Reawakened (The Reawakened Series) Page 3

  “Do not run away, Young Lily.”

  “Run?” I tittered anxiously. “I’m not running. But speaking of running, if the Roof Garden is too far, there’s always the American Wing Café. It’s right next to this Egyptian exhibit. You can’t miss it. Well, I’ve got a meeting to get to. I’ve really got to go.”

  “You do not understand. Without my jars I must share your life force.”

  “Share my…Well, see, that’s the thing, I’m using mine just now, thank you. Really wish I could help you, I do,” I said, realizing he’d backed me up against a wall of crates. When my backside hit the barrier, he smiled. Without a second thought, I blasted him in the face with the pepper spray. Howling, he doubled over. At the same time a wind began to swirl around him, lifting little pieces of dust and construction material into the air.

  Panicked, I spun and ran toward the curtain. But before I reached it, the lights went out and I banged my knee against the golden sarcophagus. Stumbling to catch my balance, I heard him coming toward me. “Come back, Young Lily,” he groaned. “I need you.”

  Oh, I don’t think so. There was no time for my eyes to adjust. Gripping my bag with one hand, I felt along the coffin until I’d skirted the massive object, and then hurried out as fast as I could. He followed me, emerging from the curtain just a few seconds after I did.

  My open bag was bouncing, and pens and pencils scattered all over the floor. When my notebook fell out, I had to stop for it despite the danger. I chanced a look back.

  Crazy model-boy was standing there, arms raised in the air, eyes closed. He was chanting like before, his voice echoing through the exhibit as I dashed toward the exit. A mysterious wind lifted my hair, blowing it around my face and blinding me as I ran. His words pierced my consciousness, like hieroglyphs being chiseled into stone. He chanted:

  Protect me, God of the Morning Sun.

  Rebuff those who work evil.

  Turn aside this calamity.

  With the power of my mouth,

  The power in my heart,

  I utter a spell.

  As our forms are bound this day,

  So are our lives.

  Tirelessly, she will serve me

  Whilst I serve Egypt.

  As I wander this land,

  Make light my feathers,

  Make swift my wings,

  Make steady my heart.

  I take her strength of body,

  And, in doing so,

  Pledge to reward the gift given

  Where I am unknown, she will attend.

  Where I am alone, she will be.

  Where I am weak, she will sustain,

  Even unto death,

  That the darkness might be locked away

  And all things remain in the light of the everlasting sun.

  My heart is firm.

  My soul is triumphant.

  My service is eternal.

  I’d reached the exhibit doors, but the moment he finished, I was blasted backward onto the tile floor.

  I had no idea what was happening. All I felt was pain. My heart beat erratically, and my stomach quivered with nausea when my lungs couldn’t take in air.

  Did he shoot me? As I tried to fill my lungs, I felt around on my back. There was no blood. No bullet hole. Carefully, I stood up. I needed to get out. Now.

  Reaching the side exit, I checked my watch. Eleven-thirty-five, just a few minutes late for my date. If I missed out on the pretty much mandatory lunch, I’d never hear the end of it from my dad. He wanted me to make friends with the daughters of some very important people he wanted to “work with,” meaning rub elbows with, in the future.

  Darting through the foot traffic, I entered one of my favorite restaurants and was ushered to a table next to the large bay windows that looked out over the street. Sinking into the chair, I blew out a breath as three pairs of critical eyes stared me down. My classmates. Their perfectly plumped glossy lips made little O shapes as they set down their menus to study me.

  “What happened to you?” Redhead asked.

  “You look like something the cat dragged in,” said Blonde.

  “Dragged in, scratched, coughed up in a hairball, and tinkled on, maybe,” added Blonder.

  The girls laughed. “No, even better,” Blonde said. “You look like a windblown tourist left too long on an open-top bus. Aw…did you lose your map?” she added in a syrupy-sweet voice.

  I smiled my best nice-to-see-you-but-I-really-want-to-kill-you smile at my three “friends,” but they were nowhere near finished.

