Descendants of Danu

By Chidinma Onuoha

Seventeen-year-old Nora Walsh has spent her entire life running. As the forbidden offspring of a demon and a magic-wielding psychic, she possesses unique powers far beyond those typically held within the psychic realm, but her powers have branded her an outsider and a potential danger to her people, the descendants of the Tuatha de Danaan. When Nora senses that the Council is close, she flees to Hagen High in Maine. But from the moment she arrives, she discovers the Council may have been one step ahead. Populating the halls of Hagen High are fellow psychics, ones who may or may not have been tasked with eliminating her where she stands. And deep in the woods surrounding the campus, another threat lies in wait, a dark and mysterious creature who’s been stalking Nora for years. Soon, a series of puzzling deaths and disappearances throw the school into chaos. With the entirety of the psychic realm in jeopardy, can Nora prove her worth to fight a common enemy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Feb 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781684712755

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ONUOHA

Copyright © 2020 Chidinma Onuoha.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1276-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1275-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019917541

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 02/05/2020

DEDICATION

To my dad, Henry N. Onuoha. I know

you’re smiling from where you are.

I want to thank, first and foremost, my mother, Emilia, for pushing me to get this book published despite my doubts. She has been my biggest cheerleader in all of this, and this book literally wouldn’t be here without her. I want to thank my dad, my family members, and friends for their undying support and advice.Finally, I would like to thank Lulu for working with me to bring this book together and send it out in the world; you guys are the reason why my dreams are realized.

Sincerely,

Chidinma

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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Chidinma is a graduate of the University of Maryland, College Park with a degree in English. She has been passionate and committed to writing since she was 9 years old, writing stories in folded sheets of paper to read to her friends. She can proudly say that her love for writing has only grown over the years. This is her first novel of a two part series. She currently lives in Washington DC.

THE FIRE

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(Ten Years Ago)

In the last memories I had of my parents, we were burning. I can see the dark charcoal vividly. The ash. The fire feathers flying in a flurry. I can hear distinctly, my parents scream from downstairs.

It was then that I realized the Council had found us. There wasn’t time to stop and wonder about how we were discovered, or where they were. After years of dodging them all over Europe, the Council had finally caught the psychic traitor, his demon wife, and their forbidden love child.

The thing is, I was supposed to be worried about myself. The Council came for me after all, and my parents wouldn’t have wanted me to go to their rescue. That’s what dad said the day we moved from Northern Ireland to Alexandria, Virginia—; if the time should ever come where the Council finds us, run away. Run as far and as fast as you can. Stop for nothing, not even for them.

Within the flames, I felt the fire eating away at my flesh. I could smell my body cooking, and eventually, the air got so thick that I lost consciousness.

The fire was a tragedy my parents knew was coming. The question wasn’t if the Council would attack us, but when. And the question of when hung over us like a shadow. And eventually, it felt better, less painful to denounce the gravity of the situation by ignoring it. The Council has always hunted us, but it was the hunting and the waiting that wore us out.

Waiting for impending doom exhausts even the most fearful and cautious, and so you are tired of being afraid. You’re tired of looking over your shoulder every moment when something is amiss. You’re alert, but not so much where it cripples what normal life you have left. So, my parents ignored the nagging in the back of their mind that something was wrong. They misinterpreted the nagging as one of the familiar dreads of waiting for the worst. And the worst did come.

Since then, I’ve learned that I cannot leave such feelings to chance.

HAGEN

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This place is awfully secluded, Deidre observes. Good job Nora. My guardian peers out the passenger side window, scrutinizing the colonnade of pine trees and quiet wilderness in between. As she surveys the area, I can guess that she’s checking off the boxes in her head. The place was a respectable distance from Virginia, few residents, and even fewer tourist activity. A perfect place to stay hidden.

I murmur a thanks, pulling the sleeves of my sweat jacket over my knuckles and lean my head back on the leather seat.

We’ve been sitting in the backseat of a coral blue taxi cab for a little over half an hour, and I’ve long said my goodbyes to Biddeford Municipal Airport and the treacherous plane trip. I silently observe the vibrant green that engulfs us, feeling entirely small in its magnificence. We ride on an incline up a single uneven road, and the smell of pine tree needles and cups of steaming black coffee fill the interior, subduing my nerves.

