by Melinda Metz
Michael took another step away from her. Her scent was fogging his brain. “Isabel hasn’t had any practice with the Stones,” he answered.
Maria closed the distance between them until their bodies were almost touching again. “So take a couple of days and let her practice,” she begged in a whisper.
“I can handle it,” Michael told her. He turned and started toward the Cadillac again, Maria trotting to keep up with his long strides. “And if it’s dangerous, it’s better that only one of us is at risk.”
He heard a horn honk and glanced over. The Jeep was pulling out of the lot with Isabel, Liz, Trevor, and Alex inside. Which left Michael and Maria making the trip to the UFO museum in the Caddy—alone. Great. Yeah, this was great. He needed to be concentrating, focusing, getting ready to shatter the freaking consciousness.
Now all these Maria thoughts would keep invading his head. Not to mention all the Maria smells. And the closeness of the Maria skin. Michael climbed into the car and slammed the door as hard as he could.
The second Maria got in beside him, he threw the gearshift into reverse and jerked the car out of its parking space. He saw Maggie McMahon getting ready to pull out, but he cut her off. There was no time to be nice and polite. The sooner he got out of this car and away from Maria, the better off they’d both be. It was only fair to Maria to taper off his contact with her. And as for touching of any kind—even basic friend touching—there would be no more of that. He really had to go cold turkey. Maybe it would help if he imagined her skin was … cold turkey. Instead of soft. Instead of warm. He glanced at her bare shoulder peeking out from her tank top. Instead of very, very tempting.
“You nervous?” Maria asked, fidgeting with her colorful beaded bracelets.
“No. Of course not,” he snapped.
“Oh.” She reached over and ran one finger lightly across the back of his hand, and he almost veered into oncoming traffic. “So the way your knuckles have turned all white, that’s just normal?”
Michael realized he was gripping the wheel way, way too tightly. He forced his fingers to relax, letting the blood flow return to them.
“Don’t touch me while I’m driving, okay?” he said. He checked the rearview mirror. He checked the side mirror. He checked the street in front of him. There was a little splotch on the windshield, and Michael hit the button to squirt some water on it, then started the wipers. Lots of stuff to think about when operating a vehicle, he thought. Lots of non-Maria stuff. He snapped the wipers off and scanned the gauges—no attention available to think about Maria. Or the way her lips really were almost the color of raspberries. Juicy raspberries. Sweet raspberries.
“Michael, we just passed the museum,” Maria announced, glancing behind them, confused.
Crap. Michael made a squealing U-turn, elicitinga little squeal from Maria, and pulled into the museum parking lot. He got out of the car in record-breaking time without a second glance at his passenger.
The rest of their friends were waiting outside, and Trevor walked over to Michael as he hurried toward the outdoor stairs that led to his apartment.
“I’ll wait down here,” Trevor said. “Come get me as soon as it’s over. Or have someone else call me if …”
He didn’t finish the thought, but Michael knew what he was about to say—if you’re getting beaten so badly, you need backup just to get out alive.
“I will,” Michael promised solemnly. It seemed like there should be something else to say, but he couldn’t think what it was.
“You two could hug, you know,” Maria said from behind him. “You are brothers and everything.”
Michael and Trevor stared at each other. Then, with a what-the-hell shrug, Michael jerked his brother to him and hugged him tightly, releasing him with a thump on the back. Very manly.
“We’d better get up there,” Michael said. He reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the Stones, then trotted up to the stairs and took them two at a time. Isabel, Liz, Alex, and Maria were right behind him, causing the steps to creak and moan as the crew pounded upward. Michael was comforted to know they were there, but he was ready to get this thing done.
“Is there any way we can help once we get inside?” Alex asked, just behind Michael. It was better than having Maria right there, Michael supposed.
“Nope,” he answered firmly, sounding calm. He yanked open the door and strode into the living room, where he could hear the TV on. He found the Max thing sitting in front of the tube, which was where it had been when he left for school that morning. Michael walked straight over to him—it. “Hey, Max. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and Isabel and Liz and Alex are right. If you want to get home, we should all be helping you.”
Here goes, he thought. He clamped his hand down on Max’s shoulder and focused on making the connection.
Am I in? Michael thought. He wasn’t getting any images, the way he usually did when he connected, but he had felt kind of a click—a meeting of two pieces.
He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to relax, trying to let the images in. All he saw was blackness. Did the consciousness sense his intention? Was it trying to keep him out?
Max! Michael thought. Max! I’m here. But I’m getting blocked.
A rushing sound filled his ears, and he could feel pressure building inside his brain. Pushing from all sides. Squeezing his gray matter into a tennis-ball-size lump.
Michael’s eyes began to water, feeling like they would pop any second with the pressure. The pressure …
He dug his fingers into Max’s skin, refusing to break the connection. He knew the Stones could help him, but it was too soon to use them. He had to wait until he was sure he could direct the power into the consciousness.
The rushing sound grew louder. Something warm and wet trickled out of his left ear. Michael gathered all his energy and threw out one more mental shout. Maaaax!
