secrets of the Lore

Isaac pressed me up against the school lockers, one hand behind the nape of my neck, the other flattened out next to my shoulder. His handspan was so wide it covered the breadth of the locker next to mine. I chewed on my lip with worry, knowing that Alton Lee, my locker neighbor, would be here any minute to exchange his books for his lunch. He was a small and jumpy sort of boy, easily intimidated by tall guys like Isaac, who was half Tongan. Sure enough, from the corner of my eye I saw Alton all but skip toward us before stopping short in astonishment, his eyeballs popping out with alarm. Several other students knocked into each other as they moved to avoid him. A stocky, unibrow boy shoved him out of the way with a foul curse. Alton quickly dropped his gaze and skittered back the way he had come.

Angry and irritated on behalf of my locker mate, I pushed against Isaac, but he didn’t seem to notice. He hummed a tune close to my ear and his woodsy scent tingled my nose pleasantly. I closed my eyes, thinking Isaac wasn’t all that bad. Then two sapphire eyes flashed through my mind like lightning. I mentally berated myself for letting this get out of hand. Ashamed, I tried to melt into the painted gray metal at my back, my conscience prickling as I imagined how Zander would feel about this. Good thing he wasn’t here. Not that he hadn’t wanted to be, but I’d convinced him I had a plan. 

But today’s breakup plan sucked big time. The original plan had been to break up with Isaac Monday, but when the moment had presented itself I’d pulled a G-roy—that’s what my best friend and I called an uber coward who didn’t deserve to live. We’d coined the name after the character Gilderoy Lockhart in one of the Harry Potter movies. I swallowed loudly, self-disgust like heavy slime in my throat. 

But were we really “together” if I’d never kissed him? Unless you counted the chase around the quad at lunch when he’d caught me and embarrassed me by smooching me with his milk mustache mouth in front of everyone. Because if that counted, then my first kiss had been with Hottie Efoti—Ruthie’s nickname for Isaac Efoti. He was Scotts Valley High School’s beach babe—times ten. I used to think that, too, until last week. And that felt like forever ago.

Isaac gently nudged me closer and I pushed a hand against his stomach to keep from colliding with him. I stared up at his face in open-mouthed shock. He seemed to take it as an invitation, bending down, his mouth on a direct course with mine. I quickly tilted to the side, dodging him by inches. His lips grazed my cheek. He recovered faster than I did, though, and my heart raced as I continued to lose ground. His mouth pressed against my ear, moving like a soft feather down my neck, while a nameless tune wove its way into my senses. My brain fogged over with pleasure, but my heart seized with guilt. I shook my head and squirmed away. No matter how pleasant the sensation of Isaac’s lips pressing along the juncture of my neck and shoulder, they weren’t the right lips for me.

“Isaac,” I begged, desperate to put an end to this. “Let’s get to lunch before someone takes our table.”

“How about we have our own lunch today,” he suggested with a hungry grin. “We could eat right here.” He herded me backward up against the lockers again, gazing down at me with liquid brown eyes. What I saw in them raised my panic level, motivating my hands to move with renewed strength up to his chest before he came too close.

“Isaac!” My voice raised in alarm as he crooned a tune again. I increased the distance between us, pushing against him and locking my arms straight out. I blinked at my hands, which looked small against the width of his chest. His tight t-shirt outlined his large muscles.

“Dang, Isaac,” I gushed.

He leaned in.

“Wait!” I squeaked, realizing he’d misinterpreted my expression as permission to suck face. Seriously, couldn’t a girl ogle for free these days? My desperation must have finally penetrated his thick skull, because his roving hands stopped. I peeked up through my eyelashes to see him scowling. I saw that he’d finally received my message and relief coursed through me. 

Just being here like this with Isaac felt wrong, like Judas Iscariot kind of wrong. Yet, at the same time, one could argue that it wasn’t that bad—because technically I was still with Isaac. On the other hand, my heart wasn’t into it … it never had been … Geez. I never knew I had such hussy tendencies.

