Paladin Prophecy 2: Alliance by Mark Frost Read Free Book Online Page B

victim of the Knights’ kidnapping plot who’d suffered the most, had remained at home in Virginia through the holidays and for a month afterward. When she finally rejoined her roommates at the end of January, Brooke had changed. She was subdued and withdrawn, and she’d stayed that way since, never divulging how she really felt.
    Elise became convinced Brooke was struggling with the shadows of post-traumatic stress disorder. She’d never told anyone what Lyle had done to her, but Will knew, at the very least, she’d been terrorized by the creep. Whatever dark memories of that day were haunting Brooke, since returning she’d been nothing like her usual bantering, efficient self.
    The way she kissed me before she left for Christmas. The way she whispered in my ear: “Don’t let an hour go by without letting me know how you are.” Then not a word for six weeks. Never answering my calls, emails, or texts. Could that spark have died so quickly? What other answer is there? Since she came back, she treats me like a stranger. The only comfort is she treats all of us that way. But what am I supposed to think?
    Either she’s not emotionally available, or she’s no longer interested. Either totally sucked. To get him through, Will leaned heavily into …
    RULE #58: FACING THE TRUTH IS A LOT EASIER, IN THE LONG RUN, THAN LYING TO YOURSELF.
    So, for the rest of the winter and into spring, Will had offered Brooke his (polite, painfully wimpish roommate-level) friendship and support while she remained maddeningly, mysteriously remote. They almost never found themselves alone together, and if they did Brooke quickly found a reason to leave the room. If he was ever going to break the ice, he’d decided he needed Elise’s help.
    It was nearing sunset when Will found Elise where he’d predicted, at the piano in one of the practice rooms in Bledsoe Hall. As he walked in, she was playing something jazzy and incredibly complicated with her back to the door.
    “Wait till I’m done, West,” she said before he could speak.
    She didn’t miss a note, hunched over, hands flying across the keyboard so quickly he couldn’t see them touch the keys until she finished the piece with a theatrical flourish.
    Bravo, he thought, pushing an image of a standing ovation toward her. Without turning, Elise bowed with just one arm, like medieval musical royalty.
    You are too kind, my liege, she replied, her voice sliding smoothly into his head.
    “Nine-thirty on the last night of term,” said Will. “Figures I’d find you hard at work.”
    “Where else would you expect me to be? At the Bonfire of the Swizzle Sticks, singing fight songs with the rest of the J.Crew lug nuts?”
    Elise spun around on her bench. Wearing a miniskirt and flats, she crossed her slender legs, cocked her head sideways—her shiny black curtain of hair shimmering in the light—and stared at him with her X-ray green eyes.
    A shiver ran up Will’s spine. Not an unpleasant shiver, but a shiver nonetheless.
    You know something, she said, inside his head again. What is it?
    Their uncanny ability to speak to each other silently had grown so reliable over the winter that it rarely surprised Will anymore. They’d worked during the last few months on finding the maximum range they could reach across—about fifty yards in most cases—and still make their communication flow smoothly.
    At distance, they’d discovered that using pictures—as Will had learned when he first discovered this ability as a kid—often worked better and more efficiently than words. They’d also learned that, for some reason, sending thoughts that created intense emotion supercharged their connection, making thoughts a lot easier to send and receive.
    They’d even spelled out a code of “unspoken” etiquette about their interactions, promising to respect each other’s privacy. After an initial “send,” the other had to respond in kind before they dove deeper into the other’s thought stream.