by Laura Winter
I don’t know how long I stood in the water, trying to carefully clean my left arm and watching the blue blood run down the drain. I had been right when I stood in the mirror in the living room. The lightning bolt on my arm was jagged and intricate, weaving in slivers from its origin on my palm to the inside of my elbow. Still, I had no idea how it had gotten there.
I turned off the water and dried off, dabbing my arm to keep the wound from re-opening. Under the sink, I found a first aid kit and used it to clumsily wrap my arm. First aid was definitely not my strong suit because I nearly fainted trying not to focus on the blue blood that seeped through the bandage. I needed a shirt to cover this up so I wouldn’t pass out.
I shuffled back into the bedroom, hesitating as I stared at the bed. Folded neatly on the foot of the bed were a stack of clothes that hadn’t been there before.
“Hello?” I shouted. “Is someone here?”
I wrapped my arms tighter around the towel as the house around me made a strange creaking noise. Other than the wind blowing outside, everything was quiet.
I thought I already lost my mind. I must be exhausted. That’s the only reason I hadn’t noticed the clothes when I walked in. I slid my arms through the long sleeve and pulled on the oversized sweatpants, thankful for the feeling of comfort. I searched around to find a place to throw the rest of my dirty clothes besides the floor.
The closet was just as magic as the rest of the house, lined with shirts, pants, and jackets that would last me an entire year before I needed to do laundry. There wasn’t a hamper, though, so I just dropped my bloodied clothes on the floor. The house creaked again, making me unsettled, but I couldn’t locate the exact source. It wasn’t the floorboards, and the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. But with an old-looking cabin on the outside, it was probably just the wind playing tricks.
Finally clean and dressed, I sat down on the bed and looked around. With each passing moment, I was more convinced this place was magic. There was no logical explanation as to what I had seen tonight. No amount of exhaustion could have played the kinds of tricks on my mind that I was seeing. I mean, the cabin was supposed to have a tree branch taking up the living room, yet it was perfectly intact. Even without memories, there was something about this cabin that felt comforting, aiding the nagging pull at the back of my head that I was close to learning something about myself.
It would have to wait for tomorrow. I dropped onto my back and pulled the covers up to my chest. The questions spinning in my head were starting to slow, but only because I couldn’t fight exhaustion any longer. I closed my eyes and sank into a deep sleep.
3
Clara
I woke up late afternoon the next day, aching and still tired despite sleeping in so late. I should have been more unsettled to fall asleep in a mysterious cabin, but it was feeling more and more like this place was mine. By the time I made it to the kitchen, there was already a full table of fresh food. If I hadn’t just accepted that there was something magic happening in here, I would have freaked out. Whatever magic was inside the house, it almost seemed like it was looking out for me. And if I had any doubts, after I was done stuffing myself, I looked away from the table for just a moment and turned back to see it cleared. Maybe one of the books in the library would help me figure out how the house could do that.
I spent the next week digging through book after book, trying to find answers to the millions of questions in my head, but by the day before school, I didn’t have nearly as many answers as I wanted.
Even though I still couldn’t remember who I was, I had gathered enough background information that I felt somewhat better about my situation. That background came with a lot of headaches, though; real ones that were brutally painful and made me nauseous, and I was pretty sure they didn’t just come from all the reading I had done.
First, I had further confirmation the bag was mine. I read The Magicians from cover to cover and was so in love with the book, I concluded that the tattoo on my side was perfect. The iPod had a library full of music, each song more amazing than the last. My forgotten self had some great taste in music, and made equally amazing playlists. If only there was a method to her madness in naming them, because most of them were just a string of characters or emoticons that had no relationship to the songs within.
The second answer, something that was actually helpful, was printed in a book on the third step of the stairs, four deep in the stack. It was the only numbering system I could keep track of without losing my place in the library or accidentally re-reading books. The title, Spatium Liminal, was written in Latin; a language I recognized but couldn’t read. Some of the pages had handwritten translations of passages, crammed into the small margins.
I pieced together enough to understand there was a place called The Complex that housed special objects of power. On your eighteenth birthday, if you passed some set of Trials created by the leaders, you were granted permission to enter a place that housed these objects. You could then pick an object, and if that object determined you were worthy of its power, you could receive some of the energy from it. But there was also a risk that the object would reject the individual, leaving them without power, but no other information was available on what happened after.
Could that have been what happened to me? I might have been rejected by some object and lost all memory as a result. But that didn’t explain why I was running away, how I got the cut on my arm, or how that man died.
