Hidden (Hidden Series Book One) Read online

  Sienna had been in charge of this remodel. Even if she hadn’t claimed this room as the court where her subjects come to worship her, I still would’ve banished myself from it. Sitting around with humans outside of class was the last thing I wanted to do.

  I planned my weekends according to one goal: be invisible. I’d incurred a sacrificial tardy in first period so I could set my laundry to dry while the girls were gone and my delicates were safe from pranks. I knew I’d get here first after Mass, it was mingling time, and had left my laundry basket waiting by the dryer. I passed through the kitchen that permanently smelled of chocolate chip cookies and grabbed the plastic bag I’d packed and left in the front of the fridge to make for a quick exit.

  Groceries for the weekend, check. I dropped the bag in my basket and piled the clothes on top. Laundry, check. A television blared in the common room just as the staircase door slammed behind me. Leah out of sight until Monday morning, check.

  I knew my door would be unlocked today. Sister Phyllis, the guardian of our dorm, had inspected rooms while we were in class. I still reached for my key; the inspection hadn’t been announced.

  Even with my bedroom door closed and locked behind me, my act had to continue. I dropped the laundry basket and took two steps to my desk to deposit my bag. Then three to the closet to drop off my shoes. Then six more to my bed. I’d memorized my careful dance, a performance I suspected hadn’t gone unnoticed over the years. Even now, it felt like I was being watched. I shrugged my blazer off and confirmed my suspicion. It usually happened late at night, but the hairs on my forearm were standing at attention. They’d been that way for the past few days, almost constantly, making me completely sure that eyes were on me. It felt like they wanted to see me be normal, human, and I wanted to show them just that.

  I reached for the remote slowly so it wouldn’t fly into my hand. I had a movie all cued up for my performance. I’d taken it from the movie library this morning. I figured no one would come knocking on my door for the dusty VHS copy of The Little Rascals.

  I crashed on my bed, exhausted, and faced the little TV once used for princess movies with Whitney. I could have upgraded using money from my student account – money my parents left behind. But I rarely watched TV, and I had bigger problems than the size of my screen, like having my head mounted on Lydia Shaw’s wall.

  I ate my typical meal – a turkey sandwich – for dinner. I made my orange last the entire movie to savor the scent.

  After Uh-Huh learned a new word, I went into the bathroom for my shower. The hairs on my arms relaxed as I stepped through the door; it was the only place I didn’t feel watched.

  The shower sprang to life just before I touched the knob. “I’m sorry,” I said to God. “I didn’t mean to do that.” I waited as the hot water beat down on me to see if that slip would make this night my last.

  I checked the hairs on my arm. Still down. Still alive for now.

  A far second to oranges, the song I sang in the shower every night had a way of soothing me. More than anything, it made me tired enough to fall asleep. With Whitney gone, I didn’t have to whisper it.

  The stars are out,

  It’s time for bed.

  Now close your eyes,

  And rest your head.

  May angels shield you with their wings,

  As you dream your little angel dreams.

  I didn’t recall composing that song, but apparently, I used to think I was good and perfect like the angels. I knew better now.

  I stepped out of the shower and tugged a brush through my unruly brown tangles. I stared into the mirror over the sink as I started the song again. My skin screamed winter. I should be a warmer tan; I looked less creepy in the summer. Maybe that was why the girls had been digging into me so hard. I looked rather witchy. The unease that made them mock me was probably their souls warning them, urging them to notice I was different and dangerous.

  At my worst, it feels like the fire that could easily shoot from my palm is raging inside of me. My heart picks up, more than when I’m scared. It pounds, I can’t hear. My blood dances, taunting me, begging me to hurt whoever’s hurt me. And I know that I can. I feel that I can.

  But I don’t. I breathe and pray and let the magic cool. I didn’t want to be this way – consumed by rage and thoughts of death. I’d much rather be normal and not feel so distant from everyone around me. It would be nice to join the art club and not have to worry about what I’d do to the catty girls there. Before the powers, I’d thought that was where my life was headed – being the quiet girl with the natural artistic abilities. The nuns had thought drawing and painting would bring me out of my shell, make me finally want to talk to someone, connect with someone, change how I’d been since I was an infant.

