Author: Shannon Messenger

Think, Vane. Remember the freaking command or you will splatter on the ground into a million pieces.

But I can’t. My mind is blank. Except for one sickening thought.

I’m going to die.

CHAPTER 28

AUDRA

Watching Vane plummet from the sky rips me back to the past.

A man floats above me in the Stormer’s trap. A tangle of dark clothes and thrashing limbs and wind.

For one horrifying second I think it’s my father and my body shakes with sobs. Then I get a better look at his face.

Not my dad.

Vane’s dad.

I hate myself for being relieved—but I can’t help it.

His wide, terrified eyes meet mine and he tries to twist his arms free. But he’s too tightly bound by the winds to move. He’ll never escape on his own.

I have to help him. I have to fix this—make this right somehow.

Before I can decide what to do, a gust untangles from the wall of the storm, coils around the dark trunk of a dislodged tree, and whips it toward me like someone’s controlling it. I drop to the ground, covering my head with my skinny arms, and wait to be shredded by the jagged branches. But the wind shifts again and I hear Vane’s dad cry out.

Something red and wet drips on my arm.

It’s too bright among the gray and black of the storm. I don’t understand what it is or where it came from. Until another drop splatters my cheek.

I look back up and see crooked branches protruding from his arms, his neck, his chest. Streams of red trickle from the wounds.

I scream, harder and louder than I’ve ever screamed before.

Vane’s scream snaps me out of it, and I command the draft I’d wrapped around me to “Rush!”

I don’t breathe until I snag Vane by the waist and pull him into the nest of winds supporting me.

“Told you that was a bad idea,” he mutters with a shaky voice.

He’s right.

He’s even more helpless than his parents were.

I can’t let myself forget that—no matter how much promise he shows.

Our feet touch the ground and I realize I’m leaning on Vane more than he’s leaning on me.

I can’t let him end up the same way his parents did.

I can’t.

I won’t.

I pull away from him. “What happened up there?”

“I don’t know. I guess I blanked.”

“You blanked?” He’s being too easy on himself. His parents didn’t push themselves, and now they’re both dead.

“Hey, I’m not exactly used to being shot through wind funnels like a Vane-bullet. I don’t even like heights.”

“You don’t like heights?”

His cheeks flush. “I didn’t say I’m afraid of them. I’m just not used to them.”

“Well—you’d better get used to them.”

“I know.”

“Before the Stormers come.”

“I said I know—I’m not an idiot, okay?”

I sigh, trying to get ahold of myself. “Look, Vane. I know I’m pushing you really hard. But I’m trying to protect you. I have to teach you as many basic lifesaving skills as I can. And stopping yourself from falling is essential. So we’re going to have to practice this until you get it right.”

He pales as I point to the wind funnel, still swirling away in the darkness.

“Try to relax this time,” I suggest.

He runs his hands down his face as he stares at the funnel. “I can’t.”

“You have to.”

Endless seconds pass as he watches the winds swirl. “Come with me, then,” he finally whispers.

“What?”

“Come with me.” He holds out his hand. “Maybe having you there will help me keep calm enough to remember the command.”

“I’m not always going to be at your side during the fight. You need—”

“I know what I need. But right now, when I’m still trying to get the hang of all this, and still trying to make sense of the three crazy wind languages in my head, and still sore from almost dying yesterday, and still trying to wrap my head around all the impossible things you’ve told me. Maybe with all that, you could help me learn this very complicated—and, by the way, terrifying—new skill. I know you think you can teach me how to swim by just dropping me in the deep end and telling me to paddle, but sometimes people need floaties.”

“Floaties?”

“Those dorky inflatable things that go on your arms, to keep you floating when you’re first learning how to swim.”

I have less than zero idea what he’s talking about.

“Never mind.” He kicks the ground. “I’m just saying that maybe I need help when I’m trying to do a skill that makes every single part of my brain scream, This will be the death of me.”

I can tell he hates admitting the weakness.

And I guess I can’t blame him for being frustrated. I haven’t been holding his hand through this process. I’ve told myself it’s because no one needed to do that for me. But deep down I know it’s more than that.

I don’t want to get close to him. I can’t let myself get close to him.

But I have to get him through this. No matter what it takes.

I reach for him. “You’re right. I’ll ride with you this time.”

He stares at my hand for a second, like he can’t believe his eyes. Then, slowly—tentatively, even—he twines our fingers together. The familiar jolt of heat shoots up my arm, and I hope he can’t feel my racing pulse.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I nod. “You ready?”

He licks his lips and swallows, watching the winds spin and race.

I think he must need another minute. But then he squeezes my hand and meets my eyes. “With you, I am.”

Goose bumps prickle my skin. Chills mixing with the warmth of his touch.

I pull him into the vortex, letting the winds launch us into the sky.

CHAPTER 29

VANE

I expect to dream of Audra that night.

