by Amy Marie
I lay silent in his grasp, not wanting to talk about the upsetting past anymore.
He grabs my hand, enclosing it in his. His fingers close around my left ring finger. “And what about now?” he asks.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen unguarded fear in his eyes.
“Darcy, I…” I’m at a loss for words.
His feelings are all his own. Mine come from a combination of two lives, probably more. Can I trust that to be love? Can I allow myself to have those feelings in this life and risk losing it all? I’m staring into the eyes of my unmistakable soul-mate, and I’m still afraid of the risk.
He nods, understanding. I’m suddenly placed aside as he turns away to go to sleep.
My hand reaches out, wanting to turn him back to me. But I stop myself, afraid.
Turning towards the wall, I close my eyes with a sigh.
I’m not sure if it came from me, or from him, or possibly from my subconscious as I fall asleep, but I barely hear a whisper of the unspoken words, “I love you.”
Chapter 12
I wake the next morning to an empty bed. Darcy’s gone.
Walking out for breakfast, I stop Uncle Mike in the kitchen. “Do you know where Darcy is?” I ask him.
“Darcy had a dream of his own last night. He immediately woke to tell me. He was quite startled. The reminiscence hasn’t come back to him as easily as it has for you.”
Darcy had a dream? And he didn’t share it with me? I look to the ground. Did last night’s unspoken words set us back again?
“Did he say what it was about?” I ask, scrunching my forehead.
“Air,” Uncle Mike says with an insuppressible grin.
My heart pounds in excitement.
“Where is he now?” I ask.
“He’s researching up in the library. I think he wanted to be alone to gather his thoughts,” Uncle Mike says adding jam to his toast. “Will I see you upstairs today, my dear?”
“Yes,” I say distracted. “I just need to speak to Dylan first.”
“Alrighty. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll be in my office. There’s some archive work I’ll need your help with.”
“I’ll be up soon,” I nod as he departs through the secret door.
I nibble on some toast while tidying up the kitchen. I’m just about to give up on stalling when Dylan finally wakes up.
“Mornin’,” he says with a big smile.
“Good morning,” I greet him. “Breakfast?”
“Yes, please. Has everyone left already? I’ve got to meet with an insurance guy about the office building.” He says rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yep, I’m about to head up to work myself. I have a class this afternoon, but afterwards, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?” I offer him some toast.
“Sure. Anything. You did save my life,” he smiles, accepting the breakfast.
“I’m going to meet Lilly around 4:00 at her place. I don’t want to go alone and upset everyone. Would you like to come along?”
“I’d love to go see Lilly with you.” He’s quite enthusiastic. I’m guessing he really means he’d love to see Lilly.
“Great. Don’t mention it to anyone else just yet. Everyone’s been so tense lately.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea not to tell the others?” he asks.
“Just for now. I’ll text Uncle Mike when we’re on our way.” I assure him.
“Oh, okay. I’ll meet you upstairs just before 4:00 then,” he agrees with a smile. “Thanks for the toast!”
Dylan exits the sanctuary, and I follow up a few minutes later.
“Hey, Uncle Mike. What did you need from the archives?” I ask, settling in to work.
“Well I’ve been attempting to look into the amulet you described in your dream. I’ve looked for anything that references the protective feeling you spoke of. Based on the timeframe and setting, I kept coming up with eye symbols. Some are destructive and some are protective. Can you pull the records and see if anything is familiar to you?”
I didn’t realize today’s work was going to coincide with my dreams. But I’m grateful for the distraction. “Sure, I’ll go have a look. Is Darcy still researching?” I ask.
“I believe he’s in a private room in the library,” he says distractedly as his phone rings.
I give a wave of understanding on my way out and head up to the library.
Looking through some books on ancient Egyptian texts, I page through archive after archive of ancient gods. Gods of suns and moons, earth and air, fire and water – everything that my life is currently revolving around.
Growing up, I loved learning history and grasping any connection to ancient times. I even loved getting lost in the stories of mythology, a nice escape from the harsh realities of adolescence.
Now I have the biggest connection right in front of me. These gods – they could’ve been elemental souls. Not just in Egyptian times, but throughout history. Every form of mythology: Greek, Norse, Hindi, Aztec, Celtic, the list goes on and on. Every religious or pagan tale, they have so many similarities. People have been fighting throughout the history of mankind to put up boundaries between their religions and their cultures, and they’ve ignored the similarities. The possibilities that we could all be connected to one similar belief.
Uncle Mike stresses the importance of interpretations. They divide us, but when you look at everything side by side, they could unite us.
I tap my pencil on my notebook, poring over religious philosophies in my mind. I was raised Catholic by my parents, and then Char’s family too. I feel a comfort in my own way of how I send up quick little prayers. It brings me back to my roots. But I’ve never felt like it was the only way. I’ve always been open to the idea of faith more than religion. Part of me must’ve always known, there’s so much more to the story than we could ever understand. What qualifies men to put boundaries and labels on spirituality?
Aren’t we all right by just believing in good?
My eyes are drawn down to the depiction of the Egyptian god, Ra. The bird-headed man representing the sun.
