Become

by Ali Cross

  In the paint section I stood in front of the wide shelf filled with colorful little squares with my mouth hanging open. I had no idea it would be so difficult to pick out paint. I just figured it would be go in, pick up a can, go out. But no—there were piles of swatches to consider.

  “So, um, what color do you want to paint your room?” I held a peachy pink color that reminded me of the inside of a hot dog. I shoved it into a random slot with a shiver.

  Miri sighed. “I don’t know.” She hadn’t picked up a single card, but I noticed she kept gravitating toward the darker colors. “What if we just did a navy? That would be pretty.” She fingered a dark card to the right of the blacks.

  “I don’t want you to have any Shadows in your room,” I blurted out. “Um . . .” I was pretty sure by now Miri figured I was certifiably insane.

  But she didn’t seem to notice and just kept staring at the cards. Suddenly I had a thought, a totally un-me-like thought. “Close your eyes,” I said in a rush.

  “What?”

  “I—just close your eyes.”

  “Ohhhkay.” She definitely thought I was insane. But I had an idea so I ran with it.

  She giggled a little, nervous or embarrassed or something, and closed her eyes.

  “Okay, just breathe for a sec.”

  She took a deep breath and let her face relax. I watched her profile for a second, letting the warm spark surge, taking comfort from it, taking guidance. As I concentrated, I could see Miri’s aura, her life energy, as it fluctuated from clear, warm gold to a murky brown. I reached out, letting my fingers trail through the colors in her aura as diaphanous as a rainbow. I wished the brown wasn’t there at all. Wished I could push the darkness out. Wished I could make it go away.

  The spark flared, and I gasped—my whole body became awash with light and warmth and it was . . . amazing. A trail of golden ribbons spiraled and curled down my arm and poured from my fingertips.

  I watched as the murkiness in Miri’s aura broke into a zillion tiny pieces and just . . . whiffed away, and all that was left was the golden shimmer of hope, love, happiness, goodness. The color of light. The color of Heaven.

  Miri’s features softened, the tension lines around her eyes slipping away as a peaceful smile settled on her face. A sudden image of Miri, lying in the middle of a lush, green meadow filled my vision. She stared up at the sun-filled sky with a look of pure happiness on her face. I wanted to help her find that happiness, no matter what it took.

  On instinct I said, “Tell me what you see.”

  She breathed in slowly. Then, “I see green.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What kind of green?”

  She opened her eyes and reached out her hand, and without hesitation picked up a card of pale green.

  “This color,” she said, her face alive with a smile. Then she cocked her head. “That was weird. It was like—” She shook her head and laughed, all self-conscious again. “Well, whatever. It was cool, anyway.” She threw a bunch of paint supplies in her basket while I went in search of a guy to mix our paint.

  Things were weird, all right, but the best kind of weird, ever.

  “I can’t believe I ever lived here with the way it was.” Miri sat on the floor, her back pressed against the bed frame. She pulled a piece of pizza from the box beside her and took a bite. I followed her gaze around the room before flopping onto her bed and staring up at her now ivory-colored ceiling.

  Beside my head lay a bundle of white Christmas lights. I told Miri she should have lots of light in her room and bought them without asking. As soon as the ceiling was dry I was going to string up the lights—I knew just how I’d do it and I couldn’t wait.

  I tried to think of something to say, but my mind drew a blank.

  “I mean, really.” Miri laughed, but ended up inhaling a piece of pizza she’d been chewing. And then she was coughing and laughing and crying all at once.

  I rolled over and hung over the edge of the bed. I did my best to slap her back (because I’d seen on TV that’s what people do), but I don’t think I helped any.

  When she could finally breathe again, Miri stared at her slice of pizza for a second before setting it back in the box. “Thing is, I’d been trying, ya know? To kick the booze, I mean.”

  I watched her face, the way she pulled her lower lip with her teeth. The way her eyes widened as she thought about her life, about her choices. I could hear the whisper of her thoughts IshouldhaveIshouldhaveIshouldhave but I pushed them away. Right then I wanted nothing more than to be a normal girl. I didn’t want anything more than what Miri wanted to give me.

