They don’t have to stay secret, but most of us never share them. Hearing someone’s windsong is like peering inside their heart. The last person I would ever want to reveal mine to is my mother.
“Nothing leaves a more powerful trace,” she explains when I stay silent. “Nothing will confuse the Stormers more.”
I’d rather strip bare and expose myself to the whole of the Gales.
But this isn’t about me.
I can’t look at her as I sing the simple verse:
A wandering breeze, swaying restlessly.
Swept up by flurries. Lost and led astray.
Storms rage and roar, and threaten all that remains.
But the breeze drifts ever onward. Finding its own way.
Each word pulls a tiny part of me with it and swirls in the air around us. My mother calls the verses toward her, tangling them together, like my breath has become the wind.
“You sing like your father,” she whispers.
I risk a glance at her, but find no warmth in her eyes. They’re colder and harder than I’ve ever seen. Like it’s a crime for me to remind her of him.
Part of me wants her to follow me down the hall, even though I know she won’t. She won’t care that this could be the last time she sees me alive. She’ll be relieved when I’m gone.
So I almost don’t hear her whisper as I open the door to leave. “You’re stronger than you think, Audra.”
I take a shaky breath. “Goodbye, Mother.”
I leave without turning around. She doesn’t say goodbye.
CHAPTER 11
VANE
Wake up, Vane,” a familiar voice whispers. I try to cling to the dream I’d been having—something about flying and wind—but the voice speaks again, breaking my concentration. “It’s time to start training.”
I force my eyes open, annoyed to find my room dim and gray. The sun’s only begun to rise—way too early for me to be awake.
My vision clears and I focus on a dark-haired girl standing at the foot of my bed.
I jerk upright, pulling the sheet up to my neck before I realize I slept in last night’s clothes. “Audra?”
She nods. “You remember?”
“Sort of.” It’s too dang early for me to think coherently. “And don’t watch me sleep—it’s creepy,” I add, frustrated she saw me lose my cool.
She ignores my complaint. “How much do you remember about last night?”
I do a quick mental inventory.
Hot dream girl is real—check.
Though her hair is back in a tight braid like it was at Yard House and she has her stuffy jacket and pants on again—all of which makes her look a lot less hot and a lot more intimidating. I much prefer that tiny dress she wore last night.
My fingertips prickle, remembering the feel of her lips when I parted them. The way she looked at me when we were alone. The way she wrapped her arms around me . . .
Wait—what am I doing?
Right, mental inventory of last night.
The morning breeze sweeps through my now open window, and it whispers a song about the morning dew and sunrise and the coming heat. It’s more than a little trippy. Especially since it means I didn’t imagine the part about being a sylph-Windwalker-whatever-you-call-it.
Not human—check.
Weird revelations I don’t know what to do with—check.
But there’s something else I’m forgetting.
I notice the shadows under Audra’s eyes. She looks tired. Worried.
More memories slam through the mental fog. Warriors are coming—which sounds so surreal, like my life has officially turned into a video game. I mean . . . warriors! Who has those besides evil warlords in RPGs?
Then again, I’m apparently a mythical creature. A fake-sounding one I’ve never heard of, but still—mythical.
Note to self: Google “sylphs” later.
“Is help on the way?” I ask, trying to stay focused.
She doesn’t look at me as she answers. “I’ve come up with a different plan. It’s time to train. Get dressed.”
She jumps out the window before I can ask any follow-up questions, like: What the hell does that mean? And the dragging me out of bed before five a.m. and telling me what to do without explanation thing is going to stop—immediately.
Part of me wants to slam the window, lock it tight, and crawl back under the covers. Maybe I’ll even put up a sign that says Don’t come back unless you’re wearing the sexy dress.
That might be worth getting up early for.
But the other part of me is too curious what Audra means by “train” to put up much of a fight. Especially since I also need to know what this new “plan” is, and make sure I don’t need to get my family out of town and hidden somewhere safe.
So I seethe at the wall for a few seconds, then kick the sheet off my bed and grab a T-shirt from the stack on the floor by my dresser. The cargo shorts I wore yesterday are crumpled from a night on the floor—but at five a.m., after only four hours of sleep, I don’t give a crap what I look like. I snatch them and creep down the hall to change in the bathroom.