sense of being observed, but I can never find any cause for my suspicion.

I call Ember the minute I get home and congratulate her for surviving high school, and she wishes me good luck at my show. We both commiserate about how unfortunate it is that they’re happening on the same night. And then, before I can change my mind, I tell her about the odd instances over the past week when I’ve felt watched.

“I’m crazy, right?” I ask her, hoping she’ll have an easy explanation for me.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she says uneasily. “You’re a Mimic, Addy. You’ve got some mad mental skills. If anything, your perception is better than most. If your gut’s telling you someone’s stalking you, I’m inclined to believe it.”

“Well,” I say, trying not to panic, “I wouldn’t say STALKING. I mean, it’s annoying, I guess, but it doesn’t feel like there’s any malice behind it.”

“Well, there’s your answer then!” she says cheerfully. “You’ve probably got a secret admirer and you’re sensing him gawking at you. Maybe it’s that boy from the ice rink!”

I laugh. “If only! That would DEFINITELY make me feel better!”

“Well, be extra careful just in case, okay? I’m headed your way early tomorrow morning, but I’m driving so I probably won’t get there until sometime Sunday. Once I’m there, I’ll make sure no one messes with you.”

I feel better after talking about it. I love that I can rely on Ember. We visit a while longer and discuss our plans for the summer. She sounds excited to meet my grandmother. We talk about spending long days on the beaches and maybe even hitting some of the big theme parks out there. It’s a happy conversation, full of the promise of great things to come.

With my mood considerably lightened, I change into some of my nicest clothes. I decide on a snug-fitting royal blue dress that’s cinched along one side and ends right above my knees. My mom does my hair for me and loans me a pair of cream-colored peep-toe heels so I’ll be “extra lady-like” as she puts it.

“Look for me around seven-thirty, okay?” she says as she kisses me on the cheek. “Knock ‘em dead!”

The parking lot is already starting to fill up by the time I get back to school. Once in the library, I notice an easel in front of my display that wasn’t there before. On it is a poster with the large golden words “Tomorrow’s Star Award.” There’s a big blue ribbon attached along with a list of awards and acknowledgements I’ve received for my artwork over the last few years.

Mrs. McCowen finds me in the growing crowd of people. She hugs me and reminds me that I should try to stay close to my display in case anyone has any questions for me about my work.

As the evening progresses, the library fills up with patrons. The crowd seems to be made up mostly of families and friends who have come to support students whose work is on display. Appraising comments can be heard here and there over a background of soft classical music.

I greet people I know and tell them about my projects and pieces, even answering the occasional question from curious strangers. While I’m mostly occupied, I still find myself periodically glancing at my watch, wishing the night was over. Just before eight o’clock, I catch sight of my mom through the mingling crowd. She rushes over to me.

“I’m so sorry!” She hugs me hastily. “I hadn’t realized my dress would need ironing. How’s it been?”

“Fine so far. People seem to be enjoying themselves. It should be over soon.” A sudden draft of freezing air hits me, forcing goose bumps to rise on my flesh. As I’m thinking that the air conditioning must have kicked on, or that I must have absently moved underneath an air vent, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss?” Shivering visibly I turn toward the voice. “Is this your artwork?”

I’m startled at how close the man is standing to me. I take a reflexive step back as I stare into his face. Before I can form much of an opinion of him, my eyes are drawn to the area immediately behind his right shoulder.

There, no more than two paces from me, towering eight feet tall with hollow eyes gaping directly into my face, is a Greater Shade.