Finding Jade

by Mary Jennifer Payne

  “I can tell you more, but there are some things I can’t explain right now.”

  I open the front pocket of my knapsack and pull out my house keys. “Is my apartment safe enough to talk about things?” I ask.

  Raphael nods. “I believe so.”

  As soon as we walk into the apartment, I’m floored by the smell of cleaning products and the spotlessness of the front hall. Though I try to keep things as tidy as possible, sometimes with the help of Lola, it’s been a losing battle against dust and clutter for a few years now, ever since Mom got really sick. But walking in today you wouldn’t know it: everything is orderly and sparkling. The scent of lemons and bleach fills the air. I wonder if Lola hired a cleaning lady for the day.

  I hang my knapsack on the coat rack. It feels wrong to just drop it on the floor the way I usually do.

  The second thing that shocks me is that Mom walks out to greet us. And she’s not using her cane. In fact, her limp isn’t even noticeable.

  “What a nice surprise,” she says. “It’s Raphael, right?”

  My mouth drops open. “You know each other?”

  “Raphael and his brother helped me after my treatment the other day,” Mom says, motioning us into the living room. “I wasn’t feeling well, so they helped me inside and to get comfortable. It was the day Lola had to leave early because of work. Let me grab us something to drink. So hot out there, no?”

  “Yeah, it’s boiling out,” I say. “Let me get the drinks, though.”

  Mom waves me away, as if I’m an annoying fly. “Don’t be silly. I’ll make some fresh lemonade.” She turns to go to the kitchen.

  “Wait, Mom,” I say. I pause, biting my lower lip. “Um, did anyone call today?”

  She stops and turns to me. “Other than a hundred charities trying to raise money for all the victims of drought? No. Why? Are you expecting a call?”

  I shrug. “I just thought Savitri was going to call me about this media project she wants help with.”

  “No, Savitri didn’t call. Wouldn’t she have called your phone?”

  “I let the battery run down,” I say. Lie number three of the day to Mom. However, I’ve got to admit, I feel more relieved about her not finding out about me skipping school than guilty about my dishonesty.

  She leaves Raphael and me standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring at each other.

  “Mind if I sit down?” he asks.

  I’ve completely forgotten to be polite. Mom would have my head.

  “Sorry,” I say as I sit down on the velvet chair. “Make yourself comfortable.” I motion toward the sofa. It’s the only other place to sit in the room.

  Raphael takes a seat and then leans toward me. “I’ll explain as much as I can, but will need to stop when your mom comes,” he says. “She knows nothing about this. About what you and Jade are.”

  “Okay,” I say with a nod. My heart swells with hope hearing Jade being spoken about in the present tense.

  “You have to be at Beaconsfield because there are people looking out for you there. Protecting you. They look out for all the Seers.”

  “You mentioned that word before,” I say. “When we were in … London.” The words sound crazy as soon as they’re out of my mouth. “What’s a Seer?”

  “I’ll tell you in a moment. But first, did you notice anything odd about the school? About Beaconsfield?”

  “Are you joking? Where do you want me to start? It’s practically a circus freak show.”

  He does that exasperated sigh again. “A yes would suffice, Jazz. For instance, did you notice that there are a significant number of female twins there?”

  “I’d have to be a complete idiot to not notice.”

  “All those twins are Seers. Like you, they all have preternatural abilities or powers.”

  “Pre-what? What kind of power?”

  “Power that is unnatural. Usually having to do with psychic abilities or extraordinary strength and speed.” Raphael finishes and stares at me intently.

  “What do you mean? Do all twins have special powers? How come I’ve never felt supernatural? Can I fly?” The words gush out of my mouth. I shift myself around in the chair, cross my legs, and draw my knees up to my chin. I hold my breath; I’m not a hundred percent sure I want to hear his answers.

  “You definitely can’t fly and shouldn’t try to. Nor are you supernatural,” Raphael says with a smile. “In fact, you’re completely human. You just have powers or abilities beyond those of a normal human. And, no, not all twins are Seers. Only the chosen few, the direct descendants of Lilith. And a Seer’s powers are strongest during their teenage years. They tend to diminish afterward.”

  “So I have superhuman teen girl powers?” I ask.

  I suddenly feel like Wonder Woman. Or Jessica Jones. Maybe I should be slinking around in a sexy, one-piece outfit à la Cat Woman instead of my usual Converse and jeans.

  Raphael shakes his head. “Seers’ abilities are generally both physical and psychic. They sometimes dream things, like future events, or read people’s thoughts. And their strength and speed is often much greater than that of the average human.”

  “Cool,” I say. “I’d love to be able to know what people are thinking. It would be a bit like having X-ray vision.”

  “Well, the ability to read minds is not always consistent. Like radio waves, the thoughts can sometimes be disjointed and unclear.”

  “That sucks,” I say, sticking my lower lip out in a mock pout.

  Raphael frowns. “You need to take this seriously. These powers are a gift, and they are important. Demons and dark forces are gaining power again. And this time things may be different. This time we may be heading toward the final battle. If that is the case, only the chosen Seers can save humankind.”

  “Final battle?” I ask.