  I was, in their words, impossible to sooth until one day I stopped crying and making any noise all together. Like I’d tired myself out, and I never recovered. I guessed I couldn’t because of what I was – the only soulless creature alive.

  Art couldn’t help that, so now, I didn’t draw for the fun of it. It was how I filled the hours before sleep when the hairs were excited on my arm. I drew for whoever was watching. I flipped through the pages of my notebook, past the gray depictions of my more ethical obsessions – oranges, the view of the forest from my window, and the birds that live there.

  I filled an entire page with them, some flying, some pecking at the blue lines and the spirals of the notebook, waiting for the hairs to fall. Sleep overtook me before they did.

  Chapter Two

  The birds met me in my dream. I stretched out on the grass in the courtyard in my pajamas, and they flocked around me. One, the smallest one, hopped onto my leg then up to my stomach. It chirped, a happy greeting, and took off into the air. The others followed. So did I.

  The girls looked like ants from where we were. Insignificant nothings.

  I didn’t have to flail my arms. I glided through the air with them, the smell of coming rain filling my nose. We flew over St. Matthew and sped down to the forest that separated the schools from town.

  I extended my feet when I was close to the ground. The flock peeped and hopped on the forest floor with me – over roots and under branches, avoiding sharp edges that would spill my dirty blood. They led me to a cabin overgrown with vines and flowers. The birds flew to the roof, settling at the point over the door. They were telling me to go inside.

  The door opened in front of me. I wasn’t afraid. My body finally wasn’t shaking like I was waiting to take my last breath.

  Inside, the floorboards creaked as I stepped softly through the house. Not a haunting sound, more like it was coming alive to welcome me. A single chair sat in the middle of the living room in front of a fireplace. It rocked back and forth when I nudged it. There was a table in the kitchen with one chair tucked under it. It was set for one.

  I followed the creaking wood to the back of the cabin to the only other room. There was a bed in the corner. The comforter was soft and girly, covered in pink flowers.

  “This cabin is built for one?” My question echoed in the silent house. The birds sang together. An answer, I guessed. “Is it mine?” They chirped yes, again. “I don’t have to go back?”

  They fluttered away. I saw them take the sky from the window over the bed.

  Someone tapped lightly on the front door. Then harder as I made it to the hall. The impatient visitor banged again, rattling the door and startling me awake in my dorm room.

  I heard the knocking I’d heard in the dream. Someone was really at my door.

  “Yes?” I asked, my voice raspy from sleep.

  “Morning, Spaz … I mean Leah,” Sienna said. Whitney snickered loud enough for me to know she’d tagged along on this prank my magic hadn’t warned me of. “We heard some of the sisters talking at the dance last night.” She giggled again. “I think you’d like to know what they said about you. Let us in, friend.” I rolled my eyes. As if I were stupid enough to let her in this room. By Monday, t
he rumor would be that I begged her to come inside and tried to kiss her or something. More feet shuffled outside of the door. She had a little audience out there. “I’ll tell you from here then. Since I’m such a great friend, I think you should know that they have you on suicide watch.”

  Her birds snickered. Oh, yes, because suicide is so damn funny. Maybe that was why I’d felt the eyes on me so much lately. Maybe I’d been under surveillance by cameras I couldn’t see, cameras meant to stop me from hurting myself.

  “It’s true, Leah,” Whitney said. “I heard them too.”

  “They think you’re at risk,” Sienna said. “I’d agree. Actually, I thought you would’ve offed yourself years ago. Especially when Whitney traded up and told us exactly how strange you really are.” I took several deep breaths and tucked my hateful hands under my legs. “So … in light of this,” Sienna continued in a professional tone. “We have compiled a list of requests in the event that you hang yourself in that room one day.”

