“This way,” Truman screamed into her ear, and they headed to the other side of the bar and down another narrow hallway. This place was a maze.
The floor was sticky, and Emerson had to work to walk on it. A sickeningly sweet smoke hung in the air and made her cough. Her stomach lurched, and she was grateful it was empty. A tall figure dressed like a jester shoved two masks at them—one bright blue, the other bright green. Emerson looked at Truman.
“Do we need masks?” she asked.
“Everyone wears them at these ceremonies,” said Truman. “Faceless people do things they’d never do otherwise.”
He let go of her hand long enough to help her put on the mask and fastened the other on himself. Then he took her hand again and led her through a series of passageways, which were dark and lined on both sides with people who looked half-dead. Some leaned against the wall, and others slumped on top of one another on the floor. Emerson did her best to avoid stepping on them and failed. She realized the floor sloped continually down. She wanted to ask Truman if they were heading toward the dance floor but knew he wouldn’t hear her over the music. Besides, it was best to keep moving.
Every mask was different; the only commonalities were the wild eyes behind them. Finally the maze of hallways opened up onto the dance floor. At the far end was a bright light encircling a silver chair that looked like a throne, high above the throngs of people. The movement of their bodies matched the rhythm of the unrelenting drums. Truman pulled her to the edge of the room, directly across from the throne, and they stood with their backs against the wall.
A woman in a white slinky gown with her bleached hair coiled to one side of her head sat in the chair. Her skin glowed in stark contrast to the darkness all around her. A wild strobe light emanated from one of her eyes. Emerson could see that the bright light didn’t come from overhead; it came from the woman. The light bothered Emerson so much that she had to squint. It felt like she was looking at the sun.
The woman wore the pelt of a snow-white fox draped across her chest. In front of her was a metal table raised up above the crowd with a young boy lying on top of it. The woman stood up from her chair and stripped the fox fur from her neck to reveal a red jewel-like shield that ran from shoulder to shoulder. It sparkled, and four distinct swirls of light raced through the shield in figure eights evenly spaced across her chest. The crowd roared.
The woman inhaled deeply, lifted her face toward the ceiling, and placed her finger at the center of the young boy’s forehead while raising the other arm straight up. A streak of light screamed from her raised hand and electrified the ceiling and all the walls like lightning. The crowd roared again, and people stomped their feet as the boy’s body convulsed several times before falling still again. Light danced across the walls in a way that resembled the boy. The figure ran toward a cliff, and when he jumped off the edge, he began to fly.
Truman yanked Emerson’s arm to pull her attention away from the scene. Someone nearby beckoned them into another dark hallway nearby. Just as they reached it, someone else grabbed Emerson’s other arm and pulled her in the opposite direction so hard that she lost hold of Truman. She fell to the ground, knocking over a few other people because the space was so crowded. A mob of people began piling on top of her. Fists were flying, and screams blended with the music, which grew even louder. The weight on top of her grew heavier, crushing her. The arms and legs of the people felt like snakes slithering over her. She was choking.
With the little strength she had left, she thrust her free hand into what felt like someone’s face, which gave her just enough space to kick her way free from under the pack.
Emerson flattened herself against the wall again, paralyzed and barely able to breathe. Her stomach was hot, and a burning sensation started to spread up into her chest and face. Someone grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the wall. She had used all her strength getting free from the pile of people and had nothing left to fight whoever held her now. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.
The person ran up a sloped hallway with Emerson in tow. Eventually the person pushed open an exit door that led into an outside alley and flung Emerson face-first into a pile of snow and fell down beside her. The noise from the In-Between rang loudly in her ears. Her body pulsed with pain and burned with fever. On hands and knees, she dry heaved and gagged as her body lurched forward. She took a few deep breaths of ice-cold air and let the blustery wind wash through her.
The exit door flew open again, and Truman landed on the other side of her in the snow. He rolled onto his back with his jacket open to the cold air.
“I’ve never been so glad to be thrown out of somewhere,” he gasped.
“That could have been really bad, man,” croaked the person next to Emerson. He took off his mask and she recognized him as Kash, her dad’s assistant.
“Kash?” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving your life,” said Kash.
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
“You should be glad I saw you before she did,” said Kash.
“She who?” asked Emerson.
“The woman in the chair. Cassandra.”
“That was Cassandra?” The lights were so bright and they were so far away on the other side of the dance floor that Emerson hadn’t even recognized her. She looked so different from the woman who had fought with her mother. “Wait—how did you know it was me? I was wearing a mask.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” said Kash. Truman shot him a stern look, but Kash ignored it. “You were glowing, white as she was,” he said. “Anyone could see that. Even now. Look at your hands.”
“Shut up, Kash,” said Truman.
Emerson looked down and saw a soft white light tracing outlines of both her hands just as they had outside the Crooked Willow when she was rescuing Max.
“What’s wrong with me?” she shrieked.
“Calm down,” said Truman as he put his hand on her back. “You’re fine.”
