Starcrossed

by Brenda Hiatt

  I’m kind of achy without you, but some of it’s probably just in my head. We went longer than 10 days without touching back in September, so this should be a piece of cake, right?

  Hope you’re keeping busy and your aunt’s not dumping on you too much. Tell the O’Garas I said hi. (Not really.) And take care of yourself, okay?

  Every last bit of my love,

  Rigel

  I read it over two or three times, smiling, then opened the second email, dated yesterday.

  Hey, M, haven’t heard back so don’t know if you got my first email or not. Really kicking myself for not talking faster yesterday! Since I deleted it right after sending I’m not positive what I wrote. My memory seems fuzzy without you, isn’t that weird? Aching worse, but hey, we’re down to less than a week now! Can’t wait to see you Monday!

  Now it sounds like that big meeting won’t be until after we leave. I think part of the reason is they’ve noticed me paying attention when they talk. Should have been sneakier, I guess. But it sounds like all kinds of stuff’s going down on Mars these days, faster than they expected. Maybe you’re hearing about it from the Os, too? Bet they’re all kinds of excited. :-/

  Since I don’t feel much like going sightseeing without you, I’ve been looking through Grandfather’s books, digging into old laws and stuff, hoping I might find something we can use. At least, when I can stay awake. It’s nuts how tired I am! My mom’s acting a little worried but I think she’s afraid to ask what’s wrong. Probably afraid I’ll go off on another rant. I kinda did that already when they acted like us being apart was no big deal.

  Email me back if you get this, okay? And stay safe and healthy—for me.

  Love you amazingly,

  Rigel

  I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt tears dripping off my chin. Reading his words, I could almost hear his voice—that perfect voice that did such wonderful things to me. I missed him so, so much. It especially hurt to think he might be feeling as awful as I was. Even though I wouldn’t trade our bond for anything, I hated that it could make Rigel sick. Ever.

  Brushing a hand across my eyes, I started typing my reply. I played down my symptoms, and also how much time I’d spent at the O’Garas.’ I told him I was researching from my end, too, since I was positive there must be some kind of loophole we could use. I apologized over and over for not checking my email sooner and promised I would every night from now on.

  I wanted to compose a little poem or something that would make him smile but realized if I did, it would just kill him to delete it. My brain wasn’t up to it right now, anyway. So I just said how terribly I missed him and that I was counting the seconds till he got back. I sent it and was hovering my finger over the delete key, thinking maybe I should read his messages just once more before erasing them, when the phone rang.

  “Crap,” I said aloud. The computer clock showed it was past three-thirty, so it was probably one of my friends. And my aunt would be home any time, unless it was one of her days for the florist’s shop. I’d lost track.

  With a silent apology to Rigel, I deleted his emails along with the record of my sent one and shut down the computer.

  “Hello?” I answered on the fourth ring.

  “Oh, you are there!” It was Bri. “I didn’t wake you up or anything, did I? Are you feeling any better yet? Sean and Molly said you probably stayed home because you were sick. I’ll bet that means you can’t come to the game tonight, huh? That’s such a bummer!”

  “Hi, Bri,” I said as soon as she took a breath. “You didn’t wake me up, but yeah, I’m sick. Just some virus, I think. You guys have fun at the game and tell me all about it after, okay?” As if there was any chance she wouldn’t do that anyway.

  “We will. Oh! You want me to wish Sean a good game for you?”

  “Um, yeah, sure.”

  “He’ll appreciate that, I know. I’ll give him a hug, too—from you, I mean. I hope you feel well enough to eat some turkey tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Bri.” I was glad she couldn’t see my knowing smile. “Guess I’ll see you Monday. Say hi to Deb for me, and you guys have a nice Thanksgiving.”

  I hung up, amused by how transparent Bri could be sometimes. But then I frowned.

