Just a Psychic?: Power of Air Book 1 by Harrison D. L

Author:Harrison, D. L. [Harrison, D. L.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-11-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Friday, July 31st, 2015, 11:04 am

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, too heavy to be my mother’s. Growing dread and fear filled me, making me hold my breath. I knew I should be brave but I couldn’t move and felt warmth start spreading in my pants.

“Come out kid,” a low voice growled. “I heard you and I know you’re up here.”

Tears started to fall down my face, my mind going in circles as I panicked.

“Kid, your mother can’t help you anymore,” the cold voice said. “Come out now, promise I won’t hurt you.”

I heard his steps closer, inside the room. I instinctively knew his words were a lie. He was here to kill me. My mother had just been in his way.

I gasped and sat up straight, my stomach was tight in knots and I was once again covered in sweat. Also I was covered in something else if I smelled correctly. I was a firm believer in men don’t cry, but I was sobbing as I came out of my sleep. My mother was dead because they came for me. Why? I had no answers. It was buried in my mind or the truth was out there and covered in magic I could not broach.

I pulled off my sheets and stripped down and started laundry before jumping in the shower. My mind was in turmoil. I vowed that someday I would find the answers, but it would have to wait. I needed to get my memory back first. The rest of that night was the key, I knew instinctively once I broke that block all my other memories would return. It was like a finger holding back the water in a dam crack.

I couldn’t deal with the memory of my mother’s death. She died trying to protect me and could not. She was a sorceress, a wielder of fire. Whoever came after my family must have had magic. One day I would find them. The anger at this nameless enemy gave me something to focus on, away from the grief and pain.

I went downstairs after cleaning up and brewed a coffee out of habit. My mind teetered between hatred, anger and loss. I was finally dealing with my mother’s death and it felt fresh. There was no 16 year buffer for the pain. I had no memory of her until this week, I never truly mourned, I had retreated and hid from it. That made me angry too, like I betrayed her.

My mind was spinning with fresh memories of her face and voice. I both wondered how could I have forgotten them and perversely wished I had not remembered. It hurt too much.

I saw Aitheria watching me, her eyes looked like a cloudy drizzle, her dress a deep grey. The elemental mourned with me as I sat on the couch in a storm of my own misery. Eventually though I knew I had to get up, I couldn’t retreat like that five year old boy I used to be and give up.

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