by Kristie Cook
I spend the next hours (days?) honing my craft. Building and destroying things I’ve never done before, just to see if I can—things I expect to be asked to Create in the coming years. Miniature planets. Miniature cities. Doorways leading to very specific places I don’t dare to tread through until I know my powers are stable. Complete books down to the last word, written by authors I love and authors I don’t even know. I move through subject after subject, building, tweaking, and then erasing, until I can barely see straight. And then, exhausted, I intuitively build more. I push myself to the point of nearly passing out, still Creating, knowing that there might come a point in time in which I’ll have to work under such conditions, and I want to make sure that I’m good with it all.
Every so often, a plate of food and a glass of water appear on the floor next to the cot. I know it’s not me making it—I may be able to make many things, but not those. I eat, but do not sleep. I push myself until the power in me no longer feels like it’s going to leak out. It’s still humming throughout me, but it’s beginning to assimilate rather than overtake.
And finally, when I cannot build another thing without my eyes drooping, a door appears on the wall opposite the cot. The Medium steps through. “Congratulations,” he says. “You have successfully Ascended. You may leave now.”
I struggle to stand up. “Just like that?”
“It’s been a week. I assumed you’d want to go home.”
Whoa. “I’ve been in here a week?”
“Creators always take longer than the rest,” he says. “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t take two.”
part III
chapter 45
I feel like a rock star with no band, no fans, and no stage to play on. But so goes life for someone who’s beaten crappy odds, come out for the better on the other side, and lived to tell the tale to … well, almost no one, because I’m not even allowed to tell the stinkin’ tale. But still! Woot! Go, me!
The Cousins pummel me with questions, but much like Karl did when I quizzed him, I find it impossible to answer. Jonah simply tells me he can feel the difference in me—not that it’s bad or good, but that it’s simply now part of who Chloe Lilywhite is. And he accepts it, which is a comforting thing. “This is part of what’s awesome about Connections,” I tell him one afternoon as we stand at his locker. “Unconditional acceptance and love.”
He puts one of his books into the locker and slides out one of mine. I’ve been using his most of the time nowadays. Then he gives me one of his smiles, one that makes me feel all tingly and warm and uncomfortable about being in public because there are so many things I want to do to him—with him—that I can’t, thanks to all the people around us.
“Stop that,” I laugh.
He says, “What am I doing?” but he knows exactly what he’s up to.
I slide my fingers under his shirt between button holes. This is something I shouldn’t be doing, especially since there’s a pair of teachers across the hallway talking, but I like touching him and knowing that these small grazes against his bare skin have a huge effect on his control. “You know.”
I watch his control waver, how the heat in his eyes flares to the point that I’m thinking we ought to just ditch school to go have a marathon make-out session, and it makes me even more excited. Getting Jonah out of his comfort zone in public is always such a rush. He makes this tiny groaning sound and then kisses me—really kisses me—making the two teachers across the hall issue a series of disappointed sounds until we pull apart.
In my ear, Jonah laughs quietly, “They’re such hypocrites, considering they’re trying hard not to give into sex right now, too.”
The teachers continue to stare at us. The woman, a science teacher who’s normally straight-laced and boring, flushes bright red, like she knows we know what’s going on. And it’s weird, but rather than being embarrassed about being caught by the teachers, I’m okay with it. Because I know that when it comes to Jonah, I never have anything to be embarrassed about.
A couple months after my Ascension, Lizzie announces, “I love summer,” as we head toward our history class.
Graham rolls his eyes. “May is still technically spring.”
“And,” I add, “sixty degrees is hardly warm.”
Kellan, who is walking with us, doesn’t say anything. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all to me anymore. The closer I get to Jonah, the further Kellan retreats. And it sucks, because he interacts with everyone else—well, not Cora—but me? It’s like he has the ability to look right through me.