I’m traveling to Saco, Maine, a small town a few miles drive from Portland and Old Orchard Beach. While in this cab, I’ve been reassuring myself that coming here was the best choice. My only choice. I could feel the Council’s energy getting stronger the closer they got to me. Every psychic had that feeling when another psychic was nearby; it felt like the intensity of two magnets coming closer together. Since the fire, Deidre made sure to teach me how to recognize the pressure, to know when danger was close, and so far, it’s been more than useful.

I’m going to Hagen Academy, a boarding school in Saco, Maine. When I told Deidre that I wanted to leave our house in Alexandria, Virginia, and come here, naturally, she objected. But I did my research. And seeing that the environment and atmosphere matched the brochures I’d studied, hasn’t disappointed. Hagen is the perfect place to clear my thoughts. It’s the ideal place to discover myself in a less menacing light, that I am not merely the forbidden offspring of traitors.

Of course, I’ve traveled enough times to know that a different place didn’t always mean a different person. I am what I am wherever I go. My parent’s death will remain with me to this day, and it doesn’t help that I was the cause. But sometimes I wonder how I can live with that and manage a normal life. I never got a chance to choose how my life would turn out. But I can choose what I can make out of it.

Deidre’s fingers fidget over her lap. She’s still staring out the side window, her expression inscrutable. Anyone would have thought that she was perfectly fine. With her blonde hair tied back in a severe low ponytail, she looked like someone waiting for an interview. But I’ve known her long enough to discern when she was nervous. And how could she not be when this will be our first time apart in ten years?

Deidre was the one who took me in when I was at the hospital recovering from my burns. When I came to from my unconsciousness, I was greeted with police officers and doctors asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. Deidre, a close friend of dad, rescued me and adopted me as her daughter. I realized that though the fire was unplanned, my father foresaw the future as much and asked for her help in the time that he or my mother was no longer around. I didn’t even know why I was surprised when she stepped into my hospital bedroom. My dad seemed to have friends from everywhere, always helping.

I’m happy that that friend was Deidre. I’m indebted to her every day for what she did. It couldn’t have been easy for her, the danger I put on her; but it was precisely for that reason that I had to go.

We sensed the Council coming a couple weeks ago. Deidre and I were in the kitchen, the room flooded in natural morning light from the one window. I was helping her chop some bell peppers by the counter when we felt the pull. We paused and looked at each other, knowing ten years of secret bliss had come to an end. I decided I had to go before the same tragic fate happened to Deirdre. She opposed, of course. But honestly, I don’t think I can bear the guilt if someone else died at my expense. She knows that.

I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it. She turns and smiles, assuring, though it seems more for her than for me. I return a smile anyway to make her feel better.

It’s going to be okay, you know? Coming here, it’s going to be good for me, I say softly.

Deidre’s lips stretch tightly, her grey eyes dilating in that way when she was fighting back a flood. Her other hand gently pats mine; they are incredibly soft and cool to the touch. I know it’s just…. She sighs, shaking her head. A lot. This change, you know?

Yeah, I know.

I mean, I’ve been your mentor and protector these past ten years. You’re like a daughter to me. A well of emotion flashes over her face. I think back to the memories, and I’m not surprised to find that she’s been in most of them, in all of the crucial moments.

She taught me everything I needed to know, training me in mixed martial arts since age seven. I will never forget the long summer afternoons sparring in her backyard or the warm nights in the room we shared listening to her stories of the psychic realm. And in the times when I was perfectly terrified of the powers inside me, she helped me navigate them with calm.

I know, Dee. But you shouldn’t make such a ceremony out of this. This isn’t the first time I’m leaving for a new place. I used to travel all over Europe with my parents.

Yeah, but that wasn’t home, Deidre quips, her voice shaking. She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling; She was probably cursing herself for letting those emotions slip out. You know better than anyone how it really was.

In my childhood, my parents and I were mostly hiding from anyone in any place, always moving. We changed our names countless times, lived with different people in different areas. Sometimes I didn’t live with my parents at all, sometimes with a close relative or a trusted friend that I don’t remember.

I’m psychic, but I’ve never fit into any of the psychic tribes, the Myrddin, the Morrigans, and the Sidhe. These tribes have powers one can anticipate; the Myrddin has the powers of life, the Morrigans the power of darkness, and the Sidhe, the outcast of the group had powers of the earth. Each one had a strength and a weakness, millennia’s worth of history and knowledge. No one knew what to make of me. My mother was already part of a tiny subgroup of the Morrigans who inherited Caoránach, the mother of demons. Psychics like me shouldn’t exist.