  Bri had all the signs of a major crush on Sean. I didn’t think he would lead her on at all, but I didn’t want to see her hurt. And if I tried to warn her off, she’d either think I was jealous or putting her down. Oh, well. Bri was always getting crushes, but they only lasted until the next crush-worthy guy caught her eye. She’d be fine.

  Suddenly, the weariness I’d pushed back with all that extra sleep came crashing back full force and I sagged against the wall. It was all I could do to throw my cookie napkin away, rinse out my teacup and drag myself back upstairs to bed. I never heard Aunt Theresa come home, or Uncle Louie, either.

  At one point I was dimly aware of my aunt opening my bedroom door and asking softly whether I wanted any dinner. I think I mumbled “no” because she left just as quietly and I didn’t remember anything else until I woke up late the next morning.

  Thanksgiving turned out both better and worse than I expected. I was there physically—I even set the table and stirred and basted a little, after disinfecting my hands under Aunt Theresa’s watchful eye. But my brain was hovering between a mindless, miserable haze and wondering how Rigel’s Thanksgiving in Washington was going.

  The O’Garas—and Allister—showed up around three o’clock and everyone sat down to turkey and all the traditional fixings an hour later. I moved like a zombie to the dining room when my aunt called us in. Mrs. O’Gara, I noted dully, had taken over my traditional duty of carrying dishes from kitchen to table.

  During the pre-dinner chit-chat in the living room I’d sat in a corner staring into space, only dimly aware of the concerned looks our guests kept shooting my way. I felt like I should reassure them somehow, but I couldn’t remember why—or even if that would be a good thing. In fact, my head was pounding so loudly, I could hardly hear what anyone said. When Sean sat next to me at the table, I barely noticed.

  “Quinn, would you like to say the blessing?” my aunt asked once everyone was seated. I was relieved, since she usually asked me, but couldn’t bring myself to care whether it was out of concern I’d screw it up or out of politeness to our guests.

  As they always did for holiday meals, my aunt and uncle clasped hands and extended their free ones, indicating that everyone should do the same. Sean gave me a slightly nervous look and held out his hand. Since it would have looked weird not to, I took it, bracing myself for that irritating tingle.

  And had to stifle a gasp.

  Because in addition to the usual zing, the instant I touched Sean’s hand, the pounding in my head lessened noticeably, and by the time the brief prayer ended, my stomach had started to settle, as well. When Mr. O’Gara said “Amen,” I had to fight a crazy urge to cling to Sean’s hand.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him looking at me curiously, but I didn’t dare look back. What was going on? Nobody’s touch but Rigel’s should be able to make me feel better! Should it?

  The turkey, stuffing, and green bean casserole were passed around, and I automatically took some of everything as I struggled with this confusing new development. Could this be something the O’Garas had planned, some Martian technology they’d used to make Sean’s touch mimic Rigel’s? But why would they do that, if they didn’t even believe in the graell? It didn’t make any sense.

  When I glanced down at my plate a few minutes later, I discovered I’d eaten almost everything on it. How had that happened? I hadn’t had any appetite since Friday night. My head still ached but it was just a dull throb, instead of feeling like someone was trying to split it with a sledgehammer. And while I was still weak and tired, my mind was clearer than it had been all week.

  Only because thinking clearly would be to my advantage, I was tempted to touch Sean’s hand again, to see if this bizarre healing effect migh
t go any further. But I resisted.

  Because I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

  CHAPTER 33

  Rigel (RY-jel): a blue supergiant star, approximately 860 light years from Earth

  “Stop it, Mom. I said I’m not hungry.”

  But, embarrassing as it is in front of all my Grandfather’s Thanksgiving guests, my mom keeps her hands on my back, doing everything she can to “heal” me. I guess I appreciate that she wants to help, but her Healer powers obviously don’t have any effect on my withdrawal-from-M symptoms. Why can’t she just accept it?

  “I can sense the pain in your head and joints, and your nausea.” She sounds more frustrated than ever. “If I can sense it, I should be able to alleviate it.”

