Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

Jocelyn!
    Your mark is special; it is magical. Your mark means you can do magic. They call it Koosa! It took many years, but I found a group of people who find those with marks such as yours and save them from the people who took my friend from college. I do not want you to disappear. I only hope that those who would harm you haven’t already found you.
    The people I found gave me a rock to give to you; they call it a birthstone. It will help them to find you. All you have to do is touch it and it will call to them, and lead them to you. Isn’t that wonderful? I found a way to save you! I am told it may hurt when you touch the stone, so please be careful. But, touch it as soon as you can so you can be saved, and I can see you again.
    Love Always, Your Father,
    Jeffery Despain

    I read it once, then again, and again. And then I cried for at least twenty minutes. My poor father! The smart, beautiful man that my mother had fallen in love with had lost his mind. He was talking about magic like it was real and referring me to cults so that I could be saved. I think I cried myself to sleep; clutching the necklace Ryland had given me in one hand and the cursed bead my father had given me in the other.

Three

    Nothing could have stopped the nightmares I had that night. They began the second I closed my eyes and did not leave until the moment my restless night ended. Every aspect of the letter came to haunt me in one terrifying race for my life. I moved from being chased by a homeless man with sharp jagged teeth who was covered in rags, to being surrounded by extraordinarily tall people dressed all in white. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t get away from any of them. I ran through the silent dream in a trance, my body tense and terrified.
    When I woke up, I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. My body was heavy and numb from emotional and mental exertion. My chest hurt with every breath, each movement straining sore muscles. I lay in bed for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep, having decided that I wasn’t going to school that day. The nightmares didn’t return, but I slept fitfully, my subconscious afraid of being haunted.
    By about three in the afternoon, my body felt better, like I was recovering from a small head cold rather than feeling like I had been hit by a large load of bricks. Not being able to ignore the call of nature any longer, I trudged to the bathroom. It was odd how ill my body felt, almost like I had caught some strange body-ache bug. As much as I wanted to blame food poisoning for my illness, I wasn’t sick enough. And, blaming body-aches on a pearl-like bead was downright silly. I tried to convince myself my problem wasn’t physical – only emotional. Who would have thought that a delusional letter from my father would have affected me so much? I collapsed back on my bed, my head throbbing with the collision.
    My phone buzzed as a call came in; I reached for it, assuming it to be my mom checking in on me. I was shocked to see Ry’s name and a picture of us on top of his car on the caller ID. Ryland never called. Of course, we saw each other every day so there was never a need, but it was still odd. I stared at his name until the ringer stopped and the system sent him to voicemail. I could have answered and told him I was sick, but knowing Ry, he would be able to hear the lie in my voice, or even worse, he would rush over to check on me.
    I sighed, my chest aching with the movement. I hadn’t changed since the birthday party; I had fallen asleep wearing the odd outfit I had been provided during dinner; the necklace Ryland gave me, still hanging from around my neck. The ruby lay against my white sheet, looking like a drop of blood. I touched it with my fingertips, surprised by its warmth. The sincerity of the gift still surprised me, and staring at it stirred up a whole range of emotions that clashed with the bone-crushing depression I felt. I rolled over and lost myself in my thick comforter, falling asleep again.
    I woke-up a few hours later, the light of day leaving my room, my mother’s hand pressed to my forehead.
    “What hurts?” she asked, her hand moving to feel my glands.
    “Everything,” I whispered.
    “Hmm. Well, you don’t have a fever, so it’s probably just a head cold. Can you eat?”
    I shook my head no; even if I had wanted to eat, I doubted anything would stay down. Mom clicked her tongue at me, a sure sign she didn’t believe me.
    “You’ll need to get