Vitrian Secrets, Dele Andersen [great books for teens TXT] 📗

been painted over to make it look better.

A door opened, and someone stepped in. Wanda clutched at the blanket, covering herself tightly, frightened of who or what it might be. The rebels and how they wanted her came to mind.

Why am I not in their prison or a closed-up, barricaded room? she thought in trepidation as the person came closer.

“Ah, I see you're awake,” a male voice said.

The voice. Wanda recognized it. It had tormented her in her dreams and memories multiple times. She would know it at any time and in any situation.

She sat up straight, holding onto the blanket covering her legs. She wasn't cold or afraid anymore; she was all hope, wishing beyond all her imaginations that the person would be who she wished it was.

The boy walked up to her slowly; Wanda's heart throbbed furiously at each step he took. She stared uncontrollably at his face as he squatted in front of her. He raised his hand to touch her forehead. Wanda twitched a little when the hand touched her skin but made no sudden movement to run or object. She only sat up with her mouth slightly open as she looked directly at him like she had seen a ghost.

“Your fever is gone,” he said, and Wanda only watched him in shock and bewilderment. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes wandered and searched his face to confirm he was real.

“Am . . . am I . . . dead?” she asked, speaking the words one by one, making the short phrase longer than it should be.

“Why?” He giggled. “Of course not.” He smiled. “Well, perhaps you’re dead. I know I’m not.”

“Eric!” Wanda squealed. His name came out of her mouth with much more force than she had planned. She didn't know she had let go of the blanket until her arms wrapped Eric's neck like she had known him for a long time.

She placed her head on his shoulder in joy that he had survived the attack at school. She had dreamed, deliberated, and wished in the last two days of her life that a miracle would save him.

“You're alive.”

“Well.” He shrugged. “Yes, I am.”

He let her grab him and hold on to him as long as she wanted, but he didn’t touch her.

“The demon attacked you,” she said with a shaky voice. “I thought you were dead.” She let go of him, her eyes full of tears of joy. She sniffed a little, trying to control her emotions.

“It's all right—I made it!” Eric winked.

His intense blue eyes looked as beautiful as she remembered them. She smiled in response, and a faint, beautiful smile lit his face.

“How—how did you escape the demon?” she asked. “You said it was sent to fetch me.”

“Well.” His lips twitched as he continued to smile.

The smile mesmerized her, and she couldn’t stop smiling, unable to control her feelings. She stared at his chiseled features, reminiscing on how he looked the few times she had seen him on her school’s premises. He looked even more handsome now in close range and all cleaned up. She remembered how drawn to him she had felt the day he came to rescue her. He looked rough, probably from running all over the place, but still very attractive. She recalled the warmth she felt at his presence and how she blushed even with the pandemonium of the demon’s attack at school.

“The demon didn't come for me,” he explained, cutting her off. “Demons don't waste time on other targets. They're not like humans that get easily distracted. By the time you were gone, its work was more or less done.”

Remembering his heroic nature, how he rushed to her aid even though she thought he was the demon, Wanda's lips twitched. Unintentionally, she moved her head closer to his, leaving only a finger-length space between their lips as their noses almost touched. He didn't pull back; Wanda fidgeted and placed her hands in her lap.

He took a deep breath. He smelled sweet and fresh. Wanda reckoned that he must have stepped out of the shower not too long before.

She 'd never felt like this before. She was tired and weak, but it wasn't weakness or tiredness that had her blushing. This was different, totally different from the other day when she was with Petter and wanted Petter to hold her in his arms because of how overwhelmed she felt by everything happening around her.

Eric cleared his throat, tilting his head slightly to the side. Wanda followed and turned her head to the opposite side. She knew it was too late; there was nothing she could hide. She knew he had noticed her blushing and understood she was pressing for a kiss.

“Sorry, I was staring,” he said, and got up.

“No, I was the one doing the staring,” Wanda replied, impressed that he was taking responsibility for something he hadn't even done.

“I had to set the fireplace up because it gets cold here at night.” 

Wanda took the blanket off her lap and realized she was still dressed in the clothes she wore to the battle. They were dry but stiff, indicating they were wet when she was placed on the sofa.

“The Battle, the rebels,” she said as the flood of issues around her charged back to her memory.

Eric turned from the fireplace where he adjusted the logs. Wanda looked up, and their eyes met. She quickly got up.

“Who are you? Are you one of the rebels?”

There was no reaction from Eric, so Wanda didn't know if he was annoyed by her utterance or not.

“I see you're more alert now,” he said. “For a moment back there, I wondered if you had lost your memory. I expected, ‘Who are you?’ to be one of your first questions.”

Wanda wanted to defend the reason why she hadn't asked the question first, but her lips only quivered. She knew she had no good response; seeing him had overwhelmed her, and with that, thoughts of the rebels, the battle, and her fall from the cliff left her memory.

“No, I'm not with these rebels you speak of; neither can I deny that I am a part of them.”

