Echo Into Darkness: Book 2 in The Echo Saga (Teen Paranormal Romance) (3 page)

Shoot. I so did not want to do this in public. I did a quick scan to make sure I was alone, threw one leg over the railing, and stretched toward the object.

"Don't look down. Do
not
look down," I coached myself.

I clenched my teeth and telekinetically latched onto the metallic piece. It slid closer.

"Come on, a little more, a little—whoamigod."

A wind gust whipped and pushed me toward the great wide open. I got an involuntary glimpse of the ravine, and that was it. My ability locked up. It always did when panic got the best of me, and few things blocked me faster than my fear of heights. My near-death experience at the mall had only made this worse.

The silver object was close enough to tell it wasn't jewelry at all. A wad of crumpled yogurt lid, or some other piece of garbage. The wind flipped it over the edge. I watched it sail a hundred feet and land on the side of the highway.

The girl had been right about one thing. Dropping from this height would do away with all my problems. No factions to worry about. No sleepless nights. No long, lonely days aching for my soulmate.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered what it would be like to die suddenly and painlessly, to leave this earth and move onto the next plane. Would all my dread and uncertainty vanish? Most important, would Connor and I find each other in my next lifetime?

An Oracle once promised that Connor and I were meant to be together, but—and he was especially firm about this condition—we wouldn't share a life until some unknown time in the future. So we were forced to live out our current lives separately, die, and then, if the universe was feeling particularly generous the next time around, we would be born during the same time and eventually find one another.

Straddling the railing, my head cottony from the overwhelming height, I wondered if that was all I needed to do to finally be with him: end this life early. It was an ugly thought, but my head was full of ugly thoughts right then.

A car pulled to the curb and I heard the electric hum of a window rolling down.

"There you are, you little witch! You're the one who hacked into my account, aren't you?"

Well, this was awkward. There was no mistaking that screech, or the accusation it delivered. I rolled my eyes and turned to face the car.

Raquelle Crane glared from inside her convertible, her glossy peach-berry lips pinched in vengeance. The previous summer, she had warmly welcomed me into her elite clique, the Partychicks, after I moved to Portland. Shortly thereafter, she unceremoniously dumped me.

Now she and I had an unspoken pact to inject misery into each others' lives. Leave it to Raquelle to hassle me when I'm inches away from possibly ending mine.

"I'm kind of busy," I said.

"I know you're the one who deleted all my YouTube videos. Nobody else would have dared to touch my account! Freak!! This is not over!!! I'll get you, and your weird little witch friend, too."

I slid to the sidewalk and jammed my hand on my hip. "You leave Becca out of this."

"What were you doing on the railing, anyway?" she snapped.

"Did you happen to see a girl out here last night? In a blue coat?" I asked.

"What do I look like, the neighborhood watch?" That was Raquelle for you. If it wasn't posted on Facebook, it wasn't worth knowing. "You didn't answer my question. Were you going to jump? Because before you snuff yourself, you'd better give me Connor's real address. The one you gave me was fake."

"Over my dead body," I said.

"Hurry up and jump then," she replied in a bored tone.

I started to laugh, because it's classic Raquelle to overlook the fact that if I'm dead, she can't manipulate Connor's address out of me.

"What's so funny?"

"Do you ever run things past your brain before you say them?" I asked.

"Screw you, Echo. Now get back up on that railing and jump like the champion loser you are."

I flipped her the finger as she peeled away. Nobody tells me when to die.

Chapter 3

Lincoln High School is a blond brick building designed in a modern take on Greek revival. Embedded columns separate row upon row of tall windows. When the weather is nice, sunlight fills the school. In the gray of winter, the oppressive clouds collect right outside the fluorescent-lit classrooms.

I got to my locker as the second period bell rang. Extra bonus: I rounded the corner outside my chemistry class and slammed into my principal, Mr. Lauer. My books went flying.

"Welcome back," my principal said. "Not a great start to the semester." He tapped his watch.

I scooped my books off the floor and gave him a sheepish grin.

"Uh, yeah, it's been one of those mornings." Some of the administrative staff would have slapped me with detention for being late. Not Mr. Lauer. He didn't hassle anyone unless they really deserved it.

I plunked into my chemistry seat, already woozy from the swirl of teenage auras spilling into mine.

If you were able to feel people's emotions the way I can, sitting in my classroom would feel something like this: the girl suffering a panic attack would throw a bucket of icy water on you, right before another girl with PMS brushed you with a coat of metallic bristles; and the jock seated in the corner had a distracting buzz in his groin from thinking about his girlfriend (again), and no matter how icky it was, you were stuck feeling it too.

Mr. Wickner started his chemical equations lecture and I energy-scanned my classmates. From the look and feel, none of them had spent the night agonizing over suicide and then outrunning criminals. That was okay. I would have been shocked to find the girl that easily.

After one class, I needed a break from the auric chaos, because the other downside to feeling people's emotions is the way they cling. It's like you're walking through a cat show wearing a Velcro suit. Soon you're covered in hair, none of it's yours, and it's a pain to get it off.

The girls' bathroom in the old wing was the closest escape. I latched myself in a stall, sat on the toilet seat, and let out a deep breath.

Two seconds later, the bathroom door slammed. Angry footsteps pounded across the tile. Boots, untied and flopping loosely, gave away their owner.

I looked through the gap in the stall door and yep, as I expected, there was Becca, my former best friend. She'd dyed her short hair platinum blond over winter break and the roots had grown out. Becca wasn't a fashionista by any standard, but she drew the line at dark roots. By the look of her current hairdo, I'd say something had her life in a twist.

