by Kristie Cook
“Go, team, go!” I weakly pump a fist into the air, because I really have no idea what the two next to me are talking about.
“Yes—go, history homework, go,” Graham teases.
Busted. I shrug unapologetically and glance back at Jonah. He’s here, at my school, sitting across the courtyard, with a twin, no less.
He’s still staring at me while saying something to his brother. The twin nods, and I shove my eyes towards the ground.
How is this possible? More importantly, what should I do? Does he know who I am? Is it really him? Am I crazy?
Lizzie excuses herself to go get something in her locker, leaving me and Graham to sit in silence. He breaks it first by asking tentatively, “There’s really no chance for me, is there?”
Whoa. In all the years he’s loved Lizzie, he’s never talked about it. It’s been implied by his every move around her, every glance of longing, every gentle touch. But never in words—at least never to me.
I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I, of all people, know how cruel false hope is. Even still, I take the coward’s way. “I don’t know.”
He nods, as if this is the answer he expected. And then, “How’s math going?”
I don’t fight him on the subject change. “Thanks to math, I’ll never get into a school as good as you will.”
“Whatever.” He laughs. “You’ll get into whatever school you want, Miss Honor Roll.”
I beam, thinking how awesome it’d be if I could go to a regular college rather than just claim I would. “Nah, I’ll probably end up around here so I can help out at my mom’s nursery.” He’ll know soon enough that I’ll be off, never to be heard from again.
“You’re meant for far more important things than just potting flowers.”
“Flowers are important, too,” I joke. “It takes a special touch.”
“Yeah, I know. But, Chloe—you could be anything you want. I know you’re somebody important, something big.”
I try not to show my surprise. Or my resentment.
When the bell rings, I give one last look toward the picnic table across the quad, but no one is sitting on it any longer.
chapter 3
Jonah’s twin is in my history class. As I stare at him, I realize that, other than a small, smooth mole on the side of his left cheek, it would be nearly impossible to tell the difference between him and his brother.
But I can tell. Instantly. I knew it the moment I came into class. I’d even been able to tell the difference across the distance of the courtyard at lunch.
He’s sitting next to Graham, legs sprawled out as he reads a book. When he momentarily closes it over a hand so he can reach into his messenger bag, I read the title. On the Road, by Jack Kerouac.
Interesting, the little voice murmurs.
Indeed.
When Graham leans over to introduce himself, I eavesdrop, paying close attention when the twin tells my friend his name. It’s Kellan.
Why didn’t I know that? Why didn’t I know Jonah had a twin? Something in me feels like it’s something I should’ve known.
Jonah’s twin doodles absentmindedly instead of taking notes during the lecture. I’m mesmerized by just how much he can look like his brother and still seem so completely different at the same time. Kellan’s extraordinarily gorgeous, just like Jonah. But there’s something different about his demeanor. I can’t quite put my finger on just what it is, though. It’s like … night and day—like this one’s whole aura radiates differently, as if his is a dark purple, whereas Jonah’s is more of a cerulean blue.
The curiosity over their existences is so overwhelming that I decide to surge with Kellan. I know I shouldn’t—it’s wrong and sort of creepy, especially with nons who don’t know they’re being surged upon. It’s an invasion of privacy, one they’re not able to control.
The moment I enter his mind, though, he raises a hand and rubs his forehead.
There is no way he can feel me. Nons never can.
But then, curiosity turns into frustration. Kellan’s nearly impossible to read, his thoughts zealously guarded. It sounds crazy, but his mind is a room filled with locked file cabinets.
I’ve never seen anything like it before. He absolutely fascinates me.
When I ease out of his mind, Kellan’s pencil pauses above his notebook. His head swings around, narrowed eyes surveying the entire room suspiciously.
I’m stunned. Could he feel me surging?
Ridiculous. Absolutely impossible.
But why, then, are his thoughts so closely guarded? Most nons have no such protections in place. The average person’s thoughts are scattered and freely available, unless it’s a deeply repressed memory. Sometimes it can be difficult to surge with nons because it takes a lot of sorting to find what’s being looked for.