The whole power thing was confusing until I was halfway through a shelf of books on the first floor. As I set down another stack of books on the desk, something caught my eye. Sticking out of the locked drawer and barely visible, I saw the corner of a notebook page. The drawer had a physical lock, unlike the doors in this place, but where there should have been a key hole, there was only a hollow, circular hole. I tried everything; the key, any round object I could find lying around the library, and even the half marble that fit perfectly, but nothing worked. Eventually, I just wiggled and pulled the paper out.
The handwriting was neat, and after making my own notes about the books I was reading, I knew it was mine.
I can feel the Blue Star power source calling to me. I hear the voices speaking, and they aren’t just from the people who’s thoughts I can read. The voices are coming from the Blue Star, pulling me closer to the deep and bitter cold. I should be frightened, but it’s getting easier to slip into the feeling of it; easier to give in and harder to get out.
The Trials are nearing and I have to keep distancing myself from the people around me. The headaches are too strong, and my outbursts are getting more violent. I’m going to get caught soon because I can’t control them anymore. Earlier, I set the furniture flying into the walls. But I can’t let anyone know I have these powers before The Trials, especially because they didn’t come from a power source. I don’t know how to do it, but I think I would rather the Blue Star take me if it meant the headaches would go away. For now, music is the only thing that keeps me grounded.
I don’t understand how I can have these powers without a ceremony; without passing The Trials. Why is a power source that has never shared its power with anyone calling to me like it is? I don’t know what it means, but I am losing myself more and more. I can feel my mind slipping into the cold. What will happen when it comes time to choose?
-F
As if I didn’t already have the issue of missing memories, now there were power sources, a Blue Star, and telekinesis and telepathy to deal with? On top of headaches? It was my handwriting on the note, but who was ‘F’? And if ‘F’ didn’t trigger any memory, which name was fake?
Something must have happened from The Trials, or maybe someone found out about my powers before the ceremony. Maybe it was that man who was dead in the clearing. That might explain why I was running away, but had I used my powers and killed him? Was I the kind of person who killed others?
If any of this was true, I needed to blend in with the world and find out
what was going on. If I had run from The Complex, it was possible they would come after me. Clara was probably the fake name, and the school registration papers were a way to help me in a new life so I could hide from them until I had answers. That meant I would have to go to high school, try to control the mind reading and telekinetic powers I had, and do my best to appear like I hadn’t just lost eighteen years worth of memories. How hard could that be?
Happy first day of senior year.
4
Nate
“Nate, why the hell are we walking to school? I could have slept for another twenty minutes,” Glitch groaned. He hopped over a fallen tree, his backpack slapping against his back. I don’t know why he even had one since he never carried any books or supplies in it. Still, he was the smartest kid in school, even if he never opened his textbooks or took notes. He was that kid.
I shrugged. “Because it’s our first day of senior year and we always walk to school on the first day. Keep the tradition going.”
I watched him toss a branch across the clearing. At six-foot, two inches, Glitch was just an inch shorter than me, but more than made up for it by being strong as hell. I was plenty good at pushing a little weight around in the gym, but Glitch made me look like I was lifting toothpicks. He put most guys our age to shame.
“Dude,” he shouted from ahead of me. “Rumor is they found a couple dead bodies out here last week. Some guy had his head split open and had literally all the bones in his body broken. They didn’t release details on the other one.”
“Gross. How do you even know that?”
“Miss Bonner’s always listening to the gossip. I tried to glitch out here to see what all the fuss was about, but they had already cleaned everything up.”
Glitch could teleport, which is what we called glitching. Over fall break a few years ago, we had been playing video games in his basement when suddenly he was gone. He reappeared a minute later and started to freak out. He had been thinking about getting a snack and suddenly found himself standing in front of the fridge. I gave him the nickname because it looked like a video game glitch when he left and came back.
He was probably just relieved to know he wasn’t the only one with weird, unexplained powers. I had my own version of traveling, but mine involved dropping into shadows and sliding along surfaces as one. I could either become a shadow or hide in one, which was always more fun because I could hide and play pranks on Glitch, popping out to scare him when he walked by. Though, unlike Glitch, I couldn’t remember the first time I had used my power. I had never showed anyone what I could do, but I vividly remembered doing it when I was just a little kid.
“Seriously, man,” Glitch said, popping up in front of me. “I could get us to school in an instant. It’s late August and hotter than an armpit out here.”
It’s not that I enjoyed the heat any more than he did, it was just our tradition to walk, no matter how sweaty we got. It’s not like we were trying to impress anyone. No one in our small town was interested in hanging out with us outside of school anyway. We liked it better that way.
“Hell no. I’m not going with you. Glitching makes my insides twist. Besides, you can’t stick the landing for shit and I always end up on my ass or throwing up.”
