A Beautiful Dark

When the display reached a hundred and one degrees, the small white box sizzled and shorted out. The screen went black.
    “Shit!” I whispered. What had I just done? I hadn’t even touched it. I stared at my fingers. I was too afraid to look in the mirror, afraid I’d see that my eyes had morphed again into that weird, mercurial silver.
    Had I just caused the thermostat to short-circuit . . . without even touching it? No, it was ridiculous even to think it.
    “Skye?” Aunt Jo called. “Everything okay?”
    I grabbed the cookbook off the credenza and trotted back into the kitchen.
    “Yep!” I said, dropping the book onto the counter and looking away. “I think the thermostat’s broken. We should get that thing looked at.”
    “Keeping the house at subtropical temperatures doesn’t mean it’s broken,” she said with a snort. “Can you toss me the egg timer?”
    “Sure.” I extracted the neon green egg timer from the drawer in the island and tossed it to her. “Hey, I think it might actually be warmer outside. I’m going to take a walk. Mind if I disappear till the cookies are done?”
    “Are you really that cold? Hope you’re not coming down with the flu.” She came toward me with her hand outstretched as if to feel my forehead.
    I ducked away, grabbing my heavy coat, mittens, and knit cap. “I’m fine. I won’t be out too long anyway.”
    Once I was outside, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and started trudging through the snow. My fingers still stung. I couldn’t explain what had happened with the thermostat. Maybe I’d simply built up a charge of static electricity and when I’d gotten near enough— Pop! Bang!
    I should have had the courage to look in the mirror, but even if my eyes were silver, what did it mean? Everything was getting so weird lately. My eyes. The sensation of floating when I woke up. The boiler explosion. The thermostat short-circuiting. Two—no, three—guys showing an interest in me. In my whole life, I’d only ever had one boyfriend. And that had been a disaster.
    I wended my way through the trees until I reached my favorite thinking spot. I felt like I was standing at the edge of the world. Below me was a vast expanse of white dotted with evergreens.
    I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the sharp scent of pine. I was obviously searching for connections where none existed. The boiler had been defective. The thermostat, old. Devin and Asher were doing that whole cousin-rivalry thing. I doubted that I meant anything to either of them—I was just another thing to fight over. Ian and I had always hung out together so I should expect him to feel protective of me. My eyes—I couldn’t explain them away so easily. It was more than the way light hit them. They were a molten silver color that scared me.
    I was sure now that I’d even blown the floating incident out of proportion. It was common for people to dream about flying. It symbolized breaking free from something that was holding you back. I was seventeen now. I was getting ready to apply to colleges. To leave Aunt Jo and River Springs. I was ready to be out on my own. That was all.
    I spread my arms out. Felt the wind rushing past from the gorge below. This was a great place for flying kites in the summer because of the updraft. I tilted my head toward the sky, closed my eyes, and did what I’d done since I was six: I imagined myself soaring to wherever my parents were, being reunited with them once again.
    Suddenly my foot hit an icy patch on the ledge, and my legs flew out from under me. My eyes flew open. I screamed, felt myself drop . . . and stop.
    Standing on solid ground again, my heart thundering, I stared into familiar blue eyes.
    Devin’s arms were wrapped tightly around me. I couldn’t feel his warmth through our coats, but for a minute, I imagined I could. It was an icy heat, like the combination I felt whenever I ate a mint. Sharp but sweet. Cool and hot at the same time.
    “You shouldn’t stand so close to the edge when it’s so icy.”
    His voice was incredibly calm. He could have been commenting on my selection of a coat, not saving my life. Where had he come from? How had he gotten here? And what were the odds that he’d be right where I needed him to be when I needed him to be there?
    “What are you doing here?” I asked. I was breathless, not certain any longer if it was my nearly plummeting to my death or his nearness that was making it so hard to draw in