  “It’s just that, James likes to take me to all these parties and there’s always booze at those things. And other stuff. I always figured, I’d rather be a drinker than a doper, so . . . James kept a drink in my hands.” She shook her head sharply, looked at her cell phone—I could see James’ name with (5) beside it. “But, it’s not James’ fault. It wasn’t his job to keep me clean.”

  “Sure it was!” I said a little too loudly. “I mean, he’s older—he should have taken care of you.” I thought about killing him.

  Miri kind of lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug before sliding her phone into her pocket—without even looking at the unread texts. “You know, the other day—that wasn’t the first time I’ve gone into withdrawal.” She picked up her pizza and took another bite. “Father Cornelius—he caught me in the old hallway about a month ago.”

  “What happened?” I said, mostly to fill the silence that fell between us like a heavy blanket.

  Miri kind of laughed/snorted, a lot like I usually do. “I’d just had it, ya know? Seriously. I just wanted out. Out of school. Out of me. Out of life. Just . . . out.

  “So I snuck into the hallway with a bottle of Jack I swiped from my dad’s cabinet—I was well on my way to a really awesome bender when Father Cornelius came into the room I was hiding in.”

  I rolled over and stared at the ceiling again, thinking maybe if I didn’t look at her she’d tell me more.

  “Anyway, he kind of helped me.”

  “Did you get in trouble?”

  “No, actually. I mean, he took my bottle from me,” she said, humor bubbling out of her at the memory. “He’s really nice, ya know? He challenged me to stop drinking, he gave me a job to do at . . . well, you know.” She meant The Hallowed—the Scooby-gang. She grew silent again and the questions clamoring in my head fought for release.

  “And for a while, I was good. I actually went, like, a week or something,” (I knew she went ten days. Ten days without a single sip of liquor) “But then, I don’t know. I just went home one day and there was my dad’s liquor cabinet. The key was still on a chain around my neck—I swear I’d taken it off, but when I reached for it, there it was. And then . . .”

  Miri stumbling up the stairs and throwing herself into a room filled with heavy blackness. She sinks down in a corner of her room, the Shadows of demons caressing her as she pulls the stopper off the bottle and takes her first hit.

  “Anyway, that was just before, you know. Before I met you and before you . . . helped me. Sorry about that,” she said. I caught her movement out of the corner of my eye and when I turned I saw she was already looking at me. “Thank you.”

  There was a breath. A pause between us. This moment where I could blow it, or I could make it okay. I closed my eyes for a second and felt Lucy there.

  I smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”

  Miri smiled back and breathed a sigh so big and long we both busted up. “Whew! I think I’m high on paint fumes.”

  “Me too!” I was high on something, but I knew it wasn’t fumes. It felt more like light. Like life.

  A shadow passed across my thoughts—an Aaron-shaped shadow that I refused to acknowledge. I knew it wasn’t Aaron who wanted to bring me down. I kept hearing a buzzing sound, but I couldn’t quite place it. I sat up, looking around, trying to pinpoint the source.

  “Do you hear that?”


  “Yeah—sounds like a cell phone.” Miri picked up another slice of cold pizza from the box.

  “Is it yours?”

  “Um, no. Mine plays Personal Jesus—it’s not set to vibrate.”

  “Oh.” I almost forgot I even had a cell phone. Plus, without Lucy, who was there to call me? But I slid off the bed and tried to pinpoint the buzzing. Whoever it was really wanted to reach me. And I didn’t know if I wanted to be reached—not unless it was Lucy. “Guess the battery wasn’t quite dead, after all.”

  I found the phone on the floor by the bags of left over paint supplies—I didn’t even remember putting it there, or even having it with me for that matter.

  I had five missed calls and one text message. From James.

  Daniel wants you home. Someone’s here to see you. See you soon, princess!

  My hand shook as I pushed the button to make the phone go dark.

  “Everything okay?” Miri asked around a mouthful of pizza.

