Shadowed (Unbound, Book 2)

Chapter Fifty Three

I pulled my car off the road in the embankment beside the Wickenton sign and exchanged my heels for sneakers. Better, but not ideal since my legs were still bare to branches, though that wouldn't stop me from trekking through the bushes to the clearing. I unlocked the glove compartment and took out the bag I'd secured just before taking Onyx for her run, and didn't look back except to point the keychain at the car to lock it. It was a secluded area but you never know what could happen.

Looking around the clearing, the lavender was gone, but that wasn't a surprise. I couldn't figure out if it had been my mother's way of communicating from beyond the grave—she'd always smelt like lavender—or my subconscious playing tricks on my lack of memory. It was supposed to help relieve sadness, but each time I saw it, I thought of her. Maybe that was the kind of confliction Zachariah was talking about when he said I was the only thing left standing in my way.

Who wanted the thing that reminded them of their dead mother to be what eased their grief?

It made me feel guilty for moving on but rationally, I knew I would have to work past that feeling. Whether it was what I wanted, and despite not being ready, I had to do it. Besides, wasn't that what my mother would want? She'd be mad if she caught me wallowing because she died. I was still alive.

Setting the bag on the ground beside a log, I sat and pulled out the book I brought but it was too dark to read. With so many trees, the light of the moon only illuminated the very center of the clearing. I put it back and stood, blew on my hands, and then rubbed my palms together. It had been so long, I didn't know if I would be able to do it, but I had to try. It should be like riding a bike, though I hoped my control was up to par after having just learnt it. Closing my eyes, I cleared my head and pictured the campfire being lit. Having thought of everything, how did I overlook matches?

"Okay, Mom," I whispered. "It's been a while, so I might need some help with this."

I opened my eyes and glanced down, but the campfire was still cold, untouched by fire.

"Oh, come on, Mom!" I balled my fist and slapped my thigh, and then shifted my weight, pushing my hands to the ground as I breathed slow for calm.

Bowing my head, I rested my chin on my chest and brought my hands up so that I had to look through them to see the unlit twigs, and narrowed my eyes. This time, I didn't close my eyes but pictured the flames igniting, the smell of sulphur that I would never forget, and the cackling as wood turned to ash.

When the heat began, it wasn't in the fire pit. A single flame flickered at the center of my palm, and then grew into a dancing ball of fire: orange, yellow, and red, with blue at the center. I brought my hand high, unbelieving, and pictured it contracting and expanding. It grew small and then large, and I squealed with success, jumping in place.

Why didn't it burn?

Unfortunately, there was no way to read a book while holding fire. I took a deep breath, pulled my arm back so that my elbow tucked into my side, and then reached out while imagining I was tossing a ball. The flame disappeared within the twigs, and I felt a moment of failure. But then it shot up into the sky, nearly as high as my head, and settled into a well-fueled campfire, steady and strong, and bright enough to read by its light.

I pumped my fist in the air.

A twig snapped behind me, cutting off my sounds of victory, and then someone began to clap. I twisted around but could only see a shadowed silhouette at first. Every muscle in my body tensed, coiled in preparation to flee. The figure came closer, finally stepping into the clearing from the path, and hair as white as snow glistened under the full moon's glow.

Luna smiled, lifting her hand to wave. "Very impressive, Nora."

Oh, crap. "I was, uh..." I pointed to the fire behind me. "I was practicing a trick?" I nodded. "For science."

She looked at me from head to toe. "Is that why you're dressed like a debutante preparing to run a marathon?" She pointed to my sneakers and then stepped around me to sit on the logs. She picked up the book I brought and, without looking up, said, "Relax. I'm just here to talk, and we both know I know what you can do."

How did she know where I would be? Why would she come? I studied her, taking the seat to her left despite wanting to sit across so that the fire separated us. But I didn't want to let the book that far from my sight. She seemed so different, dressing in jeans and knee-high black boots instead of her hippy-style garb.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, why?"

"Why am I here?" She looked up and smiled, appearing younger than while she was at work with her hair hanging down in a French braid. She turned to watch the fire but twisted her wrist so the book hung out towards me, and I grabbed it before it could fall. "Zachariah."

"What?" I dropped the book to my lap and stared, waiting for her to explain. "You saw him?"

Luna looked back and nodded, her lips transformed into a pressed thin line. "He mentioned you'd be here, so here I am."

"That's weird."

"He said you like the woods and would probably find your way out here. This is my third time checking," she said, and then looked back to the fire. Lowering her voice, masking curiosity with a casual tone, she asked, "So how long?"

"What?" I looked up and squinted at her.

"How long have you had your memory back?"