He finally moved away. “What’s wrong?”  

Recognizing the opportunity to escape, I hurried to put some distance between us. Fully aware I had yet to officially break up with him, I clenched my hands with determination. He folded his arms and leaned one powerful shoulder against the lockers, wrinkling up his face in confusion.

Did this have to be so awkward? Why couldn’t I be direct and confident like Ruthie? I imagined my best friend’s pep talk in this scenario and found my voice.

“Isaac. I don’t know how to say this.” My tone carried its own weight and Isaac’s usual air of confidence slipped, pulling his shoulders down. He blinked rapidly as if knowing the direction of this conversation. I couldn’t take the vulnerability that I saw in his face. It seemed too private, so I took a sudden interest in the trash littering the walkway. 

The silence dragged for a moment before I steeled my nerves again.

“Isaac—” I finally said, dragging it out.

“Are you kidding me?” He bellowed, interrupting me. His expression altered between disbelief, pain, and anger, each emotion all too clear on his face. “I thought … I mean don’t you feel anything for me?”

“No,” I blurted, the truth spilling from my lips despite the hurt spelled out in his brown gaze. “At least not like …”

He slammed a hand against the locker, the loud bang making me jump. Alton’s locker now had a dent. I peeked over my shoulder toward my escape route before looking back at Isaac. His shoulders curled inwardly, telling me that genuine pain fueled his outburst. I hadn’t realized he liked me so much and I suddenly felt awful. 

I reached out a hand. “Isaac—”

“No! This is not happening,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “It’s not supposed to happen,” he mumbled.

I thought, Wow. Someone’s a little full of himself. At least he had figured it out and I wouldn’t have to actually speak the words. 

I couldn’t leave without apologizing, though. “I’m really sorry—”

He turned and walked away, ignoring me. I watched him stride down the now empty corridor toward the quad where all of his friends would be sitting, make that our friends. Oh well. I didn’t want to hang out with them now anyway. 

I blew out a puff of air as a sudden throbbing in my skull threatened to split my head wide open. Consequently, the idea of food curdled my stomach. I dialed the combination on my locker and wondered if Ruthie had something for this awful pain. As the door swung open, I paused with one hand stretched toward a pile of books. This might be the first headache I’d ever had. Geez, it hurt! No wonder Ruthie refused to get out of bed when she had a migraine. 

But it was nothing compared to being shot, and I’d healed from that. I rubbed my temples with both hands, wishing Zander could hold me and take the agony away like he did two days ago. Even as I thought it, the splintering pain mellowed into a tiny ache before fading away. Would I ever understand this strange healing gift of mine? 

Grabbing my lunch sack, I debated how to spend the next forty-five minutes. Zander was probably already waiting for me on the quad, and I should reassure him that my Isaac problem had been resolved. But he would ask questions, and I didn’t want to rehash what had just happened. Whatever I’d seen in Isaac’s face had taken up residence in my stomach like some alien parasite. I rubbed it absently, wondering what was wrong with me. Probably karma, I thought with a guilty twist of my lips. Because I’d hurt a nice guy.  

Why did Isaac have to take it so hard? It wasn’t like there had ever been anything between us. 

The strange nausea disappeared and my stomach growled. My rumbling, bipolar body reminded me that I hadn’t eaten much breakfast this morning because Dad had served it with a lecture on better communication. He’d nailed me for lying about going home with Ruthie on Monday. Apparently, her mom had called Dad this morning to check on me. I’d stayed home yesterday, too traumatized to deal with school after everything that had happened the day before. Now I had a feeling he suspected that I’d also lied about being sick yesterday. But I had been sick—emotionally, anyway.  

I imagined telling him the truth. 

“Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to worry you, but I was kidnapped and held hostage by a raving lunatic with supernatural powers. But no worries, because Zander rescued me and everything’s cool now.”  