Wanda frowned. She shook her head, trying to understand him. “So, you know about the rebels?”

“Well.” He bent down and adjusted the burning logs, which seemed to be producing more fire than necessary. “I know the other Vitrians in the fortress call them that.”

“You know about the Vitrians?” Wanda instantly felt stupid. Of course, he does. He uses their fighting tools—idiot, she thought to herself.

“Yes,” Eric answered. He stood up and dusted his hands, then walked to the other end of the L-shaped living area. Wanda followed and saw a small wooden dining table at the corner. Nothing was on the table but a box, a wooden box—exactly like the one her mum showed her and told her belonged to her father.

“Where did you get that box?” she demanded. Her heart beat rapidly, her thoughts raced, and her head filled with a thousand questions flashing back and forth as she spoke. 

“It belongs to me,” Eric said.

“No, it belongs to my father,” Wanda corrected.

Eric dropped his shoulders, looking frustrated.

Multiple thoughts flashed through Wanda's mind. Eric has the box. Eric was at school to defend me. Eric knows the rebels, he's not one of them, but he is a part of them . . .

She shook her head, not understanding what was going on. She focused on what she really wanted. “Look, I don't know who you are or where you're from—”

He suddenly turned to look at her, his eyes penetrating. She paused, wondering if he wanted to say something, but he only pulled the edges of his lips up in a formal manner.

“I just want the rebels to give me the Healing Méndez,” she said.

“What?” Eric chuckled, his expression bewildered.

“I need it . . . to heal my brother Jason,” Wanda said. How had Eric healed so fast after the wounds he got fighting the demon at her school?

“The Healing Méndez,” he repeated, and then looked away like she wasn’t making any sense. He walked to a shelf made of wooden planks fastened onto the wall. He scrambled about for some item that Wanda could care less about.

“Can you talk to me and stop acting like I'm not here?” she said. “You must have used some supernatural item to heal yourself. Could it be . . . the Healing Méndez? Is that why you healed fast from the wounds incurred from the fight with the demon at my school?”

“What do you want me to do?” Eric turned to her, his gaze again penetrating and as direct as an eagle's eyes set on a target.

Wanda stopped by the fireplace, next to the dining table. “I just want the Healing Méndez. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“The Healing Méndez is at the fortress!” Eric said, his eyes serious.

“What?” Wanda backed up in confusion. “No, it’s with the rebels.”

Eric laughed, and the laughter only aggravated her more. “Were you told that, or did you see it?”

Wanda thought quickly. He knew she had never laid her eyes on the Healing Méndez. She kept quiet, but Eric smiled.

“Okay,” she concurred. “I was told I need it to heal my brother. I know you've not met him, but—”

“I know Jason very well,” he butted in. He turned his face back to the shelf, searching again.

“I need it!” she shouted, suddenly vexed. “And I’m going to get it no matter the means.”

“Wow.” Eric turned in surprise. “You do get annoyed.”

“You better tell me what you know—”

“You better tell me how you know my name.”

“Arhhh!” Wanda exclaimed. Why did he care about that? “What does that have to do with my request for the Healing Méndez?”

“Answer me, and I will give you more answers.”

She tightened her jaws in desperation. “Look, I only have . . . forty-eight hours.” The words came out with uncertainty. She realized she didn't know what day it was or if she still had forty-eight hours.

“I only have a few minutes,” Eric answered.

“Okay, Okay.” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I got your name from a close friend.”

“Name?” he demanded, his eyes straight on her. He looked neither annoyed nor disturbed.

“Tutu,” she replied. He frowned, and she thought he was wondering what type of name that was. “Look, I'm not lying—she's my classmate at school, and I don't know where she got your name from.” Wanda gave a short answer, though Tutu had explained to her how she got the name. She continued. “You have to answer me now—I need the Healing Méndez.”

“I don't have it,” he answered. His hands were open wide as if to reveal he was telling the truth.

“Yes, not you, the rebels.”

“They don't have it, and they're not rebels—they are Vitrians.”

“They are?” She was alarmed. “They're trying to destroy the Vitrians. They killed my father and sent demons to Jason.”

“Isn't it easy, how we pass judgment by listening to only one side of a story? Your so-called rebels don't have the Healing Méndez. They have something else, though.”

“How do you know? Did you see it, or were you told?” Wanda tried using the words he had used earlier on her.

Eric laughed. “Forget it.”

Wanda gaped in surprise. “Forget it? The rebels . . . they have been consorting with demons, using them to kill Vitrians, and you expect me to forget getting what can heal Jason and so many sick Vitrians?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eric raised his voice as well. Wanda trembled, frightened. “You need to know what is happening, Wanda.  The demons were summoned by Alexis.” He spoke the name with venomous hatred in his voice. “How do you think the children died? The ones with likely traits of The Chosen, or the parents who were killed after they left the fortress? Or let me guess. You think the arrows they fired at you three days ago when you were on your way to the fortress were meant to keep you alive.” Eric stopped abruptly. He went totally