Broken Visions

Chapter 27

When I open my eyes, I’m still in the living room, the Purple Flame burning from my hand as the mapping ball sparkles in it, hissing and crackling as if it’s a hollow log.

“It didn’t work.” Alex frowns disappointed, yet relieved.

I frown, too. “But I felt it work.”

Alex leans closer to inspect the mapping ball without touching it. “Maybe the Purple Flame wasn’t what we needed. You did get the idea from a random note left on your bed. And we don’t even know who left the note.”

Someone who smells an awful lot like Nicholas, I want to say, but don’t want to look insane. “Yeah, but, the Purple Flame existed like the note said.” I glance at the flame in my hand, dancing and swaying, fueling my body with power I can’t figure out how to use. “It’s got to be used for it.”

We stare at the flame, trying to put the missing pieces together. Finally, I sigh, remove the mapping ball from my hand, and smother the Purple Flame out. “Dammit, I thought I had it.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Alex states as I put the mapping ball down on the coffee table, frustrated. “Maybe you’re trying too hard. Sometimes your power doesn’t work when you drain yourself.” He delicately grazes his finger across my jawline and I shiver. “Maybe you should go lie down and try to sleep for a bit, and then try again when you wake up.”

I want to protest because sleeping feels like the last thing I need to do, but I nod, deciding I’m going to try something else, something I’m not ready to share with him. “Okay, give me like a few hours.”

He turns to me as I’m walking out, his lips quirking with amusement, something I haven’t seen in a few days. “You want some company?”

I shake my head and make myself disregard the hurt that flashes across his face at my rejection. “Sorry, but I won’t sleep if you’re in there.” I force a smile and he relaxes slightly.

I dash up the stairs and into my room, locking the door behind me, not believing what I’m about to do because it makes it seem like I might be losing my mind.

“Nicholas,” I whisper as I trail around my room, glancing in all the nooks and corners. “Are you in here?” I anticipate a response, but all I can hear is the wind howling outside. “If you can hear me, please say something… I have questions about the note I think you left on my bed.”

Nothing. I surrender from talking to the dead, flopping down onto the bed on my back and staring up at the ceiling, just like I used to do when I was emotionally numb, only this time my mind is racing. “I must really be getting desperate,” I mutter.

“The answers to your problems aren’t in your ceiling,” a low pitch voice suddenly says.

My eyes widen as I hastily sit up, skimming my room for whoever spoke to me, but I don’t see anyone. “Who’s there… Nicholas, is that you?” It doesn’t sound like him, but I’m not discounting the idea just yet.

“That’s not the question you should be asking.” The voice tsks. “You’re not focusing on the problem.”

I lower my feet to the floor, looking everywhere when I speak because I’m not sure where to focus—the voice seems like it’s encompassing me. “Are you the one who left the note?”

They make this buzzer sound. “Wrong question again.”

I climb off my bed, on guard. “Why does it sound like you’re disguising your voice like a game show host?”

“Gemma.” They sound so disheartened. “You need to stop focusing on other things and start focusing on saving the world.”

“That’s kind of what I’ve been doing.” I move over to my closet and threw it open, but it’s vacant.

“Come on, Gemma, ask me the right question.”

“Okay.” I shut the closet door, turn around, and lean against it. “How can I get into the mapping ball?”

“Ding. Ding. We have a winner.” A pause. “With the Purple Flame.”

“I already have the Purple Flame.” I draw back the curtain and peer out the window. It’s raining outside, puddles and mud covering the grass, sidewalks, and streets. “It didn’t work.”

Silence.

I sigh, turning away from the window and checking under my bed. “Okay, how do I get the Purple Flame to work with the mapping ball?”

“Ding, ding, there you go,” they say with exaggerated cheerfulness. “Now look at your arm.”

I kneel up and elevate my arm in front of me. “Okay… it looks like an arm, except for the ugly olive-green lines tracing my skin…” I flip my hand over and look at the hideous lines Stasha’s death left on my flesh. “Wait, is that what’s causing it not to work?”

