I opened my mouth to protest.
“No, Alexis. You can’t keep running off on your personal whims, as you did when you went to Key West.”
“I didn’t do that for me. I did it to keep Dorian and everyone else safe.”
“Honey . . . remember you’re not in this by yourself.” She glanced again at the Council Hall. “Besides, you’re not ready. Not yet.”
She turned and took off down the hill, back toward the woods, expecting me to follow. I examined the Council Hall again, curiosity about Julia so strong, I almost couldn’t control my feet from heading up there. But Mom was right—I would need my telepathy, and I wasn’t nearly ready to try to use it again. I raced across the meadow to catch up with her, and we ran in silence for a while.
“You said something’s going on, so do you believe me now?” I finally asked.
She slowed down, and I slowed with her. “I believe in you, honey. I know you will eventually be able to use your gift to find out the whole truth.”
My jog diminished into a walk. Mom stopped and waited for me to catch up to her. She still didn’t completely believe me, but at least she didn’t outright deny anything as Rina had.
“And do you still believe in Tristan?” I asked because I really needed her on my side when it came to being with him. Surely Rina would fight for us, but I needed Mom, too.
She swung her arm over my shoulders. “Of course I do. I’ve always felt the truth about you two, even when I didn’t want to admit it. Besides, I can’t deny my own gift . . . or the Angels . . . or the Book of Prophecies & Curses.”
“The book of what?” Did she really say what I thought she said?
“Prophecies and curses.” Yes, she did. “It holds all the prophecies received by the Amadis and all the curses the Daemoni have made. There’s a prophecy about you and Tristan in it.”
“Really? Where is it? I want to see it.”
“In the Sacred Archives, but—”
“And where is that?”
“In the mansion.”
“And the message Rina received about Tristan and me is written in there? How does she get their messages, anyway?”
“They’re written in a form only the matriarch can translate. So the message about you and Tristan is between Rina and the Angels. It’s not in the Book of Prophecies & Curses.”
I furrowed my brow, confused. “So the Angels’ messages aren’t the same as prophecies?”
“Prophecies are messages the Angels might have given to others besides the matriarch, usually in a dream or trance. There’s no way to verify if they’re real or imagined, though, so we consider them . . . strong suggestions or useful information.” She pushed a low branch out of her way and held it back for me. “The Angels’ messages, however, are much more direct. They’re only delivered when they need us to do something or behave or respond in some way we otherwise would not have. The Angels don’t interfere unless they feel they must, and then it is only with the matriarch.”
“So there was a prophecy and a message about Tristan and me?”
She cleared her throat and looked away. “Apparently, some didn’t take the prophecy seriously enough, so the Angels made sure we understood.”
I suppressed a smile. She’d been among the “some” who didn’t take it seriously, all the way up until Tristan and I were practically engaged. We walked past the gym and soon were on the arched path leading to the front of the mansion, but Mom stopped and took my hands into hers, stopping me, too.
“Alexis, you know you can trust Rina and me, even if you feel like you can’t trust anyone else?”
I could probably trust her. Rina . . . I still wasn’t sure. I nodded anyway.
“Rina will do what’s best for the Amadis, but, unless it’s absolutely necessary, she won’t sacrifice us, her own flesh and blood. It’s sometimes hard to believe or accept, but she does act in our best interests, okay?”
I nodded again.
“We each have our place and purpose. I’m learning mine as a support to Rina. You need to learn yours. Remember—this isn’t only about you, Tristan, and Dorian. You need to keep the big picture in mind.”
I nodded a third time.
“So let her handle things the way she needs to. Forget about books and needing to know every little thing. Mind your own business and stay out of trouble. The best thing you can do for you and Tristan and Dorian—for all of us—is to concentrate on yourself and your powers so we can get to the bottom of this.”
I understood her point, but I didn’t nod this time. I wouldn’t make a promise I didn’t intend to keep. I would find out everything I could, even if it meant finding and reading this Book of Prophecies & Curses.
When she concluded that I wouldn’t reply to this last order, she sighed and turned back for the mansion. Just as we separated ways in the foyer, Tristan’s voice thundered in my head, the loveliness distorted with anxiety. “Alexis!”
I froze in place, focused on Tristan’s signature, and followed it to his thoughts. Through his mind, I saw Dorian crumpled on the ground, his leg twisted at a sickening angle.
Chapter 6
My heart stuttered. My lungs felt as though an elephant collapsed on my chest.
Where are you?
Tristan glanced at their surroundings, showing me a single mulberry tree among a copse of five cypress trees close to the mansion. I recognized the place—the view from our suite’s window—concentrated on it, and flashed. I fell to my knees next to Tristan and Dorian’s unconscious body.
“What happened?” I cried, gingerly touching Dorian’s arm. He began to stir.
Tristan’s explanation came out in a flurry. “We were racing back from the beach, I was keeping pace with him, and he was right next to me, but then he was gone. As if he had flashed. As soon as I realized it, I turned, and he was hitting the ground so fast, I couldn’t catch him.”
That was odd. Tristan’s reflexes and speed were faster than anyone’s on Earth. Literally. How could Dorian pull such a feat? I looked down at him, and his eyes fluttered open.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, watching me with wide hazel eyes. He started to sit up, but I gently held him down.
“Don’t move, little man. You’re hurt pretty badly.” His leg was obviously broken, but I didn’t know what else. His spine? I panicked at that thought.
“It’s just my leg,” he said calmly. “Nothing else hurts.”
Tristan peeled Dorian’s eyelids back and peered into his pupils. He moved his hands along Dorian’s body, using his medical background to check for any other injuries.
“It’s only his leg,” he confirmed.
I stared at the grotesque bend of it.
Can you heal it? I asked Tristan silently, not wanting Dorian to hear me. Any kind of power, including Tristan’s ability to heal other people, we had to keep hidden from Dorian.
“There’s no open wound, so only by giving him my blood.”
I grimaced. Not only was the thought nauseating, but the idea nearly impossible. Unless we could do some kind of transfusion, the only way for Dorian to receive Tristan’s blood would be to drink it. How would we get a six-year-old to drink blood? It turned out to be a non-issue. Dorian sat up, and as Tristan and I watched, he twisted his leg into a normal position, then he shook it, as if waking it up from the numbness of a lack of blood flow. We stared at him in shock.