I’m about to throw caution to the wind and attempt a conversation with Kellan when my phone beeps. Jonah’s sent a text, saying he has to leave school early and that he’ll call later tonight.
As we walk into our history class, I tentatively say to Kellan, loathing every second of unease between us, “Jonah’s left school.”
He studies me wordlessly before turning toward his seat. I contemplate following, but one rejection per day from Kellan is painful enough. So I head to my own seat and get out my textbook.
It takes nearly a half-hour of arguing, pleading, threatening, and wheedling before Karl caves in and agrees to let me drive over to Jonah’s. He initially balked at going due to a mandatory check-in phone call with Zthane to report this week’s activities. So, allowing me to go comes only after a promise to do all of Karl’s laundry and dishes for the next several days.
I do not relish the prospect of handling his underwear and sweaty workout clothes, but as Jonah still isn’t answering his phone and all Giules will tell us is that he’s busy, I figure it’s worth it to set my mind at ease.
Which is silly, but there’s the crux of the situation: I feel severely uneasy at the moment, not knowing what Jonah’s up to. Karl says this is ridiculous and that I’m bordering on stalker-girlfriend behavior, but the urge to go find Jonah as soon as possible is overwhelming.
There is no answer when I knock on the Whitecombs’ door, which is weird, since Jonah and Giuliana must both be home. Both of their cars are in the driveway. Knowing that the back door is often unlocked, I loop around the gate on the side of the house.
The uneasy feeling expands, pricking more and more places on my spine. And then, I spot Jonah in the backyard. He’s talking to someone nearby in a low voice, so low I can’t make out distinct words. Whoever it is has his complete and undivided attention, though. I’m just about to make myself known when the other person steps into my line of sight.
My body turns to stone.
The girl talking—no, arguing?—with Jonah is possibly the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen. She’s very slender, so pale she’s almost translucent, with long, silvery-blonde hair. It’s starkly obvious she’s an Elf, or at the very least, part Elf.
I just know. It’s a no-brainer. The girl before me, the impossibly gorgeous Elvin girl, is none other than Callie. Jonah’s Callie. Ex-girlfriend Callie. Three-years-together Callie. Callie-who-lives-across-the-entirety-of-the-continent-and-was-told-never-to-contact-Jonah-again Callie.
My heart smacks the inside of my chest like one of those huge drums in a marching band. Somewhere in my mind, I realize I ought not to spy on them, that I should say something right away, but my feet refuse to move, my mouth is unable to open. So I continue to watch, even though everything in me is screaming for me to run, because I know I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t see this. Something bad is happening here.
She’s crying, which makes her look—unlike my own ugly brand of messy tears—like a delicate porcelain doll. It’s the kind of crying that instills immediate pity and a maternal urge to take care of her. And Jonah … he looks like someone cut off his right arm, like he’s in agonizing pain.
He says something that brings her closer. She tugs at her hair and asks a question, exotic eyes pleading. He nods slowly, and the pain so clear on his face doubles. It devastates me to see him look like this. And it’s all the worse because his pain comes from this girl.
Jonah says somet
hing else, something which softens her crying. Nearly his height, she looks right into his eyes and presses her long, graceful hands on his chest.
He does not move away.
Get the hell out of there. Right now, the little voice suddenly commands.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Her head drops onto his shoulder. As her eyes drift close, a small, contented smile forms across her perfect lips. His head dips until it rests against hers. And then he lifts a hand and strokes her hair in a very intimate gesture that I suddenly can imagine happening hundreds of times in the past.
She has to be Callie. There’s no one else she can be.
Her hands snake around his back, sliding under his T-shirt to skim the top of his jeans. I wait for him to flinch, to move away, but he doesn’t. And then, when she says something, his face turns just enough so it’s now resting in her hair, and even though I can’t see it, I know he’s kissing her, just a small one, right there on her head. In a place that he kisses me all the time, like it’s second nature. He’s kissing her the same way.
Please leave, the little voice urges. You should not be seeing this.
