Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [96]
A speeding taxi, racing to beat the light, missed hitting me by inches. It blew through the intersection, horn blaring.
I heard the bleating behind me, and I stayed frozen, sprawled on the sidewalk. Slowly, I was very aware of pain coming from my hands. Brendan was crouched next to me, his arm around my back.
“Emma! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I moved slightly, disturbing the bits of dirt and concrete lodged in my palms. It made them sting more.
“Ow! Well, this isn’t awesome.”
Brendan smiled a weak smile. “How bad is it?” He tucked his head under my arm and helped me up. Brendan grimaced at my bloody hands. “Sorry.”
I looked down and my hands were shredded, fresh blood streaming out of my skinned palms. They looked like I had used a cheese grater on them.
“I may have pulled you back a little too hard,” he said regretfully, taking my raw hands in his. “I’m so sorry, Em.”
“Why are you apologizing?” He just saved me from being a human speed bump and was asking for forgiveness. Brendan grabbed his bag from where he’d tossed it and pulled out a bottle of water, pouring it on my hands. I flinched at the sting, stepping back—and feeling a sharp stab in my right ankle.
“Ouch! I think it’s sprained!” I winced at the pain, hopping back onto my left foot.
“Emma, I’m so, so sorry,” Brendan said, his face crest fallen.
“Please stop apologizing! You saved me from being a hood ornament, you know.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” he said, bitterly. “The other could be that I’m the reason that happened to you in the first place.”
“New York is the reason that happened,” I said condescendingly. “Or do you think this city is renowned for taxi drivers following the rules all the time?”
Brendan frowned, his handsome face set in an angry mask.
“Oh, come on, Brendan,” I said, reaching out to touch his face and wincing when my skinned palms brushed against his faint stubble. It only made him feel worse.
“No guilt trips, please,” I begged. “This isn’t your fault. This isn’t the Salinger curse at work.” But Brendan wouldn’t look at me and when he did, his green eyes went straight to my raw palms, and he’d blanch.
“I’m a ticking clock for you,” he said, keeping his eyes downcast.
“Oh, please, don’t be so dramatic,” I said, starting to get annoyed. “If a pigeon poops on my head, will you blame that on yourself, too?”
“That won’t kill you, Emma.”
“It might,” I said gravely. “Have you seen some of these New York City pigeons?”
Silence, still.
“Look, Brendan, you saved me—again, I might add. I didn’t even see that cab coming!”
But something about what I said echoed in my head. Didn’t see it coming…didn’t see it coming.
“Oh. My. God.”
“What, Emma?”
“Brendan, um, do you think, just maybe, that was it?” I asked, gesturing to the gutter where I almost became roadkill. Brendan just stared at me.
“What are you talking about?”
“Brendan, what if that was the it? The danger? The big bad? And you just saved me from it?”
He remained expressionless, his handsome features like stone.
“It can’t be,” Brendan whispered. “It couldn’t be that easy.”
“Okay, don’t kill me for not telling you earlier,” I said, nervously biting my lip. “But I did have another dream where my brother more or less warned me, and said that I wouldn’t see it coming. Those were his exact words. I sure didn’t see that coming.”
“Emma, what the hell? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Brendan demanded.
“We were having such a nice time. It was nice to feel normal,” I mumbled, looking down.
“Please, please don’t keep secrets from me,” Brendan whispered, putting both hands on either side of my face. “Anything else?”
I took a deep breath. “There is one.” Brendan shut his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them to stare at me unhappily.
“Spill it, Emma.”
“I think I’m a witch,