Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II (7 page)

Chapter 7

Emma

I'm only half way to the cottage when I
realize I'm being followed. Ace's rubbery skin ripples beneath my
hand as he tenses, and I rub him gently as I pause on the hill. I
force myself to turn around, my gaze searching.

"Above you," a voice says lightly, and I jump
as Conor Reinhardt lands in front of me, his wings folding behind
him before disappearing into his back.

"You gargoyles are amazingly quiet."

My voice is breathless, and I know he must be
aware of my discomfort. My heart is beating rapidly, and I draw in
a quick breath.

"And here I thought I was being loud," Conor
jokes.

It's a bad joke. The smile I give him is
small and his face falls.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

I don't answer and Conor closes the distance
between us. His light blue eyes are serious, his blond hair ruffled
as if he's recently been running his fingers through it.

"Emma, we need to talk."

I don't want to do this. It's blaringly
obvious to me now how little the two of us really know each other.
We were thrown together during a tense week full of life and death
situations, during a moment that was beginning to redefine the
hybrid race. Being separated for two months helped put things in
perspective.

"There's nothing to talk about," I say.

Conor gives me a hard look."That's a lie if
ever I heard one."

His hand lifts to settle gently against the
side of my face. It's still streaked with rust-colored tears, dry
now and irritating against my skin.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, and I look up
at him, my eyes round. He's even closer now, his face inches from
mine.

"I shouldn't have left the way I did."

I wave off his words. "You don't owe me
anything."

Conor smiles. "You're wrong, and since I
rarely admit it, I suggest you go with it."

I can't help it. I laugh.

"You haven't changed," I say.

Conor stares at me then. This look is
different. Uncomfortable. There is nothing gentle about it.

"You have. You've changed a lot. You want to
tell me what happened back there?" he asks, motioning toward the
manor behind us.

Ace nudges me, and I lean against him,
letting some of my discomfort transfer to him. It's unfair, and I'm
not sure when it is I started depending so much on Ace for emotions
I don't know how to handle.

"I think you're asking me a question you
already know the answer to," I say quietly.

Conor's hand tightens on my cheek.

"Em, why didn't you tell anyone your control
was slipping? Will maybe? Deidra even? How long have you been
dealing with this?"

I want to push his hand away, but I
don't.

"It's not as simple as you think. Sometimes I
can't tell the difference between my emotions and someone else's.
Even if I had said something, no one could possibly
understand."

"Em," Conor says gently. "Did you even
try?"

I am suddenly angry, and Ace snarls next to
me. I have to push Conor's hand away and dig my fingers into Ace's
head to keep the beast from leaping.

"Don't! Don't do that! Most of my life
has been spent paranoid and afraid, all because I've fed off other
people's fears. Imagine that. Imagine spending every day afraid of
a new fear, a new phobia you have no control of. In a way, it was a
blessing to discover the fears weren't mine. but in other ways,
it's been a curse. A
curse
!
And it's painful, Conor. Truly painful."

My eyes bore into his as I step closer. There
is barely any space between us now. I can feel his breath on my
face, can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

"Heartache, Conor, is painful. Hatred is
painful. Love is painful. Jealousy is painful. Greed is painful.
It's all painful. Sometimes, it's possible to love or hate someone
so much, the heart can't stand any more. Imagine feeling that, but
then being forced to feel someone else's too when there is no more
room to put it."

There are still remnants of emotions in me,
residuals of the other hybrids, and they flare up. Aside from that,
my anger is strong, but so is the relief. The new feelings that had
taken root at the Acropolis are back now. I may not know Conor
well, but I like him. I trust him. I want to kiss him again. I want
to hit him. I want to hide.

I want him to understand!

And it's with this last thought that I place
my hand against his chest. And I let go. I have gotten used to
transferring emotions to Ace, but we are bound. I have never tried
it with a person.

Conor's eyes grow wide, his breathing deepens
and when he steps back, I know I've succeeded. His brow furrows,
his pupils dilate, and he clenches his fist against his stomach. I
step forward hesitantly.

