Secret Keeper (My Myth Trilogy - Book 2): Young Adult Fantasy Novel

by Jane Alvey Harris

  Chloe shakes her head at my silly and sits me on the bed. She pulls the room divider closed, and I hear her turning off the shower. Before I can get into my pajamas or even under the covers, I’m crashing hard into a deep sleep. I’m barely conscious as I hear their soft whispers, then blackness as they pull shut the wonderfully ordinary blue wooden door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  This is one of those dreams Aidan sometimes has…a lucid dream. An Inception type lucid dream where I’m several layers deep in my subconscious—a dream within a dream within a dream—aware of each ascension, searching for an answer.

  Except, “layers deep” isn’t the right description. Neither is “subconscious,” or “ascension”. Maybe there are no words for it.

  My physical body is asleep at the center of never-ending concentric rings of realms. I rouse to a certain kind of semi-awareness after I’ve already made two jumps out from consciousness. Maybe because I’m a newb—or maybe because I’m cautious—I’ve Traveled in a nice neat path so far, moving only one numbered Realm at a time from the first ring around my conscious mind.

  My body perches at the outermost edge of the First Realm.

  Beneath my feet the cosmos lies, a planetary array of protons and electrons blinking in and out of existence, jumping forward and back from ring to ring like colored balls in a magician’s trick.

  Behind me, the First Realm twinkles, its horizon meeting a distant shore. In this lucid dream I possess a peculiar perspective: I’m aware that while I was in the First Realm, I was there completely—the Fae and my Ovate powers were my reality. I viewed my memory of the Second Realm through the filter of the First. Extreme exhaustion and stress brought me to this place outside the Realms. Whichever Realm I choose to re-enter next, I will be there wholly, too, and forget this place ever existed.

  But shifting my gaze back beyond the furthest ring of the First Realm, I quake with dismay. My once neat path back to my body has blurred, distorted by an intoxicating rumor of the Collective Dream.

  In front of me the Second Realm is shrouded in a mist of Unknown. From my lookout I watch numberless basic units of energy arriving…making positive or negative adjustments…and launching again. But the complex, dizzying array of incoming and outgoing trajectories makes me certain: I’m not brave enough to attempt a journey through the mist. Even my finite mind understands that there must be more than one level of reality for each Realm. I hear Nancy’s voice in my head, “There are endless Realms within you, endless worlds between Realms, and endless planes and dimensions within each world…”

  I know of at least two dimensions in the Second Realm: one where I believe the Fae are real and I am Ovate, and one where I believe it was all a hallucination brought on by drugs. There must be a multitude of others, and what if my calculations are off? What if I end up in the wrong dimension, the wrong plane? Worse, what if I accidentally slip between Realms again? In a sudden revelation granted by this peculiar perspective, I comprehend that the place Drake called the Third Realm was actually an unnatural creation he cleaved between the Second and the First. My horrific experience there taught me that to delve between Realms is to risk contagious madness.

  In this place outside of infinite Realms, I don’t know how to choose where I belong.

  In the Second Realm, I have no control over what is happening in my life. Zero. I thought the worst thing that could happen would be if I spoke my truth and no one believed me. But something much worse happened: they believed me, and still couldn’t—or wouldn’t—protect me and my siblings.

  In the First Realm, I’m powerful. Too powerful. Instead of having no control, I’m completely out of control.

  In both Realms, I continue to hurt the people I love.

  My quest in the First Realm was to find a Champion—someone with so much power and authority, I’d have to believe what he or she said. Someone who would help me rescue Jacob and defeat Drake.

  I could search a thousand lifetimes and never find someone with as much authority as the High Queen, but she refuses to help. What kind of Champion regards you with such extreme contempt?

  And it isn’t just that I disgust her. The things she says terrify me.

  Because what if? What if her words are true? What if the problem isn’t Dad’s abuse or Mom’s addiction or Ian’s stroke?

  What if the problem is ME?

