Dead Radiance(8)

The next page sent me into shock.

I gasped, all the breath leaving my lungs in one incredible, horrified whoosh. The picture, painted in the style of Da Vinci, all soft hues and natural touches, held my gaze.

The woman stood, spine erect, chin up, a sword extending from her hand as if it were a part of her own body. Flanked by a horse whose white pelt glowed pearlescent. Behind her, a pair of beautiful red-bronze wings rose majestically above her shoulders. The curve of the wings provided a natural frame for a face that stilled the blood in my veins.

Post-its in various colors tagged the yellowed paper; hundreds of notes framed the margins and a name written in red and circled so deeply a small rip ran among the repeated lines of ink.

Brunhilde.

And even if it were not for the coincidence of the name, my ears would have still thrummed with the thunderous beat of my heart as I stared at the painting.

If I didn't know any better I would have sworn it was me.





Chapter 8



Aidan didn't come back until the early hours of the morning. So I indulged my curiosity. I snuck back down again to get a second look, wishing I could make a copy of the picture. The best I could do was take a picture with my phone and scurry back to bed in relief.

I fell asleep looking at the screen of my phone and wondering at the mystery of it all.

On my way out of the room the next morning, my reflection stopped me in mid-stride. I leaned close, studying the contours of my face in the mirror. I turned on all the lights to be sure. Traced the lines of my nose and chin. The resemblance was eerie and scary.

I tried not to focus on the face of the Valkyrie, but that meant my mind circled on my Aidan problem.

For days I kept my silence, showing up late for breakfast each morning and sneaking away to my room whenever possible. On one such sneaking, Aidan's and Ms. Custer 's evening conversation filtered through the closed kitchen door and stopped me in my tracks. I could hear almost every word.

"How was your day, dear," my foster mom asked him. Or had she said "date"?

Aidan mumbled something and I strained my ears. ". . . too busy," he said.

My heart lurched. Aidan, to my amazement, hadn't gone out with Cherise! But I didn't dare hope. Who knew what other plans the happy couple had already made? There were many more Saturday nights to come and if I knew Cherise at all, I knew she never gave up when she wanted a guy.

Aidan spent the evenings and nights poring over his books. And scowling at me when I stalked past him, a cool and indifferent smile pasted on my face.



Sunday morning hovered like a calming mist over Craven. The house creaked and groaned as it warmed in the lukewarm fall sunshine. Ms. Custer had left early for church and the kids were enjoying a lazy morning.

Our foster mom was a deeply religious woman, and often I'd sit on the porch with a book open on my lap, listening to her glorious rich voice render divine church songs. Her voice and her songs had soul.

But with Aidan and my lack of appetite occupying my mind, not even the Divine melody could help ease my worries.

My room offered much needed comfort, as far away from Aidan as possible.



After a late breakfast of pancakes, Brody and Simon begged me to take them to the playground, and I relented. The desire for fresh air overpowered avoidance of a certain biker.

The wooden seat of the swing moved back and forth in the filtered sunshine. The boys leaped and hurled themselves from bars manufactured especially for the two human monkeys, giggling with such abandon. A smiled curved at my lips, where in the last week no smile had dared to dwell.

A hollow ache bounced at my temple, a side effect of my turmoil. The image of the Valkyrie twisted and turned over and over in my mind. Who was the woman in the painting? Was it just a coincidence?

The name. The face.

As far as I knew, my parents had no connection with archeology. But the Valkyrie's name was Brunhilde. The root of my birth name of Brynhildr. The painting itself dared me to deny what my eyes knew.

I shivered in icy trepidation.

It didn't help when a large shape moved into my sunlight.

I stiffened and looked away from the two brats to Aidan, who stood staring at the boys as they giggled and squabbled. He turned, his smile congenial, almost conversational, but I rose. My knees wobbled as I tried to dampen the tiny spurt of joy, which flared on seeing his face this morning. Damn my traitorous emotions.

"Since you’re here I can probably head back," I said. "Bring the boys with you." I stepped away.

"When was the last time you ate?" Aidan's words were quiet and serious and I stopped. A cold breeze sent frigid fingers down my collar and I pulled my jacket close. Close against the wind and his scrutiny.

"Why is that any of your business?" I stiffened, ready to flee to the safety of my room if he so much as stepped in my direction.