  I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “Yeah.” I shoved the phone into my pocket and turned to face her. “But I’ve gotta go.”

  “Sure,” Miri said, getting up from the bed. “Hey, thanks for—” she gestured to the room, “for everything. For this, for—everything.”

  I looked at the walls, at the floor, everywhere but at her. “It’s okay. Sorry for leaving you with a mess.” I looked around for my backpack before realizing I’d come without anything at all.

  Miri stepped over the pile of paint rollers and pans between us and reached out for me before I opened her door. “Desi, I—” When I turned to look at her she dropped her hand and swallowed a couple times. Her eyes grew wide as a whiff of fear crept through the room. “I don’t know much about . . . well . . .” She kind of gestured at me, then looked up from the ground and met my gaze. In her eyes I saw a little of that fear, but mostly I saw . . . love. “I want you to know that I’m your friend. And whatever’s going on with you—that I’m grateful to you.”

  “Grateful to me? For what?”

  “For the other night. For the yoga in the morning. For this.” She waved at the room again. She smiled as she looked around. She shook her head a little, like she couldn’t believe something. “For this,” she said again, and I understood what she meant. It was so much more than some paint on her walls. It was a chance. A chance to break from the Shadows that oppressed her—even though she didn’t even know they existed. Still, I hoped she felt free now. I hoped she’d stay free. If I had anything to do with it, she would.

  And when Miri pulled me into her arms and gave me a hug I smelled coconut and flowery perfume—I smelled Lucy. So I hugged her back. I hugged and hugged until I smelled Miri—lemon and roses—and I knew. I might not have Lucy anymore, but I had Miri. And she had me.

  It wasn’t until I stepped onto Miri’s porch that I realized I didn’t have a car. For a minute I wondered how I’d get home. But then I felt the spark inside stretching and my veins grow warm with golden light while my skin contracted with freezing goosebumps.

  Instead of walking down the drive, I turned to the right, toward a stand of trees at the side of Miri’s property. Once I got into the grove, I stood there, just waiting, not sure what to do. After a minute I closed my eyes and reached out to the warmth—and to the cold. The taste of honey flooded my mouth but the smell of sulfur choked me. When I felt cold fire and heat burning down my arms I opened my eyes.

  Black tendrils snaked down my left arm, while golden designs like the ones I’d seen at the store coursed down my right.

  I was dark and light.

  Good and bad.

  Shadow and Gardian.

  Is this what I had chosen? Had the decision been made, then?

  But there was no time to think, no time to consider what it all might mean. Because right then there was only power, searing cold and luxurious warmth and I wanted them both. I wanted it all.

  I felt the moment my Shadow took form and I Became. This time, with no one around to see me, judge me, fear me or claim me, I just stood there. The fire in my arms had subsided some, though the markings were still clear—they reminded me of Aaron’s doodles—my left arm dark like kohl, my right like gold.

  And they were both beautiful.

  I flexed my fingers and felt the strength there. My skin stretched firm and tight over the bones and sinews in my arm. When the First Order Become, they are as black as night, their skin as smooth and unblemished as polished onyx. I didn’t know what an angel might look like, but from the golden hue of Michael’s Halo I could guess. An angel would probably look as bright and fiery as the sun. I wondered if they shone with shimmering fire, like their Halos did.

  My skin looked neither dark nor golden.

  My skin, snaked with black and golden designs, shimmered like a pearl.

  I closed my eyes and felt the changes within me. I felt strong. Powerful. Determined.

  And while my skin burned with a cold that was both familiar and comforting, inside I felt alive with heat. Delicious. Perfect.

  Me.

  I stretched my wings wide behind me and felt them beat against the night, rustling the leaves of the branches far overhead. Unlike Akaros’ wings, which were rough like stretched leather, both of my wings, even the black one, were shaped by beautiful, glistening feathers. Looking beyond the shape of them, I saw the silver of the stars and launched myself into the sky.

  The night welcomed me into its embrace and I relished every beat of my wings, the wind rushing over my face and through my hair.