"Conor?"

It was too much. I'm feeling calm, and
I know by the look in his eyes that he isn't. If I had been
mortified before, I am even more so now. I had wanted him to
understand, but I hadn't wanted him to feel
everything
.

I reach out toward him as his gaze finally
swings to mine.

"Conor?"

When my hand touches him, he steps away.

"God, Emma!"

It's all he says, but it's enough. I have to
swallow hard and even then the lump is still in my throat.

"I'm sorry."

I whisper it. I am being torn apart from the
inside out.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, but I'm pretty sure he
doesn't hear me.

Chapter 8

Conor

I have known a lot of girls, have
listened to them talk for hours, have been a shoulder for Dayton to
cry on. I have even sought comfort in their presence and embrace,
but if I thought any of that got me any closer to knowing anything
about them, I was dead wrong. What I'm feeling now is almost
disabling, the pain in my chest strong enough to bring any grown
man to his knees. So many emotions.
Too
many. There is no way to sort through them
all.

Opposite me, Emma stands calm.

"God, Emma!"

She reaches out to me, and I step back. The
hurt in her eyes is immediate, and I hate myself for it, but I
can't let her touch me. Not now. Not when I can help her.

Emma is mumbling now. I can barely make out
the apology as I look at the ground, my eyes narrowed. Her powers
are swirling inside of me, and I understand now why she hasn't been
able to open up to anyone. The depth of her own emotions, the
emotions she must be forced to endure from the others . . . it's
like being ripped apart. I want to turn to stone, but I fight it.
Letting my body adopt a harder form will do nothing to relieve the
emotions fighting to escape. They need release, and I have to find
a way to give them what they need with minimal damage.

Emma is moving away, but I ignore her,
focusing instead on the one thing I know well. Stone. I call on it,
watching as a small boulder works its way out of the hillside where
it is embedded. It rolls toward me slowly, and I see Emma pause as
I place a hand against its smooth side. And then I let go, shoving
every bit of Emma's power into the rock. It crumbles, and I control
it, using my own power to keep it from exploding. The fragments
coalesce instead, and I force them back to the ground. They form a
mound and grow still.

Then, and only then, do I look for Emma. She
is standing a few feet away, her eyes on the rocks before me.

"Emma," I begin.

She shakes her head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."

I am in front of her before she can say
another word. My hands grip her arms. The grasp is hard enough to
bruise, but I need her to look at me.

"Don't, Emma. I'm the one that's sorry. I had
no idea."

She is looking at me now, and I can see the
fear in her eyes.

"There has got to be some way to control
whatever that was," I whisper. "Maybe Luther is right, Em. It's
time to embrace it, to learn to channel it. If you don't want to
hurt anyone with it, then let someone help you."

She looks at me.

"What you felt . . ." she begins, her face
turning red. I know instantly what she's referring to, and I loosen
my grip on her arms, letting my hands fall to my sides.

"I'll be there for you as you learn if it
makes you feel better."

I have changed the subject, and she notices,
her gaze moving away from mine. She nods, and I step away, spinning
her until she is facing the cottage in the distance.

"Go, get some rest," I say, but just as she
starts to step away from me I take her by the arm one last time, my
head coming down until my lips are next to her ear.

"Those other feelings . . . you're not
alone."

It's all I give her. I think it's all either
of us are willing to give. And with that she walks away. Twilight
has descended, the landscape in that sleepy in between period when
the day is ready to give up its hold and the night is ready to be
born again. Somehow it seems symbolic, but I'm not scholarly enough
to try and figure it out.

Ace ambles along behind Emma, pausing briefly
to swing his big head in my direction. His wide snout hangs open,
and I can make out his teeth as drool slithers to the ground. I
grimace, my side throbbing with memory. I point at him.

"Now you . . . yeah, no. I just don't like
you."

