Silver is for Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page A

simply have to believe me.
    But, once again, I barely sleep at all. I end up tossing and turning in bed all night, even waking up Amber and Drea a couple times.
    As soon as I feel myself start to nod off, the tightness in my chest, like piano wire, reminds me how stressed I am, how much there is at stake. I mean, if I don‟t figure all of this out, Clara could seriously die—just like Veronica Lee-man, almost two years ago now; just like Maura, three years before that. The premonitions I‟d had involving them had been tel ing but, in Maura‟s case, I ignored the nightmares and they came true. In Veronica‟s case, I wasn‟t able to figure everything out in time. The result—two girls dead, and me scared to death that another might die.
    I press my eyes closed and roll over in bed, thinking how this is just like what happened to Jacob last year, how he was having premonitions about a stranger—
    me—but he still felt compelled to put his life to the side and help. And what if he hadn‟t? Would I even be here right now?
    I have to help Clara; there‟s real y no other choice.
    As a result, I‟ve decided to start early this morning. I grab a few spel supplies and head out for a walk. I just need to be alone right now, though the throngs of people starting to fill up the beach despite the early hour, dragging their towels, beach chairs, and coolers full of soda onto the sand, is making that a bit difficult.
    Still, I keep close to the water, trudging along through the wet sand as it tugs at my feet, trying to concentrate on the lapping of the water and not the voices of the tourists all around me.
    I keep hearing that other voice, though. Clara‟s voice, warning me not to tell. But tell who? Or what?
    The icy feeling returns to my fingers just thinking about Clara. I do my best to shake it off, but it just won‟t let me go. The chil travels up my arm and over my shoulder, hugging around the right side of my neck. It must be at least eighty-five degrees out here, but still I pull my sweater tightly around me in fear of icing over completely.
    When I feel I‟ve gotten far enough away from the clusters of people, I sink down into the wet sand and breathe the salt air in, doing my best to calm this nervous feeling inside me. I look up toward the sun, knowing that if I focus enough on its energy, I‟l be able to concentrate on what‟s important.
    Clara. I repeat her name over and over again and then write it out in the thick, wet sand with my finger. I picture the sun‟s rays beaming down over her name and over me, opening up the channels of clear thought. And it works, to a point—my hand, arm, and neck are a little less tingly, less cold.
    From the pocket of my sweater I grab the few spel supplies I‟ve brought along—
    an old perfume bottle I‟ve been saving, a purple pen, and a slip of paper. The bottle has been bathed in the moonlight, left on my windowsill for two complete moon cycles. I remove its cork and position it on the sand before me, imagining the warm ocean air filtering in through the mouth; the heat of the sun, like fire, washing over the glass. I uncap the purple pen and, on the slip of paper, write the words DON‟T
    TELL ANYONE, hoping the purple color will help promote psychic awareness.
    I slip the paper into the bottle and top it off with elements of earth and water—a palmful of saltwater from the ocean and a sprinkling of sand from the beach. I cork the bottle and hold it out to the wind. “O Spirit, Spirit, I beg of thee to help me see with clarity. I offer you earth, wind, and sea, and pray that you wil answer me.” I kiss the bottle and then throw it out into the ocean as far as my strength will allow. It collides with a wave and gets swallowed up for a couple seconds, but then it bobs its way back up to the surface. The incoming tide pushes the bottle toward my feet.
    I throw it out again, harder this time, but it comes back just the same. Instead of plucking it out of the water, I