Indebted by Amy A. Bartol Read Free Book Online Page A

sigh.
    “You are doing fine, Evie. Relax…think of a favorite poem… or music…do you know any songs that are rhythmic?” he asks.
    “Let me think…” I trail off, trying to think of any appropriate songs, one that I can focus on. The only one that’s coming to mind at the moment is Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer On The Wall .
    “I don’t believe I know that one,” Phaedrus says, reading my mind in his uncanny way.
    Annoyed that he can read my mind so easily, I begin singing it loudly in my head. Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall…
    “Urr, delightful…” Phaedrus mutters, “I was hoping you knew some Bach, maybe Handel or Wagner—my eyes will never get heavy with this lullaby.”
    Smiling at his sarcasm, I continue to sing the rousing lyrics in my head as I hum the music aloud. On the 12 th or 13 th cycle through the song, I begin to feel calmer. A few more times through and a feeling of detachment filters through me and I lose the need to sing.
    Slowly, I control the spinning that I feel, not allowing the sensation to overcome me, but channeling it. The energy is building within me, ramping up to the shockwave that I know is about to tear through me. Focusing as the tremor of light erupts from me, I keep my eyes closed while my clone juts out. Instead of being an empty shape full of emotion, I’m trying to control the image of me, maintain a consciousness within her, a connection to her. Murky images of our surroundings are flittering in my mind. It’s like having my eyes open under water; I can see shapes and contours, but they are not crisp or very clear.
    “Can you direct her?” Phaedrus asks.
    I don’t reply, but concentrate on the desire that I have to get up right now and look for Reed. Immediately, my clone moves towards the doorway that leads to the courtyard. The sunlight is bright outside, causing the shapes that I can see through her eyes to become clearer. Groups of angels are standing at intervals around the perimeter of the courtyard. The angels began arriving last night. Most of them are Powers that aren’t part of Dominion’s division of rank. They are the elite assassins that Reed and Zephyr know personally.
    Moving across the garden, I have trouble discerning which of the angels is my angel. I can’t see facial features too clearly and colors are bleeding together. As my clone passes several figures, I move her closer to them and peer into their faces, searching for the one that is perfection. Needless to say, the ghostly image of me is not going unnoticed. In fact, all movement around her has ceased as well as all of the conversation, not that I would understand them anyway because they aren’t speaking English. Inhaling deeply, I smell Reed’s familiar scent dimly through the muted senses of my counterpart.
    Following the meager scent of Reed, I direct my image forward over the carefully raked stone paths to the center of the garden where a small stream winds effortlessly around an ancient tree. Leaning against the tree, a hazy figure of an angel regards my clone silently. Sniffing the air around him, I push nearer, listening for any sound he might make. Drawing close, I bring my ghostly lips inches from his ear. Concentrating very hard, I move those lips and manage to just whisper, “Boo.”
    Reed’s arms try to wrap around me, but as he does so, my clone dissipates into him like fog, and my consciousness immediately shifts back to my body still sitting dormant next to Phaedrus. Inhaling a sharp breath, I open my eyes and look at Phaedrus who grins back at me with his black, shiny eyes.
    “Well done!” he says, extending a hand as he rises to his feet. I take his hand and let him help me up off the floor.
    Blushing a little at his praise and enthusiasm, I reply, “Thank you for your help, Phaedrus.”
    “Not at all. Do you want to try again?” he asks.
    “Not right