No, I’d never tell Dad what really happened. I’d felt so hopeless lying there in Dante’s cellar. When Zander had found me, I’d never felt such relief. 

My shoulders drooped as I munched on some carrots and stared into my locker mirror. It revealed some of my internal turmoil but none of the peril from the night before. Not even a bruise. I squinted into the glass surface. Did my eyes look more golden today? Perhaps. My wavy blond hair bulged on one side, giving me a lopsided appearance. I tried to smooth it down, but it bounced back. Sighing, I dug out an elastic band and pulled it into a messy bun at the nape of my head, the ends of my hair sticking up. I shifted my gaze to the wreck in my locker, acknowledging that it resembled the current state of my life. 

At least I could do something about this mess. Halfway through reorganizing I stopped. What was I doing? Delaying the inevitable, that’s what. I stared at my reflection, trying to look past my bright eyes and messy hair. Where was that reinvented girl from the other night? I had been pumped up on adrenaline and I-heart-U feelings for Zander. Now, among slamming lockers, backpacks, and “normalville,” my insecurities had returned. I blushed, thinking of Zander’s words of confidence and admiration. 

…You saved me. You saved both of us …

You were amazing …

I can’t think when you’re touching me …

I leaned the back of my head against the lockers, and as I closed my eyes, Monday’s events replayed in my mind. To say that Zander and I kicked the bad guy’s butt didn’t do it justice. But that’s what we did. Dante was gone, permanently. I had misgivings about how it went down, sure. I mean, did I have to kill him? Zander said it wasn’t my fault, that it was self-defense, and that Dante was a crazy, lost cause. 

But if I was this great “healer” that Dante seemed so sure that I was, then why couldn’t I have found a way to save him from his own madness? I recalled the way he had transitioned from nice to mean to plain old creepy. Talk about multiple personalities. I still had whiplash from his rapid switchbacks. No, I wasn’t some magical healer—I was the opposite.

Murderer. Didn’t murderers go to hell? I hadn’t read much of the Bible that Ruthie gave me to help me fall asleep, but I didn’t have to read it to know murder was one of the unforgivable sins. Unforgivable.

I slid to the ground thinking about my dreams since that day. They fed into my guilty feelings. I’d dreamed about a younger Dante, with parents and a sister, and they were happy. I’d also seen an older Dante, who’d found and kidnapped people for the Collector with the zeal of a fanatic. But, despite Dante’s disciple-like behavior, by the end of my dreams I’d realized that he had been simply surviving. 

His ability to see auras allowed him to identify hybrids, half human and half something else. Something else turned out to be horror story creatures, only not so fictional. I wouldn’t have believed him if I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes—werewolves in my own backyard. Their eyes had been too human, their reactions otherworldly, like they had understood what I’d said. The thought of them changing forms, becoming human-like, having children with humans … The thought that I could be one of those children … That one of my parents could be something like that … I shook my head. 

Even as I refused to believe it, I recognized that sensation, that “bull’s-eye” feeling I got after considering the answers on a test and knowing which was right. Comprehension stole the air from my lungs and I sucked in a deep breath. It was happening now. Like the click of a lock when it opened, or the “ta-da” moment when you placed the final piece in a puzzle. This had to be more than mere intuition. Did that make me less human? A hybrid human? A monster? Whatever the case, I was definitely a freak show. But the crazy stories Dante told me, that Zander told me? They seemed more than a little farfetched. I mean, deep down I knew they held some truth, but how much? 

The truth.

My name was Tru Parker and I could sense the truth. What kind of freaking coincidence was that? Add super healing and night sight, and I guess that put me in the inhuman, hybrid, or freak of nature category. 

According to Dante, my specific kind of freakishness had a name: idimmu. 

And that’s what had landed me in my current disastrous state. Apparently, idimmu had unique gifts that the Collector wanted, that he could use, such as Dante’s ability to locate other idimmu. Yeah, that ability would be valuable to a despot looking to build up his power and influence. And since they could be anywhere in this world, he needed a “finder” like Dante who had some kind of inner “idimmu GPS,” because without that, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. 