I guess this is supposed to be me.
A quick laugh escapes me and I turn the page. The title on the next page stops me dead in my tracks.
The Legend of the Destruction of Mankind – translated by E. A. Wallis Budge.
In the legend, Ra commands his gods to gather around him, and calls for his eye. The gods, representing the elements, gather around and he sets forth his eye to destroy those he wanted to rule.
Destruction, caused by the sun god.
Not me. Lucifer.
I look at the symbol of the eye of Ra. Something tingles in the air around me. I’m brought back to the words of the Shaman. Seek the eye.
I close my eyes and in my mind’s eye, my hand closes around an amulet. The pendant is in the shape of a triangle, but there’s some sort of etched design inside. Tracing my finger along an oval shape I can almost picture what I’m feeling. In the middle, a raised circular stone, like a jewel. Like an iris.
My own eyes pop open.
The amulet was an eye!
But the eye of Ra was destructive. I shudder at the idea of wearing an amulet of such awful power.
Or maybe it was only destructive if the power was used selfishly?
Images of Lucifer and a war of angels, morph into Egyptian gods and a battle of ancients. The stories are too similar.
I look to the eye, pulling out the stone gift from the Shaman. I’m supposed to seek the eye. Does that mean literally, like seek the amulet? Or figuratively, like I’m researching now? I feel like there’s still something I’m missing.
Hmm…
The eye has been a symbol used throughout other cultures as well. A symbol of watchfulness and protection. Maybe, I’m just looking at this from the wrong perspective.
I turn the page of another book.
The eye of Horus – another interpretation. One of protection this time. Eastern r
eligions reference a third eye, the path to knowledge. Countless other beliefs, pagan and monotheistic, speak of an all-seeing eye.
I’m startled to look down at my notebook and see that I’ve drawn out about ten different versions of an eye symbol. I didn’t even realize what I was doing.
There’s more to this eye thing than I’m seeing.
Well, that’s ironic!
The thought makes me giggle and realize I must look insane. It’s definitely time to take a break.
Looking for an escape, I wander past the private rooms to find Darcy. Maybe my trigger can help me somehow.
He’s alone, paging through a textbook. I knock on the door, startling him. When he sees me, he starts to smile, but then remembers how we left things last night, and looks away uncomfortably.
Not again.
Taking matters into my own hands, I walk right up to him as he gets out of his seat. Just as he’s about to say something, I grab his face and pull him down into a kiss.
“What was that for?” he asks when we part.
“Darcy, just because I don’t want to marry you quite yet, doesn’t mean I’m not falling for you.”
There, I said it.
I squeeze my eyes closed in fear of what I’ve finally admitted. Or maybe my bigger fear is his response.
“Nora,” his soft voice prompts me to open my eyes.
His smile is crooked. It’s the most wonderful imperfection I’ve ever seen in my whole life.
“I have always loved you,” he says tucking my hair behind my ear. “I have just been waiting for you to catch up. It will always be you and me, till the end.” His forehead presses against mine, and finally it feels like something might’ve clicked into place.
He kisses me again and I push my body into his. He pushes back and suddenly I’m backed up against the table. I sit on the edge while his hands run down… well, they’re everywhere. My legs squeeze around him, pulling him closer.
His kiss moves to my neck and up, tickling my ear.
I giggle, opening my eyes.
My breath halts.
A shocked Mrs. Spacey is stopped, walking past the doorway of the private room with her mouth hanging agape. Her eyes couldn’t open any wider without popping right out. The look of scandal covering her face has me plugging my nose to stop from laughing. A quiet snort escapes me.
Darcy turns around in dismay. Judging by the color on the back of his neck, I’d say Mrs. Spacey has a good view of how red Darcy can turn in embarrassment.
“Ach, shite,” he mumbles in the most Scottish accent I’ve ever heard him use.
I quietly stand and straighten the books on the table.
“Mrs. Spacey, is there something pressing that brought you here?” Darcy asks, trying to compose himself.
Mrs. Spacey straightens her cardigan and mumbles something about propriety as she stalks off.
I can’t help but laugh as Darcy turns back to me, red-faced.
“We may have gotten a little carried away,” he smiles, raising one eyebrow.
“Ahem,” someone clears their throat behind him.
We both turn to find a stern Uncle Mike now standing in the doorway.
“It would seem Mrs. Spacey just stalked past mumbling something about private library rooms not being used for private parts. You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” He scowls at us over his glasses.
Instantly, the open books on the table have become very interesting to me.
Darcy’s voice is higher than normal. “No idea…” he clears his throat. “While you are here, Michael, I have found the air elemental. Well, the one from the eighteenth century, anyway.”
I look to him wide-eyed, and he smiles. “I was about to tell you,” he shrugs and looks down, blushing. “I got distracted.”
He points to a book labeled Firsts in Aviation.
Aviation?
“But I thought the Wright Brothers were the first in aviation. Weren’t they born in the nineteenth century?” I ask.
“They were the first to fly an airplane. But there was flight before that.” He points to an illustration of a giant balloon. He then pulls out a chair for me to sit next to him.