  “Fresh, ice-cold lemonade,” my mother practically sings as she swoops into the room, balancing a tray of glasses. I stare at her. It’s easy to see the dancer she once was in the way she moves across the room, gracefully setting the tray down on our battered coffee table. Ice cubes clink together in the glasses.

  She hands a glass to Raphael first, then me, before settling herself on the sofa.

  “Thank you. This is perfect,” Raphael says.

  I take a sip of the lemonade, observing Mom over the rim of my glass. Her face is flushed with colour, and the dark circles under her eyes have disappeared. She looks healthy enough to be on the cover of a fitness magazine.

  “You look great, Mom,” I say, putting my glass back on the table. “Your doctors must be really happy.”

  Mom smiles. “They’re not just happy, Jazz. They’re amazed. What’s happening to me is nothing short of a miracle.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “My kidneys seem to be spontaneously healing themselves. And the lupus seems to be going into remission; there is an undetectable level of antibodies in my system. The doctors have no medical explanation for it. They tested me today.”

  I’m like a computer crashing; my mind can’t comprehend what she’s telling me. Mom is getting better. And she’s recovering from chronic kidney failure, which is pretty much impossible without a transplant.

  “That’s fantastic,” Raphael says. “A second lease on life.”

  “It looks that way,” Mom replies. “But I’m definitely not going to waste this miracle. Every moment of every day, I’m going to live life to the fullest.” She pauses and smiles. “Tomorrow, I am going to start to dance again. Who knows? If everything goes well, I may realize my dream of owning a dance studio.”

  Tears well up in my eyes. I leap off the chair, run over, and throw my arms around her neck. I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.

  “When did you start feeling better?” I ask.

  Mom leans back into the sofa and loo
ks thoughtful. “You know what?” she says. “When I really think about it, it’s been so recent, so sudden.” She looks over at Raphael. “This sounds crazy, but I remember starting to feeling better shortly after meeting you and Mike.”

  “Really?” Raphael says, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “What a coincidence.”

  I look over at him. Though he ignores my gaze, I know he feels me watching.

  He knows a lot more than he’s letting on about Mom’s miraculous recovery. It’s clearly not just some happy coincidence — nor is Mr. Jones’s dirty old dog’s vanishing tumour.

  In fact, since Raphael arrived on the scene, a lot of strange things have happened. It makes me wonder just who he is. And, if I’m really honest, a good part of me wonders what he is because it seems like he has some pretty special powers of his own.

  “Who do you and your brother live with?” I ask.

  “Our other brother, Gabe, who’s away at the moment. Why?”

  “What about your mom? Your dad?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “Jasmine,” Mom says, her voice sharp. “Mind yourself.”

  “That’s okay,” Raphael says. “But if you don’t mind, Jazz, I’d rather not talk about it right now.” He shoots me a wide, completely fabricated smile.

  That’s when I decide I will attend Beaconsfield after all. I want to find out more about Raphael and his brothers. And I need to learn more about this Seer stuff, the Place-in-Between, and most importantly, how to get Jade back.

  Chapter 12

  Apparently, the crazy secretary actually works at Beaconsfield, not Riverdale. Nothing surprises me anymore.

  “Good morning, Jasmine,” she says as I walk into the office. She’s standing beside a photocopier behind the main desk. “Need a late slip, I take it?”

  I stare at her. “Don’t you work at another school?”

  She stops whatever she’s doing at the photocopier and walks over to the desk. “You mean Riverdale? No, I was just over there making sure you made it here. I guess you could say I had a cameo appearance.” She laughs loudly.

  I grimace. I’ve only been in this place about two minutes, and already the weirdness has started.

  “Yeah, I need a late slip,” I say, looking over at the clock. It’s already 9:15. Sleeping was hard last night. Every muscle in my body screamed with pain any time I moved even slightly. The pain woke me up so many times I lost count. I overslept my alarm by an hour this morning.

  “Glad to see you made the decision to attend here,” the secretary says as she initials the late slip. “And it’s a much better choice you’re making today by showing up. We really don’t encourage skipping classes.” She smiles widely, like an airline hostess who’s just offered me pretzels and a soft drink.

  “You know I skipped school yesterday?” I ask. “How come no one called my mom?”

  “My sister saw you downtown. We find it’s better to discuss your poor decision-making here at school with you, rather than worrying your mother.”

  “Your sister saw me?” I ask. “How did your sister know who I was?”

  “She’s a bit, how shall I put this? Eccentric.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how she knew. Seriously, how did you know where I was?”

  The secretary answers me with a smile and silence.

  I glare at her, annoyance building up in me like a sneeze, and suddenly it hits me. The woman outside the subway yesterday — the one with the badly bleached hair and startling blue eyes — she was familiar because she looked so much like this woman. They’re clearly twins.

  “Does your sister have some …” I pause, trying to think of the most polite way to ask my question. “Mental illness?”

  She laughs again, and this time the laugh ends with a little snort. “Don’t let my sister fool you. She might come across as crazy, but she’s saner than most people. The reason she stays on the streets and in the underground is because she sees and hears things most people miss. She’s our eyes and ears here at Beaconsfield.”

