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Chapter Five
Connections
When we got back to Southmont, Logan stood under the awning, looking mournfully at the car. I stopped beside him, looked at it, and then at him. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed. “I liked that one.”
The corner of his mouth turned down, and he tossed the keys to one of the waiting men. The guard shook his head, apparently sharing in the lament, and slid the keys into his pocket. “Stay safe,” he said to Logan, and Logan nodded in return.
A few minutes later, we were in my room, and it was time for Emily to show up. Had she been early, we’d have had to explain our detour. As it was, I only had a moment to splash my face and straighten my appearance. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, running a brush through my hair, when the vision came.
It was so brutal, so intense and graphic, that the stillness I usually tried to maintain was nowhere to be found. I doubled over, brush clattering against the tile floor, and felt cold, hard marble on my cheek as I fought not to retch.
I heard the solid thump of wood, a cracking splinter, and Logan’s voice. “Brianna,” he gasped.
I squeezed my eyes shut hard, felt the cool solidness of the counter beneath my palms, the pain from pressing so hard against it, and the fear in Logan’s grip. I opened my eyes again, raising my head to slowly peer into the mirror.
My face. Not Emily’s.
“Brianna,” Logan repeated.
My eyes met his in the mirror, and I was suddenly trembling. I turned to him, wanting to explain, but my knees gave. He caught me, drawing me into his arms.
It was worse this time. Worse than my mother. Worse than the others. It was Emily, face pale and wet with blood, eyes vacant, empty, hair matted against her bruised neck, shirt torn and bloody. It wasn’t like the others. It was too close. It was too real. Logan’s hands were on my back, and I tried to focus on that touch, that steady pressure, instead of the image of my sister. I buried my face into his chest, but it was no use. It was as if the picture were seared into my vision.
It was too close. It was too soon.
I felt another hand on my shoulder, a light, gentle touch, and I knew it was her. I took a deep breath before I turned to face her. My stomach was in knots and my muscles ached, but I had to do this.
“It’s fine,” I said, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.
Emily took my arm to pull me to her, but Logan seemed reluctant to let go. “It’s fine,” I said again. “I’m okay.”
It was the first time I’d seen a trace of doubt in his face, but he stepped back to let Emily walk me from the room. I did my best to lock my knees and smooth my expression. “No,” I told Emily when she turned toward my bed. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Bri,” she started, but I pulled from her grip.
“No.”
She stared at me for a long moment, unwilling to understand the urgency and demand in my tone. Finally, she let out a tortured breath and nodded. “Fine, but you need rest.”
“I will,” I said softly. “After.”
Logan left us and we sat cross-legged on the floor opposite each other as I grasped her hands. Emily closed her eyes, breathing deep and steady, and tried to relax as I worked. I closed my eyes as well, still unable to banish the image of her hollow stare, and attempted to visualize the connections that threaded through her.
I had researched the others, pored through every scrap of information I could find, every detail my mother had to offer, but I was no closer to understanding it. The Council had their own doctors, their own scientists. They had studied them for years, but even their understanding was limited.
Human brainwaves were no more than electrical pulses, so it stood to reason that those of the Seven Lines were somehow thrusting those pulses into another’s system. By focusing on a person, or touching them, they could generate the pulse, and therefore the impulse, to act out a certain objective. It made sense, as a theory. Unfortunately, there was no proof to it. Beyond that, there were the other things. Their ability to heal faster and sleep less, as well as the talents they had since lost.
And then there were the visions.
I may have been lacking answers, but there was one thing I knew for certain. Morgan’s men had to be stopped. Aern had to be able to prevent war. And Emily was the center of it all.
The problem was, I didn’t know if it was magic. I didn’t know if it was science. I didn’t know, and so I didn’t have a clue what to look for, no idea how to fix it.
“Think about something else,” I said to Emily, eyes still closed.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking about,” she said.