Although Dante had been able see the true nature of a person, or their aura, he’d only been able to identify these hybrids when they used their abilities, because that’s when their auras changed. 

I had saved a bunch of future victims by eliminating Dante. That was the good news. The bad news? The Collector was not going to be happy when Dante didn’t return. He’d come looking for him. I stuffed my carrots into their bag, my appetite deserting me again.

Dante. I couldn’t seem to stop dwelling on him. Zander said that although Dante had been an innocent child once, he’d become a predator. Dante had fooled us all. He’d wormed his way into Bobby’s group at school. And then, when I’d foolishly stepped into his car, he’d attacked, zapping both Bobby and me with his other superpower. His soporific touch. The brush of his hand had shut out our lights, leaving us unconscious and defenseless.  

Zander was right. Dante had been dangerous, even evil. But I wasn’t convinced he’d deserved death. People could change, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Dante had been redeemable.

My dreams the previous night made me think that he could have changed. These dreams were another talent of mine, if that’s what you’d call it. My jaw tightened. I was embracing a lot of new ideas, particularly regarding myself. I’d dreamed about actual events happening to real people, some that I’d never met before. It had been a peculiar kind of misery. But I didn’t know how to control it. If I did, I’d turn it off, because I rarely dreamed a happy dream these days and I usually awoke exhausted and distressed. Most of the time the dreams were about people or events that had some kind of reference to my life. Sometimes not. I used to shrug them off as nightmares. Only recently had I begun to think that some of these dreams were real. 

With this new perspective, I saw Dante in a different light. He had been threatened and manipulated. One could even argue that he’d been physically abused. Medical treatment had been denied him until he fulfilled the wishes of his tormentor, a man known as the Collector. 

Dante had grown to love the Collector like a father. In my dreams, I’d seen the Collector berate him with cruel and belittling words. Then later he’d praise him and Dante would practically glow with gratitude and admiration. This struck me as bizarre until I thought about the way victims of Stockholm syndrome developed affection for their captors. They’d had a disturbing relationship for sure.  

His medical treatments turned out to be a temporary cure from insanity, which was something that afflicted all idimmu. In last night’s visions, I’d watched Dante’s sanity slip away. And he’d been aware of it, truly fearing that dark path. He’d been willing to do anything for a treatment from the “fixer.” Therapist seemed like a better term, but that’s how Dante had referred to the woman who had repeatedly healed him from his schizophrenia.

Me? I would have called her Aunt Caroline.

Yes, it seemed that I was having all sorts of revelations now. Dante’s fixer was actually my mom’s sister. Could it get any weirder?

During this morning’s classes I’d been mulling over all of my dreams and matching them up to events in my life. One particular dream had been the catalyst that changed everything. While lying helpless in Dante’s cellar, I’d fallen asleep and dreamed about Zander searching for me with such amazing clarity, I’d felt like I’d been there with him. At that moment, I hadn’t had the time or energy to ponder the dream, but I had since then, and it had changed everything. 

Last night I’d seen Zander do something that really happened in his past—mere minutes had gone by, but it was still his past. My dreams about Zander and my dreams about Dante had felt real. I compared both experiences, and with the knowledge that what I’d seen Zander do had really happened, a light went on in my head. My dreams about Dante must have been visions of earlier events, too. I had actually seen Dante’s past. 

Then I began to wonder if my other dreams worked the same way. They couldn’t all be visions of the past, though. I had to have some normal dreams. But which were real and which were not? That would take longer to figure out.

The worst part had been about my aunt. Recognizing her had been a twisted sense of reality. I’d never met her in person, but she’d looked exactly like her picture in our family photo album. My dreams were like pieces to a giant puzzle, one piece leading to the next—only the puzzle never seemed to end. An exhausting task lay before me because I wouldn’t be satisfied until I saw the entire picture.