  For the first time, the secretary’s mood grows seri­ous. “My sister reported to us that you were extremely reckless yesterday. You need to listen to your Protectors. Things are changing. The Earth is in trouble, and these climate disasters and the subsequent shifting in human populations are only part of it. There’s talk that demons are with us. Talk that they are walking amongst humans again. That’s why we’re gathering as many Seers at Beaconsfield as we can.”

  The door to the office opens, and a tall, thin woman enters, followed by two girls.

  “I guess I’d better get to class,” I say.

  “Yes, you should,” the secretary replies. “You have a huge amount to learn in a very short time, Jasmine.”

  “So I’ve been told,” I mutter, taking the late slip and turning to leave. I walk toward the woman and her daughters. Surprise, surprise — they’re identical twins.

  “Good morning,” the secretary says to them in a sing-song voice. “Welcome to Beaconsfield.”

  “Good morning,” the woman replies. Her words are heavily accented. “We’re so grateful to be here. We’ve just arrived from South Africa and were told that this school would accept us.”

  And we’ve seen so much. So much destruction. Blood shed. The bodies of those who died of dehydration piled along the roadside like firewood. The ravages of climate change are far worse than you in Canada can imagine.

  I stare at the woman. Her lips haven’t moved since she told the secretary about the school acceptance. I suddenly realize the voices I thought I’d been hearing the last few years since Jade’s disappearance weren’t imaginary voices at all: I’ve been picking up on people’s thoughts.

  One of the girls smiles shyly as I approach. She’s much taller than me, with the straightest, whitest teeth I’ve ever seen; they’re like pieces of Chiclets gum lined up in perfect rows.

  I smile back as I walk past. They may have been through a lot, but these two have no idea what they’re still in for. And, really, neither do I.

  The class I’m late for is English with Mr. Khan. Great. I slink into the room like a dog with its tail between its legs. After all, the last time I saw Mr. Khan, I was running away, defiant, and totally sure I’d never return to the school.

  “I was hoping you’d be back,” he says with a smile.

  I smile weakly and hand him my late slip. Even though I’ve only been gone a day, at least ten new faces turn to stare at me. The classroom is packed with students. There’s barely room to move between all the desks.

  I don’t see Raphael anywhere, and my heart sinks with disappointment. I take a seat in the back row.

  “So, to wrap up,” Mr. Khan says, “I would like you to read the essay by the late Dr. Suzuki. Then you’ll respond to the question, ‘How might things be different today if the world had heeded his warnings?’ I also need your persuasive piece on the issue of London using icebergs as a source of drinking water. Remember, you need to argue either for or against the sustainability of this practice and how fair it is to the rest of the planet.”

  There’s a collective groan from the class. And, in a room of nearly forty, it’s a loud groan. Since I have no idea what Mr. Khan is talking about, I just sit there, looking around and counting the number of identical twin girls in the class.

  There are ten sets altogether. Twenty twin girls. That means half the kids in this class are twins. I suppose I count as a twin too … at least sort of.

  “Okay. That’s enough,” Mr. Khan says, clapping his hands to silence the class. “Get used to it. You’re in secondary school now. And you’ll be late for gym class if you continue because I can’t tell you which group you’re in when you’re this loud.”

  The class quiets down. Mina raises her hand.

  “What do you mean which group we’re in? Don’t we all go to the same gym class?”


  Mr. Khan shakes his head. “Too many new students have enrolled in the past few days, so we have to split the classes. Sasha, Cyndy, Tanisha, Emily, and Menusha, you and the boys will head to the gym. The rest of the girls will be going to Ms. Samson’s class in room 214.”

  Great. It’s just my luck to be in the same group as Mina. We trudge down the hall to room 214.

  Our teacher, Ms. Samson, is older than I expected. Her hair, which is pulled back in intricate cornrows, is completely grey. She’s leaning against a wooden walking stick as we file in.

  “Take a seat and make it fast,” she says, clapping her hands together.

  “Take a pill,” Mina mutters, purposely scraping her chair across the floor before sitting down.

  Ms. Samson’s eyes narrow and she regards Mina with such coolness that I swear the air in the room drops at least ten degrees. This lady might be old, but she’s intense.

  “Your aggression is going to be a liability.” She bangs her stick against the floor rapidly. The chestnut skin of her hands is pulled so tightly, each tendon and fragile bone becomes painfully visible as the stick makes contact with the tiled floor. The sound reverberates around the room like gunfire. A few of the girls jump in their seats, others laugh nervously.

  “What does liability mean? Do any of you know?”

  One girl raises her hand timidly.

  Ms. Samson uses her walking stick to point at the girl. “Yes, you. What is your name?”

  “Lily,” the girl replies, her voice quivering.

  “Lily, what does it mean if you are a liability?” Ms. Samson asks, walking over to the girl’s desk and standing practically on top of her. I make a mental note not to raise my hand in this class. Ever.

  “You’re a disadvantage?” Lily says.

  “Are you asking me or telling me?” This question is accompanied by more banging of the walking stick. I’m noticing there’s a kind of rhythm to all this banging and clapping. It’s almost hypnotic.