Not because it took us at least a dozen trips up the wind funnel for me to figure out how to call the stupid Southerly and wrap it around us so Audra wouldn’t have to step in.

And not because holding her hand that long left my skin humming with energy—though that does make me want to close my eyes and let a few of my favorite Audra fantasies play out.

It’s because falling through the sky with her was so eerily like the memory I saw in my dream, I expected to drift off to sleep and pick up where I left off. And I wanted to. I want to know what happened next. How she survived the fall. Who saved her.

But I don’t dream of young Audra, screaming and thrashing as she plummets through the sky. I see my father.

My real father.

I cling to the dream, committing it to memory before it slips out of my reach. I want to zoom in, adjust focus, and stare at his face forever.

For so long I’ve had absolutely no memories of what he looked like. Now I can see his dark, wavy hair, his pale blue eyes, and his square jaw.

He looked like me.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is.

My. Dad. Looked. Like. Me.

I don’t want to let go of his face, but I can’t forget the rest of the memory. I play the dream back, trying to find something to help me place it into the broken time line of my life.

I stand next to my dad at the edge of a glassy lake. My legs are skinny and my hair flops around my eyes, so I guess I’m about seven. Snowcapped mountains reflect off the water’s surface. My dad has his hand on my shoulder, but I don’t look at him—too busy skipping rocks over the water. Watching the tiny ripples distort the perfect reflection.

“It’s time to go, Vane.” His voice is clear and deep. Cutting through the tranquil silence around us.

I skip another rock. Harder this time. Breaking the water. “I don’t want to.”

“I know.” He pulls me against his side. “But Arella can feel them coming. If we don’t leave, they’ll catch us.”

More rocks splash into the water. I fling them hard this time. “How do they keep finding us?”

“I don’t know,” my dad whispers.

I turn to look at him.

He stares into the distance, frowning. “But we have to leave.”

He reaches for my hand, and even though I want to jerk away—want to run so fast and so far he’ll never catch me—I take it. He squeezes my fingers. Not hard. More to reassure. Then he whispers something that sounds like a dragged-out sigh.

I can’t understand what he says, but I know what’s coming. I hold on tight as the cool breeze closes us in, then lifts us into the sky and floats us away.

A wind bubble.

I remember calling them that—and the way my mom would laugh and tell me I was silly when I said it. I can’t see her face, but her deep, rich laugh fills my mind.

Tears sting my eyes.

I love my adopted parents, and I always will. But to see the father I lost? Hear his voice in my mind? Hear my mom’s laugh? It feels like I have them back—for a few minutes, anyway.

But the memory raises just as many questions as it answers, and the gaps feel almost painful. I need the missing pieces.

I lie back down, trying to clear my head.

Deep breaths. Think it through.

If I was seven, then the memory is from not that long before my parents were killed. Which makes sense. It seemed like we were on the run for our lives. But where were we? I saw the lake in the first dream too, but I don’t recognize it. It could be anywhere. And who’s Arella? The article said my mom’s name was Lani, so it has to be someone else. Audra’s mom, maybe? How did she know it was time to run?

It’s tempting to ask Audra, but I can’t think of a way to do it without giving away that my memories are coming back.

I’ll have to solve the puzzle myself. The answers are in my mind. I just need time to let the memories resurface.

I glance at the clock: 3:24 a.m. Audra will be here at dawn, but I still have time to see what further memories sleep will give me.

Come on, dreams. Give me the missing pieces.

CHAPTER 30

AUDRA

Vane is already awake when I come get him for training.

And he’s dressed.

And his hair is combed.

“You’re up,” I say, trying to recover from my surprise.

He laughs. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

He’s right. Stupid, idiotic thing to say. I just didn’t expect him to be awake. Or to look so . . . good. His plain blue shirt is unrumpled—for once. And the color makes his eyes look like the sky on a warm, breezy day. The kind of sky that begs, Fly with me.

I smooth my braid. “Could you not sleep?”

He shrugs—those infernal shrugs of his—and stands. “I slept most of the night. Anyway, I left my parents a note telling them I’ll be training with you all day, so we don’t have to rush back. You ready to go?”

It throws me, the way he’s taking charge of everything. But I follow his lead, climbing through the window and padding across the grass in the purple predawn light.

He waves away the gnats swarming our faces. “Where are we training today?”

“My place. We can only train by the windmills after dark. We’ll be too conspicuous otherwise.”

He nods, and we walk in silence. I fall back a step so I can study him unobserved.

He walks taller. Straighter. Shoulders set with confidence.

He’s falling into his role. Owning it.

Finally.

The more seriously he takes his training, the better chance we have.

He hesitates outside my pathetic house, glancing around. “Where’s that evil bird of yours?”

“On his morning hunt. Don’t worry, the big scary birdie won’t get you.”

He whips around to face me. “Are you teasing me?”