“You can’t restore life with death in your hand,” they tell me in a serious tone.

“Strangely enough, that actually makes sense. But the death in my skin is permanent, so how can I make it go away?”

“Go back and ask her to take it away.” The voice is fading.

“Are you crazy?” I ask. “Stasha will kill me.”

No response. No annoying ding, dings.

I sigh begrudgingly. I guess I’m going to Stasha’s.

Paying a visit to a girl who tried to murder me makes me a little bit edgy so I decide I need backup. The best person for the job is Laylen because a) unlike Alex, he’s never dated Stasha, therefore his presence will keep jealous fits to a bare minimum, and b) Laylen is immortal so Stasha’s touch can’t kill him.

It’s still early as I tiptoe down the hallway to the room Laylen sleeps in. Alex is downstairs talking to Aislin about Aleesa, they’re newfound sister, and I decide to let them be for now, let them have their moment where they’re not worrying about the end of the world.

I crack open the door and peek my head into Laylen’s room. “Laylen,” I whisper as I turn the light on and rap my hand on the doorway. “I need your help.”

He jumps out of the bed, arms flailing, ready to attack, but calms down when he sees it’s me. “Fuck, Gemma. What the hell are you doing?” He exhales, unstiffening. “You really have an act for sneaking up on me when I’m asleep, don’t you?”

As the blanket falls from my body, my eyes travel across his lean chest and carved muscles, the side decorated with a black ink tattoo of symbols running vertical. “I’m sorry,” I say, blinking my gaze off his body. “I should have knocked first.”

“It’s okay,” he says as he gets out of his bed, wearing only his boxers. I’ll admit he’s sexy as hell. Long legs, tattoos hidden in places I’d never thought of—I want to touch them all, but the thing that stops me is Alex and how I feel for him, which is mind-blowingly terrifying. “Did you need something?” He grabs a pair of jeans off the floor and puts them on.

“Yeah, I need your help with… something.”

He buckles the studded belt around his pants. “With what?”

“I need you to come with me to Stasha’s,” I say, watching him tug a black shirt over his head.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He looks down at the olive-green lines scarring my arm as he ruffles his hair into place. “Considering what happened the last time you went there.”

“But I need to. The Purple Flame won’t work unless I do.”

“Wait, you got the Purple Flame? When?”

“Oh, I guess I need to back up a few steps, don’t I?”

He nods and we sit down on the bed. I start from the beginning, telling him what’s happened while he’s been napping.

“So you think the scars on your arms are what’s stopping the Purple Flame from working?” he asks after I finish explaining. I exclude the details of how I received the information about the scars. Laylen is understanding, but telling him that a talk-show-host voice told me about it and that I’m pretty sure it was Nicholas disguising his voice is something I don’t want to share with anyone ever.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

He sweeps his blue-tipped bangs away from his forehead. “How do you know that’s what’s wrong? I mean, it could be a thousand different things.” He eyes me over with skepticism. “Why do I get the feeling you’re keeping something from me? Something about how you got the information?”

“Would you believe me if I said that a little birdie told me?"

“Gemma,” he starts, but I stop him.

“Look, I get that you want to know, but I just need you to trust me.” I carry his gaze. “It’s for the best that you don’t know.”

I feel a splash of emotion current through me and for the briefest second I feel like tearing off Laylen’s clothes and touching him all over. But I’m not sure if it’s stemming from myself or if Laylen is feeling something at the moment and his emotion manipulation gift is accidentally seeping into me, and it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable, if he feels something for me as more than a friend. Could that be possible?

“Okay, if that’s what you think needs to be done, then let’s go to Stasha’s.” He rubs his jawline with a thoughtful expression “But if she tries to kill you again, I might have to resort to violence.”

“And that’s perfectly okay with me.” I grab his hand, tugging him up as I stand. He towers above me as I shut my eyes and moments later we are being swept away.