  “I mean, seriously, who did your hair this morning? Albert Einstein?”

  “Yeah, and your clothes.” Blonder twitched her nose. “I’ve seen fewer wrinkles on a shar-pei.”

  Redhead leaned over and picked at my shirt. “Is that sawdust?”

  Grimacing, I replied, “Yes.”

  “I knew it!” Blonde gasped facetiously. “Lilliana is having a secret affair with a rodeo clown.” All three girls burst out laughing.

  “Well, that explains the hair,” said Redhead.

  “Okay, back off. I’ve had a rough morning, all right?” Picking up the menu, I tried to covertly smooth my hair and brush some of the sawdust from my clothes. “I was involved in a hit-and-run at the museum,” I mumbled from behind the menu.

  “You mean outside the museum?” Redhead asked with a hint of actual concern.

  My lips twitched sheepishly. “No, I mean inside the museum.”

  Blonder gasped for real this time and then lowered her voice. “Were you…mugged?”

  In an instant, all three girls became very serious at the mention of the deep-seated fear they shared, which was to be the victim of a purse snatching. The belief that everyone else in the world had designs on their money and, for most of them, their person, was almost a required understanding at my elite private school.

  “You poor thing,” Blonde clucked as Redhead rubbed my back for a minute, then quickly dusted off her fingers on her napkin. “You just relax. We’ll take care of you.”

  While Blonde was going on about the merits of a new designer she loved, I stared absentmindedly out the window. Immediately, I felt something. My gut twisted, muscles spasming as my breath quickened for no apparent reason. Then, at the edge of the window, a man came into view. A man who was stopping traffic. A bald man wearing a white pleated skirt and no shoes.

  Though New Yorkers are used to just about anything, the man caused a stir. The crowd parted for him as he tilted his head skyward, spinning in a circle to look at the surrounding buildings as if he’d never seen one before. When he stepped into traffic I stood up involuntarily.

  Then a cab hit him.

  “Cassie, Christy, Courtney, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

  Picking up my bag in a panic, I ran out of the restaurant and into the street. A strange compulsion drew me toward this person who both fascinated and terrified me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to find him still among the living.

  I pushed forward with alarming urgency, shoving people out of the way, even knocking a kid over to get to the man. What is wrong with me? It was like someone had taken over my body and I was just along for the ride.

  When I finally wrenched my way to the man’s side, what I saw made me forget all about our first encounter. The impact from the taxi had sent him rolling into oncoming traffic, and he’d been struck at least twice. Blood dripped from his mouth and from a large gash on his head. Road rash ran down his side, and his feet were covered with cuts.

  One of his hands was crushed, his very nice abdomen was already bruising, and his right shoulder was ripped up. Onlookers couldn’t seem to figure out what to do except take photographs with their phones.

  “Back off!” I screamed uncharacteristically at the crowd. I started edging away a bit when some of them began turning their cameras on me. To be fair, they probably didn’t know what to make of the man. Heck, I didn’t know what to make of him myself. He was alert, which surprised me, considering the stat
e of his body.

  From the moment he saw me, his eyes, more amber now than green, never left my face. He was afraid, confused, and in pain. I could feel the emotions coming off him in waves, and the empathy it stirred within me was tangible. It licked my skin with a panicked heat. I felt as if my own body had just gone through the same painful experience. I had to help him.

  Though severely injured, he tried to sit up as I approached. “I’ve found you, Young Lily,” he said, the words seeming to carry more weight, more meaning than just the obvious. He looked like an ancient warrior dying on a concrete battlefield.

  Kneeling beside him, I touched the smooth skin of his arm lightly and, despite my uncertainty, said gently, “You sure did. And look what you’ve done to yourself.”

  The fact that he was hurt, perhaps even dying, coupled with my strange new insight into his feelings made whatever remaining fearful thoughts I had about him dissipate, like little bubbles popping into watery nothingness in the bright sunshine.

