Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(11)

Jeez, it’s just water.

Not about that. Even steven. I just need a few minutes.

His gaze sharpened on hers. He saw, he knew, as he usually did. He started to speak out loud, then turned away. Only nodded.

She waded out of the stream, climbed out. After whisking her hands down her body to dry off, she stowed her book, her rod.

“We have to get back,” she called out.

She ignored the whining—mostly Ethan’s—gave a come-ahead gesture. “We’ve got to help with dinner, start the evening chores.”

Travis climbed out; Fallon dried him off.

“Thanks.”

She had to crouch down to help Ethan out.

“It’s funny to swim in your clothes.”

She poked him lightly in the nose. “It wouldn’t be so funny if you had to walk home in wet, squeaky shoes.”

She dried them, then his pants, then the faded Under Armour shirt she knew had once been scavenged for Colin.

After taking up Grace’s reins, she turned to Colin.

“Come on.” He waved a hand at her. “You paid me back for paying you back.”

“I’ll dry you off if you give me your word you’re not going to pay me back for paying you back.”

He hesitated for a minute, then just grinned. “I had a good one I’m working on, but I can save it until the next time you’re a bitchy bitch. Probably won’t take long.”

She stuck out her hand. “But this round’s done.”

“Done.”

They shook on it.

Dry again, he glanced around. “Why’d they take off?”

“I told Travis I needed to talk to you.”

Suspicion and retaliation gleamed in his eyes. “We said done and shook.”

“Not about that.” She began to walk, the horse plodding lazily behind. “It’s almost my birthday.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“My thirteenth birthday.”

“So?” With a shrug he found a stick to bang on trees as they walked. “You’re probably going to start kissing boys and putting bows in your hair. Dopey.”

“I’ll have to leave.”

“And you’re going to get to drive the truck. I could drive the truck. I don’t see why you get to do everything first.”

“Colin, I won’t be here to drive the truck. I’ll have to go.”

“Go where?”

She saw the knowledge flash over his face. Her parents hadn’t held the story of Mallick, of The One, of two years of training away from home a secret.

Furious denial immediately followed knowledge. “That’s bullshit. You’re not going anywhere. That’s just a bullshit story.”

He liked to swear, Fallon thought idly. He swore at every opportunity out of their parents’ hearing.

“It’s not. And when he comes, I’ll have to go with him.”

“I said bullshit.” Furious, red-faced with it, Colin heaved the stick away. “I don’t care who this weird guy is, he’s not going to make you go. We’ll stop him. I’ll stop him.”

“He won’t make me. He can’t make me. But I have to go with him.”

“You want to go.” Bitter now. So young, so bitter now. “You want to go off and pretend you’re some big-deal Savior. Pretend you’re The One who’s going to save the world. Just more bullshit.”

He shoved her, hard.

“You’re not so damn special, and there’s nothing wrong with the stupid world. Look at it!”

He flung out his hands to the thick woods, the dappled sunlight, the verdant peace of late summer.

“This isn’t the world, just our part of it, and even that may be threatened.”

It rose up in her, rose so fast, so hot, it left her breathless. “You look at it. See the world.”

She lifted her hands, flung them apart like whipping open a curtain.

A battle raged, dark and bloody. Buildings in rubble, others aflame. Bodies, torn and mangled, lay across … sidewalks, she realized. Streets and sidewalks of a city, a once great city.

Gunfire ripped across the still woods, and screams followed. Lightning struck, black and red, exploding chasms where more fell.

Some flew on wings that slashed through flesh. Some flew on wings that tried to shield.

Uncannys, dark and light, people, good and evil, waging war over the blood of those already fallen.

“Stop it.” Colin gripped her arm as she stood, transfixed. “Stop it, stop it.”

He sobbed the last, got through.

Shaking, she whipped the curtain closed again.

“How did you do that? How did you do that?”

“I don’t know.” Queasy now, dizzy with it, Fallon slid down to sit on the path. “I don’t know. I feel sick.”

He yanked her canteen out of her saddlebag and, crouching, pushed it at her.

“Drink some water. Drink it and maybe put your head between your knees.”

She sipped, shut her eyes. “I see it in my head sometimes. When I sleep mostly. Like that, or other places. It’s always fighting and dying and burning. Sometimes I see people in cages, or on tables, strapped down on tables. And worse, even worse.”

She capped the canteen. “I’m okay now. I don’t know how I did that. I don’t know enough.”