“Doesn’t she know?” asked Kash.
“Shut up, Kash,” said Truman again.
“Know what?” yelled Emerson.
“You’re a Starlighter,” Kash said. “Just like your mother. Just like your aunt.”
Truman reached across Emerson and grabbed Kash by the front of his shirt.
“I don’t have an aunt,” said Emerson. “What’s he talking about, Truman?”
Truman huffed through his nose like a bull being prodded as he pushed Kash away and turned to Emerson.
“Let’s go back to the library,” he said. “We can talk to Jasper—”
“What is Kash talking about?” Emerson’s voice cracked.
“We need to get out of this alley. It’s not safe.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who my aunt is.”
Truman stared at Emerson, and his face softened.
“Cassandra,” he said. “She’s your mom’s sister.”
A lump filled Emerson’s throat, and tears etched hot tracks down her face.
“No. She can’t be,” she stammered.
“I’m sorry, Em,” said Truman. “We didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“We? Who else knows?”
Truman hesitated. “We all do,” he said. “Your dad, Jasper, Skylar, all of us.”
Emerson felt her heart shatter. She wanted to be angry, but she was too tired. Surprises like this seemed to be a daily occurrence in her new life.
“What would she have done if she saw me?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Truman.
“I saw the first flicker of light from your finger and grabbed you before anyone else could see you,” said Kash.
“Would she have killed me?” said Emerson.
“No, Em,” said Truman. “She would have forced you to stay.”
�
��In there? With that disgusting mass of—” She struggled to put what she’d seen into words. “What was she doing with that boy on the table?”
“I’m not sure,” said Truman.
“It’s worse than we thought, Tru,” said Kash.
“How could it be worse?” asked Truman.
“She figured it out,” said Kash. “I thought it was a lie when I heard about it. I had to see it for myself.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Emerson, her fear growing.
“She figured out how to implant memories into someone else’s mind,” said Kash. “Memories of things she dreamed up that she wants people to believe. All she does is touch a fingertip to their forehead, and they believe something that never happened. It’s brainwashing. She made that boy in there believe he could fly. She made him believe he had jumped from a cliff and lived. Total and permanent mind control.”
Truman’s face went white. “Impossible,” he said.
“It’s happening,” said Kash. “No turning back now.”
Emerson looked at Truman with fear in her eyes.
“I have to get you away from here,” he said. “Now.”
“Hey,” said Kash. “Did you get a close enough look at the Heart Mantle?”
He nodded. “But I can’t tell enough by looking at it. I have to find a way to get a sample of it.”
“Well, I guess today’s your lucky day,” said Kash.
“How do you figure that?”
Kash flung a small, sealed plastic bag at Truman. In the lamplight, the object inside sparkled like a ruby.
“You didn’t,” said Truman.
“I did,” said Kash.
“How?” asked Truman.
“I know a guy,” said Kash, smiling.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Kash. “Now get out of here. You’ve got a destiny to fulfill.”
Kash disappeared back through the exit door into the In-Between and left Truman and Emerson staring in disbelief at the gift he’d given them.
“What is that?” Emerson asked.
Truman smiled as he held up the bag with the ruby in it. “This is how we’re going to save the world.”
Even though Emerson was confused, she couldn’t help but return his smile. Truman had that effect on her.
“Do you think what Kash said is true?” she asked. “Are we fulfilling a destiny?”
“I stopped believing in destiny a long time ago, Em.”
Truman stood up, gave Emerson his hand to help her up, and they started down the alley toward the street linked arm in arm.
“I’ll tell you what I do believe in,” he said as they reached Doyers Street and headed uptown. “The power of the heart, the mind, and the gut. That’s the only holy trinity I know.”
CHAPTER 36
DEMANDING ANSWERS
When Emerson and Truman returned to the library, reality came flooding back into Emerson’s mind. Cassandra was her aunt. She was a Starlighter—like in her book, but Emerson didn’t know what it meant. Again, she felt unsteady and bewildered. She broke away and barreled toward the Atrium. As she passed Nora’s flame, it crackled loudly as if scolding her. She stopped short and looked at the flame.
“Why didn’t they tell me?” she blurted. “What else are they lying to me about?”
The flame grew small and waved gently. Emerson felt deflated and agitated all at once. The flame formed a ring above her head and let small droplets of light fall onto her head and shoulders. It was the closest her mother could get to giving her a hug, but a hug wasn’t what Emerson wanted now. She wanted desperately to understand things that seemed impossible. She put her head in her hands and sank to the floor. What she longed for more than anything was to be normal. Plainly, beautifully normal. She knew that would never happen, which only made her want it more.
She looked up and saw Truman talking to Jasper. He must be telling him what happened at the In-Between. The lights of the creative activity taking place in the world twinkled above her while the plush carpet beneath her perfectly supported and cradled her. Small pink petals danced in the air. She looked to her left and saw a cherry tree in full bloom. She knew it hadn’t been there before.
