The Empath (Lost Locket of Lahari) by Erica Crouch

Author:Erica Crouch [Crouch, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: k'12
Publisher: Patchwork Press
Published: 2014-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

I wake up on a couch, surrounded by walls of books. In the fuzziness of my mind, it takes me a few moments to remember where I am, but eventually the world slides back into place. Books. Library. Séance. I sit up quickly, embarrassed.

Gentle hands push me back down on the tucked upholstery. “You should stay lying down,” says a low voice.

There are other people speaking behind him, calling for water, demanding the lights are raised. In the corner of my vision, I see Warren, eyes flashing with barely contained rage. He meets my gaze for the flicker of a second before he turns away, runs his hands through his slick hair, and stalks out of the room.

“I want to get up,” I say, shrugging off the hand. When my vision stops spinning, I can finally see who is looming over me—the only person who wasn’t at the table, the stranger who raised his eyebrows at me laughing with Warren.

An ordinary boy of ordinary height, with dark hair that is all but unremarkable. He’s the color of fading summer and smells like early winter, crisp and clean. There’s a surprising rosiness to his cheeks that soften his strong features in to something more feminine. In the slope of his nose and the shape of his lips, I find a slight resemblance to Teresa, and I guess him to be her son. I sit up and he follows me with his dark, shadowed eyes.

At first glance, he’s forgettable, but when I take a moment to truly consider him, I notice there’s more. There’s a striking handsomeness to him that makes me pay attention, an unexpected affect of a second glance. Honest eyes, an earnest face—there’s vulnerability in the tension of his forehead that would make him an easy mark. Mama would love him, but I can see the skepticism that sits on his hunched shoulders, the doubt he keeps curled in his fists, tucked away in his pockets.

One look tells me he doesn’t approve of his mother’s interest in the occult. No wonder he wasn’t participating.

“You were babbling in your sleep,” he says, eyes searching mine.

He annoys me already. “I don’t babble,” I say.

“Of course not. Except you do.” Unsmilingly, he reaches out to help me to my feet and I purposely ignore his outstretched hand. I wonder if he knows his surliness makes him less attractive. He doesn’t seem to care, or notice my slight, and he stays by my elbow as I sway, weak from severing the connection to the other side.

It was much harder than it should have been. A simple spell shouldn’t have taken such a toll on my energy. It’s as if I sent more spirits back than had come through, like an unexpected force had hitched a ride. I am unbalanced. But my headache is better and the voice that sat in the back of my mind is silent for the first time in weeks.

I quickly search the room to survey the damage and am relieved to find everything is intact.

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