I’m a forbidden psychic. I bear unstable powers that can potentially wipe out the entire supernatural race. I’ve never tested it out, never fully activated it. And part of me is afraid to.

Whenever we ran away, my mom and dad had a look in their eyes full of fear and worry. Those eyes were directed to me, and I always became frightened by those eyes because it filled with love, guilt, and the fact that I didn’t belong all mixed together. I didn’t belong to anyone, and the Council wouldn’t let me belong to them. But I belonged here. Deidre made sure of that.

Yeah. Sorry, I say.

We’re deep in the forest green trees. Large pine trees stretch into the horizon, obscuring a grayish-blue sky. The clouds finally break apart as if the day had exhausted from rain. We travel onto the rough cement road, and the cab jumps up and down on the bumpy path.

This will be the last time we ever see other, probably, Diedre murmurs. Maybe you’re used to this, but it’s hard for me.

I duck my head and shrug. The thing is, I’m just as torn about this as Deidre. I’ll miss her like crazy. I feel like over time, I’ve numbed myself from goodbyes. The moment I feel the massive gravity of goodbyes, something inside me just halts it in place before it’s fully pressed.

When are you leaving Alexandria again? I ask.

Next week, Diedre says simply. I’ll be in Washington by then, and that will be it.

That will be it.

I feel my chest twist, and I suppress the emotion down. I swallow it. If the Council was going down to Virginia to kill me, they will undoubtedly take Diedre in for questioning or kill her too. So she also had to leave the state without a trace.

I’ll call you and keep you updated on the travel and everything until I reach there, Diedre says.

And that will be it.

Hagen appears through the trees and its shadows less than two miles away.

The school rests on top of a hill, just like what I had seen on the computer. For me, though, it’s always strange how buildings on a bright screen looked the same and yet a bit different, a materialized realness, up close. That difference is the ominous atmosphere as soon as we approach it. It stands on a hill next to a murky gray lake. No distractions, or loud, busy roads, or horns honking in the streets or random shouts in the nighttime. The woods of Saco are quiet with the occasional sound of the wind tapping against our window and the crows cawing in the gray horizon.

The driver pulls in front of the main building and cuts off the engine. No sooner does the cold swoop into the cab.

Deidre turns to me and forces a smile, eyes crinkling. There’s no going back now.

I know. I smile back.

She nods and exits the car. When she steps out, cold air burst in. Come on. Let’s take out the luggage. I shiver in the cold. This part of Maine is terribly bitter and unapologetic about it. The bitter smell of brewed coffee turns crisp, and the scent of pine trees grows stronger.

I huff, my breath floating in the air like thick crystals. I pull on the car door handle, and once I exit the car, my face is stiffened to stone by the cold. I walk around the cab and pull out the luggage from the trunk. Deidre and I haul them down the walkway, the luggage’s dig a long ragged trail behind us until we stop before the front door. And we just stand there. For a moment, neither of us has the will to open it, and the handle waits. I imagine it growing impatient.

Do you still have that dagger with you?

I patted my lower leg, feeling the cool blade strapped tight with gauze under my jeans. It was a gift Deidre gave me on my 13th birthday. Yep.

Deidre’s gaze drifts to the glass doors, still looking somewhat uneasy. Maybe I should follow up with the headmistress again. Just check to see if the rooming arrangements and class schedules are in place. And it wouldn’t hurt to check out the—

No, please. I’ve got this. And besides, after all those phone calls before we even stepped foot in Maine, the headmistress probably wouldn’t want to see her.

Right, right. Sorry. Okay… She turns to me. Her expression hasn’t changed, but now her eyes have glazed over. Be careful, keep in contact always.

I smile, nodding. I won’t forget. You don’t have to worry.

Abruptly, she pulls me into a warm hug, and I hold on to her embrace. I can smell her sharp rose perfume and the rich fragrance of her brown leather jacket. Goodbye, she whispers.

Goodbye. I force my voice steady. I hated saying goodbyes because when you’re so close to someone, it’s difficult to leave them. Unfortunately, moving all the time hadn’t helped with that.

I’ll be at the hotel. Within the week, if you need anything, just call.