Emerson approached the tree like someone might approach a forbidden object; with equal parts fascination, confusion, and curiosity. She walked slowly and deliberately, one foot in front of the other until she found herself under the tree’s massive boughs, which were loaded with pink and white blossoms. It was like walking through a cloud. The trunk of the tree was tinged with gold flecks that reflected the warm light of the Atrium. Emerson inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers and let it fill her lungs. Her heartbeat began to slow down.
“That’s the hardest part about life,” said Jasper. “How fleeting it is, how quickly it passes, and how powerless we are to hang onto anything but the moment before us.”
Streams of tears expressed the emotions that flooded Emerson’s mind. Jasper stood beside her but made no attempt to comfort her the way her mother had.
“This tree appears only when someone needs to be reminded that though life is fleeting, its moments can hold an infinite amount of beauty,” said Jasper.
“You lied to me,” said Emerson.
“All truth has layers. I gave you the layers I thought you could handle at the time,” said Jasper. “And even then, I think I went too far.”
“From now on, I’ll decide what I can handle,” said Emerson.
Jasper arched his right eyebrow. Her strength shocked them both. Despite her anger, she saw the immense stress he was under. The twinkle in his eye had been replaced with a faraway stare. His face looked hollow, sunken, and sad. Though she felt sorry for him, she was still angry.
“Tell me the rest of the story,” said Emerson. “The other layers. All of them.”
“You’ve earned that,” said Jasper. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
“Let me get Friday.”
“Friday’s still at Mrs. Morgan’s with your dad,” said Jasper.
“So my dad doesn’t know I went with Truman?” asked Emerson.
“No,” said Jasper.
“Good. I’d like to keep it that way. Where are we going now?”
“To see if you know your future.”
CHAPTER 37
A ROOM WITH A VIEW
Oliver and Friday stood on Columbus Avenue admiring the iridescent light of the Hayden Planetarium, a beacon that cut through Oliver’s dark thoughts. He ran through the script in his mind as he contemplated his last best hope to protect Emerson. This was a big favor to ask, and he couldn’t leave without securing exactly what he and Emerson needed. He had to be confident in his persuasive talents.
He and Friday plunged down the winding path toward the planetarium’s glowing orb, which appeared suspended in a glass cube.
Oliver pulled his coat collar high and tight around his neck to block the frigid night air and looked back several times to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Friday clung to Oliver’s side and matched his stride. When he reached an enormous wooden door, Oliver rang the bell and heard footsteps shuffling inside.
“Who’s there?” said a woman’s thin voice.
“It’s Oliver, Mrs. Morgan.”
“One second, dear.”
After a number of clicks and slides, the ancient wooden door creaked open.
“Come in, Oliver. Come in. You must be freezing. Oh, and you brought your bodyguard, I see.” Mrs. Morgan played with Friday’s velvety ears, and he reveled in the attention. “I was happy to get your call. I was worried about Emerson. How is she?”
“She’s fine. I might ask you the same, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Thanks to your daughter, I’m fine, too. A brave thing she did, for all of us. Is she recuperating?”
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p; “She’s made a lot of progress,” said Oliver. “Almost fully healed. Physically, anyway.”
Mrs. Morgan smiled. “Children are remarkable that way,” she said. “Such speedy healers. They adapt to change and recover from injury so much quicker than old folks like me. But be careful, Oliver. Watch her closely. Take it from an old woman who’s known a fair amount of suffering—it’s the wounds we can’t see that take the most time to heal.”
“I suppose they do,” said Oliver.
“And what about you, dear?” asked Mrs. Morgan. “How are you?”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“Sit down. I’ll make you some tea,” she said.
Mrs. Morgan shuffled toward a stand-up kitchen area in the corner of her office. Her rounded shoulders and slight stoop made her look like an alchemist as she poured steaming water into teacups. Oliver looked through the wall of glass that framed the deep and twinkling sky. Friday settled into a cozy spot and closed his eyes.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here,” said Oliver. “I forgot how beautiful the view is from up here.”
“It’s my favorite view in all the world,” said Mrs. Morgan as she placed a tray with the steaming cups of tea on a small table between two leather chairs. “Nothing inspires me more than the beauty of the stars.”
“They always help me dream,” said Oliver.
“We see in them what we want to see in ourselves,” said Mrs. Morgan.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’ve never been wrong,” said Mrs. Morgan with a chuckle.
“Not in all the years I’ve known you.”
“Those stars are magical,” she said. “But it’s so important to remember that we’re magical, too, Oliver. Every bit as magical as those stars. We are those stars, remember? All of us. Cut from the same cloth. Emerson especially.”
Oliver and Nora had loved visiting Mrs. Morgan here. She would explain the wonders of the universe to them in a way that made them want to learn more. People couldn’t see the stars from most spots in New York City because there was too much ambient light, but Mrs. Morgan’s wall was made from a special type of glass she’d invented so that she could observe all the glory of the night sky. It was breathtaking.
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