  “Leave the boy alone, Ariel,” Grandfather says from the head of the table. “We’ve already discovered that some of the supposedly legendary aspects of graell bonding were recorded in the old scientific texts, even if they were never explained. As I recall, this is one of them.”

  One of the guests, a woman I don’t know, stares at my grandfather. “Shim! Did you say graell bond? Whatever do you mean by that?”

  “I’m sorry, Glynnis.” He’s using his soothing voice—one I’ve heard a lot the past few days. “I forgot you wouldn’t have heard yet. It appears my grandson and Princess Emileia have formed a graell bond, politically awkward as that might be.”

  “Awkward is putting it mildly.” Glynnis is staring at me now, like I might suddenly morph into a monster or dance on the table. “Why—how—was such a thing allowed?”

  I want to tell her it’s none of her business. Or that nothing could ever have stopped our bond once M and I met. But I’m afraid if I open my mouth again I might hurl, so I let my folks handle it.

  “If you recall, Glynnis, Rigel is the one who finally located our missing Sovereign, after several years of searching,” my dad says. “As another adolescent Echtran, it was hoped he would be able to sense her more strongly, but no one had any way of predicting they could form such a bond.”

  Teague Sullivan, across the table from me, nods. “Aye, most of us never even suspected the graell was possible, outside of fairy tales, so how might the Stuarts be after preventing something no one even believes in these days?”

  He seems like a nice enough guy. Pretty sympathetic compared to most of the dignitaries who’ve been in and out of Grandfather’s house. But his accent always reminds me of the O’Garas, which keeps me from completely trusting him.

  “I’m not sure I believe in it even now,” puts in Kyna Nuallan, one of the Council members who was at our house when they verified who M was, back in September. She wasn’t all that nice then, either. “I know you mean well, Shim, but—”

  “You’ve heard my evidence, Kyna,” Shim reminds her. “You all have, except for Glynnis, here. I’m afraid there is very little room for doubt.”

  I stare at my plate, wishing it was empty since the sight and smell of turkey and oyster dressing makes my stomach roil. It’s not like I planned to screw with their politics.

  Little Nara Gilroy speaks and I look up. “If poor Rigel is so affected by being separated from our Princess, does that mean she is suffering similarly?” She looks really worried and I remember Nara was the very first member of the Council to believe M was who they all hoped she was.

  I swallow a couple of times, then force myself to reassure her—a little. “She’ll be fine once we see each other on Monday. But yeah, she’s probably not feeling so hot right now.”

  “Which will complicate things quite a lot, there’s no denying,” Teague says. “Unless a solution can be found?” That’s clearly directed at my grandfather.

  “Our researchers are exploring options.”

  My mind’s fuzzing out again—it’s been doing that a lot the past couple of days—but that word startles me alert. “Options? What kind of options?”

  “It’s too soon to say, so I won’t worry you unnecessarily, Rigel.” He looks around the table with a smile that looks totally forced. “But enough of politics, everyone. This is supposed to be a social occasion, so I propose we treat it as such. Happy Thanksgiving!” He raises his glass and everyone else does the same, though most of them look as unsettled as I feel.

  What possible “options” can he be talking about? Does he mean some kind of medical procedure to undo our bond? No effing way! And even if some Martian scientist does figure out how, I wouldn’t let them. Neither would M. They have to know that. It must be something else, maybe something to make her feel better when we’re apart.

  I think about that and feel even sicker. Because if they can, shouldn’t I want that? My brain starts to fog again and I decide there’s no point worrying about it until I know more—not that I have enough energy to do much worrying right now, anyway.

  After an awkward silence, Teague asks the others about their travel plans over the upcoming holidays. I decide I don’t need to listen anymore and gratefully zone out. I wish I could just sleep, but that would be way rude, so I just stare into space and miss M with every cell in my body. Literally.

