Shadows of Uprising (Guardian of the Vale Book 2) Page 13

  Marysa breezed by. “Reserve tomorrow for me, Layne.”

  “Not the spa treatment again.”

  “Don't complain. I do this free of charge.” She hit the button for the chute. “We've got loads to do. Not that you're not already beautiful, but we can always use help, right?” She winked as she stepped into the chute. Daymon followed her in, and they dropped out of sight.

  Alayne and Kyle followed in the next car, stopping on the ground floor before stepping into the winter air. They fell into an easy jog along the river to the west.

  “Are your parents going to be able to make it to Clayborne for Christmas?”

  Alayne shook her head, her feet beating a rhythm into the cold earth and her breath coming out in puffs of vapor in front of her. “Not this time, I don't think. It's too dangerous.”

  For a moment, there was no sound except their thudding footsteps.

  “You sound like you're okay with it.”

  Alayne gulped in another lungful of the cold air. She didn't want to heat the air; even though the coolness sliced through her lungs, it felt refreshing and invigorating. She discovered that she enjoyed the cold.

  “I'm okay with it because I have to be okay with it.” Alayne kicked aside a branch with her shoe. “I don't want to do anything that will put them in danger, and while I miss seeing them, I know they're safe.” She glanced over at Kyle. His gaze was fixed firmly on the path in front of them, his jaw was rigid. “What's the matter?”

  He pulled in a breath as his nostrils flared. Finally, he burst out, “Skies, Layne, I'm so sorry about my parents and all the trouble they're causing for you. I wish...” He stopped running and glanced back over his shoulder at the spire, now in the far distance. He sighed. “I don't know what I wish. I guess I just wish that they hadn't gotten so caught up with their Alliance work that they have trouble remembering that they have a son.” His voice cracked on the last syllable.

  The pain in his blue eyes tore at Alayne's heart. After a moment's hesitation, she touched his arm, hoping to give him the comfort he so desperately needed. He didn't wait for more of an invitation. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug, rocking her gently from side to side as he held her. His fingers traced a trail up her spine.

  Alayne was stiff, but she fought the urge to step away, to guard herself from Kyle's vulnerability. He needed her. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax. “I know,” she murmured before allowing the silence to envelop them.

  If she concentrated enough, she could almost pretend that Jayme's arms held her, that Jayme's fingers were the ones that lightly massaged her back...

  Like someone emerging from an icy lake, Alayne pulled back, gasping for air.

  “What? What's the matter, Layne?” Kyle's alarmed eyes darted up and down the path.

  Alayne stared at Kyle, wide-eyed, and then tears blurred his image so badly, she couldn't even see his expression. With a defeated slump of her shoulders, she collapsed onto a tuft of grass next to the path and buried her face in her hands.

  “Layne?” Kyle's warm hand covered her back; she felt his leg press against hers as he sat next to her.

  “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Kyle,” Alayne managed between gasping breaths.

  “What are you sorry for, Layne? You didn't do anything.” Kyle's voice was ragged; the emotions raging through it made it sound like gravel.

  Alayne shook her head. She pulled her face out of her hands and made a futile attempt to wipe her tears. With exasperation, she snatched the water element from her face and hurled it far from her, but her tear glands stubbornly continued to water.

  Understanding crept into Kyle's eyes, followed by a hint of anger. “You thought of Jayme?” His mouth tightened.

  Alayne dropped her gaze to the ground in front of her. She nodded slowly. “Not just thought of him, Kyle; I pretended that you were Jayme. I deliberately thought about how wonderful it would be if it were Jayme holding me instead of—instead of—”

  “Me.” The finality of the note opened an abyss between them.

  “I'm sorry,” Alayne chafed one thumb over the other, “but this is never going to work.”

  Kyle was silent. After a few moments, he pushed himself to his feet. “I think I need to head back.” The hurt coursed through his voice, and Alayne's heart broke just a little more. “Got some... stuff to do, I guess. Your ever-present body guard is here anyway.” He paused. “You can find a different date for tomorrow night. I don't think I'll go to the dance.”

  Without another word, he jogged back toward the spire without once looking in her direction. Daymon's solid form stood some three hundred yards from them. Kyle didn't acknowledge him on his way by.

