by Lanie Bross
She hurried back down the hall, toward the one place where she could get away from everything for a little while.
MRS. COLE
GUIDANCE COUNSELOR
Jas knocked on the door and waited. Mrs. Cole had been trying to corner her for months, but Jas hadn’t felt like talking about her life to anyone, much less a school counselor. Now, she’d do just about anything to get away from the crowds in the halls, from the dizzying amount of sounds and smells.
She’d even deal with Mrs. Cole.
“Jasmine?” Mrs. Cole’s eyes practically popped out of her head. “What a surprise. Come in.” Mrs. Cole shut the door behind them and ushered Jas to a chair in one corner. Instantly, the chaotic noise from the hallway muted and the tension in Jasmine’s body began to dissipate. The office smelled like chamomile tea, and Mrs. Cole looked like she could be a mother on any of those ’90s shows on late-night reruns. She wore her blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and loved sweaters with scenes on them and pencil skirts. Her glasses hung on a beaded chain around her neck.
Maybe Mrs. Cole would let her stay there for the rest of the day.
“Please have a seat. I must say, I didn’t think I’d ever see you in here.”
Jasmine sank into a chair gratefully. There were a dozen potted plants around the room, and framed prints of several of Van Gogh’s most famous work. Jas stared at Starry Night. A memory danced just out of reach. Where had she seen a sky like that recently?
Mrs. Cole sat down in a rolling chair across from Jasmine’s. “Tell me how you’ve been, Jasmine. I’ve been worried about you. We all have.”
Jasmine looked away. She knew Mrs. Cole was talking about her grades. They’d plummeted earlier this year. Another post-T.J. effect. She picked at a piece of stuffing coming out of a hole in the armchair. “Things have been … weird.”
“Weird, how?”
“I can’t really explain it,” Jasmine said. She wished she could. She wanted to tell so badly.
“How about if we start with right now and work backward?” When Mrs. Cole slipped her glasses on, she looked like an overinquisitive bird. “How do you feel right this minute?”
That was easy. “Confused. Alone. Scared.”
Mrs. Cole latched onto the last one. “Let’s talk about why you feel scared.” Jasmine didn’t answer. If Jas said there were strange people called Executors trying to kill her, Mrs. Cole would think she was taking drugs again.
“Is it the boy you’re with?” Mrs. Cole asked softly.
“T.J.?” Jasmine shook her head. “I broke it off with him Friday night.”
“And now you’re scared,” Mrs. Cole repeated. She sighed and leaned forward. “Is he threatening you, Jasmine? Did he hurt you? There’s no excuse for violence. We can get the police involved. You don’t have to be scared anymore.” Mrs. Cole laid her hand on Jasmine’s arm and squeezed.
Jasmine quickly withdrew her arm from Mrs. Cole’s grasp. “T.J. didn’t do anything. I mean, he was pissed, yeah. But I haven’t heard from him since Friday.” Jasmine was distracted by the memory of something else, something right there on the edge of her memory. Why couldn’t she reach it? Why?
The woman … the beach … the ring glittering in the woman’s hand …
And something else. Something afterward.
A forest. No, a garden.
“What are you scared of, then?” Mrs. Cole asked. Her voice sounded far away.
Jasmine answered automatically, without thinking. “I drive people away.”
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and suddenly she knew it was true. Why had she never seen it before? Her friends. Her family. And now Ford, who was barely more than a stranger. No one wanted to be around her anymore.
What was wrong with her? She ducked her head so Mrs. Cole wouldn’t notice her eyes filling with tears.
Mrs. Cole leaned forward and took both of Jasmine’s hands in hers, then waited patiently until Jasmine looked up. “Jasmine, you’re young, and you’ve been through a lot in your life. It isn’t fair, but you’re strong, and you can overcome it. You just need to learn to trust yourself. You’re a beautiful and special girl. You need to believe in yourself.”
Something glittered just behind Mrs. Cole’s eyes. It wasn’t pity. It was more like a personal understanding, something they had in common.