  He was still crazy, no question about that, but now I believed he was more a pitiable type of insane than an I’m-going-to-kill-you-slowly type. The dark menace and exaggerated sinister qualities I’d branded him with earlier seemed silly to me now. He looked so harmless lying in the street.

  Moaning, he shifted and then hissed in pain. I guessed that his leg or maybe even his hip might be fractured. Pulling out my phone, I had just begun dialing 911, when he lifted his non-crushed hand. “Help me,” he pleaded.

  I pointed to the phone. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “No.” He shook his head, closing his eyes as he gritted his teeth. After panting for a few seconds, he focused on me again. I stared into his eyes and felt inexplicably mesmerized. The noise of New York City washed away. The world ceased to exist except for the two of us, me and him. And for a moment I imagined sinking into the deep pools of his eyes and being lost forever. Oh, boy, what have I gotten myself into?

  “Help me,” he repeated. His words snapped me out of the strange, dreamlike trance and the city’s sounds assaulted my ears once again. Automatically, I dropped my phone on the pavement, barely noticing the cover popping off, and reached for his hand.

  A burning jolt seared through my fingers and into my veins, the pain bringing tears to my eyes, and I wondered if this was what electrocution felt like. I cried out between chattering teeth as a strange scent, like scorched perfume or incense, assaulted my nose. Just as quickly as it had come, the agony began to diminish, turning into a warm, tingling sensation that lifted my hair at its roots and caused wispy tendrils to float with a static charge. There seemed to be an invisible barrier between us and the crowd. Though they snapped pictures, no one approached.

  My muscles trembled from aftershock. I felt wrung out, like I’d been shoved into a dryer and tumbled around until I emerged in a fried, wrinkled heap. Someone squeezed my hand.

  My eyes flew open, and suddenly remembering where I was, I yanked my hand from the man’s grip. “What was that?” I demanded. The euphoria of being a Good Samaritan had abruptly faded, replaced by shock at what had just occurred between us.

  “What did you do?” I half questioned, half accused. I felt as if I had been violated, but I couldn’t really figure out why, and the uncertainty brought fresh tears to my eyes.

  He studied me for a moment, and I got the distinct impression that he regretted what he’d done. Not deigning to give me an answer, he sighed, wiping the blood off his lip, and carefully stood up, testing each leg as if unsure it would hold him. The people around us gasped in amazement, snapping dozens more pictures of this miracle man.

  That he was healed enough to walk was not nearly as surprising as how he handled the crowd. He was model-tall, and since I was still kneeling, I had to crane my neck to see him. The sun was right over his head, which, from my perspective, gave him a halo effect so bright I could barely look at him.

  Seeming to enjoy the attention he’d brought to himself, he nodded to the people, smiling as he turned in a slow circle to look at all of them.

  When he was satisfied, he stuck out his hand imperiously. “Come, Young Lily,” he said in a rich voice. “There is much to do.”

  I was about to tell him where he could go stick his arrogant attitude along with his sexy accent, when he gave me the piercing gaze again. My vision blurred as everything around me took on a dreamlike quality, the urge to fight leaving me just as quickly as it had come. Feeling very unlike myself, I gathered up my phone like I didn’t have a care in the world, shoved it into my bag, and allowed him to help me up.

  Standing so abruptly made me woozy, and he put his hand on my back to steady me. I was uncomfortable with his forwardness and attempted to stagger away from him to wrestle my own way through the crowd, but he wouldn’t have it. “You will stay by my side, Young Lily.”

  He took my hand and placed it on his arm, as if he were escorting me to a ball, before moving forward. The people parted like the Red Sea, and he strode through the crowd as boldly and as regally as a prophet. In the now filthy and torn pleated kilt-thing he very much looked the part.

  As we walked, I tried to focus. I knew there was something very fishy going on and that my behavior was out of character, but I couldn’t seem to break away from the guy or the haze that I was swimming in. Still, I vowed that, miraculous recovery or not, he would have to think twice if he presumed I was going to morph into a faithful follower, despite my actions to the contrary.

