by Lauren Kate
“Black,” he said before she had to ask.
For a moment, they sipped quietly and Eureka knew that soon she had to do it: shatter this peace. Say goodbye to her best friend. Convince Dad of absurd, fantastic truths. Evacuate. She would take this small sip of false normalcy before things fell further apart.
Dad hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked up to say hello to Cat. His face was ashen. He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Can I talk to you, Eureka?”
She followed him to the back of the kitchen. They stood in the doorway that elbowed off into the dining room, out of earshot of Ander and Cat. From the side of the stove hung the backyard landscapes the twins had painted in watercolor at their preschool. William’s was realistic: four green oak trees, a weathered swing set, the bayou twisting in the background. Claire’s was abstract, wholly purple, a glorious rendering of what their yard looked like when it stormed. Eureka could hardly look at the paintings, knowing that, in the best-case scenario, she had to rip the twins and their parents from the life they knew because she had put everyone in danger.
She didn’t want to tell Dad. She really didn’t want to tell him. But if she didn’t tell him, something worse might happen. “The thing is, Dad—” she started to say.
“Your mother said that someday something might happen,” Dad interrupted.
Eureka blinked. “She warned you.” She took his hand, which was cold and clammy, not strong and reassuring the way she was used to it feeling. She tried to stay as calm as possible. Maybe this would be easier than she’d thought. Maybe Dad already had some sense of what to expect. “Tell me exactly what she said.”
He closed his eyes. His lids were creased and damp and he looked so frail it scared her. “Your mother was prone to delirium. She’d be out with you at the park or some store buying clothes. This was back when you were little, always when the two of you were alone. It never seemed to happen when I was there to see it. She’d come home and insist that impossible things had occurred.”
Eureka inched closer to him, attempting to inch closer to Diana. “Like what?”
“It was like she would fall into a fever. She’d repeat the same thing over and over. I thought she was ill, maybe schizophrenic. I’ve never forgotten what she said.” He looked at Eureka and shook his head. She knew he didn’t want to tell her.
“What did she say?”
That she came from a long line of Atlanteans? That she possessed a book prophesying a lost island’s second coming? That a cult of fanatics might someday seek to kill their daughter for her tears?
Dad wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. “She said: ‘Today I saw the boy who’s going to break Eureka’s heart.’ ”
A chill ran down Eureka’s spine. “What?”
“You were four years old. It was absurd. But she wouldn’t let it go. Finally, the third time it happened, I made her draw me a picture.”
“Mom was a good artist,” Eureka murmured.
“I kept that picture in my closet,” Dad said. “I don’t know why. She’d drawn this sweet-looking kid, six or seven years old, nothing disturbing in the face, but in all the years we lived in town, I never saw the boy. Until …” His lip trembled and he took Eureka’s hands again. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the breakfast table. “The likeness is unmistakable.”
Tension twisted through Eureka’s chest, crippling her breath like a bad cold. “Ander,” she whispered.
Dad nodded. “He’s the same as he was in the drawing, just grown up.”
Eureka shook her head, as if that would shake the sensation of nausea. She told herself an old drawing didn’t matter. Diana couldn’t have read this future. She couldn’t have known Eureka and Ander might someday truly care for one another. She thought of his lips, his hands, the unique protectiveness that came through everything Ander did. It made her skin tingle with pleasure. She had to trust in that instinct. Instinct was all she had left.
Maybe Ander had been raised to be her enemy, but he was different now. Everything was different now.
“I trust him,” she said. “We’re in danger, Dad. You and me, Rhoda, the twins. We need to get out of here today, now, and Ander is the only one who can help us.”
Dad gazed at Eureka with profound pity and she knew it was the same look he must have given to Diana when she said things that sounded crazy. He tweaked her chin. He sighed. “You’ve had a real hard time of it, kid. All you need to do today is relax. Let me make you something for breakfast.”
“No, Dad. Please—”
“Trenton?” Rhoda appeared in the kitchen wearing a red silk robe. Her loose hair flowed down her back—a style Eureka wasn’t used to seeing on her. Her face was bare of makeup. Rhoda looked pretty. And frantic. “Where are the children?”