“Thank you,” Jasmine said. “I—I feel better now.” She did feel better after talking to Mrs. Cole, but the thought of going back out there, into the halls, into a classroom, made her head start to throb again.
Mrs. Cole stared at her for another long moment. Then she sat back and rolled her chair over to her desk. “I’ll write you a pass. How does that sound? You can go sit in the gardens till next period.” Mrs. Cole scratched her pen across a neat pad of passes and handed the pass to Jasmine, along with a key card.
Mission High had an amazing atrium in the center of the building where seniors could go and study on their free periods. The flora was gorgeous and lush and exotic. The school even had a gardener who took care of it all.
“But I’m not a senior,” Jasmine said.
Mrs. Cole smiled. “Seniors and special passes only.”
“Thank you.” It was just what she needed—a place to hide out, to blend in, to think. Jasmine took the pass and started out the door.
“Jasmine, please don’t be a stranger. I think we can make some good progress if you come and see me regularly.” Mrs. Cole’s voice trailed her out into the hallway.
The halls were empty now. Her sneakers squeaked loudly on the colorful tile. She could hear teachers droning on behind closed doors, the murmur of whispered voices, markers squeaking across whiteboards. She had never been in the atrium, and as she swiped the card across the reader, she felt a little like she had when Ford had guided her beyond the chain-link fence at the Golden Gate Bridge—like she was doing something illegal.
The air inside the atrium was thick with the sweet, musky smell of the flowers. Jasmine inhaled deeply and a strange urge came alive inside her. She felt part of nature, like she could actually tune in to the gentle hum of life all around her.
In the center of the room, a great weeping willow grew taller than any she’d ever seen. Its branches arched gracefully before letting down fine wisps of leaves like a beautiful waterfall. There were crescent-shaped stone benches around its base. Jasmine sat down gratefully and closed her eyes.
A low buzzing filled the air, like the drone of hundreds of bumblebees. She opened her eyes, surprised, but saw nothing. Even though the atrium was enclosed, the tips of the willow brushed her cheek, almost as if it were caressing her, dancing on some inexplicable wind.
An image sprang into her mind, of thousands of trees just like this one.
And humming—humming like the humming in her head.
A forest. No, a garden.
The vision felt so real, so achingly familiar. Something unleashed inside Jasmine’s chest, made its way up into her throat. She began humming along with the noise in her head. The melody was a part of her, one she knew intimately already.
The willow branches swayed over her head.
It was magical and beautiful and wrong.
The shrill ring of a school bell snapped Jasmine from her trance. Outside the glass-enclosed atrium, the hallways filled with kids pushing and laughing and talking. The door clicked and several senior girls entered, chattering about an upcoming dance.
Jasmine stood up quickly as the girls settled at a table. She didn’t want to answer questions about why she was there and how she’d gotten a pass, so she quickly made her way into the hallway. After being in the atrium, the overhead lights were so bright she had to squint to see. The air was heavy with the smells of sweat and body spray and people.
She needed air.
The soft humming had turned into a high-pitched whine that made her want to shove her fingers into her ears and scream. She practically threw herself out the front doors, into the parking
lot.
The whine in her head stopped.
The silence was deafening.
Jasmine stood, blinking, inhaling the smell of gasoline and grass and openness. The sky was now a perfect blue and the sun was warm on her skin. She remembered now—there had been a forest, and she had been part of it, connected to it. There had been trees that spoke to her in an ancient language, and life that ran through her veins like sunshine.
A new urge came to life, fueled by fatigue and desperation. She’d been hiding and running away from the truth for days.
It was time to stop running.
It was time to stop hiding, too. She wouldn’t go back to school—not while Luc was missing, not while there were people after her and a mysterious woman named Miranda controlling them all. She was reenergized, re-motivated. She jogged across the soccer fields and cut toward the bus stop, enjoying the slice of air in her lungs.