As Glitch laughed, the toe of my shoe kicked something small in the middle of the clearing. It was dark, almost black, but had a subtle blue tint to it. I reached down and picked up the half marble, turning the surface over in my palm. For something that had been sitting in direct sunlight, it wasn’t hot. In fact, it almost felt like picking up an ice cube. I just shrugged and shoved it into my pocket. The smooth surface was enough to make it a nice trinket on my shelf at home.
Glitch pulled his shirt off his chest and fanned himself. “Can we at least walk a little faster so I can get to the air conditioning sooner?”
I laughed. “Is the famous Glitch-in-as-the-bell-rings nervous he’s going to be late for the first day of school?”
“Race you there?” he asked, faking a running start. Though I knew what he meant.
“Not a chance, you always win.”
Glitch grinned, raising his eyebrows. “I know, that’s why I do it.”
I rolled my eyes as I started to slide into a shadow. “Fine. Give me a head start.”
“Nop-“
He was gone before I had completely sunk into the darkness. We met up just outside the trees to the parking lot, along the route we would take if we were walking. He was leaned up against a tree, scanning the shadows to make sure I didn’t pop out and scare him. By the time I arrived at West Hills, the parking lot was nearly full. Students were lounging around the entrance, catching up with all their friends they had sworn they were going to hang out with over the summer but never did. Half of them flaunted their fake tans, claiming they got them on the beach or on some fancy vacation while chatting up a hot pool boy while others talked about their distaste for the start of school. I was thankful Glitch and I had an endless supply of new video games and a working air conditioner to keep us cool and entertained all summer.
We hurried up the steps and opened the doors to the familiar smells of paint and hopelessness. They always claimed a new paint color would make the place feel like an ‘inviting learning environment’, but in reality, they could barely afford to paint one hallway so they just refreshed the same ugly tan and called it good enough.
Helpless and confused freshmen ran around the hallways, struggling to open their lockers and scrambling to find their classrooms. It was always interesting to see how much smaller they seemed to get as we got older. I’m not sure we were that size since fifth grade.
I left Glitch at the water fountain to observe the chaos as I popped open my locker, tossing in my notebooks, extra clothes, and shoved my old sweatshirt in the back.
Glitch leaned against the locker next to mine, still looking out into the crowd. “Rumor mill says there’s a new girl.”
Only here five minutes and he’s already heard the gossip. As social outcasts, I’m not sure how he figured these things out so quickly.
“Dude, there’s a whole mess of girls in the freshman class. Why do you even care?”
“No, man. New girl in our senior class. No one’s heard of her or seen her around. Maybe she was home schooled.”
I shrugged. “Well, maybe she can help the volleyball team finally beat East this year. We’re on a losing streak.”
There were two high schools in Forest Hills, East and West. Of course, the rivalry ran deep in the only sport that mattered around here: girl’s volleyball. It didn’t make sense, but we weren’t big enough to have football teams, and none of the other team sports in town were good by any means. The winner was usually the team that sucked the least, but volleyball seemed to be the only competitive sport we had so everyone showed up for the event. Stores in town even refused service to fans of rival high schools. It was ridiculous, but we got a late start at school that day to improve game attendance so I didn’t really question it.
“Well, maybe we can finally get you a girlfriend just as weird as you,” he mocked. I punched him square in the shoulder, not holding back. “Ouch.”
“Shut up and grab your books for once in your life. The poor girl is going to have enough of the school gawking at her like she’s an alien. Not many people choose to move here.”
The small town of Forest Hills wasn’t kind to strangers, and its high school students were just as bad as the adults. Once, students bullied a kid so badly about his slight country accent that he transferred out in a week. Luckily for Glitch and I, we took our share of bullying throughout middle school. Most of them got bored with bothering us, especially after we hit our growth spurts sophomore year. This girl was going to be in for a tough first day transition.
As the warning bell rang, we made our way into Mrs. Roberts’ history class. Glitch hopped over a few desks and slid into one in the back row, snagging the one next to his just as Eliot and his on-again, off-again girlfriend Ashley were try
ing to sit. Apparently they were on-again today because Ashley stuck up her nose and pulled Eliot back to the middle rows. I dropped my backpack next to my desk and slid in while Glitch kept his on his back as the final bell rang.
“Welcome to history, and congratulations for getting the worst class in school out of the way first period.”
Nothing like getting Mrs. Roberts’ class first thing in the morning. If anyone hated high school more than the students, it was her. She had gone off to some big college and grad school just to end up back in the same town she grew up in teaching high school history. She constantly reminded everyone in not so subtle ways that she thought she was too good to be here. Her apathy and sarcasm was just one of the ways she coped with it.