Okay. I force myself to let go of her and smile a final goodbye before pulling open the front door and entering the building.

A burst of warm air hits me once I step in. A few people amble about the main lobby once I enter. Boys and girls walk up and down the halls, eyes all averted to somewhere else. I stroll down the hallway, an old wasteland of white marble floors and brown tile walls looking as if it were built centuries ago by a not so visionary architect. The dusty halls are carelessly left alone with neglect, and I swear, a pile of dust shifted to the side when I opened the door. Just moved.

The ceiling lights blink every so often. The halls are quiet as I walk down that I can hear my own heart beating. The luggage’s wheels rolling upon the marble floor echo and bounce off the walls. Even my breathing happens to leave a light echo.

The few people wandering the halls walk with silence, pointedly ignoring me. Their feet make no source of noise as it presses against the floor.

My footsteps, however, echo throughout the quiet halls. The snow on the soles of my boots sloshing onto the floor.

Soft tip taps emerge from a far distance; delicate footsteps, and the tip tap grows louder, the closer it gets to me.

I slow my pace and look ahead as a small girl walk towards me.

She’s nimble as she steps down the hall. Her creamy skin glows under the dim fluorescent light, and her wavy auburn hair swings side to side across her back with every step she takes. She’s wearing dark jeans and a pink sweater that reads a funny pun with a yellow smiley face. I know then that she isn’t someone to be afraid of. She has that warm look in her eyes that makes a person easily like her when they don’t even know her. But you want to.

The girl stops in front of me a few feet away and captures me with her large brown eyes. Her gaze rolls down to my luggage and then to my boots covered in melting snow. Then those brown eyes slowly make its way back up to me.

Are you new here? she finally asks, pointing limply at my luggage.

I hesitate, startled by how her voice came up so suddenly, sounding so average and confident.

Yes. My bottom lip quiver slightly, but it’s barely noticeable, not by how far she is to notice.

You must be Nora Walsh, the new student from Virginia. She smiles. I’m Ashley Burton, junior class president of Hagen Academy. Then in a quick second, her eyebrows pull together. She stares at me intently, bewildered. I was just looking for you, actually. I’m supposed to show you to your dorm and to your roommates.

I force a smile and take out a wet piece of paper with my dorm room number out from my jacket pocket. I struggle to read Deidre’s illegible blue inked cursive, all smudged and whatnot. I’m supposed to go to room number 104 Lewiston Hall.

Her bright eyes grow wide, and just like that, she’s smiling again. That’s my dorm too! Only my room is on the floor above yours, but still, that’s a great way to start off school. I can already tell we’ll be meeting each other a lot throughout the year. She looks up at me, the edge of her lips stretching wider. So, if you need anything, I’m always here.

She swoops down, taking my duffle bag and slings it over her shoulder like a purse. Surprisingly the weight doesn’t sink her to the floor, doesn’t even appear to bother her shoulders. First, I’ll show you to the headmistress’s office. She said she wanted to meet you as soon as you arrive. So, follow me, and we’ll be on our way.

Ashley lead me to a grand staircase a few yards wide, not far from the front doors. We travel up the steps and down a quiet corridor dimly lit with twinkling wall lights; much of it reminding me of the hallowed halls of some gothic university. Ashley stops abruptly before large double doors, outwardly heavy in appearance and designed in intricate carvings in an ancient style. She knocks, the sound echoing throughout the desolate halls, before opening the doors and stepping it.

Despite the gothic display outside these doors, the headmistresses office looks rather ordinary. As average a size as any principal’s office, I’ve seen in the past. Once we enter, we’re greeted with a large expresso colored desk, a vintage brown leather desk chair, and a woven rug. She has near ceiling length bookcases stacked to either side of the room with a couple of leather sofas surrounding a small glass coffee table quaintly set in front. I do notice a slight difference, however. She has pale lavender walls that complement the dark furniture, and there is a thick smell of old books in the air, pungent but pleasant.

A tall figure in a dark suit, whom I assume to be the headmistress, stands before a set of windows outlooking the gray lake and New England evergreen. The first thing I notice is that she is willowy in a way that is graceful and that her hair is a dull shade of brown. Yet, it’s uncharacteristically grown past the waist. From behind, she could have been in her 20s or well past her 60s. Odd.

Headmistress Byrne? Ashley says. The double doors click closed behind us. Nora Walsh is here.

