Touch of Sibyl

Chapter Two

*Beep-beep-beep*

The low, steady beeping woke me. I frowned. What was up with my alarm clock? It didn't frowned. What was up with my alarm clock? It didn't sound like that. And why was my bed suddenly so hard and lumpy? And the sheets so stiff and scratchy? I felt like my brain was stuffed with cotton, but slowly, the day came back to me. My suckitude at basketball. Changing in the locker room. Talking to Paige. Picking up her hairbrush. Seeing what her stepdad was doing to her.

A whimper slipped out of my throat before I could stop it.

"Easy, Ava. You're okay now. You're fine, baby."

A warm hand stroked my cheek, and a soft wave of love and concern washed over me, like a fleece blanket wrapping around me and keeping me safe from everything--including the horrible things I'd seen today.

"Mom," I whispered, recognizing her gentle touch.

I opened my eyes to find Amara Whyte leaning over me. My mom had the same features that I did -brown hair, pale skin, blue eyes-but she was beautifull in a way that I longed to be and knew I was not. Even wearing a simple black pantsuit, there was a, well, grace about my mom, an elegance that I just didn't have.

"What happened?" I asked.

I sat up and realized that I was lying in a hospital bed, wearing a paper-thin gray gown covered with purple polka dots. Plastic tubes snaked from my left wrist over to some machines that beeped out my heart rate and other vital signs. Off to my right was an open door. Beyond that, nurses walked up and down a drab hallway, while patients attached to IVs shuffled along behind them.

"You had an epileptic seizure," my mom said. "At least, that's what the doctors think."

I shook my head and winced as a dull ache started throbbing behind my eyes. "It wasn't a seizure. It was my Sibyl gift. It just . . . I just . . . freaked out."

Concern filled my mom's eyes. She was a Sibyl just like me, which meant that she had a gift like me. In my mom's case, she knew if someone was telling the truth or not just by listening to their words.

Basically, my mom was like a living, breathing lie detector. Yeah, her magic made it hard on me whenever I wanted to get away with something that I shouldn't. Still, my mom's Sibyl gift came in handy, especially since she was a police detective. My mom had dedicated her life and her magic to helping people. She was the bravest person I knew, and I wanted to be just like her.

In a shaky voice, I told her about picking up Paris's hairbrush and the terrible things that I'd seen Paris's stepdad doing to her. My mom's face got a little tighter and her blue eyes grew a little darker with every word I said. By the time I finished my story, I could almost feel the anger coming off her in cold waves.

"Did Paris say anything to you?" my mom asked.

"Did she ever mention her stepdad to you before?"

I shook my head. "No. We're not that close, and I didn't see him around when I went over to her house to find her phone."

My mom had opened her mouth to ask me another question, when a series of familiar jingle-jingle-jingles sounded. A moment later, an older woman wearing a purple silk shirt and black pants and shoes stepped into the room. At least, that's what I thought she was wearing. It was kind of hard to tell since layers of colorful scarves covered her body, wrapping around her in a rainbow of fluttering fabric. Bright, gleaming silver coins dangled off the fringed ends of the scarves and jangled together with every step she took. Another scarf held her iron-gray hair back off her wrinkled face. The scarf was the same blue color as her eyes-as all our eyes were.