“They’re not in their room?” Eureka and Dad asked simultaneously.
Rhoda shook her head. “Their beds are made. The window was wide open.”
A terrific clap of thunder gave way to a faint rapping on the back door that Eureka almost didn’t hear. Rhoda and Dad sprinted to open it, but Ander got there first.
The door blew back with a sharp gust of wind. Rhoda, Dad, and Eureka halted at the sight of the Seedbearer standing in the doorway.
Eureka had seen him before at the police station and on the side of the road later that night. He looked sixty, with pale skin, slickly parted gray hair, and a pale gray tailored suit that gave him the appearance of a door-to-door salesman. His eyes glowed the same bright turquoise as Ander’s.
The resemblance between them was undeniable—and alarming.
“Who are you?” Dad demanded.
“If you’re looking for your children,” the Seedbearer said as a strong odor of citronella wafted in from the backyard, “step outside. We’d be happy to arrange an exchange.”
30
THE SEEDBEARERS
Rhoda shoved past the Seedbearer, who glanced bitterly at Eureka, then spun around to cross the porch.
“William!” Rhoda shouted. “Claire!”
Ander rushed through the door after Rhoda. By the time Eureka, Dad, and Cat made it to the covered patio outside, the Seedbearer was at the bottom of the porch stairs. At the top, Ander had tackled Rhoda. He had her pinned against one of the colonettes of the balustrade. Her arms writhed at her sides. She kicked, but Ander held her body still as easily as if she were a child.
“Let go of my wife,” Dad snarled, and lunged toward Ander.
With a single hand Ander held him back, too. “You can’t save them. That isn’t how this works. All you’ll do is get yourself hurt.”
“My children!” Rhoda wailed, keeling over in Ander’s arms.
The odor of citronella was overpowering. Eureka’s eyes traveled past the porch to the lawn. Standing among acid-green ferns and the mottled trunks of live oaks were the same four Seedbearers she’d encountered on the road. They formed a line facing the porch, steely gazes eyeing the scene Eureka and her family were making. The Seedbearer who had knocked on their door had rejoined his group. He stood half a foot ahead of the others, hands crossed over his chest, turquoise eyes challenging Eureka to do something.
And behind the Seedbearers—Eureka’s body seized and a wave of red spots swam before her eyes. Suddenly she knew why Ander was holding Rhoda back.
The twins were hog-tied to the swing set. One metal chain from each swing bound the wrists of each twin. Their arms stretched above their heads, linked by the knotted chain that had been looped over the long horizontal top bar of the swing set. The other two chains had been used to bind the twins’ ankles. Those chains were then secured in knots on the sides of the swing set’s A-frame bars. William and Claire hung at a slant.
The worst part was that the swings’ splintery wooden seats had been wedged into the twins’ mouths. Duct tape held the seats in as gags. Tears streamed down the children’s faces. Their eyes bulged in pain and fear. Their bodies shook with whimpers the gags prevented Eureka from hearing.
/> How long had they been tied up like that? Had the Seedbearers broken into the twins’ bedroom in the night, while Ander was guarding Eureka? She felt sick with rage, consumed by guilt. She had to do something.
“I’m going out there,” Dad said.
“Stay here if you want your kids returned alive.” Ander’s command was quiet but authoritative. It stopped Dad at the top step of the porch. “This has to be handled exactly right—or we’re going to be very sorry.”
“What kind of sick jerks would do that to a couple of kids?” Cat whispered.
“They call themselves Seedbearers,” Ander said, “and they raised me. I know their sickness well.”
“I’ll kill them,” Eureka muttered.
Ander relaxed his grip on Rhoda, let her fall into her husband’s arms. He turned to Eureka, his expression overwhelmingly sad. “Promise me that will be a very last resort.”