Becca dug a fist full of glass vials out of her book bag. "You are so stupid. You are the biggest freaking moron on the planet," I heard her say.

I snuck a look under the door. One pair of feet. One girl. She was talking to herself. She pressed her face to within an inch of the mirror. "You're a big fake and everybody knows it." She threw the vials into the sink. Glass shattered.

Oh no. Becca had been selling her Wiccan potions to students since last year. I'd heard rumors that her potions were garbage and people were asking for their money back.

If she and I were still good friends, I'd have come out of hiding and tried to console her, but she'd been freezing me out since before Christmas break. I was pretty sure eavesdropping on her hateful rant would just make her madder.

Becca started sniffling. Physics class was about to start. Mr. King was back, and he was handing out tardy slips like they were Halloween candy.

Her whimpers turned into crying. I swore under my breath, and she heard me.

"Who's in there?" she demanded.

I stepped out of the stall and she gave me that
oh great
look that comes when your level of humiliation gets knocked a few pegs lower.

"Perfect. Like my life doesn't suck enough already." Her cheeks were splotchy. She disappeared into the stall and blew her nose loudly.

"I'm sorry, Becca."

"No you're not. You always thought my Wiccan beliefs were dumb. Go ahead and say it. Try something new for a change."

Something new? I didn't get what she meant. "I know you believed the potions worked, and I'm okay with that."

She croaked a huff. "Pul-eeeez, when are you going to stop lying about everything? You thought I was a faker. Do us both a favor and at least admit
that
."

"And why are we talking about me, now?"

She rinsed her face with cool water and looked at me with red eyes. "Answer one question for me."

"Okaaaaay," I said hesitantly.

"When we were at the mall, that night you fell over the railing, I saw you hanging by your fingertips. You were about to die. The next thing I know, you're safe and standing next to Connor. I want you to explain to me how he was able to reach all the way over, grab you, and haul you back up with one arm."

"He's really strong," I replied. My eyes got all blinky at this lie, and she narrowed hers. All last semester, she'd known I was hiding something big.

"Lucas is on the wrestling team and can bench-press two-fifty. I told him how you got rescued and he says what Connor did was impossible. For a normal human being, at least."

"Clearly it's not, or I'd be dead right now."

"I wish for once, you'd tell me the truth."

My desire to tell her the whole story flashed cross my face. She saw this. If I told her right now about my telekinesis, or that her disappointment was piercing my skin like shards of glass, would that repair our friendship?

I glanced into the sink where her failed potions soiled the white ceramic. The truth was messy and sharp, and sharing it might end any chance of us being friends ever again.

"There's nothing else to tell," I said.

"Have it your way." She gave me one more disdainful look and left the bathroom.

*******

I couldn't find my car keys. I'd searched everywhere—in my locker, my classrooms, my book bag—I even checked to see if someone had turned them into the office. I gave in and retraced my steps through school, and found them near my Trigonometry desk. So far, the first day of the semester was scoring a big fat zero.

It was eerie, wandering the school hallways an hour after all the other students had left. Lights were dimmed and my tennis shoes squeaked against the tile, advertising that I was alone. I had no reason to feel unsafe there, but old habits died hard.

It was dark by the time I got outside, and another storm was drenching the city. I flipped the hood of my rain jacket over my head and sloshed past the cars in the teachers’ parking lot. I dodged a puddle, cursing that I had to go all the way across the lot and a sodden soccer field to get to my car.

I was irritated for another reason, too. I'd scanned every student in my classes, the hall and lunchroom in search of the girl, but was no closer to finding her. My school had over a thousand students. Multiply that times all the high schools in Portland, and tracking her down was a ludicrous task. I'd gotten small consolation when I used the library computers during lunch to check the local news. Nobody had reported finding a girl's body overnight.

A shadow fluttered across my path and I inched the hood away from my eyes. The teachers’ lot was still pretty full, but I was the only one out there. A few rows over, a car alarm went off, screeching three discordant tones at once. I jumped.

Another one shrieked in the row next to me, and then two more. There was no way I triggered the alarms. I'd kept my tele-chaosing under control all day. Little bumps rose on my neck and I took off at a jog into the soccer field.

The mud sucked at my tennies and seeped onto my socks. Stray hairs floated out from under my hood, like the sky was building with electricity. When I opened my car door to climb in, the metal sparked.

Unease trickled down my back. Static shocks didn't usually happen when everything was soaking wet. Something was not right.

I started the car and pressed the accelerator.

I heard the explosion before I saw it. A ball of light hit the pavement in front of my car, sending flames up over the hood. I screamed and slammed on the brakes. I scrambled out of the car.

The rain snuffed out the fire almost immediately. A guy lay curled in a tight ball on the scorched pavement. Smoke rose off his clothing.

"Oh no. Omigod. Are you all right?" My voice shook.

I watched, breathless, as the boy rolled to his hands and knees. He braced a dicey leg beneath him and got to his feet. He was tall and had broad shoulders. I expected him to be hurt from the explosion, but he appeared to come out of it unscathed.

"What happened?" I screeched. "Did I hit you? Did you hit me?"

The guy braced his lower back with his knuckles and stretched. His dark eyes gave me a cursory once-over. His upper lip curled high and smug on one side. A flicker of recognition set in and my lips parted in disbelief. I knew that smirk. I'd wanted to slap it off its owner more than once.

"Jaxon? Is that you? What are you…how did you…"

He knew the questions that scrambled my brain without my finishing them: how did he get here from 160 years in the future? Did this mean the travel portal was no longer permanently shut down?