Magicals, on the other hand, tend to only release what’s necessary during a surge, and that’s usually only done with permission, as it’s considered rude to do so without it. Plus, only Magicals can feel another person surging. Not to be snobby or anything, but nons’ minds just aren’t as evolved as Magicals’ are. So, how is it that this non-Magical boy has such a mind?
Why do you want two mysteries? Isn’t one enough? admonishes the little voice.
But I can’t help myself. When the bell rings, I dart over to Graham. “What a great lecture, huh?”
My tone’s completely forced. I can’t believe Graham doesn’t pick up on it right away. But, I’m not here for a history recap. I’ve got a different goal in mind, and he’s standing two feet away.
I stick out my hand, blocking his path when he moves to leave. In my peppiest cheerleader voice, I practically shout, “Hi! I’m Chloe! You’re new to school, right!”
Graham’s startled by my enthusiasm, as is Kellan. He shrinks back some before hesitantly sticking out his own hand. “Uh, Kellan. And yeah, it’s my first day here.”
His voice is moderately soft and rich, reminding me of hot chocolate on a really cold night. An overwhelming rush of goose bumps race up and down my arms, and my insides nearly melt in excitement.
And there’s my hand. It’s warm and tingly, like it’s fallen asleep in the most pleasant of ways. He stares down at our joined hands before removing his, brows furrowed. Out of nowhere, a whole herd of butterflies beat inside my chest.
“So, you’re new here!” I enthuse again lamely, silently cursing myself for becoming verbally stunted at his mere touch.
Kellan’s furrowed brows give way to a bemusement. “Apparently.”
Graham pats me on the shoulder like I’m his kid sister or something. “Chloe’s one of our best cheerleaders.”
“Is that so?” Kellan asks, raising one eyebrow ever so noticeably. The level of amusement in his eyes doubles. My cheeks burn.
I feel more than a little ridiculous. “Weelll …”
Lizzie joins us and Graham adds, “Lizzie’s also on the cheerleading team.” She fixes her gaze on Kellan and smiles warily.
When he greets her, I can tell, without a doubt, he’s not a victim of instant Muse-worship. He’s the first guy I’ve seen to not fall prey to Lizzie’s charms upon contact. My fascination with him grows.
Then Kellan gives me a mysterious smile. I have no idea how to respond, so I merely stare back, my heart racing a million miles a minute. His smile evolves into a sly, knowing one as he turns to leave, reminding me of the one Jonah had right after the second shift.
In the hallway, Lizzie says, “It’s interesting how he wasn’t affected by me.”
“Maybe you’re losing your touch,” I joke. “Maybe when the Ascension rolls around, you won’t be a Muse. Maybe you’re actually an Intellectual.”
She laughs. “Maybe you’re the Muse. I couldn’t believe how his feelings jolted around when your hands touched.”
I stop in my tracks. “How do you know that?”
She tugs me forward. “It’s a little known fact, but some Muses can attune themselves to a tiny bit of emotions fro
m those around them, if they’re strong enough. It allows us to …”—and here she has the decency to look embarrassed— “… feed off of those feelings to help create a … uh … bond.”
“And what kind of bond would that be?”
Lizzie sticks her tongue out. “I’d bet good money Kellan’s thinking about you right now. You know, you ought to probably talk it over with a Seer.”
“Why in the worlds would I do that?” I snap. Sooner or later, I know I’ll have to, as all Magicals tend to go to see one at some point. But, the idea of once again being told by someone about my predetermined destiny pisses me off big time. My mother’s been bugging me for over a year now to see one, citing my continued “abhorrent stubbornness and spiraling, petulant behavior” as the reason. My vehement refusals had been taken to my father, and in his perpetual state of not giving a rat’s ass about anything other than his work, he’d failed to listen to any of my mom’s arguments.
