Author: Shannon Messenger

“Dead,” she whispers. “He sacrificed himself to save you.”

I don’t know what to say as she turns her back to me and walks off. Only a tiny sliver of moon lights the sky, and she vanishes into the darkness. I fight off a wave of panic. She wouldn’t leave me here, would she?

No. I’ve never had any reason to believe she means me any harm. Except tonight.

“What did you mean earlier?” I ask quietly.

“Earlier?” Her voice is a faceless sound in the darkness. Like she really is a ghost.

“When you woke up in my room. You said I killed everyone.”

A long stretch of silence passes before she speaks. “Water weakens us. Same with food. It ties us to the ground, which limits our capabilities—”

“Whoa—you’re saying I can’t eat?” That definitely falls into the not cool category.

“Your body’s not ready for that kind of sacrifice yet. The starvation would actually make you weaker right now, since you’re so reliant on earthly foods. But soon you’ll have to start working your way toward it, if you want to reach your full potential. The closer to the wind we are, the more powerful we can be. I’ve been denying myself for years to be at my peak strength. Now the water’s weakened me.”

That makes about as much sense as the quadratic functions we studied last year. “It was half a bottle of water. It’ll be out of your system by tomorrow.”

“Our bodies don’t work that way. Anything physically of this earth is at odds with the wind. Even the tiniest bit of something as small as water will severely limit what I can do—for months. And it couldn’t have happened at a more crucial time.”

I hear a scraping sound, like she kicked the ground.

“Why is now so crucial?”

“Because Raiden knows we’re here. He’s the most powerful Windwalker alive, and he’s been trying to find you for years. I did everything I could to shield you, but now his Stormers—his warriors—are coming to capture you, and if we run, they’ll tear the whole valley apart looking for you. Thousands of people could die. And the Stormers will find our trail and hunt us down. Our only option is to fight, and if I’m not at my full strength, our chances . . . aren’t good.”

Somehow I’m on my feet, though I don’t remember deciding to stand. “All of that over me? Why—why am I so important? I’m no one.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Vane. You’re our only hope.”

I have to laugh. It sounds so Princess Leia. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I think you have the wrong guy.”

“Believe me, I don’t. You’re probably the most important person alive at the moment.”

And . . . my brain pretty much shuts down.

In one night I find out I’m not human, that my parents were murdered, and that the same evil punk who killed them is sending warriors to get me because I’m supposed to be some big important person—even though I’m no one. Oh, and we can’t run, can’t hide, and can’t win in a fight. It kinda makes me want to do something lame like pinch my arm and hope I wake up.

But I’m not dreaming. I can feel the breezes streaking across my face. And I’m definitely not imagining the songs floating on the wind. The melodies satisfy a craving I’ve always felt but never knew how to understand.

Audra moves close enough that I can make her out through the dim light. The fabric of her skimpy dress looks like it’s come to life in the wind, rippling over the curves of her body. I have to force myself to focus on her face—which looks just like it does in my dreams, the way her eyes are watching me and her hair’s swirling around her cheeks. Her lips part and I expect her to whisper the same floaty sounds I’m used to hearing every night.

Instead, she says, “None of this matters. Right now you need to focus on your training.”

“Training?”

“You need to learn to fight. To defend yourself when the Stormers come for you. It’s why I’m here. To teach you what you need to fulfill your role.”

“My role?”

“We’re back to you repeating everything I say.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do? Nothing you say makes any freaking sense!”

I can tell by the way her jaw locks that she wants to yell at me. “You’re right,” she says instead. “But you’ve had more revelations in one hour than anyone can handle—and I have to figure out what to do about the Stormers coming.”

A hint of defeat returns to her eyes.

“Are people really going to die?” I ask, giving her the cue to tell me this is all a big, elaborate prank.

“I hope not.”

Not the reassurance I’m looking for.

But then she squares her shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen. I’m one of the strongest fighters—even with some water in my system. And I’ll get help.”

“Help? Like . . . other sylphs? What, you call them up and say, ‘Hey, Windwalkers, we need you to come fight some bad guys,’ and they just blow into town and save the day?”

One side of her lips twists into a smile. “It’s not that simple.” The smile fades. “It’s not simple at all. But I’ll take care of it. As soon as I take you home.”

My mouth opens with a new question—but I freeze when she puts her finger on my lips.

“I know you want more answers, but if I’m going to call for backup, I need to do that as soon as possible. Please, just give me a few hours and I’ll explain more in the morning.”

I want to argue—there’s a boatload of crap she hasn’t explained—but I’m too distracted by the electric warmth radiating from her fingertip, tingling through my whole face. I’ve never felt anything like it, and it’s a tremendous accomplishment to give even the slightest nod.

Her eyes lower, focusing on her finger on my mouth, and some sort of indecipherable emotion flickers across her face. “Thank you.”

The words sound almost choked as she drops her hand to her side and shakes it. Then she turns away and whispers the same incantation she used before.