  Of course, Daniel had called, so I couldn’t really soar for the stars, but I promised myself that I would fly soon—it seemed like the first time in my lifetime I’d felt wholly me, alive, true and even a little happy.

  With regret, I drifted down to Daniel’s estate. I could feel the inky cold of his affiliation with my father even before I landed on the ground. Evil huddled around the house like a cold menace.

  So cold it made my teeth ache.

  Hell was here.

  chapter twenty-two

  I stood in the backyard, beyond the gazebo and sheltered by the tall aspens that bordered this side of Daniel’s property. I didn’t want anyone to see me, not yet. Though I knew Father would know about me, I wasn’t in a hurry to show myself to Daniel.

  Or James. I couldn’t even think about what he’d already seen. Too much, that’s what.

  With a shiver, I released the warmth. It shrank back into the secret part of my soul where I’d kept it protected for so long. I watched as the tendrils of color on my arms faded from view. Tracing a finger over my right arm, I sighed. The skin felt cold, but I remembered the heat of that golden light and already missed it.

  I marched across the lawn, my steps only faltering a little as I passed the gazebo—as white and shining in the darkness as it had been that night. That night when I found them. Before I . . .

  With a fierce shake of my head I forced the thought from my mind and continued toward the house.

  I paused on the patio. I so wasn’t ready for this. I’d been changing and I didn’t know who I was anymore. But I couldn’t let Daniel get a whiff of my unease. I needed time to work things out, to understand what it all meant. To decide what I wanted to do. Who I wanted to be—the demon I knew I could be, but despised? Or the angel I only hoped I could be—something that both elicited joy and fear in my conflicted heart?

  But then I was at the door, and James pulled me into his arms.

  “You all right?” he asked, his lips on my hair, his arms flexing around me. He leaned back a little so he could see my face. “You smell different,” he said. “Like . . .”

  Not honey. Not sulfur. Not sun. Not ice.

  “Paint.” His eyebrows drew together and the left corner of his lips curved upward. “What have you been up to, princess?”

  I sighed, and my shoulders sagged with relief. Just paint.

  “I helped Miri paint her room.” I let my gaze meet his, let him see all the truth there
—a luxury I usually couldn’t afford. But James was just a human, still a boy, really—even though he was eighteen and had probably seen a whole lot more than a human of any age should see.

  “Miri, hmm?” He stepped back, slipped his hands into his pockets. A flicker of doubt passed over his face. “She wouldn’t answer any of my texts.”

  I cocked my head, and considered him. Tried to get a read on what was going on behind that smooth exterior.

  And there it was.

  “Huh,” I said, before I could stop myself.

  “What, ‘huh’?” James asked, his eyes growing wide like he knew I knew.

  “You really do love her.” And it was true. Now that I was looking, I could see it so plainly it was like a smack in the head with a two-by-four. “Huh.”

  James squirmed. “Well . . .”

  I held my hands up to stop him, laughter bouncing in my voice as I said, “No, don’t. It’s cool.” And I thought, maybe it really was. At least, it could be—for them.

  “Well,” said James, slipping his hand into mine, “you’ll have to share your mad, gypsy fortune-telling-skills with me later, because right now . . . there’s someone here to see you.” A tinge of fear hid in his voice and I thought I saw worry in his eyes.

  I squeezed his hand. “I know—it’s okay.” I pulled my hand from his and moved ahead of him—it wouldn’t do to let Father think I’d become attached to James, or to show any kind of weakness at all.

  Unerringly I walked in the direction of Daniel’s study where the essence of a First Order drew me.

  I swallowed against the bile rising in my throat and took several long, deep breaths. Father knew what I had done. What I had Become. Of course he knew.

  I pushed the study door open and walked inside.

  A man sat at Daniel’s desk—ebony skin and high chiseled cheek bones, dressed in a starched high-collar shirt, silver bars holding the corners down around the black cravat at his neck.

  Not Father.

  His hands rested casually on the desk’s surface, a heavy silver ring on his left hand catching the light. And there, leaning against the desk, just a hand’s width away, stood the staff I’d wrestled against my whole life.