suppose that is a good word–around you.'
'So how long do I have to practice before I get another chance with the council?'
'The council will not gather again until the coronation ceremony in three months.'
Three months! That was too long. If I had a daughter out there …
'But I will try to provide you with opportunities to be near council members individually before then,' Rina added. 'I need to know if my interpretation of the Angels' message is correct sooner rather than later. First, however, you need to practice as much as possible.'
I promised her I would. This was just as urgent to me as it was to her, although for different reasons.
'Let us start, then.' She paused for a moment, her head tilted to the side as if listening for something. 'It is only you and me here. Dissolve your wall and make it into a screen.'
I stared at her for a long moment, then inhaled a deep breath. Please be okay. Please be okay. I so did not want to do this, but the thought of a little girl reminded me I had no choice. With my eyes closed, I imagined the wall as a big, black structure in my mind and visualized the tiniest of holes puncturing it all over. I held my breath, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. No thoughts from the other side came crashing into my mind. So then I imagined the holes disintegrating the wall even more, into a screen. Still, no one else's thoughts invaded.
'Okay,' I said.
'Can you feel my mind signature?'
The visual in my mind was too clear and I tried to actually see a wave of something floating through the screen. I wiped my mind clean of the image and made myself feel the screened wall instead, and then feel for Rina's signature as an energy current, just as I had felt it earlier without realizing it. I detected her signature immediately. She must have sensed me.
'Now focus on it and allow yourself to receive my thoughts.'
I mentally pulled the signature toward me and her thoughts slowly became defined until I could hear them loud and clear.
'Very good, Alexis.'
Next, she explained how to let go of the thoughts and let the signature float. As I practiced this, I realized her signature was no longer the only one nearby.
'I think someone's coming,' I said.
Rina smiled and nodded. 'Try to focus on the thought and you will identify the owner.'
'Solomon,' I said as soon as I focused. His low voice rumbled in his head.
'See how his mind signature is different than mine? Become familiar with it.'
Recognizing the difference was easy–Solomon's mind signature was as dissimilar to Rina's as I imagined their handwritten signatures would be. With Solomon approaching Rina's door, I excused myself to leave.
'Wait a moment, dear,' Rina said. 'I think you will want to see this.'
Chapter 5
Solomon came through the door, one arm loaded with a stack of newspapers. He handed some to Rina and some to me. The datelines showed yesterday's date. My breath caught as I read the large front-page headline on the top issue:
A.K. EMERSON BELIEVED DEAD IN BOATING ACCIDENT
Divers Searching for Author's Body in Aegean Sea
I fell back onto the couch, feeling as though Tristan had flipped me again. I knew this was the plan–to fake the author's death because I could no longer be A.K. Emerson–but it still caught me by surprise. The words in such large print, official and publicized to the world, drilled the finality of it into my core. She's really gone. I never enjoyed playing the role of the wildly successful author–the fame and attention wasn't my thing–so I had actually expected to feel relief at her death. But she was a very real part of me, a very big part of me. She had pulled me through my darkest times. Only my writing and Dorian kept me going through the years without Tristan.
After recovering from the initial shock, I skimmed through the article. It reported my trip to Athens, Greece, with a 'Jeffrey Wells,' who they believed to be the father of my son and new husband, and an explosion of the boat we'd rented for pleasure. Such a tragedy to come, the reporter wrote, when we'd just been reunited. A diving team continued searching for our bodies. Of course, they wouldn't find them, and my guilt surged because they tried so hard. The rest of the article told about my books, their record-breaking sales numbers and speculation of whether the last book of the vampire series would ever be published.
'What will happen to the last book?' I wondered aloud.
'Once the commotion of her death diminishes, we will announce that she finished it right before her untimely death, so it will be published,' Rina said happily.
'Sales of the whole series will probably break their own records,' Solomon said with a grin. 'Art is always more attractive after the creator has died.'
'I currently am planning a funeral,' Rina said, flipping her hand toward her desk. 'Some Amadis members in America will masquerade as your family. After the funeral and other formalities, Sophia will contact the publisher.'
The moment felt so surreal, Rina speaking about planning a funeral–my funeral, in some ways–with such a matter-of-fact tone. To her, A.K. Emerson was a vehicle, a means to an end. The author's life and death marked an accomplishment for the Amadis. For me, though, her death marked the ending of life as I'd always known it– not just the death of the author, but the death of me as a somewhat normal human being.
I flipped through the other newspapers Solomon had brought. They were mostly American, from various cities in the States, although a few hailed from major cities throughout the world. AP sourced the article, so they were all the same, as was the photo, a headshot from my last book cover, over a year old. Though I didn't look as old and fat as I had toward the end, right before the Ang'dora, the picture made me cringe. I had seriously let myself go over the years, and I appeared to be much older than my real age–more like forty-something–even with the professional touch-up to the photo. I now looked nineteen or twenty, there was life to my eyes and face, and my body was hard and fit.
'At least no one will recognize me as her,' I muttered, pointing at the ugly picture. Rina and Solomon chuckled.
I left them to plan my funeral. As I meandered through the mansion, I made my wall into a screen and sought out mind signatures, searching for Tristan and Dorian. The first ones that floated by me were staff members'. As soon as I realized this, I let go of their thoughts, not wanting to invade their privacy. By the time I'd wandered through almost the entire first floor, I was able to feel mind signatures from throughout the mansion. None were Tristan's or Dorian's, but I did identify Mom and Owen. I followed the 'currents' to a large room at the end of a short hall.
Unlike the rest of the mansion, which felt primeval with its stone walls, antiques and torches for light, this space reflected the 21st century. Computers lined one wall and flat-screen TVs hung on another, with a theater- style seating area in front of them. I'd found the media room. And I also found Mom and Owen, watching several American news channels at once. It was early morning in the States, so America was just waking up to the news of my probable death. Some of the screens scrolled information across the bottom, while a few showed my picture, apparently the topic of the moment. According to the text running across the bottom, the Greek authorities had officially called off the search for my body.
'Hey, Alexis,' Owen said, 'you look better dead than you did alive.'
Unlike yesterday, when he avoided my eyes as much as I avoided his, he looked at me and grinned. If he could act as though nothing ever happened, so could I.
'Very funny.' I punched his arm lightly. Well, I thought it was lightly, but I forgot my new strength. He gave me a face while rubbing his bicep. 'I'm sure you will, too, because you can't look any worse.'
'Maybe, but at least I never looked that bad,' he said, pointing at my picture on one of the screens.
'I can fix that.' I held my left hand up, palm facing him. He flinched, then narrowed his eyes. 'I may have looked bad then, but I'm quite shocking now.'
