Libera Me by Christine Fonseca Page A

muscles stiffen. “Meaning I’m not.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “No, but you thought it. Everyone thinks it.”
    I turn away, unable to bear the pity I see in her eyes. I’m tired of being treated like an invalid, a damaged toy to be tossed aside. I am a still an angel. Still a Mediator.  
    I can still calm the mind and heal memories. I can still direct thoughts and feed logic.
    I.
    Am.
    Not.
    Broken.
    “I don’t care what you all think anymore. You’re wrong. That girl is the key—to what I can’t be certain. But she is important to all of us. And Caim is never going to get to the bottom of it.”
    “Zane, you’re being ridiculous. The Council—”
    “Has been wrong before. Mikayel and Azza. Nesy and Aydan. They’re refusal to see the truth in things has resulted in this stupid war in the first place.”
    “Zane! You’re sounding just like Nesy.”
    “Well, she was right. I only wish I had realized it in the beginning.” Thunder fills the gaps between our words. “I won’t let her down again,” I mumble.
    “What are you planning?”
    Silence spreads between us, punctuated with flashes of light from the storm raging outside.
    “Zane?”
    Cass follows me down the hall and again places a hand on my shoulder. I won’t let her heal me now.
    “Zane?” she whispers. She closes her eyes and drops her head. “You’re going to find her, aren’t you?”
    More silence.
    “You can’t. It’s too risky.”
    “I must.” I say as I pull away.
    I must.
    I turn the corridor. Cass doesn’t follow this time. A bell tolls and students again fill in the tight hallway. My senses heighten to full alert. I stop, allowing people to walk through me.
    Every nerve begins to tingle and I close my eyes. My ears pick up every change around me. The way the students’ footsteps fall in unison with one another after a few steps. The groaning of the walls as they shift with each burst of thunder and drop of rain. The timber of each sound is unique. As are the scents that invade my nostrils. Sweat, pheromones, perfume—they mix and swirl, forming their own signature.
    I open by eyes, suddenly aware of the slightest visual changes in the landscape. I may not have my angelic scenes anymore. But I’m not blind. Not deaf.
    Not even close.
    I settle my thoughts, empowered by my new awareness. I’m not as vulnerable as I feared.
    The halls empty, giving sight to one girl huddled next to the lockers. Black hair, pale skin. She could be Lori’s sister.
    Impossible.
    Her body trembles as she cowers, her knees pulled close to her chest. Tears fall freely from her eyes.
    I focus, noting every sensory detail. The slight lavender scent that wafts past me every time she moves, the way her hair stands on end as though she has seen Azza himself, and the changes in the air as she twirls her angel-charm necklace, an exact match to Lori’s.
    I stand in front of her and she locks eyes with me. For a moment, I think she sees me. Until she drops her head and mumbles a make shift prayer.
    “Help me. Please help me. They’ve found me again. I can’t keep running.”
    There is a sadness in her voice as the words hang between us, screaming through me. I can’t ignore her pleads, can’t allow her to suffer.
    I bend down to her, cupping her face. “I’m here,” I whisper. “You’re safe.”
    Placing my hands on either side of her head, I watch her eyelids flutter and close. Electricity crackles as ribbons of light leave her head, absorbing into my hands. Images pass through my thoughts in rhythm with the currents. Pictures of a time long ago:
    Snow falling.
    A woman screaming.
    “Go, run!” a girl yells.
    The fear is palpable as the images scroll forward. One by one I help her release, replacing her anguish with peace.
    She runs. Always runs.
    More towns. More screams.
    I double my efforts and her body begins to calm, the torment lightens.
    Decades pass in a blur until more recent images emerge:
    Aydan screaming.
    Smoke. Ash.
    And