  Incessant, idiotic giggles seeped under my door. I tucked my head under the covers, fuming. The bed shook with me. I wanted to invite them in politely and let the fire in my chest have its way for once.

  What could I say? Come in girls. I’ve been meaning to tell you guys that I don’t care about Whitney. I don’t care about anything, actually … except detaching your skinny legs from your body and turning your bouncy hair to ash on my floor.

  Words of a killer, of a witch. One that would be dead before dinner if she didn’t control herself. I drew in a ragged breath and went with silence instead.

  “Number one,” Whitney said. “Can it please be a school day so we can get out of class? Number two. Can you leave a note where we’d see it so your body won’t stink up the place?”

  They were waiting for me to scream at them so they could laugh at me. I heard it in the thoughts I couldn’t ignore. Sienna had promised them she’d spice up their boring morning.

  “Number three,” Sienna said, taking over again. “Can you please be wearing the friendship bracelet you made Whit?”

  They laughed, and I refused the thickness in my throat warning me of tears, the closest I’d come to them in years. There was no friendship bracelet. I’d thrown the fake one in the trash; the one they’d told everyone I’d spent hours on.

  That day, Sienna waited until it was quiet in the cafeteria after she called for everyone’s attention. She threw the bracelet on my table and told me my attempts to get Whitney back were both hilarious and futile. I ran out of the cafeteria and all the way to the bathroom. That was the first time my foul spirit urged me to kill. I had their deaths planned to perfection in under a minute, like they’d awakened a demon that had been asleep for fourteen years.

  And that demon was alive and well and pounding against my chest to be free. I prayed for them. Even if God couldn’t care about me, he would care enough about them to get them away from my door before I snapped.

  “Alright, let’s go. Our show is about to come on,” Sienna said. I guessed He was listening. They giggled and shuffled away from my door.

  I could see why they thought I’d kill myself. To say I worry about my death constantly, I didn’t have much of a life. If I died right now, nothing would change about the world. No one would cry. They’d only care if my body made the dorm smell. But the thought of not existing burned worse than their words. And it hurt to let them get away with it today, more than it ever had. I hoped my self-control wasn’t waning.

  I changed from one pajama set to another after my shower and crawled back in bed. I hadn’t moved much since Sienna gave up on her prank. I nibbled on a sandwich for dinner as I plotted my escape after graduation. College was out. All of the brochures showcased dorms and classrooms, and I’d had my fill of those. My plan was to find my way to Florida, where oranges grow. I could sleep in a field of them. Live there, hide there, die there in my own time.

  “I’ll be invisible in Florida,” I said, pulling the covers over my head. I pretended my pillow was the angel’s wing I sang about. My eyes fluttered. Then the fire alarm blared.

  I shot up in bed, rattled, more worried that I’d done something to set it off. A single thought about being cold on the wrong day could’ve done it. I checked the room. No smoke. No fire.

  I threw my coat over my pajamas, stuffed my feet in my clogs, and ran out of the room.

  We waited in the courtyard for Sister Phyllis to creep out of the building. Most of the nuns were old, but she wasn’t. Her limp was from an injury from the dark days. Something like me hurt her, but she survived.

  “Nothing to worry about girls,” she yelled over the horns. “A little steam-” The alarm shut off. “A little steam from someone’s shower,” she continued, softer. “Procedure dictates a roll call, so don’t leave until you respond to your name.”

  When Sister Phyllis called my name, I raised my hand so I didn’t have to speak.

  I had two plausible exit options: wade through the crowd or cross Sienna and her flock by going on the outside of the group. The third option, go straight to my room from where I stood, would have Lydia Shaw here in no time. I chose option two. Crossing in front of five girls had to be better than shuffling through fifty.

  They stood in front of one of the hairy trees behind the crowd. Wet grass and mud slushed under my feet as I approached them.

  “Boo!” Sienna yelled, well aware of how easily I startled.

  My hand flew to my chest, and my foot caught on a root, sending me barreling to the muddy ground. I waited for the laughter, prayed for it, so I’d know something odd hadn’t happened like one of the hairy branches falling on their heads. Sienna cackled first, then the rest of the crowd. Thank God.

