Free The Awakening of Ren Crown by Anne Zoelle Page A

to hate the closed door. I blinked back tears. Get yourself together, Ren.
    I righted my chair with shaking fingers. “Are you ok?” I could barely whisper it to Will, as I heard Mom's footsteps reluctantly walk away. Will had sorted himself out quickly. I had a feeling that danger wasn't new to him, but being helpless was. His injured left arm was now supported in a sling.
    He looked at me in a resigned sort of way, then found his pencil and wrote— Yes .
    I couldn't stand the silence anymore. I reached down and drew a megaphone. Will's face was blank for a moment, then his expression brightened and he picked it up. “Good thinki—”
    I slammed my charcoal covered hand over him as his voice yelled into the loud speaker.
    Words emerged in an incensed muffle. Footsteps creaked downstairs but didn't stop.
    “Sorry,” I whispered.
    “It is doubtful anyone ordinary can hear me,” he said in a moderately loud monotone. “But you can try and fix the level.”
    Electricity was running through me, making me sharper. I connected the megaphone to his lips, funneling the tube down drastically, hoping that would lower the volume. Then I flicked the megaphone away with my smudged fingers. Will rubbed his mouth, but when his voice emerged, it was a normal volume and he didn't need the megaphone to speak.
    “Well,”—he looked himself over, tweaking his sling—“this both sucks and is the most exciting thing that has happened to me in weeks. The research potential is astounding. I wish I could take notes.” He looked longingly at his tablet, before shoving it back into his inside pocket. “I'm definitely taking an art magic class as soon as I return to school.”
    “You go to a school that teaches magic?” I kept my voice low. If overheard, my parents would assume I was still video chatting, but I didn't want them to hear my actual words.
    “Of course.”
    “Do they teach you how to resurrect people?”
    He looked at me strangely. “Medical majors definitely learn. Hey, can you draw some ibuprofen?”
    He swallowed the tablets I drew, then asked for a few more supplies, and even though I had to search the Internet, I very carefully drew everything he requested and kept my thoughts focused. My desire for the items to function seemed to go a long way for them to function properly within the sketch world.
    I felt incredibly guilty and responsible. “Um, are you still hungry?”
    “No,” he said decisively.
    “Right.” I laughed uneasily and collected the smaller piece of the charcoal pencil from the floor, shakily removing the plastic chew cap from the top and sticking it on the other piece. The tip was getting dull, so I sharpened it while trying to pull my thoughts together.
    I couldn't keep my eyes away from the bloodstains that had dried to a brown crimson—the only color in the sketch.
    I rubbed my free fingers together and forced my gaze to my walls. Dungeons, dragons, magic, and mayhem were included in all stylistic forms. Christian had particularly loved anything pertaining to swords and sorcery, so I had included them in everything. He had been so confident that he had roped in everyone around us—even those who had thought it uncool—to liking the magical. He had been the storyteller. The voice that could lead anyone. Ruling the world with a scepter in hand.
    “Witches and wizards, sorcerers and sorceresses,” I whispered.
    I thought of Mr. Verisetti's prints in the art room—of the boy reaching to the heavens, and the girl reanimating the dead. My eyes caught the photo of my brother and me, arms slung around each other's shoulders.
    “We prefer mage, actually, as it represents both sexes equally.” Will was cleaning up the space, moving debris into a corner with his good arm.
    “Oh. I like that. Mages, then.” I attempted to help, but none of my many erasers worked. And Will’s eraser on the inside was equally ineffective. It seemed that if I drew it, it was permanent. I tried to focus on