Trial of Smoke

Chapter Eight

My fist was raised, ready to knock at the dark mahogany door to my father's office.

"Moons, just move." Micah huffed impatiently. His fist rattled the door, loud, echoing through the hall. I fell back, lowering my head. Ashamed. Ashamed of my fear, my cowardice. "It's just your father."

I took a deep breath. Fatigue coursed through my body, my conscience calling out to me like a siren to return to my room. To find safety. But even it wasn't convinced. After the events of the night before, I had been rushed to the infirmary. Glenn wouldn't look at me, his head reeling from the event. From the revelations. The longer I thought on it, the less, I realized, I could blame him for his anger. I was mad at him for not trusting me. I was mad at him for not being able to stand the sight of me. More than anything, though, I was mad at myself.

"I could have done that myself, ya know?"

"I don't feel like standing here for thirty minutes. I have other things to take care of."

"Like I don't." I rolled my eyes. My mind turned back to Glenn.

A part of me knew his anger could have been avoided. If I had just trusted him, if I had just let him in. But for years, I had always had Castor to guide me. I had always had his reassurance and I had never realized that I would need that from Glenn when he found out. That his rejection was not all too different from if Castor had done the same.

But wasn't it me who kept it from him? Wasn't it me who saw his hatred for the Arcanes first hand and still stuck around? Wasn't it me who held it in even when I had no one else to turn to?

Self-pity wasn't going to get me anywhere. I had to talk to Glenn, I had to make things right. But for right now, I had to face Father.

He had been the first person in the infirmary. His eyes were bulging, full of sleep and rage. His voice carried easily through the hospital, I knew he was coming before he showed up. His relief filled him as he gazed at me. Not a scratch on me. Not one.

I didn't understand it. I could still feel the wall as I had smacked into, still feel the man's hands attempting to break me apart, hear the crack that I had been certain was a bone. It was a miracle; it was impossible. I had broken my arm before. Snapped it right in half. But even then it had taken a week to heal. Never was it a mere second before I was standing strong once more. I tried not to focus on it. There were things beyond myself that had earned my attention. Things beyond my control.

The door swung open but instead of looking into the familiar eyes of my father, I was gazing at a man I only vaguely recognized. He smiled, a genuine smile, something comforting after the event of the night before and Micah's poor company.

"Andromeda," he greeted. I took in his balding head, his soft form. He felt like a friend more than a stranger. "It's nice to see you again."

His hands grabbed mine. I had no idea who he was, but I found familiarity in him, as though he were a distant relative.

"You too." My hands shook as he held them both gently.

There was a glean to his eyes, but the familiarity was distant from my reach.

"My apologies, Ameerah. I forget, young ones are impressionable, but faces never stick. The name's Cal. Cal Barone."

My eyebrows furrowed. "How did you..."

"I'm a Sibyl. Your past and your future I can read without hesitation."

That couldn't be right. My hands instinctively reach up to my necklace and for the first time, I felt it. I felt the deep gouge in the gem. Broken. And with it, so went its powers. My mind traveled. A flicker of flames, warm yet cool all at once. Was that inside of me all along? He nodded, as though even without the contact, he could still see inside of my head.