  I stood, covered in mud, my right knee stinging, and gasped when I saw my leg. Blood seeped through my pajama pants, right through the rip the raised root made. Not just blood. Magical blood. Blood, that under fire, according to legend, would cast a different color than the typical orange. Back when the world was crawling with us, it was how to tell if a creature was lying about being human. One drop of their blood over a flame. Since witch was the most plausible explanation of my powers, my blood would send purple smoke into the air. One flick of a match and my life was over.

  It was far fetched. I knew that. Who here would think to test the Spaz’s blood? But I couldn’t stop the panic in my chest. Or it from rumbling in my stomach. Or it from raising turkey and oranges to my throat. I ran with one hand covering my knee, the other over my mouth. Fast. Spastic.

  “Seriously, she makes this too easy,” Sienna shouted, loud enough that I heard her over the laughter.

  My stomach twisted again, and I jetted through the doors just in time to make it to the bathroom on the first floor. Then it came up. The puke and the tears. And the blood from my knee smeared on the tile beneath me.

  I cleared the floor of my curse, the evil that would cause my death if anyone ever held a flame to it. I tore a line of tissue from the roll and dried my face, furious with myself for crying. I would never live this moment down. Sienna and Whitney and all those who seek to impress them would keep this memory alive for the rest of our time here.

  Death. That was what being here was. Why did I fear Lydia Shaw catching me if I was already dead? Why did I care so much about living? I leaned my head against the toilet, rocking myself, trying to erase the notion of not existing. Thoughts like that, hopeless, dark thoughts directed at myself, felt like drinking acid. A burning, bitter feeling that I couldn’t hang on to for long.

  Sister Phyllis knocked on the open door of the stall. “Leah, are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yes, Sister.” She took my word for it and left me alone like every authority figure here did. I guessed as long as I was okay, they didn’t have to do anything about how I was treated here. And I was treated no better than the vomit swirling around the flushing toilet.

  And I supposed I deserved that. But they didn’t know why. They didn’t have a reason. They saw some helpless, quiet
girl. Someone who would never speak up, even when they encouraged her to kill herself. Innocent. Defenseless.

  But I wasn’t. Nothing in me was good. Our library had pictures of things like me with horns protruding from their heads. That’s what I was, and every part of me wanted to own it and punish them now. Burned to.

  I shuddered as that thought possessed me, enraged me. My heart crashed in my chest. I couldn’t hear the toilet anymore, and the bathroom walls blurred. I was no longer in control. God couldn’t help me now. Or them.

  I opened my hand and allowed the fire to form there, hovering over my palm, not burning me at all. Their skin wouldn’t be so lucky. I made it shrink in my hand, hiding it until the right moment. That way they wouldn’t have time to run.

  I stalked into the hall, knowing that with my distraction and her limp, Sister Phyllis hadn’t made it to the M names. Sienna Martin would still be out there. So would Whitney Nguyen.

  The part of me that wanted to be good, that had fought and strained for years against this rage, stalled my feet at the door for a moment. Long enough to notice the hairs standing on my arm. Then I saw her, laughing and enjoying a soul she didn’t deserve. I couldn’t hear the sound, that shrill cackle that had nagged my ears for years, but I did hear the growl rip from my throat.

  I moved closer, covered in mud, but as my true self finally. I didn’t want to bother trying a spell. I wanted to see my will move her bones. I wanted to feel the heat of the flames coming off her body. She’d burn. She’d feel like me. Tortured and dead.

  My feet were steady now, sure that I was ready to misbehave. I lurked closer, and a bright light flashed in the stretch of grass between us. An older woman was there in the middle of it. Her hair was pure white and long, like it had never been cut. She held her hand out to me, her face pleading for me to take it.

  They saw her too. Their faces were as frightened as mine must have been. They screamed and scattered and I stood there frozen. Sister Phyllis limped away, fell, and continued her escape in a crawl.