  After a moment, Daymon jogged toward her. Alayne watched him numbly as he approached.

  He dropped into Kyle's spot. Watching the sunlight glitter on the moving water of the river for a moment, he asked quietly, “Do you need a date for the dance tomorrow?”

  Alayne swiped some more moisture from her face and sighed. “If you know what's good for you, Daymon, you'll stay far away from me. I seem to attract trouble no matter what I do to keep away from it, so run while you still can.”

  “Nah.” His dimple peeped out at her. “Anyway, I never got up courage to ask anyone else for tomorrow night, so we should just go together.”

  Alayne almost smiled at the idea of muscular, handsome Daymon Houser being too afraid to ask a girl to the Christmas dance, but her lips felt frozen.

  Daymon's next words shocked her. “Do you think you can trust Kyle?” Alayne's mouth swung open, and Daymon immediately backtracked. “I mean, not that he's a bad guy or anything, but,” Daymon frowned, “his mom has it out for you, Layne, and maybe—maybe it's not the best idea in the world to trust him so completely with everything we know about the EA and the Vale?”

  Anger flooded Alayne. “Daymon, lest you forget, Kyle went to Cliffsides with me last year to help save a group of students from Malachi and his Casters. He lowered himself over crushing surf, risking his life to help me get those students to safety. Skies, he pulled me off the hockey rink when someone tried to Shadow-Cast me. He's done more than enough to prove himself trustworthy.”

  “Okay!” Daymon held up his hands. “Calm down, Layne. I'm not saying I don't trust the guy; I'm just saying, as a Guardian of the Vale, I need to be careful, think through all the possible situations. It's obvious his mom isn't to be trusted, but I've been wondering just how deep Kyle's commitment to you runs and maybe even how much his parents' values have rubbed off on him?”

  “Well, he can be trusted,” Alayne said flatly.

  Silence fell again, and guilt threaded Alayne. She regretted her sharp outburst. Reaching over, she tugged Daymon's jacket sleeve. “Thanks, Daymon. I never would have guessed what a decent guy you had hiding inside you.”

  Daymon grunted. “Don't tell anyone; I don't want to ruin my reputation.”

  Alayne studied him for a long moment. “You never hang out with your old friends anymore, Daymon. What changed?”

  Color darkened his cheeks, and he traced a circle in the loose sand that lined the path. “They didn't seem so important after the fight with Malachi and all that.” He shrugged. “And I found that maybe we didn't think as much alike on certain things as I liked to pretend.”

  “Oh.” The one word seemed like an ineffective response to the major statement Daymon had just made, but it was all Alayne could muster.

  After another silent moment, Daymon stood and held out a hand to her. “It's gonna be dark before too long. Let's get back.” He pulled her to her feet and began walking, but slowed his steps to allow Alayne to catch up with him. “Sorry about Pence,” he muttered, half grudgingly. “His face didn't look too pretty when he passed me.”

  Alayne sighed, willing away her forthcoming headache. “It'll be fine. I'll work it out with Kyle.” She bit her lip as the note of finality reverberated through her head once again at Kyle's soft-spoken “me.” Suddenly, sh
e wasn't so sure things could be fixed so easily.

  * * *

  Marysa ran the brush through Alayne's wet hair and then cupped her hands over the crown of her friend's head. Alayne felt a blast of heat from Marysa's palms. The heat traveled down each strand of her long, honey-gold hair, drying it to a soft sheen.

  “I'm sorry,” Alayne straightened in her chair where she sat in a mindless daze. “I should have dried it after my shower.”

  “No worries,” Marysa chirped cheerfully around a mouthful of bobby pins. “So,” she continued as she clipped back portions of Alayne's hair. “Daymon's taking you to the dance tonight instead of Kyle?”

  Alayne nodded. “I think so.”

  “Don't you know so?” Marysa's startled blue eyes found Alayne's in the mirror. “I thought you had it settled.”

  “I—I do. Kyle stalked away, mad, and Daymon came to my rescue.” Irritation lined her voice. “When are you getting ready? You have a date tonight, don't you?”

  “Yeah, but it won't take me as long to get ready.” Marysa waved the comment aside inconsequentially.

