Authors: Rinda Elliott
Foretold (22 page)
“We have to try. I really am going with you, you know. I wasn’t teasing.”
I leaned back, met his dark eyes. “When I came to try and stop my mother from hurting you, my sisters both went out to do the same. She was after three who carried gods’ souls. I don’t even know which place to go first, so I haven’t told you where I’m going.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. What about school? You can’t drop out.”
“I have no intention of dropping out of school. It hasn’t started yet and I can catch up once we’re back. You’ve been here days, Raven, and with that feather coat, Loki has probably been wreaking havoc with your sisters at the same time. I have a feeling this will all play out fast.”
“Just like the portents of Ragnarok have come along so fast.”
He nodded.
“Wait. You said when
we’re
back?” I lifted an eyebrow. Grinned at him. “You think I’m just going to move in with you? What, while you finish high school? That would be too weird. Even for me.”
He lifted his face into the moonlight, laughing, and I wondered if his red cheeks were because of the cold or his words. “No,” he finally said. “I don’t expect you to move in with me. Not yet, anyway. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.” His expression grew serious. “I hope that’s where we’re headed. I know it hasn’t been that long, but I want to be with you.”
“Me, too,” I whispered. My stomach was all knotted with excitement, my heart beating frantically against my chest. “We’ll figure this all out later. After we help my sisters.”
“And you come back here.”
His determination made me smile. And feel warm. I started walking toward his brothers and aunt, tugging him with me by the hand. I didn’t give him an answer, though I had a feeling I might be coming back here. I’d have to look into the anthropology department at Oklahoma University.
But first, I was going to help my sisters stop Loki and hopefully change the destinies of all the people carrying the gods’ souls. And this time, I wouldn’t be driving off into a snowy unknown all by myself.
Vanir would be with me.
* * * * *
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Coming August 2014
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by Clara Kensie
Acknowledgments
Foretold
couldn’t have been written without some important people. First and foremost, my critique partner, Rachel Vincent, who not only worked with me to get this polished nicely, but offered incredible support throughout its writing. She’s continued to be priceless ever since. I’d also like to thank The Deadline Dames for their constant support and for the occasional last minute read. I never expected to become such good friends with this fantastic group of talented writers—Devon Monk, Jackie Kessler, Jenna Black, Rachel Vincent (again), Lilith Saintcrow, Toni Andrews, Keri Arthur and Karen Mahoney. Special thanks again to Karen Mahoney for our late night chats.
What six hours of time difference?
To my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, for believing in
Foretold
and coming back to request it when the right venue opened up. Thank you so much!
Also, I’d like to give a special thanks to the band Elsiane. Years ago, I stumbled upon a video of one of their songs, loved it like crazy, and lamented in public that I wished their CD was available for purchase in the US—that I could hardly wait to buy it when it made it here. Someone in the band spotted my wish and sent me that CD.
Hybrid
still thrives on my playlists, though one song is the most important. “Across the Stream” was responsible for that spark of an idea that became
Foretold
. While listening, I had this vivid image of Raven and Vanir staring at each other in snow-covered woods at night and their story grew from there. So thank you.
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My parents insisted we were safe until Dad saw Dennis Connelly coming, but I still hated going anywhere alone. Logan, usually, was sympathetic about this, so I went to his room, where he was composing a song on his saxophone. “Want to help me find a new jogging trail?” I asked.
He sighed, then floated the sax into its case. “Let me change. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Our new house was near a park, so Logan and I headed that way. As we rounded the corner, a police officer rolled by in his shiny white cruiser as he patrolled our quiet neighborhood. I ached to flag him down. Ask him for help. Beg him for protection.
But I kept my hands at my sides and my mouth shut. Dennis Connelly worked for the government, and the two times my parents had sought help from law enforcement—a police detective in Utah and an FBI agent in Pennsylvania—he had gotten wind of their investigations and learned where we were hiding. My dad had seen him coming and we’d fled, but despite our warnings, each of our protectors were killed soon after. I would never forget my father’s horrified expression as he used his mobile eye to watch Dennis Connelly slice those innocent men open, right down the middle. His message was clear: his reach was long. He would kill anyone who got in his way. And there was nowhere to turn for help.
Since then we depended solely on my family’s powers to evade Dennis Connelly and stay alive.
The Twelve Lakes cop drove past Logan and me without a glance in our direction. I wouldn’t ask him for help, and he would live to serve and protect the citizens of Twelve Lakes another day.
The park was another block down. Beyond the baseball diamond and playground, we found a jogging trail that wound around the tennis courts, into a forest preserve and back again. Perfect. I turned onto the path and quickened my pace until I was in a full-out sprint. Logan kept up for a short while, then fell behind.
Trees and wildflowers blurred as I zoomed past them. My feet pounded rhythmically, left-right-left-right. Always on the lookout for anything suspicious, I kept an eye on the other runners as I zipped down the path. Ahead of me a woman speed-walked in black yoga pants, hips swinging and arms pumping. I passed her quickly. Running toward me on the other side of the path, a man pushed a little girl in a three-wheeled jogging stroller. Behind him ran a boy about my age, a royal blue T-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders, the cords of his earbuds bouncing with each step.
After the first lap my lungs started to burn, so I pushed myself for three hundred more steps, then slowed so my exercise-hating brother could catch up. Looking over my shoulder to find him, I stumbled. Before I fell, though, my arm was caught in a strong grip. The boy in the blue T-shirt steadied me, his blue-eyed gaze as warm as his smile.
I realized I was smiling back.
With a gasp, I yanked my arm away and fled.
Once I rounded the bend I waited for Logan. “Slow down a little, would you?” he grumbled. I didn’t argue. I ran at his pace, keeping him close by my side. The broad-shouldered boy came up the path again and nodded at me. We ran the loop twice more, passing the boy each time. At the entrance to the path, we stopped, Logan panting and gasping with his hands on his knees while I stretched.
“Clockwise, huh?”
I turned to the voice, deep and confident. The boy in blue ran in place, his sandy-brown hair reflecting gold in the sun. “You were running in a clockwise direction on the path,” he said. “I’ve always gone counterclockwise. I’ll have to try it your way next time. You were going pretty fast.”
I suppressed the urge to run again.
His feet slowed to a stop. “Sorry if I scared you back there.”
Immediately Logan stiffened into bodyguard position, stepping between me and the boy. “He scared you?”
I started to nod but stopped. It wasn’t his fault I was scared. “I tripped and he caught me.”
Logan relaxed, but when I said nothing else, the boy shrugged. “Okay, then, see you around.” He put his earbuds back in and jogged off down the path.
From the corner of my eye I could see Logan watching me watching the boy. “Maybe,” he said, “you’ll actually make a friend this time.”
The boy disappeared around the bend.
I blinked, then turned around and headed for home. “Don’t count on it.”
Copyright © 2014 by Kara Schein Critzer
ISBN-13: 9781459254763
FORETOLD
Copyright © 2014 by Rinda Elliott
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