Authors: T.M. Franklin
Ava walked deeper into the forest, the branches overhead cutting off the light from the moon, but she had no problem seeing, her vision sharp and clear, even in the darkness. A flash of red—Emma’s coat—caught her eye, and Ava quickened her steps, feeling an urgency she couldn’t quite explain. The brush grew thick and tangled, the path barely visible, and she fought her way through, ducking under branches and stepping over fallen logs. Her instincts led her to a twisted mass of branches—almost a wall of greenery—and with a determined breath she shoved her way through, stumbling as she came out the other side.
Brushing off her clothes, she straightened to find Emma standing in the middle of a small clearing, her hands tucked into her red parka. The girl smiled as if she’d been expecting her.
“Emma? What are you doing out here?” Her breath drifted through the clearing on the breeze, carrying her words.
“Waiting for you.”
“Waiting for—” Ava took a few steps closer, a strange tingling sensation starting at her toes and slowly drifting up. “Why?”
“To help you, of course.” Emma’s mismatched eyes grew dark, her pupils growing to consume all but a sliver of green in one eye, and the other, completely black.
Ava could feel a prodding at her gift, a gentle tug. The tingle grew stronger, and warmth suffused her body.
“Help me . . . what?” Her whisper floated through the clearing as her power responded to Emma’s call, filling her, up and out . . . reaching into her surroundings.
“That’s it,” the girl said, encouraging her. “That’s it. Let it go.”
Ava’s gift swelled, flashing through her like a wildfire, and instead of trying to contain it, she let it flow—out from her fingertips and down into the ground beneath her. It burst forth from her skin, invisible but hot and electrifying, filling the clearing and not stopping.
How far can it go?
In response, the rocks and branches around her flew into the air and began to circle above the clearing. Emma walked toward her slowly, her eyes still focused on Ava, who could feel the girl boosting her gift, prompting her . . . urging her to keep going . . . to push it as much as she could. To test her limits.
Ava wanted it.
She wanted it all.
It was giddy, the feeling of vast and unrestrained possibility, and she laughed at the thrill of it, the trees around her swaying and creaking in response. She was vaguely aware of the heat and vibration of her necklace against her chest and the low throb of her headache returning, but she couldn’t be bothered with it. Emma stood before her, toe-to-toe, as the rising wind whipped around them.
“Keep going,” Emma shouted over the gusts, her palms held out slightly from her body as she fortified Ava’s power. “It feels fantastic, doesn’t it? Not to fight it anymore. To be all that you’re meant to be.”
It really did.
Ava tilted her head back to watch the swirling wind—a hurricane of debris with the two of them at the eye. She closed her eyes, her power bursting forth to manifest a boulder . . . a huge snowball about three feet across . . . a crystal chandelier. Emma laughed, and Ava opened her eyes to see her watching the whirling cyclone, a chair and potted plant appearing overhead, then melding together into a blob of red clay . . . a ceramic vase.
“Can you do something bigger?” Emma shouted, bracing herself as the ground trembled beneath her, branches snapping off nearby trees and joining the melee.
Bigger. Something bigger.
Ava manifested a chest of drawers . . . a refrigerator . . . then with a frown of concentration and an exultant shout, the crumpled body of a Volkswagen bug.
Ava’s head pounded, but the pain faded into the background. It was nothing compared to the exhilaration of using her power—of letting
it
use
her
. She felt moisture on her top lip, wiped at it with the back of her hand, and smeared the blood on her jeans with an irritated sniff. She turned her gaze to a large pine tree at the edge of the clearing, and it groaned, its roots cutting up through the ground.
Emma’s thrilled “Yes!” made her smile.
The tree pulled free with an explosion of dirt and rock and joined the spinning vortex of everything Ava controlled, everything she
created
. The tree spun around, smashing the snowball and sending down a shower of ice crystals.
Ava laughed, twirling in the floating white flakes.
“More,” Emma demanded.
Ava wiped at her nose again distractedly, caught up in the moment. She could do more. She could do
anything.
With a deep breath and a harsh exhale, her gift slammed out in a powerful burst. Emma grabbed Ava’s arms, steadying herself, and Ava felt her power erupt outward. Shockwaves rippled out through the forest, taking everything with them. Ava watched as boulders ripped through the underbrush and the tree she’d uprooted slammed into another until they both fell to the shuddering ground. The metal of the VW folded in on itself before wrapping around yet another tree. Then the wind died down abruptly, leaving them both gasping, and the forest fell silent around them as it absorbed Ava’s destruction.
She should have felt tired, but she didn’t. Instead, her gift danced along her skin, energy pulsing through every inch of her body.
“You should try something else,” Emma said, her dark eyes still focused on Ava’s. “Something alive.”
“Alive?” Ava stared into Emma’s blown pupils, bewildered. “Is that even possible?”
“You can do it. I know you can.”
“But, what?” Ava’s voice was small, unsteady, and confused. “I don’t know—”
“You can do it.” Emma’s fingers tightened on Ava’s arms. “Don’t you feel it? The power coursing through you? It wants you to push it. It
wants
to do it.”
Ava nodded slowly, mouth parted and lips dry. She licked them, leaning into Emma for support. She knew so much more about this. It was as if she knew Ava’s gift better than Ava did. “What should I . . . a rabbit? A dog?” she whispered.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Ava,” Emma snapped.
Is she mad?
“Bigger?” Ava asked.
“Bigger.” Emma smiled in satisfaction. “Now, concentrate.”