After what feels like forever, she pulls her head away to look him in his eyes. They don’t say anything—not a single word.
They don’t need to talk, because they are kissing.
And my heart stops beating.
It starts small, just a brush really, but then it’s like something inside them switches on. He’s kissing her like he kisses me, with his heart, and each millisecond takes me closer to hell.
This is my Jonah, the person I’d given my love and hopes of a future to, the person I’d literally dreamed of since I was a little girl.
And he’s kissing her.
Like a supercomputer, I calculate all possible scenarios of why my boyfriend, my Connection, my frigging fiancÉ, is kissing his ex-girlfriend, but all the answers come back to the simple fact that Callie, impossibly gorgeous and elegant Callie, is in Jonah’s arms, looking for all intents and purposes as if she belongs there. Like I’ve been the momentary interloper, not the other way around.
They are beautiful together.
My breath finally returns, only to disappear again as the distinct feeling of being kicked in my stomach strikes me strong and hard. And then I drag in a long gasp as I continue to stare in disbelief.
It’s loud enough for them to hear, though. Callie finds me first, eyes widening in surprise. And then it’s Jonah’s turn to notice me.
His arms drop from her like she’s on fire. His mouth opens, to say something—what exactly, I have no idea, but what can he say? What can he possibly ever say that would explain what I’ve just seen? And then I realize I can’t take hearing his voice, can’t handle any kind of explanation.
“Don’t,” I gasp, my hand reaching out to steady myself on a tree as I stumble. The bark shudders below my fingers and then the tree explodes, sending branches and leaves in every direction.
I trip over a chunk of bark behind me before catching myself. Jonah’s only a few steps away, frantic, saying something as he reaches for me. But I don’t want his words, so I shut them out.
His hand comes within a half inch of mine before the fence next to us explodes. A large piece shoots toward him, startling him enough that he has to recoil in order to knock the slat down.
I bolt.
Giuliana is jogging down the front steps as I’m throwing open my car door. “Chloe! When did you get here?”
I slam the door and peel out of the driveway. Everything in me, every last piece of dying matter, tells me to run.
So I do.
chapter 46
I find myself at the beach, parked next to Kellan’s car. I have no idea how he’s here when Giuliana is back at his house. And, frankly, I have no idea how I’m here, either, because the last half-hour is a blur.
When I’d fled, something in me kept insisting that I needed to be with Kellan. Not the little voice—no, that kept telling me to go home and call Jonah to discuss what I’d just seen—but something infinitely deeper and more primal in me insisted that it was Kellan I needed to go to.
For a half-hour, I’d resisted. But then flashes of all the times in the past I’d felt safe with him hammered at me. So, despite all of the progress I’d made in terms of my feelings for him over the last number of months, my body craves his presence and touch like a drug addict searching for relapse. It’s the worst idea ever, but I gave in and ran straight to my ex.
My cell phone rings again for the zillionth time since I left Jonah’s house. I know it’s him—the one time I’d stupidly looked at the Caller ID, it’d said his name and showed his picture—but I cannot talk to him, cannot see him anymore, because parts of me are collapsing in on themselves.
I throw the phone back into the car, slam the door, and lock it, as if this will keep Jonah at bay. Then I scramble down the cliffs, scraping my palms to the point where blood bubbles out in ragged paths. Not caring, not even fully feeling the sting as I clench my fists over and over again, I make my way to the water where he is surfing.
I wait until I’m hip-high in the water before I scream Kellan’s name. It takes a few times before he notices me, and when he does, he’s so startled that he flips and crashes, disappearing under a break. Just when I’m tempted to do something incredibly stupid, like drain the ocean, his head bobs to the surface, eyes wide with surprise. He grabs his board and paddles closer until he can stand in the water.
I’m at an absolute loss at what to say. I gasp like a fish drowning, wondering why it has to hurt so goddamn much to do basic things like breathing.