  Alayne wasn't having it. “Come on, Marysa, is there anything there?” She tilted an eyebrow as she met her friend's gaze.

  “Absolutely not,” though Marysa's mouth parted into a wide grin. “It's Pete, and he's a library nerd.”

  “Sounds like a perfect match.”

  “And he acts just like one of my brothers,” she added pointedly. “Nothing's going on there, and besides, who are you to be giving relationship advice, anyway?”

  “What do you mean?” Alayne picked at her t-shirt, already fully aware of what Marysa meant.

  Marysa snorted. “Oh, come on, Layne. I know you've been waffling over the whole Kyle thing. You can't deny that you haven't thought of dating him.”

  Alayne shook her head, prompting an annoyed screech from Marysa. She braced her head again. “Would it be so bad if I have?”

  Marysa was quiet for several long moments. Her unusual silence brought Alayne's gaze to her friend's face in the mirror. Marysa chewed on her bottom lip, a sure sign of perturbation.

  She set the brush back on the shelf and stepped in front of Alayne, crossing her arms, all traces of teasing gone from her face.

  “Layne, Kyle has been our friend for a while, but I can't shake the feeling that it's a very bad idea to—to date him.”

  Alayne's eyebrows shrugged upward on her forehead. “Why?” she finally asked.

  Marysa glared at her, moving back to Alayne's hair and twisting a long curl behind her head.

  “Ow!” Alayne glared in the mirror at Marysa. “That hurt.”

  “Part of the process, hon.” Marysa wielded the brush across the other side of Alayne's head, her expression still serious. “I don't know if I can explain it.”

  Alayne fidgeted with her fingers, her gaze staying on her lap. “I—I think—I wonder if I'm not getting so hung up on myself and my feelings with this, Marysa, that I'm forgetting that I can help Kyle. In a way, he seems to—need me.” She sighed. “But I just—hurt him really badly. He needs some time, and I need to apologize.” She bit her lower lip. “Mary, do you think it's possible that Jayme is still alive somewhere? Against all odds? Do you think that's the reason my dreams have been so real?”

  At Marysa's silence, Alayne glanced up into the mirror. Her friend twirled a strand of hair around a super-heated finger before threading it on top of Alayne's head and pinning it. She started again with another strand. At last, she spoke. “I admit I don't understand the visions you've had, Layne. But—don't you think,” she paused as she pinned another curl up and then continued, “don't you think that if Jayme really was alive somewhere like your visions seem to say, that he'd come back to us? More specifically, to you?”

  Alayne traced a square on her knee. “But what if he can't? What if something's holding him back?”

  Marysa pulled the remaining bobby pins from her mouth and set them on the shelf, circling again to the front of Alayne. She knelt before her friend and took Alayne's hand with both of hers. “Alayne, honey,” she said as she looked her directly in the eyes. “I miss Jayme, too. I miss him a lot. I've sometimes dreamed about him coming back, especially after you first told me your visions, but—I can't hang onto such an unlikely hope, and I don't think you can either. I honestly don't know if Jayme's still alive, if your visions have a ring of truth to them or not. But I can only say...” she paused. “I can only say that if you live your life fanning a futile hope, you'll never find happiness again, and there are so many, many ways that you can be happy, even if it's not in the original way you intended.”

  Marysa paused, her gaze wandering over Alayne's shoulder for a moment. “When my best friend in Basic School died, I was sure I'd live the rest of my life under a heavy blanket of sadness. I know it's a different situation; Jayme was your boyfriend, but I think what I said can hold true for friendship as well. If I hadn't taken steps to find joy in my little interests again, I wouldn't be where I'm at now. And I like where I'm at. I'm happy, and I want to see you happy again, too.”

  Alayne stared at her. “I'm sensing an underlying 'just get over Jayme already,' in your advice,” she finally said.

  “But not in that tone of voice,” Marysa smirked. She grew serious again. “What I'm saying is that I think you need to allow your heart to heal instead of tearing it open again and again and again with blaming yourself for Jayme's death. I know it wasn't my boyfriend who was killed, so technically, you'd be well within your rights to tell me to go jump off the shuttle platform, but I'm telling you this as your best friend. You can know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I want the very best for you. It's time to move on. Jayme would want you to. You owe him that.”

