"Where would you go?" he asked.
"Vegas... or Hollywood."
Bron could understand that—people having dreams. "So, are you an actress, or a dancer?"
"Neither," she admitted. "I don't want to do anything there, I just want to go there."
Oh, a tourist, he thought, disappointed. Galadriel had zero ambition. She had a great body, and stunning looks, and with her parents' money, she had every opportunity in the world. But there was nothing of value inside her. A moment ago, she'd practically been driving him crazy. Now she repulsed him.
"If I was going to Hollywood," he said, "I think I'd want to be an actor first. It would take years of study and preparation."
"Ugh," Galadriel said. "You sound like Olivia. She tried to get me to go to that school of hers, but I don't want any part of it."
Now Bron saw why Olivia had tried to steer him away from Galadriel. The girl was a total loss.
He understood something else: Olivia was offering him an opportunity, perhaps the greatest one of his life. She could teach him to be something, gain a skill that he'd never really hoped to master. At that moment he decided to make the most of it.
"I think I'm going to go in now," Bron suggested. "The mosquitoes are coming out."
Galadriel smiled coyly. "I'll be here at midnight, if you change your mind. You're staying in the back room? I'll meet you by your door...."
He hoped that she wouldn't come. He could imagine her there in the dark, at his back door, less than twenty feet from his bed. The girl was beautiful, so beautiful that it messed with his mind. He couldn't give in to her. So he wished that she would change, that she'd just give up on all of her stupid, irresponsible plans.
Suddenly the suction cups sprang upright on his fingers again, and a wave of dizziness struck. He had a powerful urge to grab Galadriel by the head, try to shake some sense into her.
He fought the urge.
Galadriel watched in shock as Bron turned and headed back into the house. Bron felt sure that no one had ever abandoned her like that before.
Chapter 11
Lies and Accusations
"When a man is accused of assaulting a beautiful girl, people are predisposed to believe the accuser. Human nature demands that we protect women and children. Even if he is innocent, the man's bestfriends won't believe him."
Sunday afternoon was lazy, with Mike watching football in the living room, snoring through a boring game, while Olivia fretted in the kitchen and Bron worked on his music.
There was plenty for Olivia to fret about. It had been two days since she'd encountered the enemy, and she worried that she felt that sense of false security that comes after a little time has elapsed. She resolved not to go anywhere today, so there would be no risk of exposing herself.
But even as she lay low, they might hunt her down. Yet she suspected that if that was going to happen, the Draghouls would have located her by now.
She finally realized that she wasn't just afraid. Her jangled nerves, her beating heart, were signs of something else. She was excited. School started tomorrow. She always felt enthused with the return of school, and she'd begun rehearsing her class introductions, imagining the little jokes that she could toss out in order to put her students at ease.
She worked with Bron a bit, impressed at how he devoted himself to practice. He was improving dramatically. Even with time off for dinner, he put in eight hours of singing and playing during the afternoon. Mike even joined him, sang a couple of songs while Bron played.
So when Bron went to bed just after midnight, she decided to reward him.
Bron went and lay on his bed, sweating. It was just past midnight when he went to bed. He hoped that Galadriel would leave him alone, or that she'd come and gone.
But at 12:13 a.m., Bron heard a scratching at his back door, like a puppy trying to get in.
It's Mike's dog, he thought hopefully. Mike kept his dog outside at night.
"Bron?" Galadriel whispered softly, then laughed. "You in there? Come out, come out, wherever you are?"
Bron's heart pounded. He resisted the urge to go to her. She shoved gently against the back door. The deadbolt was still locked.
"Open up!" Galadriel called.
Bron imagined opening the door. He wondered if she was wearing anything at all. What would happen if he did open the door?
I'd kiss her, he thought, and fall into her arms.
He decided that it was safer to pretend to be asleep.
He felt those ridges on his fingers harden, and looked down at his hands. Purple lights exploded from them, sizzled.
He looked up to the window. He'd left it open, to let in the fresh air. He was afraid that Galadriel might come and climb in.
The pounding came harder at the back door.
"Are you asleep in there?" Galadriel demanded.
She waited for a count of three, then he heard dry grass crunching as she walked off. He lay there, for a long moment, sweat rolling down his forehead, wondering what he'd missed out on, glad he'd had the strength to resist.
Olivia waited until she thought Bron would be asleep, then crept into his room.
He was lying on his back, and at first she thought that his eyes were open. But he was breathing deeply, evenly, in sleep. She knelt beside his bed and placed her hands upon him, seizing his mind.
She peeked into the day's memories, surprised to see how agitated he'd become with Galadriel. He'd unsheathed his sizraels, and had been embarrassed and frightened.
There was nothing that he could have done, of course. He was too young to control such a visceral response. Unsheathing was a defense mechanism, a natural response to danger.
But Bron was worried sick about it, wondering if he had some strange cow disease. Olivia smiled at that. It was charming and silly and endearing all at once.
She hadn't even noticed Bron's mood. She'd thought that he was being quiet all afternoon because he was studying, not because he was worried.
I'll have to explain what is going on to the poor boy soon, she realized. He can't wait much longer.
She was shocked to find that Galadriel had come to his door, tried to enter.
Just when you think you know all of the problems your teen might face, she thought, something like this comes up.
Bron had fought the impulse to go to Galadriel, to even touch her, and that was good.
Not everyone could have fought such a powerful craving. If the danger had been greater, he might have taken her—and what? Sucked the memories from her, leaving her a clean slate? Or would he have taken even her memories of how to breathe, so that she would suffocate?
Olivia was grateful that he hadn't gone so far. He'd have had a lot to explain to Officer Walton.
As of yet, Bron hadn't heard about the accident, about the death. She wanted to keep it that way. She worried what would happen when he heard, on his first day of school.
She'd have to prepare him for bad news.
It was late. Olivia wondered if Galadriel might be outside, if she might even be curled up asleep at the back door. She went and opened it for a moment, peered out in the starlight. The backyard was empty, no one lying in the shadows.
Galadriel had apparently given up and gone home.
So Olivia returned to Bron and began a new lesson, training his fingers to respond to the urge to play, unlocking his resistance, so that music would flow to him in a continuous stream of sound and joy....