Young Blood (PART ONE OF THREE)

Walk Away

8. Walk Away

Eclipse found Song and Celeste sitting in the corner of the library in bean bag chairs, discussing Selena. She felt rude to interrupt, but the paper in her pocket was unsettling and she needed to show them.

Celeste stopped talking midsentence as Eclipse pulled the blood stained paper from her pocket and held it out to Song.

Repulsed, Song pinched the dry corner of the paper with the tips of his thumb and forefinger and looked up at Eclipse like she was on crack. “Um, what is this?”

Eclipse folded her arms and fell back in to one of the chairs. “I don’t know. Sherlock thinks it’s a poem, but not just any poem. Like the really important kind.”

Celeste laughed. “Like a prophecy?” She mused. Eclipse nodded at her and her smile went dead. “But who’s blood?”

She knew that Eclipse knew. Eclipse had the keen sense of smell most werewolves did, and the immortality of an Elf, and she could most definitely tell who’s blood it was.

“I think it’s…Mandy’s.”

Celeste inhaled deeply. And her face drooped with sadness as she turned to Song. He read the only legible lines on the paper aloud, over and over and over.

“…from above…,” He muttered, tapping his fingers on his knee. “Well, it sort of sounds like someone is going to die, but they’ll be killed from someone at a high level then them. Like getting sniped from the top of the Empire State Building.”

Eclipse stood up, deciding she’d rather not figure the poem out. It didn’t seem like a fun thing, whatever it was. Not to mention Mandy’s blood being all over it. “I think I’ll go, before I get even more confused then I desire,” She said, and she turned to leave them.

Song looked at Celeste as the blue haired hybrid left and said, “I think we need to figure out, somehow, the whole poem. Otherwise the majority of this will never ever make sense.”

Celeste nodded. “And what if it is a prophecy?” She added, “Then we would never know the whole thing and could really screw up.” Song agreed, and he held up the paper to the sun, glaring at them through a window.

A hand reached out and snatched it and gagged in disgust. “Ew. Do you know how many diseases…,” The voice trailed off. Song turned his head around to find a teacher, Mrs. Moore, throwing the paper in to trash can.

“You children are crazy. I don’t know if you realize how disgusting that is,” She said, and then she started to walk away muttering something about vile pieces of trash and wanting to start classes up again.