My eyes open and every nerve in my body is alert. I’m awake even though I’m positive it’s still nighttime. I’m in my room, lying in my bed. But I’m not alone. I know that as surely as I know my name.

He’s here, the one who is a part of me. He’s waiting.

For what I’m not sure. But I sit up in the bed and let the energy flow through my body. It flows like a cool breeze, like icy-cold water sipped through a straw. I feel it filling me up like a balloon, inflating me.

When my legs move and my feet hit the floor, I’m staring at absolutely nothing in front of me. And yet I feel him. I don’t know, maybe it’s an it. But because I really believe he’s a part of me I’ll keep referring to it as him.

It’s time you know the truth, he tells me.

I nod, like, “yeah, I’m ready to know the truth.” I don’t know why but I don’t think speech is necessary. He’s inside me, inside my mind and my body. So whatever I think or say he knows.

To the window, he says, and I get up from the bed and walk to my window.

Open it.

I do.

Now jump.

Huh?

I turn back looking around the room at nothing once more.

Trust me, Jake.

I take a deep breath. It’s two stories. I guess I could break a leg or maybe my ankle, or if I fall wrong, my arm. I’d definitely bruise my face, which wouldn’t ordinarily bother me, but with the swollen nose Pace gave me today I don’t think I need any more bruises in that area.

Okay, so I lean through the window, then decide I can’t do it looking down. I turn, sit my butt on the sill, then twist so that my feet are hanging out the side of the window. There’s a crisp breeze blowing, actually it’s cutting against the bare skin of my legs and feet. This morning it was like an inferno, and now this. But it’s Lincoln, and we have wacky weather all the time, so I’m not at all concerned.

Well, yeah, I am, because as I sit here thinking about the weather I’m hesitating to jump. Obviously, I’m hesitating too much, as I feel a push from behind, then I’m just out there, flailing in the breeze. When I think I’m going to crash into the ground with a loud thud that will wake Pop Pop and break all my bones, the exact opposite happens. It’s not a fast fall, just a slow-motion drop. I can see myself going down but not the ground rushing up toward me. I’m in an upright position so my face isn’t in danger of smacking the dirt first. And with a light muffled sound my bare feet touch the ground as if I’d just taken a step out of my window and landed down here.

Walk with me, the voice says.

Pulling my T-shirt down I shake off the first of the shivers and begin to walk. My boxers are short but my T-shirt is long, thankfully. That only means I probably look like some girly dork walking outside in the middle of the night in my underwear, no less. I don’t see anybody around so I guess I don’t have to worry about being razzed about this tomorrow on the bus.

In another time and place there was a goddess who ruled over everything.

Styx, I volunteer, eager to show I know something at least.

She ruled my world, bringing the strongest of gods to their knees before her.

Who are you?

I am that from which your power was born.

I thought our powers came from the weather. That’s what Fatima said.

The Messenger can only tell you so much. She cannot tip the scales. She could just as easily have been a messenger of dark. Styx has control of her.

So Fatima lied to us. Is that what you’re telling me?

I am telling you that there is more to know.

Like what?

You are very powerful because my displeasure with her was great. That is why the storms grow so violent. She controls the sun and the moon, the power that surges from both. Her plan was to create an army to fight against me. With my own power, I add to the intensity, the heat, the heart of every storm.

So our power is from both of you. Styx who is the light and you… my thought trails off.

I am the dark. And so are you.

I stop, right there my feet refuse to move. “I am not dark.” The words come out of my mouth before I can prevent them.

You have me inside of you. I know it. I have felt it.

No, I say, but feel just a bit of truth to the words.

You have felt it, too. You like the feeling. It is feeding your hungry soul.

I am a Mystyx. We were created to fight against the dark, in the name of Styx and her curse.

You do not even know what her curse is or its purpose.

I know that she cursed the dark. She is the light.

She is the goddess of the river that circles the Underworld. There is no light in the Underworld.

My toes curl into the drying grass. I’d walked behind the houses close to the tracks but not crossing them where the woods awaited on the other side. There are sloping hills here, land not yet used for new construction. A few months back all this land was slotted to become a new club for the Richies, but Sasha put a stop to that. How she’d done it she never said, but my family and the rest of the residents nearby had been able to keep our houses because of her. I was sort of thankful because that meant my dad and Pop Pop had a place to live. As for me, I don’t want to stay here anyway.

