Lost Seraphine (The Seraphine Trilogy #2) by KaSonndra Leigh Read Free Book Online Page B

way she can swim without those.
    My heart sinks. I feel so useless. There’s no way I’ll be able to reach her in time. I have to try, though.
    I take a couple of steps forward as the wave lifts even higher, covering the sky, filling the entire scene before me with its darkness and blanketing me in shade. I can only glance up and stare at it with my mouth wide open and my body frozen in fear.
    The water crashes down over me, shooting me instantly out of the dream. I awaken and sit straight up on the couch.
    Drenched in sweat, I focus on the music that’s stuck on one verse. For some reason, my Mp4 player has snagged on this one line: And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy; and God I know I’m one. Freakin’ nuts! Things like that never happen in this day and age of technological wonders. When something odd does happen, I’m usually the lucky guy of the moment, though.
    I pick up the player and hit the home button. The song that had peacefully guided me into the land of sleep and fantasy has become a reminder of the nightmare that keeps on changing each time I experience the dream. Figures. There hasn’t been a single easy thing to happen to me in months.
    “What the hell are you trying to tell me?” I ask the empty living room. No answer. Instead, I’m sitting in what Mom calls her meditation spot.
    I’m surrounded by a set of plush, beige couches Darren bought last month, furniture that makes me paranoid about looking at pizza let alone eating it in our white-washed living room; colors that reflect the exact opposite of the way I’m feeling right now. Adding to the beige couch horror is the super fancy glass coffee and end tables complete with frames made of—you guessed it—glass. Various pictures with the three of us standing inside an amusement park are sitting on the tables, making me ache for a time when life felt more innocent and carefree.
    My ultra cool Uncle Mashu has attempted to help ease my time in the new torture chamber by donating genuine Lumbee Indian tapestrie s— reflections of our Native American ancestr y— to hang on the wall, creating a dash of dark browns and muted reds to break up all the white without looking like a mistake. Maybe in a subconscious sort of way, my stepdad was trying to help Mom forget about the darkness that has entered our lives. Either way, the new setup makes it hard to kick my feet up and watch Naruto with Kyle.
    Mom and Darren still haven’t returned from his presentation. They’ve been gone for hours. I mean, how long does it take to present a new fence design? As a city engineer, my stepdad gets projects like these on a regular basis. The kind that eat up all of his life. This one must be intense, though. The approval process has been going on for months now. As usual, he’s used his work as a way to avoid talking to me about our new relationship status.
    I won’t lie. It has been hard for us. At the same time, Darren walks around the house smiling more, acting more like a husband and less like a zombie. He even asked when my lacrosse season started.
    I scoff as my thoughts drift back to the dream.
    These visions, or whatever thing I’m imagining, are getting ridiculously crazy. It freaks me out and I don’t have anyone to talk to about these things. Wait. I can talk to someone, a medicine man and the perfect person to help me also shed some light on what kind of man my real father might’ve been.
    It’s one thing to find out your stepdad isn’t your real father. It’s an altogether different game when you learn that the guy who could possibly be part two of the duo that created you might actually be somebody who isn’t cool.
    Sitting up, I grab my keys from the table, lift my heavy body up and head toward the front door. Misted rain greets me once I step outside the door. Great. I’ll have an afro by the time I reach my uncle’s place. I hop into my car, rev up the Challenger’s engine a few times, ease out of the driveway and start making my