Ava closed her eyes, feeling the reassuring pressure of Emma’s hands on her arms. She cast about for something bigger. Something that would impress Emma, make her proud. She’d done so much to help her. It was the least Ava could do.
And with a soft smile, she decided. She pictured it in her mind—muscular shoulders covered in thick, silver-tipped black fur, paws the size of dinner plates, curved claws digging into the dirt. She called on every memory she had to perfect the size—three hundred pounds? More? Ava shrugged, opting to let her memories guide her. She visualized it at the edge of the clearing and knew by Emma’s gasp that she had succeeded before she even opened her eyes.
“Yes,” Emma whispered, her eyes wide with awe.
Ava followed her gaze to the shadow of a large pine tree, tilted at an odd angle, half its roots out of the ground. Before it, immense and powerful, stood a grizzly bear on its hind legs, its eyes black and ferocious. It roared, the sound echoing through the dark forest, and Ava faltered for a moment, stepping back.
“It’s . . . magnificent.” Emma cast an admiring glance her way, and Ava couldn’t keep down a rush of pride at her accomplishment.
The bear fell to all fours, letting out another bellow, and Ava smiled. A smile that slowly fell when the bear collapsed onto the ground, its roars morphing into something else. It bayed, writhing in the dirt and debris, and Ava realized it was in pain.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, taking a few steps toward the bear.
It growled in warning, black eyes turned on her as its lip curled in a snarl.
She could see the twitches of agony rippling the animal’s thick fur and turned to Emma for guidance.
The girl sighed. “It’s not right,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Ava asked a little frantically.
Emma took her hand, squeezing gently. “It looks right on the outside—it’s what you know. But something’s wrong on the inside. It’s not your fault. How could you know?”
Ava watched in horror as the bear twisted on the ground, whimpering and frothing at the mouth. With sick realization, she absorbed Emma’s words. She’d tried to manifest something—a
living
thing—with no real knowledge of the intricate biology that made it up.
She was a spoiled child playing God.
Ava fell to her knees, retching onto the dirt, blood and bile seeping into the ground.
“You have to help it,” Emma said, her voice steely as she dropped to Ava’s side.
“But
. . .
” Ava swiped a hand over her mouth, fighting back another rush of nausea. “How? I don’t know how.”
Emma’s mismatched gaze locked on hers again. “It’s suffering, Ava. You have to put it out of its misery.”
Ava’s eyes blurred with tears as she turned back to the bear. It whined pitifully, and she choked on her own sobs. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You have to fix this, Ava,” Emma said, her voice low and soothing, but with a biting edge. “You know what to do.”
“What?” Her voice was rough, ruined. “Make it go away?” She turned toward the suffering bear.
“No,” Emma said firmly. “You must face the consequences of your actions.”
“How?” But as Emma stroked a hand over her head, Ava knew. She knew how she had to pay for her mistake. It was so clear.
Ava nodded, tears running down her cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed. She pictured the bear—its image imprinted so clearly on her mind—looked closer . . . closer . . . until she could see inside. Pictured the beating heart, so inadequate and imperfect, and squeezed it tightly with her mind—her gift a fist closing about it. Teeth gritted, she bore down, tightening the grip until the low whimpers became staggered breathing, harsh in her ears, then nothing. Silence, broken only by her own soft keens. She fell forward into the dirt and curled up in a ball, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to look at the helpless animal she’d created and destroyed. She felt Emma rubbing her back, her voice soothing as she tried to comfort her.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Ava gasped. “How can you say that? You saw what happened.”
“Ava, sit up.”
She hesitated only a moment before complying, wiping the still-streaming tears from her cheeks. For a moment, Emma looked far older than her seventeen years, her eyes dark with remembered pain and something else Ava couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“It’s not your fault,” Emma said again, shaking Ava’s shoulders slightly to emphasize the point. “You’re new to all of this, and I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Next time—”
“Next time?” Ava said harshly, outraged. “Are you kidding? There’s not going to be a next time!” Ava felt sick at the very thought of it, another wave of roiling nausea twisting in her stomach.
Emma rubbed her shoulders gently, her gaze penetrating. “Relax, Ava. Calm down. Take deep breaths.”
Ava nodded, breathing in sync with Emma.
“It’s okay,” Emma said, soothing her with her words, her touch. “You didn’t mean to do it, did you?”
“No.” Ava hiccupped. “No, of course not.”
“Then you’re not responsible for it,” she said firmly.
Ava found herself nodding again, her thoughts calming. “I’m not,” she said, swiping at her tears. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. You’d never hurt anything on purpose, would you?”
“No.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Not unless it was trying to hurt you . . . or someone important to you, right?”
Ava nodded again. Her head felt muzzy, full of cotton, Emma’s words the only thing cutting through. The only thing making sense.
“You’re so strong, Ava,” Emma said, smoothing a hand over Ava’s hair. “And you’re only going to get stronger with time. You’ll see.”
A crackling of branches had them both jumping to their feet, one of Ava’s boulders doing a half-hearted defensive jump.
Caleb appeared at the edge of the forest, climbing over a downed log as he took in the destruction around him with a mixture of shock and confusion. His gaze landed on the bear and he choked slightly, taking few hurried but cautious steps toward Ava.
“What happened, Ava?” he asked. “What did you do?”
For a moment, Ava was overcome by guilt and shame—confusion as she saw what she’d done through his eyes. Emma ran a hand down her arm gently.
“It’s all right,” she said in her calming, hypnotic voice. “He just doesn’t understand.”
Yes. That’s right.
Caleb didn’t understand. Maybe Ava could explain it to him.