  Tears gathered in the corners of Alayne's eyes as she stared at her friend. She blinked them away and took a deep breath. “You're right, Mary.” She swallowed hard. “I—I can't promise it'll get better right away, but I'll start working on it.”

  Marysa stood and huffed a sigh. “And I'm going to go ahead and ruin this moment by saying that I don't think Kyle needs you, not like that. It's unhealthy, a relationship based on need. If you're bound and determined to enter another relationship after Jayme, why don't you try someone who deserves you? Like Daymon?”

  Alayne's mouth dropped open in shock. Any words that she might have said were ripped from her empty lungs as she gaped like a fish at her friend. At last, she managed to stutter, “D—Daymon?”

  Marysa rolled her eyes. “Oh, skies, Alayne, and I thought you were smarter than that.” She grabbed the hair clips and resumed pinning Alayne's long curls on top of her head. “Never mind what I just said. Concentrate on getting over Jayme. I should have kept my big mouth shut.”

  Alayne ignored Marysa's sharp squeal of displeasure as she stood before her hair was completely done and wrapped her friend in a tight hug. “Thank you, Mary. I appreciate your advice, and I promise to think about it.”

  Marysa returned the hug, and then forcefully sat Alayne back into her chair. “I'm messing up your hair. No more hugs, Layne, I mean it. Let me finish here and have you ready for Daymon.”

  Alayne glanced at the clock on the wall before glancing back at Marysa's concentrated face in the mirror. “You know he would never see me like that. We're barely to the tolerable friends stage.”

  “Shh.” Marysa pinned another strand of hair into place. “Don't interrupt my creativity here.”

  The corners of Alayne's lips turned upward. “Yes, dear,” she whispered and then settled into contemplative silence.

  * * *

  Alayne and Marysa walked slowly down the nine flights of stairs to the common room. This year, Alayne's dress was white gauzy layers of material in two straps over her shoulders and tapered to her waist, fanning outward to the floor over layers of crinoline. A single embroidered design of twirling ivy spiraled from one shoulder, around her back and waist to the hemline of her dress. Marysa had artfully arranged her hair in a mass of curls o
n top of her head with several drifting down over her shoulders. A white tiara held the majority of it up.

  “You look amazing, Layne,” Marysa had said as they prepared to leave the room.

  “All thanks to you,” Alayne had smiled. “You should seriously look into fashion design after Clayborne.” She'd eyed her friend critically. “And honestly, Marysa, I think I look rather pale in comparison to you.”

  Marysa's striking black hair and light blue eyes were complimented by a strapless sky blue sheath that outlined her figure clear down to her slim ankles. Sequins sparkled off of every square centimeter of the dress.

  “Ha,” Marysa had laughed. “I'll certainly get attention as soon as I fall head over heels down the stairs. I can't walk in this silly thing.” She took mincing steps toward the door. “Plus the sequins are really itchy.”

  “Why on earth did you order it then?” Alayne had asked as she followed her friend into the hallway.

  “I like how it sparkles,” Marysa had answered with an eye roll. “Obviously.”

  As soon as the common room came into view, Alayne scanned it quickly, looking for Kyle. The place was packed; every student was there, and all the teachers as well. Professor Manders stood in one corner with a drink in his hand, laughing at something Professor Brinks was saying.

  Chairman Sprynge's familiar glasses glinted as he leaned against a wall on the far side. Professor Pence stood near him, her eyebrows drawn, her lips a straight slash. Even Tarry laughed from a couch where she sat, talking to a group of students. Gone were her normal pant-suit and business-like parted hair. This evening, she was dressed to kill in a strapless red dress that hugged her body while four inch red heels tilted her feet. Her short, blonde hair was carefully gelled and spiked, and her blood-drop earrings touched her shoulders, glistening in the light. Alayne noticed that the students with whom she laughed so easily were all male.

  But Kyle was nowhere to be found.

  “There's Daymon,” Marysa pointed. “And Pete!” She waved to the short blond boy in glasses and moved down the steps as fast as her dress would allow, which wasn't very fast.