Eureka squinted at Ander. She wanted to kill the Seedbearers, but she was unarmed, outnumbered, and had never punched anything more animate than a wall. But Ander looked so concerned that she was serious, she felt the need to reassure him it wasn’t a fully cooked plan. “Okay”—she felt ridiculous—“I promise.”
Dad and Rhoda took each other’s arms. Cat’s gaze was welded to the swing set. Eureka forced herself to look where she did not want to look. The twins’ bodies were still and taut. Their terrified eyes were their only moving parts.
“This isn’t fair,” she told Ander. “It’s me the Seedbearers want. I’m the one who should go out there.”
“You will need to face them”—Ander took her hand—“but you must not be a martyr. If something should happen to the twins, to anyone else you care about, you have to understand that it is more important you survive.”
“I can’t think about that,” she said.
Ander stared at her. “You have to.”
“I think this pep talk has gone on long enough,” the Seedbearer in the gray suit called from the lawn. He motioned for Ander to wrap it up.
“And I think you four have been here long enough,” Eureka called back at the Seedbearers. “What will it take for you to leave?” She strode forward, approaching the stairs, trying to look calm even as her heart thundered in her chest. She had no idea what she was doing.
She realized there was something else disconcerting about the scene beyond the porch: the rain had stopped.
No. Eureka heard the downpour against trees nearby. She smelled the salty electricity of the storm right under her nose. She felt the humidity like a pelt over her skin. She saw the brown current at the edge of the lawn—the bayou, flooded and rough and nearly overflowing its banks the way it did during a hurricane.
The bad weather hadn’t blown over, but somehow the twins, and the Seedbearers, and the lawn they stood on, weren’t getting wet. The wind was still, the temperature cooler than it should have been.
Eureka hovered at the edge of the covered porch. Her eyes rose skyward and she squinted into the atmosphere. The storm roiled overhead. Lightning surged. She saw the torrent of raindrops falling. But something happened to the rain along its path from the turbulent black clouds to Eureka’s backyard.
It disappeared.
There was a foreign dimness to the yard that made Eureka claustrophobic, as if the sky were caving in.
“You’re wondering about the rain.” Ander extended an open palm beyond the limit of the porch. “In their immediate vicinity, Seedbearers have power over wind. One of the more common ways it’s used is to create atmospheric buffers. The buffers are called ‘cordons.’ They can be any shape and many magnitudes.”
“That’s why you weren’t wet when you came through my window last night,” Eureka guessed.
Ander nodded. “And that’s why no rain falls in this yard. Seedbearers don’t like to get wet if they can help it, and they can almost always help it.”
“What else do I need to know about them?”
Ander leaned in to her right ear. “Critias,” he whispered in a voice that was nearly inaudible. She followed his gaze to the male Seedbearer on the far left and realized Ander was giving her a primer. “We used to be close.” The man was younger than the other Seedbearers, with wild cowlicks in his thick silver hair. He wore a white shirt and gray suspenders. “He used to be almost human.”
Critias watched Eureka and Ander with such inscrutable interest Eureka felt naked.
“Starling.” Ander moved on to the ancient-looking woman wearing slacks and a gray cashmere sweater who stood to Critias’s right. She seemed barely able to hold herself up on her own, but her chin was lifted assertively. Her blue eyes beamed a frightening smile. “She feeds on vulnerability. Show none.”
Eureka nodded.
“Albion.” The next Seedbearer in line was the man who had knocked on Eureka’s back door. “The leader,” Ander said. “No matter what happens, do not take his hand.”
“And the last one?” Eureka glanced at the frail, grandmotherly woman in the gray floral sundress. Her long silver braid draped over her shoulder, ending at her waist.
“Chora,” Ander said. “Don’t be fooled by her appearance. Every scar on my body comes from her”—he swallowed, and added under his breath—“almost. She crafted the wave that killed your mother.”
Eureka’s hands balled into fists. She wanted to scream, but that was a kind of vulnerability she refused to show. Be stoic, she coached herself. Be strong. She stood on the dry grass and faced the Seedbearers.
“Eureka,” Dad said. “Come back here. What are you doing—”
“Let them go.” She called to the Seedbearers, nodding in the twins’ direction.
