Sort of like Rosa Parks on the bus in the fifties. Someone, some chameleon, needed to stand up so they could be counted as part of the supernatural world. They should be proud of who they were, and not have to hide their true selves.
Instantly, her chest swelled with emotion that was both warm and affirming. This was her quest. Her new quest or maybe just part of her old one. And it felt like the right thing.
Yup, all she had to do was figure out how to come out of the closet.
* * *
That night, head buried in her pillow, the tingly feeling of another presence stirred her awake. It wasn't a cold presence, which meant whoever was here wasn't dead. Opening her eyes, the sweet floral scent tickled her senses. She spotted the red rose on her bedside table.
Only one person left her roses.
Lucas? Her heart whispered his name and went straight to hurting. Last night, she'd lain in bed and accepted what had to be. Letting him go. As much as it hurt, she couldn't let him destroy his life becauseof her.
She inhaled and listened. Was he still here? Or had he come and gone? She noticed her white curtain fluttering as a soft night breeze floated inside. If he'd left, he'd have shut the window.
She closed her eyes again, wondering if she pretended not to wake up he would just leave.
"I know you're awake," his deep voice spoke into the still darkness.
"And I know you shouldn't be here." She swallowed and fought the swell of emotion climbing up her throat. She rolled over and pulled her pajama-covered knees to her chest. It took another couple of seconds to gather her courage for her to look for him-knowing that seeing him would hurt.
She was right. His hair looked windblown as if he'd gone for a run. His eyes looked hurt. Raw pain rained down on her. Her chest ached with loneliness.
"I couldn't sleep," he said. Silence filled the room. He moved closer. His knees touched the bed. He sat down. The mattress dipped with his weight. Her heart raced, remembering the times she had curled up with him here on this bed. She'd even slept beside him here and he'd held her, made her feel safe, protected. Loved.
"It can't be over, Kylie. You are the only thing that matters to me."
She shook her head. "Not true." Just like her, he had others in his life. He had things that were important to him. He had quests. "Your pack is important. It has been all along. Your grandmother. And you can say you don't like your dad, but you put up with him, so he has to matter to you. And then there's your sister." And you'll lose them all if you choose me.
"Fine, I care about them-everyone but my father. Right now I don't care if he rots in hell. I'm tired of him manipulating my life-but the others, yes, I'll admit it, I care. But they aren't you," he said, and growled.
"Monique's father is considering putting a hit out on you!" she blurted out.
"That rich pompous ass is always running off his mouth. He's nothing but hot air. He knows what my dad would do to him if he hurt me." Lucas stopped talking and just looked at her. "But this proves it. You care about me. If you didn't, you wouldn't care if he planned to kill me. You may still be angry, and I deserve that, but you love me and that's why it can't be over."
She shook her head. "Love isn't enough!" Tears clouded her vision. That was what she'd finally realized last night. "Can't you see, Lucas? We're Romeo and Juliet; we're the Hatfields and McCoys. We are every bad love story that ever existed. We are people who only hurt ourselves and others by selfishly letting our emotions guide us instead of logic."
"That's stupid," he growled, and tried to reach for her.
"No!" She scooted away from his touch. "Do you want to know what's stupid? I keep seeing you kissing Monique in my head. I keep hearing you vowing your soul to her, and I get so hurt and so angry that I want to scream. But at the same time, I completely understand why you did it. And if I were in your shoes, I might have done the same things. I have my own quests, the ghosts, figuring out how to help other chameleons, and I'm going to complete those quests no matter what."
She swallowed and offered the last piece of truth, the last piece of reasoning that they couldn't be together. "I'm going to do it even if it hurts you. That's how I know, Lucas. That's how I know that this isn't right. When doing the right thing for yourself can hurt someone you love this much, it can't be right!
We aren't right. So please, let's not hurt each other any more than we already have. Just leave."
She had never seen anyone look so hurt. It took everything she had not to call him back as he climbedout her window.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The next day during science class, Kylie sat at her desk barely listening to Hayden Yates talk about Newton's laws of motion and E=MC2. Not that she didn't respect science, but how could any of that explain a sword that could move on its own? And didn't Hayden say that both Einstein and Newton were supernaturals? Did that mean they didn't have magical swords following them around?
Not that she was completely consumed with worry over the sword right now. Her morning had been bat-shit crazy. Starting with a ten-minute conversation with her mom that entailed both of them apologizing. Mom for overreacting to the news of the pregnancy tests and making a scene, and Kylie for not informing her she'd used the card for the items. It hadn't been a bad call, but it hadn't been a good one, especially when her mom launched into a conversation about how John was possibly her soul mate.
Somehow she'd managed to tuck her mom worries away. Her Lucas issues weren't so easy to tuck away. Between hurting for him, she'd also fretted over finding a method of coming out of the closet.
She'd even skipped Campmate hour and breakfast to try to formulate a plan. And she came up ...
empty.
Of course, she wasn't at her all-time best. After Lucas had left, the spirit, as if jealous that Kylie wasn't fixating on her, had decided to pop in every hour last night. She hadn't brought her severed head and sword, for which Kylie was forever grateful. But on her last visit the spirit brought something even more upsetting. Grief. She sobbed in her hands and muttered something about her son being killed.
Having lost too many in her own life, Kylie hurt for the spirit and told her so, but the spirit was too upset to even respond.
Kylie wondered if the ghost meant her son was killed in the present time, or if she was revisiting something in her past. Time just didn't compute with spirits, which could be confusing as hell to the living who were trying to help them.
Then again, nothing seemed to compute much with this spirit. She wouldn't answer any of Kylie's direct questions. As in: Who is it exactly that you want me to kill? Or, Why me? Why did you choose me to do your killing?