  Chapter Twenty

  There are elephants in my cave. Noisy elephants. If I had a shoe to throw at them, I would, but all I have is the stinky old shift I stripped out of sometime in the night and tossed unceremoniously on the cave floor. It smells like stale sweat and panic. It deserves to be burned.

  My head spins when I sit up. I’m dizzy, out of sorts. Angry red welts from the desperate tracks my fingernails dug into my thighs during my “negotiations” with the High Queen sting. Anxiety races through me, like I’ve misplaced something extremely important, only I can’t remember what…

  And yet I’m so tired. I want to sleep for days.

  “Please you guys, stop,” I moan. “Go away! Who even let you in here?”

  “Are you dressed, Emma?” Claire’s voice from the sitting room is way too cheery.

  “Ugh. No.” I reach for my tank and shorts still folded neatly at the foot of the bed and throw them on. “Why do you have to be so loud?” I whine. “Fine. I’m dressed now.”

  Claire slides back the screen and pushes her way into the bedroom. “We’re putting away your new clothes.”

  The sight of my little sister’s smile dispels my grumpy cobwebs better than a cup of Kaillen’s black coffee. The room floods with morning light as she pulls back creamy curtains from the windows, and I’m bewildered all over again. I must be in a corner cave, because the floor to ceiling window opens onto a terrace we entered from last night overlooking the jungle.

  “Come ‘ere, Bug,” I say. She scampers onto the platform bed and I pull her close for bear hug.

  “Aidan left his window unlatched in the night and a monkey came in and took his shoes.” Claire sounds delighted at the prospect of a barefoot Aidan, and I breathe a sigh of relief because I finally understand where the vision of the lipstick-wearing chimp came from…Minali must have been telling me to keep the windows locked so monkeys couldn’t get in…

  “Wait. For reals? Monkeys came in his room? Did he see them? Were they big or little?”

  “Yep. They can open the windows! They’re just little. Black with tan faces,” Claire says. “Cute, but really noisy.”

  “Hmmm. Cute but really noisy…I know someone like that,” I tease. “Where is Aidan, anyway?” I hate not having them both right where I can see them every waking moment.

  “He’s still eating breakfast with Dylan,” Claire answers. “He wanted to come with us, but Quince said he has to wait until after you’re dressed and ready. Hey, no fair!” Claire’s attention snags away from me. “You have a swimming pool in your bedroom?”

  “Claire,” Quince calls from the sitting room. “Would you please come carry this breakfast tray in for your sister?”

  “That’s alright, Lady,” I call back to Quince. “I’m up.” I don’t like the idea of being waited on.

  “Nice to see you survived your one-on-one with the Queen,” Twist grins as I enter the sitting room. She’s placing garments from a bin on the floor onto hangers and arranging them in the wardrobe. I walk straight up and fling my arms around her, barely able to contain myself. She stands stiffly for a second before relaxing and hugging me back.

  “Twist. I’m so sorry. For everything,” I mumble into her neck, her short blonde pixie haircut tickles the tip of my nose. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save Xander. I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to tell you. It should have been me. And I’m sorry because it’s my fault she died.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers, voice catching as she squeezes me tight.

  I squeeze back with my whole soul just as she releases me and steps back. “Yikes,” she pinches her nose. “Pleas
e go take a shower. You smell like monkey.”

  “She’s right,” Claire agrees. “You’re ripe.”

  Ducking my head for a quick armpit sniff I discover they are one hundred percent correct. But I’m too relieved to care. I’ve been gathering courage to talk to Twist for so long, and I know how she can be when it comes to weepy Second-Realmers. And now I know she still loves me. She doesn’t blame me. I could sob with joy. But there’s not time for that. There’s still so much to figure out.

  I press my arms against my sides to contain my stink, and flop onto the sofa.

  “What is all this, anyway?” I ask. “The Queen was pretty clear that she wouldn’t ‘protect the granddaughter of a traitor’ or harbor exiled Fae. Why do I need all these new clothes if she’s kicking us out?”

  Quince, Twist, and Claire exchange glances I can’t interpret, then turn to me.

  “Are you sure that’s what she said?” Twist asks.