The smile on his face froze and fell away at my cool response. I should have felt guilty but the words of the text message scrolled across my eyes like a neon sign. He'd left me in the lurch in mid-conversation. No explanation. And worse were those guilty glances I'd caught ever since that night. Didn't take a rocket scientist to tell he was guilty. He had no idea I'd read the text message from Cherise. I had no intention of telling him. Why give him the satisfaction of knowing I was burning with embarrassment and jealousy? I'd played the fool and I refused to audition for the part again. Ever.

A boisterous shout from the boys on the monkey bars gave me an excuse to turn away from him. Not that I needed one. When I glanced back, he shrugged, still staring at my face. "You're not anorexic are you?" He shook his head and answered his own question. "No, no signs of weight loss or dehydration. You don't look like you're starving so where are you getting your nutrition from?"

"Look, it's really none of your business, but I do actually eat. I'm not anorexic, or bulimic, nor do I suffer from any other kind of eating disorder. I eat when I'm hungry and drink when I'm thirsty just like every other person on the planet. So leave me and my food intake alone." Heat filled my cheeks as the lies tripped off my tongue.

I looked away from his face again because my heart always melted when I stared at him. Because I had to acknowledge that deep inside I was thrilled he cared enough to challenge me on my health. Because I hated lying. And because the topic itself scared the crap out of me.

I stared at the romping boys—and cupped my hand to my mouth to stifle a gasp. A sudden chill, icier than the wind, nastier than any winter snap, crept through my blood and froze me to the ground.

Aidan, puzzled, stared at me. "What’s wrong?" he said. His jacket rustled as he turned and touched my arm but I didn't move and didn't answer. At my neck, tucked beneath my sweater, the amber talisman burned against my neck. Hot like the tears burning my eyes.

I gasped in silent shock and horror and utter grief.

Brody glowed, a beautiful tender gold.



I sat on my bed, staring at the back of the closed door. A jumble of mismatched hooks were filled with a rainbow of winter scarves and unused bags I'd either grown out of or hated with the tepid passion of teen trend-followers.

It was funny how such bland little details stood out from the fabric of my daily existence now. Things like the rusty doorknob I really should shine someday soon. And the missing light bulb above my dresser. And the broken dowel in my chair back that stayed put with masking tape and a prayer.

The clock ticked, a floorboard creaked, the pipes grunted, the TV blared. Everyone shuffled around the house, living the day and waiting for the next one.

But Brody had only a few weeks left of his beautiful life. I'd figured it out. From the first time the glow appeared on a person, it grew steadily brighter. And as the day of their death neared, the light blazed, brighter and more stunning, until it was so strong it hurt to look at the person.

Thinking of Brody brought another face to me. My eyes prickled as I swam the sea of helplessness and self-pity again. Behind lids shut tight against a wave of aching grief, Joshua smiled his serenely beautiful smile. As if he was trying to comfort me.

My throat twisted on unshed tears. I dared not cry. If I did, I would have to admit Brody was staring his mortality in the face, none the wiser. How did I deal with this?

When I was younger the glows had seemed benign, simply people with a different aura. But it had happened often enough for my father to make the decision to homeschool me, just in case. After his death, I'd spent short bursts of time in various new places. Long enough to notice a gleaming body but never long enough to find out what happened to them.

I had to wonder though. Was it me? Was it my proximity to these people that caused it? But even as the thought surfaced, I squashed it. I hadn't known Aimee Graham or the man at the funeral with the clingy wife. If I were to have this pity party, it wouldn't come with stupider and more irrational thoughts. But was it worth it to know people were dying and be unable to do anything about it? Could I even do anything about it?

I stared around the darkening room as the sun fell away from the dull sky and night clawed its way back into the heavens. No stars smiled down tonight. Fitting. Glittering lights in a black velvet sky would be all too wrong when the days and minutes and hours were ticking away for my little foster brother.

The amber teardrop gem shimmered at my neck, shedding a tiny light, not large enough to light the room, but well-contained like the bottled gleam of a firefly.

The desire to confide in Aidan was immense, a desperate wind buffeting me toward the edge of a dark and rocky precipice. Visions of doctors and hospitals turned my empty stomach. I breathed deep to tamp down that nausea. A few more short breaths settled my stomach a little but the tightness in my chest remained.