The Angel's Stone

Chapter 6.

After taking a shower and running a brush through her caramel-colored hair, Natascha dressed in her gear and stared in the mirror. The blackness of the suit made her look extra pale, but at least it made her look sassy and skinnier. Her mother's stele winked in its belt pocket, a star in a big black hole. The gear on her reflected the spitting image of her mother. With a pang, she tore her eyes from the mirror and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

The kitchen table was rambunctious as usual. Dylan was building a mountain of strawberries on top of his waffle, and shouted, "I am the waffle king!" Patrick was screaming, "PASS THE SALT!" And Angel flipped it in her dainty fingers, and threw it as hard as she could at his head. He blocked it with a flick of his wrist, as if he expected it coming, and it went sailing into the bowl of syrup. Syrup went up in a large wave, and came down in a sticky mess all over Marlene. Laughter sounded from everyone except for Dylan, who had his hand over his mouth, stifling a smile.

Austin suddenly appeared from the kitchen, and everyone went silent. His brow furrowed in frustration, and he looked as if he was about to yell at them, when his eyes met Natascha's in the doorway. He smiled at her, and everyone turned to stare at her as if she was a walking miracle. She just might've been, keeping Austin from yelling at them the way he would've.

"Good morning, Natascha," he mused. "Have a seat." She took a seat next to Dylan, who seemed happy to see her, and took some eggs from a big plate in the center of the table.

"You look just like your mother in gear," Marlene gapped. Natascha ignored her comment and asked in curiosity, "Where's Wayne?"

Patrick had taken a break from training to escort Natascha to the infirmary. As it turned out, they had just enough time to visit Wayne before training began.

"This way." Patrick led her past the library and down the hall. At the very end, there was a door with a large Red Cross painted on it. He pushed it open, and Natascha was immediately blinded with a blazing, white light that made Patrick's fair hair go bright with color. When her eyes adjusted, she became aware that the light turned everything pale, and brought out the blue shadows in everything. Especially the dark half moons under Patrick's eyes. He trained too much, Natascha realized, and she felt a dull ache in her chest for him.

"Right over here," he directed, and lead her past identical, empty white beds on either side of them. He walked fast, and she struggled to keep up with them; everything went by in a blur.

Finally, she spotted Wayne. He lay in his old clothes still, except now they were wrinkled with sleep. His dark hair lay tousled around his face, sticking up in strange directions in the back. He was still kind of pale, she thought, but at least he had some color back in face. His eyes were closed, and Natascha thought he was sleeping, but when they drew close they opened regularly, and he turned to face them.

"Hey, guys," he greeted weakly. Tascha waved, and Patrick smiled at him.

"How are you feeling?" She asked. He looked across the room and replied, "Better than earlier."

Patrick looked concerned. "Do you know how you got sick, and recovered so fast?"

Wayne shook his head lightly. "No, I have no idea."

Natascha touched the shining blue stone on her neck. "What a strange predicament."