  “Of course I’m sure,” I start defensively. “I was there, wasn’t I?” But then I pause. Because the truth is, after I saw her holding that spool of fuchsia—my soul—in her hand, I don’t remember much of anything at all.

  A thought occurs to me. “Is this one of those situations where I’ve been asleep for five days and everyone’s decided everything without me?”

  “Nope.” Claire says. You only slept through one night.”

  “Word spreads quickly here, Emily.” Quince sets the breakfast tray down on the sofa next to me. “The whole kingdom is buzzing about your negotiations with the Queen.”

  Internally, my heart sinks to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Externally, I focus all my attention on stirring a lump of crystalized brown sugar into the cup of amber tea on the tray with a teensy little teaspoon. “Buzzing?” I ask. Does that mean she told everyone I’m Typhoid Mary?

  An insistent knock on the cave wall directly behind me makes me jump. My hand knocks the teacup, sending it flying through the air to smash against the stucco as a panel appears in the wall.

  “Holy crap!” Claire cries, echoing my thoughts exactly. “What was that?”

  In answer, a maiden peeks through the new opening that was solid wall only seconds ago. Her sculpted eyebrows arch up, wrinkling her smooth brown forehead with surprise as she surveys the shattered pieces of china on the floor.

  Oh wow. Thick white dreads and fine fishtail braids pinned with blossoms and butterflies crown her head. She’s ravishing. I could stare at her all day.

  She smiles at my obvious entrancement, then turns to Twist, all business. “The General requests you join your party in his chambers, Maiden Twist. You will be departing soon.”

  “Oh thank God, Ian is conscious!” I jump to my feet. This good news is exactly what I need to regroup. “He’ll be all right! Is that why you’re throwing a party, Twist?”

  “Ian has not regained consciousness, Dear.” Quince takes my hand. “His condition is quite grave.”

  My brief hope drains out through my bare feet. I sink back onto the sofa.

  “The General has also asked to see you in his chambers, Lady Alvey,” the mesmerizing maiden says to me through the hole in the wall. “I will take you there if you are ready.”

  “But I thought…” I look at Quince. “You said he’s unconscious.”

  “Emma, Lady Teagan’s talking about Kaillen,” Claire says. “He’s the new General now. You’re going to fix the barrier, and Kaillen is taking a scouting party to the Seventh Kingdom to clean it up so we can all live there. And guess what? Twist is the only maiden allowed to go with him.”

  They wait, watching me for a response. I search inside. There’s confusion, a slap of loneliness, and still that expanding sensation that feels like I’ve lost something fundamental.

  “Oh” is all I can manage.

  “Pardon.” The maiden at the door clears her throat. “Are you ready, Lady Alvey?”

  “She’s definitely not ready,” Twist answers for me, pinching her nose against my stink.

  “Thank you, Teagan,” Quince addresses the maiden. “We will escort her very soon. You may go.”

  Teagan withdraws, the panel sliding shut after her.

  “Quick, Emma,” Claire has a bright idea. “Do that magic thing you did in the Crypt with all the sparkles. All the mud disappeared and you smelled really good after that.”

  But I don’t want to. I don’t trust my powers anymore. They’ve betrayed me, doing over-the-top things when I’m not looking and getting me in trouble.

  “Would it be okay if I just took a quick shower?” I beg, back on my feet and moving toward the bathroom. “I promise I’ll be really fast.”

  “Fine by me,” Twist says, plopping down in the space I left on the couch and scarfing down the biscuits I didn’t touch. “If I’m late I’ll just blame it on you. The General won’t yell at his girlfriend.”

  Claire giggles. “Emma! You should wear this when you go to meet General Kayyyiiii-llllennnn.” She draws his name out into at least a dozen syllables and dots every extra ‘i’ with a heart. She holds up a black gown with a huge hooped taffeta skirt and a chin-choking lace collar that flares out at the top in a comically wide feathered bowl.

  “Ha!” Twist laughs. “I’m sure the General would love to see her dressed like a crow!”

