Matt Archer: Blade's Edge by Kendra C. Highley Page B

said, struggling to keep my voice steady. First Dad left, then Mike and Brent, and now Mamie? This was the worst one yet. Missoula was more than three hundred miles from Billings, so she wouldn’t be able to come home very often. What would I do without her? “That’s…great. I’m really proud of you. I, uh, I mean it.”
    “Thanks,” she whispered. “I know it’s a long way away, but we can still talk. I’m sure I’ll have time to do research for you, too.”
    “Yeah…of course.” I took a step back, feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. “Um, I’m still a little tired from my trip. Maybe I should rest up some before school tomorrow.”
    Before she could protest, I fled to my room and shut the door behind me. It looked the same as always. Bed in the corner directly across from the door, closet on my right, posters of classic cars and military aircraft on the walls, my computer table along the far wall and, on my nightstand, a framed picture of Ella. I’d taken it during one of our hiking trips and I loved how it turned out—the sun shone through the trees behind her, turning her auburn hair a fiery red against all the browns and greens of the woods.
    But now, even surrounded by familiar things, the room felt foreign, different. Like home would never be the same again, because Mamie and Brent wouldn’t be just down the hall giving me crap about this or that. Soon, I’d be the only person living upstairs. I should’ve been stoked to have my very own floor.
    I wasn’t.
    As sisters went, Mamie was the best kind. Last year when I’d sneak in through the mudroom window in the middle of the night, cold, tired and bleeding, I’d find her waiting with hot chocolate and the first aid kit. Next year, she wouldn’t be around to welcome me home at all. How would I make it without her?
    From its box in the closet, my knife gave a sympathetic sounding buzz and a brief feeling of soothing calm washed over me. It wasn’t quite enough to pull me out of my funk, though, and I sank down on my bed. Soon after, the garage door slammed shut, announcing Brent’s departure for the airport. I closed my eyes, feeling entirely alone.
    A shriek, followed by a crash, brought me to my feet and I bolted across the hall to Mamie’s room. It looked like a library had exploded. Her bookcase lay on its side in the middle of the floor and Mamie had fallen onto her bed, surrounded by piles of books.
    “What happened?” I asked.
    “I don’t know.” Mamie struggled to sit up, rubbing the side of her head. “I reached for a book on the top shelf and the whole case tipped over. I barely got of its way, but a bunch of books fell on me.”
    I bent to examine the bookcase and the wall, but didn’t see anything buckled or cracked. “Are you sure you didn’t rest your weight on it?”
    Mamie gave me her best glare. “Do I look big enough to tip it over by myself?”
    “No,” I murmured, staring at the heavy books scattered across the room.
    She must take care , the knife-spirits whispered out of nowhere. Accidents…can be hereditary.
    I drew in a shocked breath. “Accidents?”
    Mamie cocked her head. “That’s what it must be, right?”
    “Yeah,” I said slowly. “Stay here. I’m going to get you some ice for your head.”
    I left her to lament the destruction of her perfectly organized book-filing system and trotted downstairs. “What did you mean, hereditary?”
    Just that she must be on her guard, as you should be.
    After that, the spirit clammed up. First my parachute problem, now this…was it saying that these weren’t accidents at all? And that my family might have them, too?
    Not good. Not good at all.
    I grabbed my cell phone from the kitchen and called Brent on my way back upstairs.
    “What?” he said, sounding annoyed.
    “Are you okay?” I asked.
    “Why wouldn’t I be?” He huffed a breath. “Look, I’m in line for security. What do you need?”
    “I…” I wasn’t sure what I needed. Some