“What are you doing out here?” he demands, but then pauses, close enough in range that I’m sure my emotions hit him as hard as a trailer truck going full speed into a brick wall. He grabs my arm with his free hand. “What’s going on?”
I can’t answer. Instead, I sob uncontrollably. He leads me back to shore; my teeth chatter so hard I fear my jaw will crack. He tries to let go of me in order to get his towel, but I clutch at him so tightly he gives up trying. After a moment where I cry and chatter against his shoulder, he manages to grab the towel with one hand and then wrap it around me. Then he pulls me close, allowing me to soak in his body warmth. He doesn’t say anything for a good ten minutes; he simply holds me, allows me to weep, and gives me the safety and comfort I so desperately need.
Finally, when the tears subside to dull, numbing lethargy, I ask in a surprisingly even yet hollow voice, “Tell me everything you know about Callie.”
He is genuinely surprised at this first question. “You mean Callie Lotus?”
I blink a couple of times, the supercomputer in my mind no longer working in overdrive. It has time to consider this bit of data. Lotus. Lotus.
Click. An association is made. Oh my gods. “As in … Astrid Lotus?”
“You ought to ask Jonah about her. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to tell you anything you’d like to know.”
I refuse to meet his eyes. “Please, Kellan.”
“Can we at least go to the car? You’re soaking wet and it’s freezing out here.”
I shake my head and burrow closer. Despite the numbness, I fear I’m going to fall apart at any second. I just want to hold off long enough to get the data I need from him.
He sighs but doesn’t force the issue. “Then, yes. Astrid is her mother.”
The computer in my mind whirls slowly, taking in this latest piece of information. And then, I’m back in Astrid’s office, asking her about the relationships before me. Had she known who I was when she’d seen me? Who I was to her daughter’s boyfriend?
Slowly, I whisper, licking my salty lips, “What else?”
“What is it specifically you want to know?” he asks softly.
Ha. Is Callie sleeping with my boyfriend? “She’s an Elf?”
“Yes.”
I’m not embarrassed when my voice cracks. I’m beyond embarrassment. “So, she’s a Magical?”
“How is that possible, with a Magical for a parent?”
He pauses. “Callie is adopted. Look, Chloe—this really is a conversation you should be having with Jonah.”
I flinch at his brother’s name; this only adds to Kellan’s confusion. I ignore his suggestion, instead asking, “How serious are she and Jonah?”
“Not at all, considering they broke up.”
A hysterical laugh burbles past my lips. Did they ever really break up?
“Why are you asking these things, C?”
Although I knew it’s irrational and unfair to even think of asking him, I do so anyway. “Show me something. Anything that was theirs.”
He practically recoils. “Are you insane?”
So I beg him. And then I force the issue by surging into his mind. He reluctantly hands over a memory of a day when he and Jonah were at the beach, smiling as Callie called out to them to say some ridiculous word for the camera. Afterwards, she pressed many lingering kisses against Jonah’s lips, forcing Kellan to jokingly order them to knock it off.
I pull out of his mind, even more numb than before.
He then surges into me and I allow it, too shell-shocked to care about blocking anything. He flips through the last hour or so before I’d arrived at the beach, glancing through a scene of me standing at his door knocking, the wild flight of a drive to the bluffs, my series of near crashes, the revelation that I’d instinctively sought him out, and finally, of seeing his brother and Callie kissing passionately in his backyard.
I close my own eyes against the memory. It wavers and then disappears, but he’s seen enough of it to get the general gist of the situation.
Kellan pulls out and surprises me by holding me even closer. “I see,” he says gently.
My mind teeters on the brink of blackness.
After I’m buckled into his car and the heat is turned up to high, he says, “I need to go get my stuff, but I’ll be right back. I promise.”
I stare out ahead of me, but my eyes and mind do not connect any dots. I have no idea what I’m seeing anymore.Worse, I don’t care.