  Normally I’d be laughing along with them, but right now their levity jars me. None of this is right. None of this makes sense. Kaillen and Twist are leaving and I have to repair the barrier.

  Of course, I have no one to blame but myself.

  “Twist, Claire,” Quince orders. “Let’s give Emily some privacy to get ready.”

  “Privacy? Why?” Twist asks around a mouthful of biscuit. “She’s had privacy all night. You’re lonely without me, aren’t you, Ems?”

  I turn to the wardrobe so she won’t see my tears. Because she’s right. I am lonely, but not for her. Not even for Claire. It’s a loneliness I can’t place, a gnawing sensation of being incomplete.

  How messed up is that? My loneliness is an unhinged jaw lined with smooth muscles and hooked fangs, ready to swallow me whole. And yet I ache to be alone.

  Quince has magic eyes. She Sees everything. “Bring the tray, Twist,” she instructs quietly, herding Claire toward the blue wooden door.

  “Fine, fine,” Twist says, picking up the tray and exiting the room.

  “I wanted to be the one to tell you, Dear,” Quince says when it’s just the two of us alone. “Yesterday while you were meeting with the Queen, Ava took ill with some kind of seizure. She’s been taken to the infirmary.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “I’m afraid not, Dear. She is unconscious and her vital signs are very weak.” Quince hesitates, as if there’s something else she needs to say.

  “What is it, Quince? Please tell me. Ava is my True Voice. I deserve to know.”

  “After you were asleep, the Queen ordered Ava’s caretakers to sever her Connections.”

  Ava. That gnawing sense of being incomplete, of loss and displacement that I felt upon waking this morning…

  “She can’t do that!”

  Quickly I reach for my Connection with Ava but there’s nothing, not even a hint of where we had been attached, as if our bond never existed.

  “Where is the Queen?” Fear and rage pound in my ears.

  “It seems there was some risk of infection.” Tears wet Quince’s eyes. “It was the only way to save her life. I’m sorry, Emily.”

  Legs trembling, I lean back against the wall separating the sitting room from the bathroom. They cut our Connection to protect her from me.

  “We’ll be just at the end of this corridor, when you’re ready, Dear,” Quince says. “Please do be careful where you step.” She waves her hand at the shards of teacup on the floor. “Your broken pieces are everywhere.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I’ve never in my life been more grateful for modern plumbing. The waterfall shower soothes me, though it can’t last as long as I want it
to—which is forever—just long enough for me to compose myself.

  Somewhat.

  Beneath the cleansing deluge of steaming water, I try really hard not to bury all the emotions sloshing around in my gut. I’ve learned that burying your emotions is never good. But what else am I supposed to do with them? If I try to just ‘experience’ them, I’ll drown.

  Because…

  I’m a walking contagion.

  Ian and Ava are both in comas because of me.

  My Connection to Ava has been severed.

  I found the Champion, but she refused to help me rescue Jacob and Mom from Drake.

  Drake is less than a week away.

  There’s no way I can process all of that by myself, so I do what I’m a pro at: I shove and shove all these ulcer-causing anxieties to a far, far away place where I don’t have to think about them, freeing up my mind so I can focus on the trivial stuff. Like what to wear for my meeting with Kaillen.

  UGH.

  This long chiffon skirt and crochet top will have to do. The top has tassels at the bottom (yikes) but also a built in bra and halter style neck that ties in back, so I can step into it and draw it up around my wings, instead of pulling it on over my head and wrangling it down around them. I’m not usually a fan of the shelf bra and resulting mono-boob, but today I’ll forgo lifting and separating if it means having the luxury of not wrestling with my wings.

  But why wouldn’t they provide me with even one top that conceals my wings if wearing them unfurled is so obscene? I should have noticed that none of the maidens here expose their wings, and laid mine flat. Why didn’t any of the banished Fae warn me? Maybe it’s some new rule, because I clearly remember seeing maidens’ wings boldly displayed when I accompanied Xander and Twist to the Seventh Kingdom before. And of course, all the exiled maidens are still in the process of re-growing their wings.