“Of course, child.” Albion extended his pale palm. “Simply place your hand in mine and the twins will be unbound.”
“They’re innocent!” Rhoda moaned. “My children!”
“We understand,” Albion said. “And they’ll be free to go as soon as Eureka—”
“First unbind the twins,” Ander said. “This has nothing to do with them.”
“And nothing to do with you.” Albion turned to Ander. “You were released from this operation weeks ago.”
“I’ve reenlisted.” Ander glanced at each Seedbearer, as if to ensure they all understood which side he was on now.
Chora scowled. Eureka wanted to lunge at her, to yank every long strand of silver hair from her head, to yank out her heart until it stopped beating, like Diana’s had.
“You’ve forgotten what you are, Ander,” Chora said, “It is not our job to be happy, to be in love. We exist to make happiness and love possible for others. We protect this world from the dark encroachment this one wants to enable.” She pointed a hooked finger at Eureka.
“Wrong,” Ander said. “You live a negative existence with negative goals. None of you know for sure what would happen if Atlantis were to rise.”
Starling, the eldest Seedbearer, gave a disgusted cough. “We raised you to be smarter than this. Did you not memorize the Chronicles? Do thousands of years of history mean nothing to you? Have you forgotten the dark, hovering spirit of Atlas, who has made no secret of his aim to annihilate this world? Love has blinded you to your heritage. Do something about him, Albion.”
Albion thought for a moment. Then he spun toward the swing set and used a fist to belt William and Claire across their stomachs.
Both twins heaved, making retching motions as they gagged on the wooden planks stuffed in their mouths. Eureka heaved in empathy. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She looked at her hand, then at Albion’s extended hand. What could happen if she touched him? If the twins were freed, then perhaps it would be worth whatever—
A blur of red registered in the corner of Eureka’s eye. Rhoda was running for the swing set, for her children. Ander cursed under his breath and raced after her.
“Someone please stop her,” Albion said, sounding bored. “We’d really rather not—Oh, well. Too late now.”
“Rhoda!” Eureka’s shout echoed across the la
wn.
As Rhoda was passing Albion, the Seedbearer reached out and grabbed her hand. Instantly she froze, her arm as stiff as a plaster cast. Ander stopped short and hung his head, seeming to know what was coming.
Beneath Rhoda’s feet a cone of volcano-shaped earth bloomed from the ground. At first it looked like a sand boil, a bayou phenomenon whereby a dome-shaped mound rises from nothing into a powerful geyser along a flooded alluvial plain. Sand boils were dangerous because of the torrent of water they spewed from the core of their swiftly formed craters.
This sand boil spewed wind.
Albion’s hand released Rhoda’s, but a connection between them remained. He seemed to hold her by an invisible leash. Her body rose on a sprocket of inexplicable wind that shot her fifty feet into the air.
Her limbs flailed. Her red robe twirled in the air like ribbons on a kite. She soared higher, her body completely out of her control. There was a burst of sound—not thunder, more like a pulse of electricity. Eureka realized Rhoda’s body had broken through the cordon over the yard.
When she entered the storm unsheltered, Rhoda screamed. Rain siphoned through the slender gap created by her body. Wind wailed in like a hurricane. Rhoda’s red silhouette grew smaller in the sky until she looked like one of Claire’s dolls.
The bolt of lightning crackled slowly. It huddled in the clouds, lighting up pockets of dark, twisting atmosphere. When it broke through cloud and tasted bare sky, Rhoda was the closest target.
Eureka braced herself as lightning struck Rhoda’s chest with a single awesome jolt. Rhoda started to scream, but the distant sound cut off in an ugly static sizzle.
When she began to tumble downward, the flailing of her body was different. It was lifeless. Gravity danced with her. Clouds parted sadly as she passed. She crossed the boundary of the Seedbearers’ cordon, which resealed itself somehow over the yard. She thudded powerfully to the ground and left an indentation of her crumpled body a foot deep in the earth.
