in the room, knocking Kate’s pictures off the wall, tearing the sheets from the bed. Bottles of nail polish fly off the dresser and shoot colorful splats on the wall. Kate screams and dives down beside the bed for cover. Braden jumps beneath the desk, knocking over Kate’s laptop which hits him square in the thigh.
Then suddenly the wind forces out of me with a final burst and is gone. I’m shaky and woozy, the palms of my hands itching as I stare at them in shock. Feathers from Kate’s pillow float down silently.
“What the hell was that?” Braden shouts in a scared falsetto as he bolts to his feet.
I have no idea . I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers and then back up at him. I feel strong and alive, my heart beating too fast to be human.
He shimmies into his pants, stumbles over broken glass on the floor, and reaches out for me. I back away. “Iris, how did you do that?” he whispers, fear and awe coating his voice. Kate stands up, staying far away from me, surveying her destroyed possessions.
“Get away from me,” I say through gritted teeth. The thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl. I’m getting out of here, so you should clean up your mess.”
I rush out without stopping, past the confused, intrigued partygoers, and out of the house. The fireworks are over and everyone is standing around. I try not to be noticed as I run to my car and slide into the seat.
I twist the keys in the ignition, and the dashboard lights briefly flare. The engine gives a wheezy cough as it tries to turn over, then dies. I turn the key again, but it’s no use. I slam the steering wheel with my fists and let out an exasperated huff. I knew this was going to happen, considering I bought this piece of shit Honda for $300, but why now? Why here?
I glance back up at the house through the passenger window. Braden is on the lawn, barefoot, his shirt stuck in the top of his jeans as he scans the lawn for me. I open the door and dash down the driveway as fast as I can, abandoning my car. My lungs burn as I jog onto the street.
I don’t know what happened to me back there—but I don’t want him coming after me.
I jog steadily down the sidewalk without a destination or direction. I’ve been staying with Kate during winter break, but the apartment Braden and I share is back by our university. That’s hours away, and I have no cash on me. I have no family and no real friends.
I have nowhere to go.
I don’t watch where I’m headed, mesmerized by the gray squares of the sidewalk and the blurred motion of my shoes. The phantom power that I felt back there is still humming faintly below my skin. I feel my phone start to vibrate over and over against my thigh—I know it’s Braden, but I don’t check it.
A stitch stabs into my side below my ribs and I finally have to stop, bending over at the waist to catch my breath. When I look up, I realize I’m in a part of town that I don’t recognize. It’s late and all of the businesses are shuttered, the few intact streetlights cutting through heavy shadows. There’s no traffic in this dead block as uneasiness creeps over me.
A luxurious Rolls Royce pulls down the road as I start to walk slowly. It glides toward me and I wonder what it’s doing in this part of town, comprised of dive bars and pawn shops. The limo stops in the middle of the road next to me, and I glance over in surprise.
A beautiful woman exits the driver’s side door and steps onto the sidewalk. She’s tall and gamine, her crimson hair swept into an up-do beneath a tilted chauffeur’s cap. She’s gorgeous in an ageless way, wearing a pinstripe designer suit dress, and stilettos that make my feet cramp just looking at them.
“Iris Archer?” she asks, tilting her eyebrow. A faint British accent tinges her deep voice.
“How do you know my name?” I demand.
She smirks in a cat-like way, the corners of her red lips curving upward. “I know a great deal about you, because I’m here for
Then suddenly the wind forces out of me with a final burst and is gone. I’m shaky and woozy, the palms of my hands itching as I stare at them in shock. Feathers from Kate’s pillow float down silently.
“What the hell was that?” Braden shouts in a scared falsetto as he bolts to his feet.
I have no idea . I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers and then back up at him. I feel strong and alive, my heart beating too fast to be human.
He shimmies into his pants, stumbles over broken glass on the floor, and reaches out for me. I back away. “Iris, how did you do that?” he whispers, fear and awe coating his voice. Kate stands up, staying far away from me, surveying her destroyed possessions.
“Get away from me,” I say through gritted teeth. The thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl. I’m getting out of here, so you should clean up your mess.”
I rush out without stopping, past the confused, intrigued partygoers, and out of the house. The fireworks are over and everyone is standing around. I try not to be noticed as I run to my car and slide into the seat.
I twist the keys in the ignition, and the dashboard lights briefly flare. The engine gives a wheezy cough as it tries to turn over, then dies. I turn the key again, but it’s no use. I slam the steering wheel with my fists and let out an exasperated huff. I knew this was going to happen, considering I bought this piece of shit Honda for $300, but why now? Why here?
I glance back up at the house through the passenger window. Braden is on the lawn, barefoot, his shirt stuck in the top of his jeans as he scans the lawn for me. I open the door and dash down the driveway as fast as I can, abandoning my car. My lungs burn as I jog onto the street.
I don’t know what happened to me back there—but I don’t want him coming after me.
I jog steadily down the sidewalk without a destination or direction. I’ve been staying with Kate during winter break, but the apartment Braden and I share is back by our university. That’s hours away, and I have no cash on me. I have no family and no real friends.
I have nowhere to go.
I don’t watch where I’m headed, mesmerized by the gray squares of the sidewalk and the blurred motion of my shoes. The phantom power that I felt back there is still humming faintly below my skin. I feel my phone start to vibrate over and over against my thigh—I know it’s Braden, but I don’t check it.
A stitch stabs into my side below my ribs and I finally have to stop, bending over at the waist to catch my breath. When I look up, I realize I’m in a part of town that I don’t recognize. It’s late and all of the businesses are shuttered, the few intact streetlights cutting through heavy shadows. There’s no traffic in this dead block as uneasiness creeps over me.
A luxurious Rolls Royce pulls down the road as I start to walk slowly. It glides toward me and I wonder what it’s doing in this part of town, comprised of dive bars and pawn shops. The limo stops in the middle of the road next to me, and I glance over in surprise.
A beautiful woman exits the driver’s side door and steps onto the sidewalk. She’s tall and gamine, her crimson hair swept into an up-do beneath a tilted chauffeur’s cap. She’s gorgeous in an ageless way, wearing a pinstripe designer suit dress, and stilettos that make my feet cramp just looking at them.
“Iris Archer?” she asks, tilting her eyebrow. A faint British accent tinges her deep voice.
“How do you know my name?” I demand.
She smirks in a cat-like way, the corners of her red lips curving upward. “I know a great deal about you, because I’m here for
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