The woman’s head snaps up, as though just realizing we’re here and she turns around, revealing a pair of warm black eyes. Fine lines deepen around her mouth as she smiles, pointedly at me.

Thank you so much, Ashley. The headmistress walks over to us, the sound of her heels lost in the rug. Even up close, she appears ageless. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Nora. I wanted to greet you personally on your first day. I’m Headmistress Byrnes. She reaches out her hand, and I take it. Her skin is cool, and her long slender fingers wrap around mine gently.

Hi. Thanks for having me.

And where’s Deidre, my child?

She’s at the hotel. Something came up with her flight, so she had to go back.

How terrible. I couldn’t ignore the flash of relief in her eyes and that internal exhale of air. She studies me with a shine in her eyes. No doubt, she thinks that this must be the forbidden psychic. A rare sight, surely. I wonder if she’s disappointed that I look ordinary. What must she have thought before? That I’d have one eye? Unflattering horns? Footlong claws?

Unlike most psychics that bare a physical mark akin to their tribe, I have nothing. I remember back to a conversation Diedre and I had some years ago.

Sometimes, you can tell what tribe a psychic is from based on their appearance. Myrddin’s usually have odd-colored eyes, patterns, weird gradients. Sometimes they glow. Morrigan’s have the traits of the Mother Morgana; dark hair or dark eyes. And Sidhe’s. Well, Sidhe’s are easy. They just look like fairies, as they are.

But does that make sense, though? To categorize people based on their looks? I asked. We’re one psychic race. All of us are descended from the members of the Tuatha de Danaan, right? So a Myrddin can have dark hair and dark eyes, and a Sidhe can have odd-colored eyes. And a Myrddin can look like a fairy.

Yes, I’m sure that is true, Deidre admitted. But to be frank, knowing the difference within these socially constructed circumstances makes it easier for you. Even if it is, at times, ineffectual.

Ridiculous. Deidre was the only psychic I’d seen within 10 years and based on her description, she is Myrddin like my dad. Based on her report, Headmistress Byrne is Morrigan. But again, such depictions are slightly misleading.

Headmistress smiles. I’ll get you settled with your class schedule, my dear. In the meantime… She shifts her attention to Ashley. Would it be alright to wait outside the room, Ashley. It will be no more than a few minutes.

Ashley appears somewhat shocked but nods.

Sure.

Her footsteps descend to a quiet as she makes her exit. Once the door closes, the headmistress’s eyes travel back to me.

It took a lot of courage, outing to me as you did. Courageous and foolish. But I’m grateful that you’ve bestowed onto me that trust.

I nod, looking at my sneakers. Diedre said she recognized your name on the brochure. It’s the only reason why she let me go. She said you knew my dad?

My sister, Granuwaile, knew your father. But I had seen him around the Council from time to time when he was a member. He was an amiable lad. Brave, given how the politics were. Are. You cannot fault a man for falling in love. Or fault what that love makes.

I blush. Even if that means I’m forbidden?

Headmistress Byrne is quiet for some time. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have mattered.

What?

Byrne walks back toward her desk, and I follow behind. How familiar are you with your psychic history Miss. Walsh?

Hmm. I scratch my head. I’ve learned some about the wars. Deirdre taught me that much, and on how to protect myself.

Psychics once lived in a world that almost wiped itself out of existence had it not been for an agreement. The conflict started with the belief that one group was closer to the lineage of the Mother and Father Danu and Dagda and, therefore, superior descendants. But after centuries of war—the result of which thousands of the psychic race had perished—most of our history perished with them. Ancient artifacts, the stories of the great heroes of our time, all vanished. Eventually, we were forced to a ceasefire, and the Treaty of Isolation came to existence. The Myrddin took over the realm since then and later formed the Council.

The headmistress nods her head as if reading my mind. I cannot tell you when exactly we lost ourselves. Before, we were a unified family, living together in the great Celtic lands. There was no such thing as tribes. Now we live with this foolishness on who is closest in the bloodline to the highest gods of the Tuatha de Danaan. We ask ourselves, who is the most pure? And of course, your existence jeopardizes that. You are not only different, but you are completely out of nowhere. But it wasn’t like that before, not in my time.

We’re silent for a moment, the grandfather clock lost somewhere in the corner tick-tocks loudly. She circles around her desk and descends onto the leather chair.