  I don’t wake up until noon the next day. My first thought is that I’m glad nobody made me get up. My second is that I feel even worse than yesterday. Even though my stomach is empty, I lurch to the bathroom for yet another round of dry heaving.

  Afterward, I manage to drink a glass of water and brush my teeth before heading to the kitchen to see what’s going on. Nobody’s there but I find a note from my mother.

  Rigel, we’ve all gone to the Natural History museum, and then we’re meeting a few people for drinks. We should be home by five, certainly in time for dinner. We didn’t want to wake you, but there’s plenty of leftover turkey in the fridge.

  –Love, Mom

  Leftover turkey sounds disgusting, but I make myself some tea, remembering M said it made her feel a little better. Plus it makes me feel closer to her. Which reminds me I haven’t checked my email since Wednesday night, and this is the perfect chance.

  Sure enough, there’s another note from M, sent just this morning, replying to my reply from late Wednesday night.

  My poor Rigel,

  I hate that you’re feeling awful, too! This has been the longest week of my whole life and I SO can’t wait until Monday! I hope your Thanksgiving was better than mine. The whole O’Gara family came to our house, including Allister. He totally creeps me out, it’s like he’s watching my every move, just waiting for me to screw up so he can be snarky about it later. Did I tell you he’s giving me TESTS now on all the Martian stuff he’s teaching me? There was kind of a weird thing that happened at dinner, too, but I’ll tell you about it when you get home.

  Oh, it was really sweet of you to offer to have your dad or Shim send me stuff on Martian history and politics, but the O’Garas gave me an e-reader, one of those scroll things, you’ve probably seen them, right? It’s crammed with more history, genealogies and legal/political stuff than I’ll be able to read in a lifetime. I’ve been too sleepy to read more than a tiny bit of it so far but I know I should, since I might find something that will help us—you and me, I mean. When you get home I’ll be able to stay awake long enough to do that, for sure!

  I love you totally and I’m counting every single minute until I can see you again! Please, please take good care of yourself and sleep lots—I think it helps a little.

  Until Monday,

  Your M

  I read it over like ten times, wondering what “weird thing” could have happened that she didn’t want to put in an e-mail. My first thought is it’s something about Sean, since she wouldn’t want to upset me, but it’s stupid to jump to conclusions. Maybe she just felt too tired to type any more right then. This is a lot longer than the other e-mail she sent me, and way better written. She must have spent a long time proofing it. Pushing away my stupid suspicions, I slowly start typing, trying to make my e-mail as good as hers.

  Over the next couple of days I get even more tired and achy and foggy
-brained, to the point I don’t want to do anything but sleep. My mom is seriously worried, I can tell, but when she asks what she can do to help me, all I can tell her is to get me back to Jewel. Back to M. Like I’ve been saying all along.

  I think it’s sometime Saturday afternoon, though at this point I’m not positive, when I hear a bunch of voices downstairs on my way back from the bathroom. For a few seconds I just stand at the top of the steps, blinking, trying to remember why I should care about this.

  Oh. Right. I told M I’d try to find out what they’re talking about, in case it can help us later. Squinting against my jackhammer headache, I creep halfway down the stairs, every step a ridiculous amount of effort. So much for me being some kind of super athlete.

  “—claims she seemed noticeably better Thursday evening,” are the first words I hear clearly. It sounds like Teague’s voice. “He’s saying it’s due to his nephew being near her, though why he’d think that if he doesn’t believe in the graell in the first place, I’m not clear.”

  Now Kyna says, “Whatever the cause, it appears the Sovereign may not be as strongly affected as Rigel, which is all to the good. For our people, I mean, Ariel. Of course we’re concerned about your son, as well.”

  “As long as we can be certain Allister is not merely reporting what he wishes to be true rather than the Sovereign’s actual condition.” It’s my grandfather talking now. “He has shown himself capable of, shall we say, self-deception on this matter already.”