All that aside, the voice within’s words ring in my mind. What he’d just said made absolute sense. But how could that be?

So the goddess Styx is evil? Is that what you’re saying?

There is a blurry line between good and evil, light and dark, or whatever you wish to call it in this place. But yes, she is from the Underworld, therefore she is of a dark nature. And you are born of her.

Which meant I was dark? Or at least I think that’s what he’s trying to tell me.

The other Mystyx are born of her, too. I still don’t get what he’s trying to tell me.

They do not have the power you have.

This is true. All of us have different powers. But I’m the only one with an active power. Krystal is a medium, a power linked to her mind and her acceptance. Lindsey is telepathic, again, her power uses the mind, not a physical essence. Sasha, on the other hand, can move through space. But her powers have no effect on anyone other than her. I was the only one who could lift or move objects, hurt people.

You can do so much more. I can teach you.

What he’s saying sounds right and wrong all at the same time. If he’s here and he’s telling me this, then he—the voice within me—is evil.

No!

Search your heart, Jake. You hunger for what I have to teach you. And when you are ready you will ask for my help. You will need me.

“No!” I yell out loud this time and turn back, running toward my house like a band of wild dogs is chasing me. I run so fast I can’t even feel my feet touching the ground. Then I’m standing beneath the back window of the house, no key to get in. I should be out of breath, but I’m not. Looking up at the window that I’d jumped out of I wonder how I’m going to get back inside.

Jump.

The voice is speaking again, but I want to ignore it. I want to shut it out for good because I don’t like what it said or how those words make me feel. Still, I need to get back inside.

Taking a few steps back I start to run again. Then I jump and land right on the windowsill. Adrenaline pours through my veins and I can’t help but smile. It’s a rush, this running fast without effort and jumping up and down two stories. I feel powerful, almighty, confident.

Then I slip inside, climb back into my bed and feel confused all over again.

The first thing I notice this morning, looking in the bathroom mirror, is that my nose is healed. There’s no bruising, no swelling, nothing. I look exactly the way I did yesterday morning, ratty brown hair and all.

Not possible, is my first thought. My nose was twice its normal size yesterday, puffed up like somebody had put a glob of clay in the middle of my face. It was purple and bruised and sore.

I touch my nose now as I continue to stare in confusion. It doesn’t hurt when I touch it, the color is normal, the size just fine. Long, narrow, a little crooked, just like it was yesterday morning and the day before that. As if Pace had never thrown that ball and I’d never caught it with my face.

The heat starts then, right in my biceps where it always originates. The green is glowing as I turn to the side and spy it in the mirror. My power. It’s growing. Curious to see how much power I have, I stand back from the mirror staring at it until it swings on its hinges, opening the way to the medicine cabinet. Inside I focus on the bottles of pills, jars of cold elixir, cotton balls and swabs. They all start moving, marching out of the cabinet in a long line. All around the bathroom they go, coming back to the same place on the shelf again. The mirrored door slams shut and I see myself again.

My hair is thick and flying in all directions, my eyes blaze with adrenaline. Reaching for the drawer I grab the scissors and start whacking away at the long strands of hair that curled over my shirt or hooded jackets. I cut it so short my scalp is almost visible. On top there’s a little more left, but it isn’t in my eyes anymore. My entire face is visible, from the line of my jaw to the bridge of my nose and the vein slightly protruding in my forehead.

I look different, which is good, because I feel different. Stepping into the shower I bathe with an urgency I’ve never felt before. Anxious and looking forward to getting dressed and going to school is new to me. Breakfast is a half glass of milk. Nobody’s in the kitchen. Pop Pop is usually awake in the mornings when I leave but I don’t see him. Ms. Tompkins, the part-time nurse my dad hired to take care of him, isn’t here yet, either. Dad would already be gone, his shift at the electric company starts early. But I don’t give any of that much attention.

Grabbing my book bag I head out, walking down the street with long easy strides, no longer with the hesitation of facing another day at Settleman’s. I’m ready for the day and for anything that confronts me.

Or at least I think I am.