“I know.” Mallory unlocked her car, and after we got in, she drove off through the leaf-covered streets of Skykomish. When we got back to our dorm, she pointed to my room. “Get into your pajamas, and lie down. I’ll bring you ibuprofen and some of that new water my dad shipped up from LA.”
“Ugh, the seaweed-coconut stuff? No, thanks.” I’d rather have a headache.
“It helps everything. All the celebrities swear by it.” Mallory shoved me toward my room. We’d scored one of the new buildings, so all the suites in our dorm had two individual bedrooms that led off a little common room/kitchen. NWU’s privacy-friendly dorm design meant I could put on my pajamas away from my roommate’s concerned eyes. By the time Mallory came in with a tray, I was nestled beneath my downy comforter, stretched out on the side of my double bed that wasn’t covered in textbooks. “Drink all of it,” she admonished as she set it on my nightstand.
“Thanks,” I said. I put the ibuprofen on my tongue and raised the glass to my lips. A shudder wracked my torso. The magic water smelled horrible, but Mallory stared me down with a stern look. I gagged as I poured the contents of the glass down my protesting throat. “Thank you for that,” I croaked.
“You’ll feel better in an hour. I’ll let you sleep this off. Yell if you need anything, ‘kay?”
“’Kay,” I said feebly. What I needed was to throw up that seaweed-coconut water. Yech.
My head hit the pillow the second Mallory closed the door. My arm flopped, landing on one of the textbooks at my side. Without warning, a fresh surge of energy zapped up my arm. Ouch. I pulled my arm back and rolled my head to the side so I could see what had shocked me, but my bed was only covered in textbooks—no electronics in sight. That was weird. Am I losing it? I prodded my Calculus book with one cautious poke. When nothing happened, I trailed my fingers over the copy of Moliere’s Misanthrope I was reading for Literature. Still nothing. Finally, I rested my hand atop my Classical Mythology textbook. Argh! Another shock shot up my arm, ricocheted across my shoulder, and sent a pulse of heat through the spot where my necklace rested against my throat. I ripped my hand away from the book and tried really hard to not panic. After taking a deep breath, I stretched out my fingers and placed my palm on the cover, so the energy centers in my hands were fully exposed.
I let out a gasp as my eyes pinched closed, revealing a movie-screen-like vision against the backs of my lids.
A red-haired Viking warrior who didn’t look at all like the hottie from the Thor movie—but was still totally gorgeous—stood atop a giant boulder. He swung a T-shaped hammer above his head and released it at an unsuspecting cluster of giants. The beasts dropped to the ground with thunderous booms, the sound echoing across a sea of white-capped mountains. Not far away, a white-haired man with an eyepatch stabbed a red-eyed monster with a sword while shouting a battle cry in the name of Asgard. And in a scene entirely its own, a skeletal, black-haired woman shrieked a declaration of war against Midgard. She cast a titanium-colored sword into the sky, where it emitted a pulse of blinding blue light. The weapon then shattered into eight distinct pieces before scattering across the realms. Fear, rage, and pain engulfed my centers as the woman threw her head back and filled my mind with maniacal laughter.
I couldn’t take anymore. I yanked my hand back and used my foot to send the book flying across the room. My fingers shook as adrenaline coursed through me. What in the hell had that been? First the blackout, and now the movie-visions . . . I was totally losing it. And my madness could be traced back to one wonderful, awful moment—the moment I’d discovered the necklace.
The thing had to go. As much as I loved it, I needed to take it off and figure out what was happening to me.
Careful not to touch any more books, I reached up and spun the chain around my neck. Where was the clasp? Oh, no. No, no, no. It took three frantic turns before I realized that the clasp was gone. This necklace was stuck on me. Stuck. The only way this thing was coming off was via wire cutters. I swung my legs over the bed, but something stopped me from getting up. I didn’t actually want to cut the necklace off. My wardrobe didn’t contain much by way of jewelry, so it would be a pain to hunt down a new, clasp-containing chain. And now that I’d had a few minutes to breathe, my body did feel better. My headache was gone, and I felt less feverish. My mental state, however, was a hot mess. Seeing energy was one thing, but having old-school visions of Norse gods when I touched a book? Total Freakville.
Mallory knocked on the door and sauntered into my room as I struggled to pull myself together.
“Hey, how you feeling?” she asked. My roommate was decked out—short dress, heels, and tons of make-up. She looked really pretty. But she was always a knockout, even without the war paint.
I forced a smile. “Better, but not up for going to the party. I think I’ll go for a run and then just get some sleep.”
Mallory pouted, her full bottom lip jutting out past her chin. “Aw, I understand. Are you sure?”
I nodded. There was no need to ask if she’d be okay going without me. Mallory had tons of friends, no way would she be alone for long. And the intensity of a party would send me straight over the edge. What I needed was a good, long run to clear my mind and shake off the weirdness that had gathered in my body.
When Mallory headed out, I threw on some yoga pants, running shoes, and my favorite hoodie, then made sure to grab the small pink can of pepper spray I’d picked up at orientation. Skykomish seemed safe enough, but there were bound to be a few crazies in every hood. If I couldn’t outrun the northern Washington ones, I’d just shoot them in the eyes with a pink can of chemicals. Easy peasy.
I felt better the moment I stepped into the frosty air. There was no room for crazy on a crisp, gorgeous evening. After a few stretches, I took off into the night, blasting past the other dorms and out toward the dimly lit park. The sun set early this time of year—winter was just around the corner, and soon the green that lined my running path would be dusted in snow. As I ran under the enormous, hundred-year-old trees, some of the nervous, coiled energy from the blackout and book incidents faded away. I’d known it would—running helped me clear my space so I wasn’t left holding onto junk that wasn’t mine. And right now, I needed some major clearing out. I was going to evict that weird book incident from my brain if it was the last thing I did.