Chapter 9

Emma

The cottage is far from quiet when I enter
it, and I grit my teeth against the onslaught of emotions. The
casetta is a quaint one, two-level with a mudroom that opens into a
small kitchen, a space only big enough to hold a plain, white
foldout table. The appliances are outdated and useless, but other
than occasional quick meals we throw into a borrowed microwave, we
rarely eat there.

"Emma? That you?" Deidra exclaims.

The small imp bounces into the kitchen clad
in blood red, cotton pajamas. There are black bats on the long
bottoms, and a top sporting plump red lips with elongated fangs.
The words "bite me" are clearly visible in black permanent marker.
Leave it to Deidra to graffiti her own clothes.

"Come to warn me?" I ask, my gaze on the
door.

She doesn't have to answer. I feel the
turmoil in the room beyond, and I stop only long enough to grab a
bottled water before moving into the living room. Like the kitchen,
the space is small. A threadbare brown sofa sits before a stone
fireplace chipped by time. Blankets are thrown across a smaller
brown armchair next to a tall lamp with a plain beige shade, and
there are a variety of multi-colored bean bags tossed haphazardly
on the floor. The room is full of hybrids.

Gray lounges in a pair of worn, grey sweats,
his head lying against one arm of the couch, his feet over the
other arm. On the floor beside him, Gwenyth sits cross-legged
painting her sister's toes a pretty shade of shell pink. They are
in matching silk pj's, the color similar to the nail polish.

Fiona is sprawled on a green bean bag near
the twins, a long midnight sleep shirt on. It extends past her
knees and bears a white, steaming coffee mug across the front with
the words, "Coffee First, Questions Later". Behind her, Bruno leans
casually against the wall in nothing more than a pair of black
sweat pants, the elastic waist band folded down once, his eyes on
me.

"That was quite a show you put on earlier,"
Lyre says as she moves next to Bruno.

Lingerie is a mild word for Lyre's ensemble.
It is nothing more than a thin, red silk camisole with a pair of
lacy red underwear. And yet, no one really takes notice. Lyre is
famous for her risqué night clothes, and we have been subject to
two months of colorful attire that would make Victoria's Secret
models blush.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Chase," Bruno
adds.

I look him in the eye.
"
I
didn't know I had it in me.
Of that, you can be sure."

Fiona sits up."Were you channeling your
mother?"

There is a wistfulness to her voice that
makes me wonder if she misses her Demon mom. Out of all of us, it
is Lyre and Fiona who spent the most time with their Demonic parent
before being sent to the Acropolis.

I shake my head. "No, I didn't feel
Enepsigos."

Deidra appears next to me, her dark face
looking up into mine.

"Then what? A power surge?" she asks.

I don't know how to answer her. Lyre
approaches me, her dark brown eyes darkening even more.

"She stole our powers, fed off of them. Am I
right, Em?"

Her accusation is enough to make Gwenyth drop
the nail polish, and Gray sits up on the sofa, any pretense of
sleep forgotten. I look each of them in the eye. I'm not the
confrontational type, but Lyre's finger pointing is guaranteed to
cause trouble.

"You want the truth?" I ask, my eyes
coming to rest on Lyre's. "I didn't feed off your
powers
, I absorbed your
emotions
. If that's an invasion of
privacy, I apologize, but it's not something I know how to stop.
You think I enjoy feeling your hatred, Lyre?" My eyes move to
Bruno's."Or Bruno's greed?"

Turning to the hybrids on the sofa, I point
at each of them.

"What about Fiona's obsessiveness? Hesther
and Gwenyth's infatuations, or Gray's desolation? And then there
are Deidra's fears and mine. You think I want to feel that, to
absorb it? And then what? What am I supposed to do with it once
it's inside of me?"

No one answers, and I twist the lid off the
water in my hands, taking a long, steadying sip that does nothing
to calm my nerves. Deidra's hand finds the belt loop on my jeans as
Bruno steps toward me. Sometimes it's unnerving having Bruno near
me but it's still not as unsettling as Conor's proximity.