Chapter Fifteen

If my parents knew about this battle, why’d they send me here? I can’t picture them throwing their only child into the middle of a battle without weapons or an army behind her.

There are only two people who can answer this question for me—Randy and Beth. One happens to be home now.

“Beth?” I call, bounding down the stairs.

“In here!” she yells from the living room. I find her sitting on the couch with a worn book in hand.

I tilt my head to read the spine. Gold flecks once made up letters, words. Now there’s nothing left.

“What are you reading?” I ask.

“Shakespeare. He’s one of my favorites. It took me decades to understand the meaning of his lines, but once I learned, I couldn’t put him down.” Her eyes twinkle under the light of her reading lamp. She gently closes the book, as if it might crumble with any extra stress, and lays it on her lap.

“I need to ask you something.” I suddenly feel stupid for wanting to know why I can’t see Ben. But, instead of asking about him, I blurt, “Why did my parents send me here, if they knew about the battle between our families?”

Beth places her book on the end table. She sits up, hands in her lap, and says, “Because they don’t know the extent of it, how bad it’s gotten.”

I fall into the recliner. “How can they not know?”

She inhales sharply. “Well, because I’ve never told them. I never thought they needed to know. It began many years ago, but the Conways kept their distance. They weren’t as much of a threat…until you arrived.”

My gaze lowers to my hands, which are doing absolutely nothing in my lap. “I’m the one who stirred up old dust.”

I don’t get it. Sure, they want me gone. Does it have to be like this? What if I can change it? I know what I have to do, and it involves speaking to Ben. I’m not sure he’ll even listen to me, though. He is, after all, a Conway.

“Technically, yes. But is it your fault? No. We’ve known for a very long time it would come to this. Not only do they want your power, but they want to get rid of you. They just can’t figure out how. You’re protected by others, and you don’t even know it.” Her lips curve.

“Like who?” I press.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“Oh, c’mon. This town is full of surprises and secrets. You could at least tell me who these people are. I’d like to meet them,” I say, crossing my legs. This just got interesting.

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’d know who they are. They’re called Watchers, ghosts to you. They have specific orders to relay anything that happens to you to me and Randy. If you’re in danger, they’re there to help.” Her expression changes from day to night—total seriousness to being worried.

Leaning my cheek into my palm, I ask, “How does that work?”

“We can communicate through images and thoughts, without having to transform,” she replies. “Once they pledge their loyalty to us, they are gifted with the ability to speak as we do.”

“That’s awesome.” I’m almost speechless.

Almost.

“So, how does the whole Watcher, Follower thing work? I mean, I know the Conways pretty much force their people into choosing life or death.”

“They do. Once a human learns what they are, they’re either killed or picked to be a Follower. I don’t know how the Conways choose another person’s fate.” She glances toward the carpet, deep in thought, but is quick to add, “We don’t do that—make them choose. Our Watchers help on their own accord.”

I nod. “That’s good.”

When Beth doesn’t respond, I ask, “So, will I be able to do that?” Questions zigzag through my brain, waiting their turn to be asked.

“Do what?”

“Communicate with Watchers.”

“Well, of course you will. We all have that ability, but you won’t obtain it until your birthday,” she explains. “Whatever you do, Candra, don’t lose that locket.” She nods to the metal heart lying on my chest.

I shake my head. “I won’t. Promise.”

She carefully lifts Shakespeare off the end table.

“Wait,” I say. There’s one more pressing question I have to ask. “What if I can change everything?”

Beth’s eyes scrunch into a questioning look. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What if I can stop this?”

“Candra, don’t you think we’ve tried everything by now?” She releases a short sigh. “We’ve tried to be peacemakers, but they won’t give until we do.”

“I can talk to Ben,” I say, hoping my words might mean something.

But Beth’s already moving her head, disagreeing with me. “No, I can’t let you see him anymore. This is for your own protection. I can’t emphasize how important you are—to us, and your parents. It simply won’t work.”

“I haven’t tried yet,” I mumble. Adrenaline races through my bloodstream, swirling into every open port of my body. Is it the idea that I’m forbidden to see him, or the idea that each time I’m with him may be my last?