three places, the fringes bent and mangled where it had been crumpled in his fist.
“That’s a Guardian feather,” he said. “And that’s what I do to Guardians.”
“You know,” I said, heating up, “I do have Guardian blood in me. I can’t change that.”
“You’re not a Guardian. You chose the Rebellion.” He paused, his voice softening. “You chose me.”
“I know,” I said. “I did. I do! But my powers aren’t just dark. I can feel it.”
He squinted at me. “You can use that for good.”
“I need to understand it. You can’t teach me that. No matter how hard you wish you could.” He sighed and turned toward the window, his back to me. I wanted to go to him, but I stayed still. “You can’t destroy me if your job is to protect me,” I snapped. “So mull that one over.”
He raked a hand through his hair and turned, looking at me. He looked apologetic and annoyed at the same time, but at least he wasn’t angry anymore.
“I’m sorry.” He breathed out. “I just— I see him. In homeroom. Walking down the halls. In the cafeteria. In the library.” Had Asher seen us together in the library? It’s not like we were doing anything, but still, the idea of him thinking I was warming up to the Guardian who had tried to kill me made me uncomfortable. “And I get so angry. He still looks at you. What right does he have to look at you? I just want to kill him. And I will, Skye. I will. As soon as I get the chance.”
“Asher—” I said. “Stop.” But he was already brushing past me out of the room. I didn’t follow him. Instead, I picked the white feather up off the floor, and brought it over to my dresser.
I started when I lifted my gaze and saw my reflection in the mirror. The girl who stared back at me had silver eyes, flashing in the early evening light. Intense and bright.
Powerful.
That night, Aunt Jo and I ate dinner at the kitchen table in tense silence. I knew she didn’t like Asher—that she didn’t fully trust me anymore, no matter what she said. And she knew I knew. I believed that she loved me and that she was glad I was back. I believed that I’d scared her when I was gone. At least . . . I wanted to believe it. But something felt different between us now.
Why did Aunt Jo distrust Asher so much? He was the one person—the only person, really—who I trusted now. Was she picking up on something I somehow couldn’t see?
Before bed, I took the notebook I’d found in the cabin out of my sock drawer.
Guardians haunt these woods, watching us. I know they know. It’s only a matter of time.
How come there wasn’t more written in it after that first page? That couldn’t have been the only entry. Unless—the Guardians had attacked before he or she could write more? What if the owner of the notebook hadn’t written any more—because she or he hadn’t lived long enough? Slowly I thumbed through the rest of the notebook. I hadn’t noticed it before, but several pages had been ripped out, leaving jagged, torn edges. So maybe there was more, but the writer didn’t want anyone to find what he or she had written. What if the pages contained something important? Or dangerous? Something the owner needed to keep hidden, in case a Guardian found the notebook.
Unless . . . the owner of the notebook hadn’t ripped out those pages. What if someone else had? Someone who had found the notebook before me.
Were the pages destroyed? Were they hidden somewhere?
Maybe there was still a chance that I could find them. And it felt so important that I did.
Chapter 12
I woke up to the sound of thunder. It ricocheted off the walls and shook the floor, so loud it felt like it was coming from inside my head rather than from outside. I pulled on dark skinny jeans, rain boots, and a lightweight sweater, and headed downstairs. The weather had been unpredictable since I’d been back, right along with my erratic moods. Yesterday it had been snowing, and today it was
“That’s a Guardian feather,” he said. “And that’s what I do to Guardians.”
“You know,” I said, heating up, “I do have Guardian blood in me. I can’t change that.”
“You’re not a Guardian. You chose the Rebellion.” He paused, his voice softening. “You chose me.”
“I know,” I said. “I did. I do! But my powers aren’t just dark. I can feel it.”
He squinted at me. “You can use that for good.”
“I need to understand it. You can’t teach me that. No matter how hard you wish you could.” He sighed and turned toward the window, his back to me. I wanted to go to him, but I stayed still. “You can’t destroy me if your job is to protect me,” I snapped. “So mull that one over.”
He raked a hand through his hair and turned, looking at me. He looked apologetic and annoyed at the same time, but at least he wasn’t angry anymore.
“I’m sorry.” He breathed out. “I just— I see him. In homeroom. Walking down the halls. In the cafeteria. In the library.” Had Asher seen us together in the library? It’s not like we were doing anything, but still, the idea of him thinking I was warming up to the Guardian who had tried to kill me made me uncomfortable. “And I get so angry. He still looks at you. What right does he have to look at you? I just want to kill him. And I will, Skye. I will. As soon as I get the chance.”
“Asher—” I said. “Stop.” But he was already brushing past me out of the room. I didn’t follow him. Instead, I picked the white feather up off the floor, and brought it over to my dresser.
I started when I lifted my gaze and saw my reflection in the mirror. The girl who stared back at me had silver eyes, flashing in the early evening light. Intense and bright.
Powerful.
That night, Aunt Jo and I ate dinner at the kitchen table in tense silence. I knew she didn’t like Asher—that she didn’t fully trust me anymore, no matter what she said. And she knew I knew. I believed that she loved me and that she was glad I was back. I believed that I’d scared her when I was gone. At least . . . I wanted to believe it. But something felt different between us now.
Why did Aunt Jo distrust Asher so much? He was the one person—the only person, really—who I trusted now. Was she picking up on something I somehow couldn’t see?
Before bed, I took the notebook I’d found in the cabin out of my sock drawer.
Guardians haunt these woods, watching us. I know they know. It’s only a matter of time.
How come there wasn’t more written in it after that first page? That couldn’t have been the only entry. Unless—the Guardians had attacked before he or she could write more? What if the owner of the notebook hadn’t written any more—because she or he hadn’t lived long enough? Slowly I thumbed through the rest of the notebook. I hadn’t noticed it before, but several pages had been ripped out, leaving jagged, torn edges. So maybe there was more, but the writer didn’t want anyone to find what he or she had written. What if the pages contained something important? Or dangerous? Something the owner needed to keep hidden, in case a Guardian found the notebook.
Unless . . . the owner of the notebook hadn’t ripped out those pages. What if someone else had? Someone who had found the notebook before me.
Were the pages destroyed? Were they hidden somewhere?
Maybe there was still a chance that I could find them. And it felt so important that I did.
Chapter 12
I woke up to the sound of thunder. It ricocheted off the walls and shook the floor, so loud it felt like it was coming from inside my head rather than from outside. I pulled on dark skinny jeans, rain boots, and a lightweight sweater, and headed downstairs. The weather had been unpredictable since I’d been back, right along with my erratic moods. Yesterday it had been snowing, and today it was
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