No matter what Ford said, he had answers; she’d make him tell her what was going on, even if she had to follow him to the ends of the earth. He must be planning to return to his hideout at some point—he’d left his camp stove and bag. And when he did, she would be right there waiting for him.
Jasmine made the bus connections on autopilot and made her way toward Fort Point. There were several more cars in the parking lot now and people milled around snapping pictures, obviously relieved the rain had finally stopped. She had to wait fifteen minutes before there was a break in the continuous flow of people and she could slip through the gate.
As soon as she came to the corner of the brick building, she froze. Somewhere nearby was an Executor. She could feel it in the sudden electric jolt that went up her spine.
She took a deep breath. No more running. What she needed was a plan.
The waiting was the hardest part. She knew that the Executor could run very fast. If she didn’t time it just right, if she didn’t have the element of surprise on her side, she’d never make it. At the same time, she needed the Executor to see her, to follow her inside.
Patience was not something Jas was good at, but she forced herself to stay still.
Her entire body was tuned in to the Executor and she sensed it was the girl. Hopefully, that would make it easier to overpower her. When the opening came, Jasmine sprang from her spot behind the corner of the building before she could talk herself out of the craziness.
Her sneakers pounded on the pavement as she raced across the lot between the fort and the huge cement bridge footer. She could feel the Executor’s eyes on her. Where was the other one, the boy? Jas knew he must be nearby. She ran as fast as she could. The girl was gaining on her—Jas could smell her and hear the rapid pace of her footsteps.
The door was still ten feet away.
Just as she felt the brush of the Executor’s hand on her back, Jas stopped and spun wildly to the right, something she’d seen Luc do on the soccer field. The Executor grunted and stumbled. Somehow Jasmine managed to stay upright, and she sprinted to the door.
She yanked the door open and ducked inside, making sure not to dislodge the piece of wood she’d jammed in the doorway earlier. A faint glow came from the room where she and Ford had slept. She didn’t have time to wonder about it. She thumped her bag to the ground and grabbed a pipe the length of her arm from the scrap heap in the corner, then backed into the shadows.
Pressed against the cold stone, concealed in darkness, she waited, holding her breath.
She heard the door open and close. The Executor was following her. Good. Jas adjusted her grip on the pipe.
The Executor came forward slowly, shoes squeaking on the floor.
As soon as the girl stepped into the light, Jasmine swung. As the Executor whirled around to face her, Jas brought the pipe down onto the hand clutching the knife. There was a sickening crunch and the girl screeched and sank to her knees. Jas lifted the pipe and held it over her shoulder, ready to strike again. She didn’t need to. The girl was holding her broken hand, moaning.
Jasmine kicked the knife away, then knelt beside the girl.
“What do you want? Why are you following me?”
The girl’s eyes were filled with pain as she looked at Jasmine. “It’s not my fault,” she said, almost sullenly. “I’m just following orders.”
“Whose orders?” Jasmine said. The pipe felt heavier than before.
“It’s your fate,” the girl said hurriedly. “You can’t escape it. You were supposed to die.”
Before Jas could respond, an explosion of pain in her head sent her sprawling to the ground. Stars danced in her vision. Something pummeled her stomach and launched her across the room, where she slammed into the wall, sending all the air out of her lungs. For a second she was suspended in darkness.
Then her vision cleared. She saw the boy, the other Executor, backlit by the lantern, holding a knife. He crossed the room quickly. Jasmine tried to stand but found she couldn’t make the command work its way from her brain to her legs. Her lungs were buckling ineffectually.
I’m so sorry, Luc. The thought fluttered in her mind and then disappeared, like a kite on the breeze.
She was cutting in and out of consciousness, and she saw everything in choppy images. The boy was above her. His knife was raised. The girl said something, but Jas couldn’t make sense of the words. There was a throbbing pain in her head.
The knife gleamed in the lamplight.
“I’m sorry,” the boy said. A look of pain passed over his face. “But this is the way it must be.”