It didn’t stop my mother, though, from continuing to pressure me. And out of freely admitted spite, I’ve continued to refuse to go.
But now …
Maybe Lizzie has a point. And not just about Kellan. Because Jonah was in my math class today, and he was real. My curiosity about him … about them … is nearly incapacitating.
How will I be able to focus on anything else?
chapter 4
Today, like most days after school, the Cousins and I head over to the diner on the outskirts of town. It’s called The Hollow Deer and has stuffed animal heads all over the walls. They’re dusty and gross, so I tend to only eat salads when I’m there.
Alex watches me as I squish cherry tomatoes with my fork.
“What?” I demand.
“There were three shifts today while we were at school.”
Cora coughs while drinking her tea. Her pointed ahem toward Lizzie prompts Meg to ask, “What am I missing?”
“So?” I stab at the tomatoes, popping them. Seeds and goo seep onto the cabbage.
He huffs, something he does when he gets all Intellectual on us. “I’m not stupid, Chloe. They were yours. So, I’m wondering what they’re about.”
I put my fork down. “What makes you think they’re mine?”
He laughs and leans back in the booth. “I don’t think. I know.”
“Ohmigods,” Meg squeaks. “That’s so cool, Chloe!”
“Shifts,” Alex continues, “tend to only occur during truly significant events in a Magical’s life. They’re pretty rare and should be taken seriously. Some Magicals never even experience them, and here you are, with multiples in one day. The first one was very strong. What precipitated it?”
If he wasn’t being so sanctimonious and bossy, I might’ve asked him what he thinks about all of this. But Alex has a way of rubbing me the wrong way when he demands information. It’s like he thinks, because he’s an Intellectual, all information is his by default.
We girls have long learned to not talk to him about secrets, relationships, and sensitive feelings. Talking to Alex is like talking to the most non-empathetic shrink ever. Everything is textbook, analyzed within an inch of its life. There’s precious little feeling behind his advice or conclusions. Why Meg adores him is beyond me.
I tell him, “It’s none of your business.”
“I think shifts like those deserve an explan—”
“Back off,” Cora snarls. “She doesn’t want to talk about it. If she did, she’d already have done so, Alex.”
This doesn’t faze him in the slightest, I can tell.
“Am I always the last person to know anything?” Meg accuses. “How do you know those shifts belong to Chloe, Alex?”
He shrugs. “Intellectuals know these things. It’s written all over her.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I don’t like the thought of something so personal being broadcast all over my person without my knowledge.
Cora points her spoon at him. “If you can read what’s written all over her, then you should know to shut your trap.”
He sighs, frustrated. “When was the last time any of you felt a shift? It’s been years. And today there are three, and they belong to Chloe. I can’t believe none of you are curious—”
“I am!” Meg pipes up.
“—about what they mean,” Alex continues. “Chloe, let’s face it. You’re a Creator. That in itself is a big deal. But now you have three shifts connected with you. Aren’t you curious about what they symbolize? You must have an idea. If it’s something big, then we have a right to know.”
“No, you don’t,” Cora says. “Whatever this is, it’s her business.”
“She’s a Creator,” he repeats. “Creators don’t get to keep their business to themselves.”
I pick my fork up and stab at the ruined tomatoes some more, pretending they’re his brains. But he’s right, of course. My life is pretty much an open book. Chloe the Creator. Everyone knows what I’m capable of and where I’m headed.
But they don’t know about him. Jonah’s always been my secret, someone and something that no one else has a say over or an opinion about. Mine and mine alone.
I get what Alex is saying. Had three shifts happened to any other person at this table, I’d be pressing hard core to find out what it was about. And he’s right. Shifts are a big deal. They’re pretty much the equivalent of a bell ringing, heralding the arrival of something—people or events—majorly important.
But old habits die hard. And since it’s bad enough I gave up a few memories to Cora and Lizzie, I’m done with show and tell.
Okay. I lied. There’s one person I’m willing to talk with, but it’s not Alex.
