Page 13 of Divine Oaths

Quickly, he counted through it. I’ll be honest. I counted too, even though I already knew how much the amount would be from our previous encounter. In my head, I nearly got to two grand before footsteps interrupted him.

The person on the phone asked him if everything was okay. But two figures emerged from the shadows. One yanked him backward, covering his mouth and restraining him as the second figure punched the heir in the stomach. He gasped, and even though I was safely in the present, I found myself recoiling too. Hundred-dollar bills fluttered through the air, like leaves wilting in autumn.

Again and again, one figure landed hit after hit on his stomach and face while the other one restrained him from defending himself. I fought back a scream and tried to make out their features. But beneath their hoodies, their faces remained obscured. All I could discern was the sound of their voices, and the anger oozing from them, the desperation. It was the kind of sound that I knew would be seared in my memory forever.

The figures pushed him against the wall. Even as he collapsed on the ground, a third figure, one I hadn’t noticed, stepped forward. His face was hidden by the gray hoodie he wore. The figure drew a switchblade from his pocket.

Then he stabbed the Westfield heir.

Metal tore through flesh. Then came the wet, violent sound of blood splattering on the ground.

The figures shouted something at one another and then disappeared into the night. I knew I should listen harder, I knew I should find a way to recognize them. But I couldn’t look away from where he lay there bleeding, gasping. There was a soft cry. At first, I thought the sound had come from my own lips. But the cries grew to sobs. They were coming from his phone, which had fallen on the ground, just a few feet away from him. The voice on the other end of the line belonged to a woman—the same person that he’d been talking to earlier. She’d listened to the whole attack from the phone, and now she was sobbing and screaming for him to answer. On her lips, his name sounded almost like a dirge. Kasem. Kasem. Kasem.

When I let go and pulled myself back to reality, I stumbled forward, rounding the corner to the other side of the dumpster, and there I was, facing the Westfield University heir as his attackers had left him. His head was tilted back against the wall. His eyes were shut. And the left side of his face sported a terrible purple bruise. The switchblade was still there, protruding from the side of his stomach where he’d been stabbed. All around, hundred-dollar bills lay scattered.

The attackers hadn’t taken even one.

The only thing missing from him was the bracelet he’d been wearing in the vision—the same one he’d had with him just this morning in Gus’s shop. The same bracelet I’d found in Jojo’s car.

A wave of nausea overcame me—a symptom of this new reality. But I’d seen the attackers, and none of them fit Jojo’s profile; not their builds or their heights—at least, not from what I could make out.

I couldn’t see if the heir was breathing, and I didn’t know if the attackers would return. I needed to focus. I needed to be calm. But even as I grasped at reason, ripples of fear trembled through every inch of me.

Suddenly, my gaze fell to his phone on the ground. It had cracked from when he’d fallen, but the call had never ended. Only a number was listed on the caller ID screen.

“Please, if you’re there, pick up. Just tell me where you are. I’ll come. Please, just answer me.”

It was the person he’d been talking with earlier. I reached for the phone, but stopped midway, just as the girl spoke again.

“Hello? Hello?”

But what was I supposed to say? Hi, nice to meet you. I saw your boyfriend getting stabbed in a vision. Or there was the alternative: I’m a stranger just passing by. But I can’t help because I’m in the middle of planning a robbery.

There were hundreds of dollars on the ground. If I just grabbed a few and dipped, maybe I could stay in Virginia. The fact that the thought had even crossed my mind, especially after witnessing the stabbing in the vision, drew knots of shame in my stomach.

I at least had to try something.

“He’s not moving,” I said finally, leaning close and whispering into the phone. “You need to get him help.”

The girl on the other side of the line gasped, as if she hadn’t truly believed that he or anyone else would answer.

“We’re in an alleyway behind Center City Mall. I found him behind a dumpster. He’s been stabbed,” I said. Quickly, I gave the girl directions on how to find him. But his chest was still. By the time any paramedics would arrive, it might be too late.

“Stay on the phone,” the girl begged. “Please.”

But I was already moving. I knelt beside him. Then I pressed two fingers against his neck to search for a pulse.

I couldn’t move him much because of the knife protruding from his lower abdomen, so I carefully laid him on the ground and tilted his chin up, pinching his nose and bringing my mouth to his. His lips were soft and cool against my own.

I took a deep breath, gathering air in my own chest. Then I breathed oxygen into his mouth. His chest didn’t move. I couldn’t give up, though. Even if I wanted to. Even if every desperate piece of me wanted to bolt from this alleyway and pretend this night had never happened. I could do this. I could try to save him.

Again, I passed the air from my lungs into his, pressing my hands against his chest and pushing up and down, up and down.

Suddenly, it felt like my mind was splitting.

A vision rose to the surface, but I couldn’t stop it. It kept pushing against my mind, trying to take control.

I fought against the force of my powers, desperate to stay in the present, to help him. But the rapid skin-to-skin contact drew me closer and closer to a vision. Pain ripped through my skull and the cold sensation returned, consuming all of me. When I brought my lips to his once more, I finally felt the gentle rise of his chest. I pulled back, just as he began gasping for air.