He tensed like an animal prepared to spring. Then he jerked violently and his hand went slack. The knife clattered to the ground. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth in a silent scream.
Blinding light filled the room, and Jas shielded her eyes.
Lightning. Lightning came out of nowhere. It ran through the boy’s whole body; his limbs jerked as if he were doing some sick dance.
There was a dull thud when he collapsed. The light disappeared.
Behind him, with sparks still dancing from his fingertips, was Ford.
Miranda watched Luc disappear with the flame into the Crossroad. She was filled with strength born of fury. The eternal flame belonged to her. She needed it.
“How could you?” she spat, lunging at Tess. She was too angry to be careful. Tess sidestepped her easily, then twisted Miranda’s arm behind her back, holding her still. Miranda grunted in pain. She hated bodies and their frailty; she would have given anything to return to her natural formlessness. But her time in Vita had weakened her.
“Stop,” Tess said. “Stop. It’s over.”
“I’ll never stop,” Miranda hissed, yanking herself free.
They were evenly matched; Tess, too, was weak. The fight could go on forever while her flame was getting farther away. Miranda reached into the folds of her gown and withdrew the locket that had led Corinthe to her death. The high-pitched notes of the music would shatter this world in seconds, and Tess would be destroyed with it.
Miranda was too full of rage to grieve. Tess had made her choice.
“I’ll destroy this world and you along with it. I’ll destroy everything in the universe if I have to.”
Before Tess could stop her, Miranda pushed the tiny spring and the tinny music began to play. The melody was beautiful, and in response the glass around them started to crack, thousands of tiny fissures spidering outward. An enormous sound, like a giant mirror falling onto a sidewalk, filled the air. The whole world seemed to vibrate.
A roar erupted around them. The creature that had tried to kill Luc earlier sounded furious. And close. Miranda dove into the entrance to the Crossroad as the entire world gave a great shudder and shattered, exploding into millions of razor-sharp pieces.
Tess dove into the Crossroad right behind her and grabbed her ankle. Pain unlike any she had ever felt before radiated through Miranda. She kicked out at Tess but couldn’t catch her breath.
The glass shards permeated the Crossroad exit and pierced her skin in a million di
fferent places. Tess was not immune, either, and Miranda heard her screams of pain before a blinding light appeared and Tess was gone.
When the fiery inferno became too much for her to bear, Miranda threw back her head and screamed. She longed to burst free from herself, to streak across the universe in one last defiant blaze of fire, but that took energy she didn’t have.
As if mocking her wish, a tiny light streaked across the blackness. Then another. Soon, a shower of sparks lit up the vast unknown around her, a meteor shower of epic proportions. It reminded her of Rhys, of the beauty they had once created together.
Miranda watched, transfixed, paralyzed by its beauty, by the memories it evoked.
But then the direction changed. The sparks began heading toward her as if thrown by thousands of unseen hands. She could do nothing to protect herself. They pierced her body over and over, like tiny spears, and she felt a scream rip through her.
“Rhys!”
She could only cry out for him, his name, his memory, the only thing holding her together.
One last flash of bright light blinded her, and then she found herself lying facedown on a red-sand beach. Sand lodged under her nails as she fought to rise. A crippling stab of agony shot through her middle, and she gasped. What was happening to her? Even her birth—fiery, forged from a collision of two stars—had not been so painful.
“This is your own fault, Miranda.” Tess stood over her, panting, blocking out the glare from the two suns overhead.
Miranda had never wanted to return to this desolate red world that had been Rhys’s eternal prison. Of course the Unseen Ones would send her there to die, too.
“What’s happening to me?” Already her throat grew dry. This world would suck the life from her, especially in her weakened state. Rhys would have a potion to cure her. Her next thought sent a new kind of pain through her.
Rhys was dead.
They were connected, born from the same stars, and she felt it the moment he ceased to exist. Half the fiery life inside her had been extinguished. It had made her weaker and yet fueled her desire for revenge.