“Hot air balloons?” I ask, taking a seat.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, there was a French man by the name of Jean-Francois Pilatre de Rozier. He was the first to fly in a hot air balloon.”
“And you think this man was the air elemental? What makes you say that?” I ask.
“The reminiscence. I had a dream last night. I think lying in bed with you triggered it to come back to me. It has been quite some time since I have had such a vivid dream.”
I smile. He thinks sleeping in my bed helped trigger his memories? Maybe it did? Maybe we should keep trying? Devious thoughts distract me.
Uncle Mike moves to take a seat across from us at the table.
“Have you told her your dream?” he asks Darcy.
“Was just about to, before… ah. Yes, right.” He blushes while continuing, “In my dream, I saw him. This man.” He points to copy of an illustrated portrait of the Frenchman. “He was a chemist and a physicist. He was obsessing over the idea of hydrogen and other elements to control movement in the air.”
“Wait a second,” I say looking into the book. “This says his first flight was in 1783. That was over a decade after everything had happened with us.”
“Right. Well, my dream was well before his first flight. It was when he was a student, studying in Paris. It was right around the same time I had met Eleanor, and I am guessing close to the same time your dream about the fire soul took place.”
“What makes you say that?” asks Uncle Mike.
“Because, he was planning to go to America. He was coming to look for us,” Darcy responds.
“What stopped him?” I ask.
“The ship in the dock that was meant to take him to America exploded and sank in the harbor. He was supposed to be onboard. After that, he was so afraid of getting on a boat, he dedicated his life to finding a way across the ocean by air. Of course, by then, it was too late. Eleanor had already disappeared, and I had been cursed. But he did not know that.”
The need to find the dark and the light soul drove this man to take part in history’s first flight? How extraordinary.
“What happened to him?” I ask.
“He died on one of his flights. He was attempting to cross the English Channel. I bet he would not have stopped until he crossed the ocean.”
“This is remarkable!” Uncle Mike exclaims.
“But how does it help us find our current soul?” I ask, pulling the book closer to me to examine the portrait of the young Frenchman.
“Think about it. We found our lifeguard. The new soul must be connected to aviation!” Uncle Mike exclaims.
“But aviation has transformed since then. There are countless jobs. Hot air balloonists, sky-divers, gliders, astronauts, air traffic controllers…” Darcy continues listing off various jobs and I concentrate on the book while he’s talking.
My eyes go out of focus. My mind falls into a vision, and I’m no longer in the library.
“Pilatre! Pilatre!” A young boy is waving at the man in the balloon as it lifts off from the ground. The man turns from the basket and gives a small wave in return as he lifts off.
Pilatre.
I come out of my vision focusing on the letters of the element soul’s name.
Pilatre… sounds like…
“Pilot!” I exclaim, and immediately, I’m sure of it. “It’s got to be a pilot!”
Chapter 13
After the discovery, Uncle Mike assured me that Rafe would be able to cross reference all Federal Aviation Administration Pilot Certification records by name, then cross-reference to see how many of the names connect with anything that has to do with air. My mind can’t wrap around the details of such a task, but I’m grateful to have Rafe on board.
I sit now, anxiously looking at the clock, as my p
rofessor assigns a project over spring break. My mind wanders from the coursework, and I get caught up in the mission surrounding the Statera. I’m torn between all the tasks at hand: the new development with the air soul, researching the eye amulet, and following through with my appointment to see Lilly.
When class lets out, I make my way back to Andover Hall, and my decision of what to do next is made.
Dylan waits for me with a smile.
On our way to see the elemental guide, I send a quick text to Uncle Mike letting him know what we’re up to, and giving him Lilly’s address, just in case. I silence my phone to the reprimand that I’m sure will be coming in response.
Following the GPS to Lilly’s home, I turn down a familiar street farther inland along the same river that borders the old Grafton and Hutchinson lands.
Suddenly, I recognize where we are as we pass by the old mill buildings. The chocolate factory apartments where I found the Statera pass by, and my heart pounds in my chest.
This is a strange coincidence.
Following the river for two more blocks, the GPS alerts me that we’ve reached our destination. We pull into the driveway of a quaint colonial home. The constant spring rain that’s settled in over the past few days patters the windshield.
Lilly greets us on the porch and gives Dylan a lingering hug.
We’re welcomed inside to a simply furnished living room. The perfection of the house looks almost staged. There are no knick-knacks or pictures cluttering the tables. There’s not a hint of dust on any surface. It’s hard to believe someone lives here. Lilly must be very transient.
The gas fireplace along the outer wall holds the dance of a flickering flame, while producing enough heat to prompt me to remove my coat. My gaze wanders to the right and finds an alcove seat, with the window cracked open to allow the sneaky entry of a small draft. The interior wall is decorated with a credenza that holds a small plug-in water fountain, while the wall separating the room from the kitchen opens with a breakfast bar where a group of small potted plants sit.
The protective element charm. Lilly notices my eyes wandering around the room and says, “Yes, Nora, you will be safe here.”