Despite your guardian’s very persistent phone calls, I believe we both agree on the same things. I will protect you here as I will protect any of my students. But you especially, always feel free to come here for questions or even to have a talk with tea, she says, gesturing to the sofas in front of the bookcases. My door is always open.

Thank you.

Oh, and take this. She pulls open a drawer and produces a worn leather book, etched in gold lettering. This is an essential book; it has all the information you need on our race. Our past, our future. Everything is here. Let no one else see this but you.

I blink. When I accept the book, the headmistress produces a thin manila folder from the same drawer and hands them to me. Welcome to Hagen Academy, Miss. Walsh.

ROOMMATES

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I follow Ashley outside using the main building’s back door. A gust of bitter wind slaps us as we step through the double doors. I’m going to have to get used to that. There’s something unforgiving in New England weather that reminds me more than a few times that I’m more a foreigner here than I’ve ever been.

My face stiffens in the icy breeze, and I press my lips together to keep them warm. My ears are cold to the point where it feels completely numb, and I yearn desperately to find my dorm fast. Ashley, on the other hand, looks fine, not affected in the slightest. I would’ve been annoyed had she not made such a strange sight of it.

She’s wearing a thin sweater while I’m in layers of coats and jackets. Her hands turn paperwhite as the wind brush over her skin, but that is the only thing that gives away any sign that she’s cold.

In silence, we walk along an obscure stone path. I notice that the path splits and diverge to different dorms and departments. Each building resembles the other: worn but sturdy, and decades beyond repair. Yet it’s still beautiful, in that ancient, authentic sort of way.

I follow Ashley toward a tall bricked building, holding together by dusty bricks in lighter and darker shades of red. Each bar old and chipped as if someone had smashed it.

Above the wooden double doors, a cement plate is engraved Lewiston Hall.

And though the place may not look renewed, I don’t complain. I’ve hidden in harsher places in my past.

I’m sure you’d love this school. The place is a bit old, but trust me, it warms up on you. And besides, Ashley says as if reading my thoughts. She grabs on to the door handle, turns to me, and smiles warmly. We’ve been waiting to meet you.

I force a smile.

Ashley twists the handle, flinging the door open and steps into the building. I follow, lingering a little behind as I climb up the concrete steps. I grab the door handle, ready to step inside, but I hesitate, frozen as ice. I feel a soft intensity within my chest, the same feeling I get whenever I feel the energy of the Council. The pull, and there’s no denying it. The recognition takes my breath away; fear shoots through my body.

I force myself to turn around and find a guy ambling down the stone pathway, the base of his black boots clumped in snow. He’s looking ahead, hands in his pockets, his eyes distant and lost in thought. The world may have disappeared all around him, and still, he would walk.

But then he hesitates on the pavement and then comes full stop as if he could feel someone watching him.

He turns around, and the moment he does, our eyes lock. The world freezes over once our eyes meet, and the air leaves my body. I don’t move. My hand is frozen on the metal handle, and my feet are glued to the concrete floor thanks to the sloshy snow beneath my boots. I just look at him.

His light brown hair grazes his cheek as the wind breeze by us. His slender eyes don’t leave mine. His skin is pale from the cold. And we just stand where we are, not uttering a single word to each other.

From the look in his eyes, he knows who I am. The thought makes my mind go wild. Is he from the Council, or is the feeling merely the soft intensity of the wind? I can’t tell, for the feeling was so light that it could be anything. And that’s what scares me. The uncertainty.

A whisk of wind blows his hair again, but he’s motionless.

And his eyes; his hazel brown eyes are so intense and yet unreadable, that for a moment I consider that I’ve been mistaken.

And he couldn’t be. There couldn’t be a chance that the Council would beat me here. I would’ve known if they were here without a single doubt in my mind. After the fire, I couldn’t make the mistake of taking chances. And this feeling near him, I’m unsure of. And I don’t think I want to figure it out.

I pull on the door handle and step through the double doors greeted by the warmth of the radiators and a colorful lobby of artistically designed walls and bright sofas.

The room’s crowded with girls. Most girls sit on the robin egg’s blue leather couches or on the floor, crowding around a plasma screen TV watching some crime drama. Up ahead, there’s a line awaiting a vending machine, and others lounge on soft individual sofas placed on separate parts of the room reading.

I’m