“You look like crap,” Caleb says when he finds me sitting on a fallen log. We’re in the woods on the outskirts of town, somewhere peaceful and far from anyone or anything I like to avoid on a regular basis.
“Nice. Remind me why I came here again?”
It’s amazing he’s able to keep a straight face when he says, “Because I’m awesome and you can’t do without me.”
I grin at the Faerie in front of me and think, once again, how amusing it is that he looks and acts nothing like how most people assume a Faerie would. For instance, he isn’t wearing a little leather or gossamer outfit like Disney tells us Faeries do. Instead, he’s got on a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. His hair is dreadlocked, with one side tucked behind a pointy ear. His eyes are wide set and deep hazel, his mouth perpetually curved in amusement.
I met him as a kid at the first annual get together for all the Magicals of our region that I’d gotten to go to. We’d instantly clicked as friends. I also discovered at that meeting that there were more than just Human Magicals living here. In fact, we had a number of Faeries and Gnomes living in homes shielded by Magic in the woods.
Caleb sits down on a low-hanging branch nearby my log. “Actually, I’ve been waiting for you.”
I’ve always been impressed with his sense of intuition. He unfailingly anticipates my needs, even when I’m not sure of myself. Over the years, I’ve come to rely on him as a sounding board, even more so than Cora or Lizzie.
But what’s up with the disapproving look he’s giving me? “Really?” I ask.
“Do you want the truth?”
This is what Caleb is like. Somehow or other, he always seems to know what I need to hear. Sometimes it’s so eerie, so uncanny, I don’t know what to make of him. But talking to Caleb is nothing like talking to Alex, or even Cora or Lizzie. (I don’t include Meg in the sharing circle because Meg, inevitably, will turn a conversation back to Alex. You could be talking about the fall of the Berlin Wall and she’ll somehow tie it to Alex.)
I say hesitantly, “Sure?”
“It’s really him.”
This is what I’m talking about. How he can even guess at something like this is beyond me. Am I really such an open book? “How do you know about him?”
Caleb stares into the distance. “I’m a Faerie. We know things.”
<
br /> Uh-huh. I’m not buying it. Faeries, even Magical ones, aren’t all-knowing. “There’s no way you could have known.”
He shrugs, drumming his fingers against a knee. “I’ve got a revolutionary idea. You should talk to him.”
“What?” I sputter, laughing.
“Why not? You want to, right?”
I do, of course. If he really is the Jonah I know, then I desperately want to talk to him. Touch him. Hold him. Kiss him. Do anything, really, as long as it’s with him. But I also don’t want to go through this last year again.
“You’re hesitating, Chloe. Why?”
I don’t know quite how to explain it. So I offer lamely, “I don’t want to sound stupid.”
He flies down from the tree and sits down next to me on the log. “You know what’s stupid? That reason.”
I tear a brown leaf apart carefully at the veins until all that’s left is a skeleton. “I’ve dreamed about him since I was a little girl,” I admit out loud, the first time to anyone. Cora and Lizzie might’ve guessed this, but I didn’t actually tell them. “Lucid dreams, pretty much every night. I’ve watched him grow up until just recently.”
“How recently?”
The pain over this last memory still rubs at me like a shoe rubs against a healing blister. “Up until about a year ago. He just … disappeared.”
Caleb frowns. “One would think that you’d be happy about him being here, then. Why aren’t you over-the-moon happy?”
It’s a good question, and surprisingly, one I hadn’t asked myself yet. I should be happy. If this is Jonah, I should be so happy I shouldn’t be able to think straight. Why am I not happy?
Because … I’m terrified.
What I don’t tell Caleb is that Jonah’s disappearance out of my life and dreams a year ago is the most painful experience I’ve ever gone through.
Pain like that isn’t easy to get over.
Pain like that changes a person.
Pain like that changed me.
chapter 5
On the surface, my home appears extremely comfortable—rich wooden furniture covered in leather, plush cushions and blankets. There are stained-glass lamps and windows alongside lush artwork everywhere.