“Come to me swiftly, carry no trace. Lift me softly, then flow and race.”

This time I know what she’s doing. She’s controlling the wind. And the wind obeys her command, streaming around us.

She steps toward me, standing only inches away. Close enough that I can feel her body heat radiating through the air. Close enough that I become even more aware of her lips. The winds tangle tighter, separating us from the rest of the world. A safe, private space for just the two of us.

“Hold on to me,” she orders, and it takes me a second to realize I didn’t imagine it. I was thinking of doing just that.

My hands circle her tiny waist, so small my fingers almost touch. Everything about her is fragile and delicate. But she surges with strength and warmth and power.

And I want her.

She’s all I’ve wanted for years. No matter how much I’ve tried to fight or ignore it.

Does she want me?

Would she stand so close if she doesn’t?

I wet my lips, searching for the courage to make my move. I lean a tiny bit forward and . . .

Almost throw up on her when the wind yanks us off the mountain.

The free fall makes any roller coaster I’ve ever been on feel like a merry-go-round, and I cling to her, hating myself for yelping again.

Way to be cool, man. I’m sure she’s really impressed.

I can’t tell if she heard me scream. Her eyes are closed, and her mind seems a million miles away—which would be a relief if we weren’t on a collision course with the valley floor.

“Uh—Audra,” I shout, my pounding heart drowning out the wind.

She doesn’t blink.

I shake her, but she still doesn’t flinch, like she’s decided that plummeting from a mountain is the perfect time for a nap. “Seriously, Audra, this isn’t funny!”

Still she doesn’t respond. So I shut my eyes as the ground races toward us, preparing to experience what a bug feels when it hits a car windshield. But at the last second she whispers, “Steady,” and the winds pull up, moving parallel to the ground.

“Don’t do that again!” I yell between gasping breaths.

“Did I scare you?”

“Uh—yeah.” I damn near wet myself—not that I’d tell her that.

“Let that be lesson number one. The things I’m going to teach you will seem impossible, but I know what I’m doing. You have to trust me.”

I snort. “I’m still trying to convince myself the mushrooms on my burger weren’t the psychedelic kind and I’m gonna wake up tomorrow and find out this was all a hallucination.”

She doesn’t smile. Her eyes narrow.

“Fine, I trust you.” Sheesh.

We fly in silence for a few seconds before she whispers, “Release,” and shoves me away from her again.

We hit the ground running as the winds unravel, setting us down in the soft grass of my front yard. The house is dark—except for my bedroom, which glows with the lamp I flicked on after she collapsed on my floor.

Seems like years ago, not hours.

My window is still open. Great. My room’s probably swarming with moths.

“I’ll be back to start your training tomorrow,” she says, turning toward the date grove.

“That’s it? I’m just supposed to sleep now?”

“You need rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“What about you?” My skin itches just thinking about that pile of palm leaves she’s been sleeping on. “You could stay in my room if you want.”

She raises an eyebrow.

I feel my cheeks heat up. “I didn’t mean that. I’d take the floor.”

Half a grin stretches across her lips. I wonder if she knows how to give a full smile.

“I won’t be sleeping,” she says. “I need to see about getting help.”

“Oh. Right.” To fight the psychos coming to capture me, for a reason I still don’t understand. Yeah—sleep will definitely be a lost cause.

“Rest well, Vane,” she whispers, then races toward the palms.

I wait until she disappears into the grove before I climb through my window—cursing my parents for putting thornbushes in the planter underneath. I pull the window closed and lock it.

The clock on my nightstand says 1:03 a.m.

I stare at the empty water bottle on the ground. At the place on the rug where Audra passed out. At the thrashed pillows and sheets from when I startled awake.

I don’t know what to do with anything I’ve seen or felt or anything Audra told me. So I do what she ordered. I get into bed, wondering if this will be the first night I don’t dream about her.

I’ll miss her.

A soft breeze brushes through my room, singing some sort of ancient lullaby.

I close my eyes and let the whispers carry me away to dreams of my heritage.

Dreams of Audra.

CHAPTER 10

AUDRA

I pace the length of my tiny shelter so many times it’s a wonder my feet don’t wear a groove in the floor. Finally I collapse to the hard, dirty ground. Stalling, like a coward.

My eyes start to close and I rip them open. I haven’t slept more than two hours a night for ten years. The Gales warned me not to exhaust myself, but guarding Vane is a round-the-clock job. I can’t give in to self-indulgence and risk letting them down.

Letting my father down.

At least Vane gets to rest. The Easterly I sent will sing his overwhelmed mind to sleep. It’s a trick my father used, twisting a breeze into a whirl of lullabies. He sent one to my room every night after he’d tucked me in—adding his warm, rich voice to the mix.

My father couldn’t speak to the birds like my mother and I, but he sang like one. It wasn’t truly a gift, but something we shared nonetheless. Every time we flew together we’d sing duets.