  When we reached the sidewalk, we passed my openmouthed trio of classmates, their noses pressed up against the restaurant’s glass wall.

  “I am sorry to involve you in this, Young Lily, but it is necessary,” he said, after we were a few blocks from the incident.

  “What exactly am I involved in?” I hissed, still uncomfortable around him and itchy to escape yet compelled to stay by his side.

  He covered my hand with his now-healed one and sighed. “There is too much to explain, and this is not the right place.”

  “Then what place would suit you in giving me an explanation?”

  He pursed his lips and scanned our surroundings, taking in the skyscrapers with an amazed expression. “I do not know,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What kind of an answer is that? And how did you heal? What did you do back there?”

  With a grunt of frustration, he pulled me into the shadow of a building with enough roughness that I fell against him. My heart beat in a prickly half-fearful, half-excited way that was very unusual for me. My free hand was splayed over his chest and my skin tingled where it touched his. My body seemed to leach warmth from his. The guy was hot. Literally. Perhaps he was feverish.

  The fact that I was now feeling feverish too irritated me. I didn’t go for dangerous guys, especially bald guys wearing skirts who I couldn’t figure out. He was different from any guy I had ever met.

  As he squeezed my shoulders to help me regain my footing, he murmured, “You ask too many questions, Lily. Your thoughts are too busy. It is an extra distraction for me in a world already full of chaos.” He patted my shoulder gently. “Try to put your mind at ease. I mean you no harm.”

  “That’s probably what all alien abductors say,” I muttered, wondering why my tightly controlled sarcastic thoughts were suddenly escaping my lips.

  “I must rest for a few moments,” he explained matter-of-factly, and then easily let me go when I squirmed in his grip. He slid away a few inches so his body was fully enveloped in the hot sunshine and then leaned back and closed his eyes, trusting that I wouldn’t leave. I smiled, tightening my grip on my bag and preparing to run, only to find that I couldn’t lift my feet. What is going on? I thought. I needed to calm down. When I finally stopped thinking about leaving, I could take a step.

  For several minutes, I tested my ability to move. I could walk in circles, sit on a nearby bench, walk over to a garbage can, but if I took too many steps away from him, my body seized up. It was like there was an invisible chain keeping me tet
hered to him. Something is seriously wrong with me!

  I tried to flag down someone to explain that I was sort of a prisoner, but the words kept coming out wrong. Instead of pleading for help, I’d ask to borrow a pen. When I tried to report the man to a passing cop, I said, “Nice day, isn’t it, Officer?”

  I needed to get away from him. No. That’s wrong. Why would I want to leave him? My mind seemed to be playing tricks on me. Eventually, I accepted the fact that I had to stay with him for the time being. When I did, I felt like I could breathe more easily and my thoughts became more focused. Sitting on the wooden bench, I studied him and waited, struggling to understand what kind of hold he had over me.

  If I were like the other girls at my school, I would have been in tears, but instead, my mind filled with questions. This was how I dealt with stressful situations. I calmly thought things through until I found a solution.

  How does a guy who has just been in a serious accident heal so quickly from his injuries? Who is he? What is this strange power he uses to manipulate me? What does he want from me? I rubbed my shoulder. I needed some pain reliever. The headache of all headaches was coming on; I could feel it inching up the back of my neck. And why do I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train? I don’t even know this guy’s name.

  After several minutes of watching him recline against the wall, I grew restless. Pulling out my notebook and pen, I turned to a fresh sheet of paper and then paused, not knowing where to start. He either didn’t mind or didn’t notice me studying him, so I took my time perusing his face.

  He was handsome, but his good looks seemed…otherworldly. Even when a passing cloud shrouded him in shadow, his body appeared to glow. Not like a neon sign or anything like that; it wasn’t noticeable unless you were really paying attention, but there was a faint shimmer to him, as if he were in a constant spotlight.

  I lifted my head to start drawing his picture, only to find him watching me with cool green eyes.