The image of Max’s face flared in Michael’s mind, obliterating the darkness. He felt his brain expand, the horrible crushing pressure easing up, the roaring in his ears dimming. His whole body lightened until he was no longer sure if his feet were on the floor. Max’s face disintegrated into a swirl of colors. The most beautiful colors Michael had ever seen. So rich and vivid, he could almost feel them.
He rolled onto a patch of tangerine, letting it soak into every pore, mix with his blood, seep through every cell membrane, stain his protons and electrons and neutrons. He became the color. And the color became him. And the tangerine Michael felt good.
Above him was an expanse of saffron yellow. He stretched out his arms and pulled the color toward him, opening his mouth so he could swallow it. It traveled like liquid fire down his throat and into his stomach. The heat turned Michael saffron from the inside out. And the saffron Michael felt good, too.
He spun, weightless, free, and spotted a geyser of indigo. He had to experience it. With a hoot of pleasure he propelled himself under the spray, tilting back his head, letting the color drench him, letting it—
“Michael! No!”
Michael snapped his head up. That was Max’s voice.
You’ve got to get out! Now! Max ordered, speaking-thought to thought with Michael.
Why? Michael thought back. He stared down at his indigo hands. They were so beautiful. His body was almost coated. But he wanted more. Needed it. He dove straight into the geyser.
Noooo!
Max’s wail grew fainter, then cut off abruptly.
“Why is Michael smiling like that?” Maria whispered in Liz’s ear, her face all scrunched up. “It’s kind of … creepy.”
Liz tore her eyes away from Michael and shot a quick glance at Maria. A little shiver ran from her shoulders to the base of her spine. “I don’t know, but you’re right.”
Alex moved up closer behind them. Liz could feel his breath on the top of her head. “How do we think this is going?” he asked softly.
Liz forced herself to look down at Max’s face. It was lifele
ss, just like always. Her blood was starting to pump faster, and she was getting tense. There were too many questions here. Too many unknowns. Who knew what was going on inside Max and Michael’s heads?
“I have no idea,” she said. She felt so helpless just standing here. Watching. Not even knowing exactly what she was watching for.
“If Michael had started using the Stones, we’d definitely see the glow, even through his pocket,” Isabel said. She shifted a little closer to Liz, and now they were all standing in a tense little clump. “It seems like it’s taking too long.”
“Except this has never been done before, so there’s really no way to know how long is too long,” Alex offered.
“It just feels too long, okay?” Isabel snapped.
“I really don’t like the way Michael’s smiling,” Maria said. None of them looked at one another when they were talking. The Max-Michael connection was just too riveting.
Liz didn’t have any comforting response to Maria’s comment, so she reached out and took Maria’s hand. A moment later she felt Isabel grab her other hand. Alex stretched out his arms and managed to encompass all three of them.
And they watched. And waited. Each second stretching out until it felt as long as an hour.
Liz’s eyes began to burn with the strain. She’d been trying not to blink too much just in case. You’re not going to miss anything in two seconds, she told herself, letting her eyes close briefly.
A gasp escaped from deep in her throat when she opened them again. Max’s face was twisted in agony. Then almost instantly it lost all animation, jaw slack, eyes dull.
“Did you see—,” she began.
“Yes,” Isabel answered, squeezing Liz’s hand so hard, an arrow of pain zinged up her arm.
“What did it look like to you?” Liz demanded, keeping her eyes locked on Max in case there was another lightning change.
“What are you talking about?” Maria jumped in.
“Max’s face—for a second it looked like he was himself-again. And that something hideous was happening to him,” Isabel answered. There were tears in her voice.
“I missed it,” Alex said. He hadn’t let go of them, and he squeezed a little tighter.
“I was looking at Michael,” Maria admitted sheepishly.
Liz broke free from their little knot and slowly crossed the room toward Max and Michael. She circled them, looking for anything that might tell her what had happened, but they looked just like they had before. Maria, Alex, and Isabel joined her a moment later.
“Michael’s hand,” Maria choked out.
Liz’s throat tightened as she lowered her gaze to Max’s shoulder. She was definitely going to throw up.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Maria begged, her blue eyes wide with terror.
Liz reached out and gently gave Michael’s wrist a tug. It didn’t move. “You’re not wrong,” she told Maria. She swallowed hard before saying the next, completely ridiculous, but true words. “Michael’s hand … it’s started growing into Max’s shoulder.”
Isabel bolted toward the front door. “Trevor, get up here!” Liz heard her scream. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, then Isabel and Trevor burst back into the room. Trevor skidded to a stop in front of Michael and Max.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Alex barked. He was paler than Liz had ever seen him, and she knew she looked the same way. It was all she could do to keep from fainting at this point.
Trevor opened his mouth, then closed it and swallowed, as if his throat was suddenly too dry to let him speak. “No,” he croaked out. “But it looks like—I think Michael is being absorbed into Max. Into the consciousness.”
“Can we cut him free?” Liz asked, wincing at the thought of a knife penetrating Max’s skin. “Only one of Michael’s fingers is completely submerged, and it isn’t deep. I can see the lump.” She had to take a deep breath to keep from dry heaving.
There was a soft sucking sound, and as Liz watched, Michael’s hand slid into Max’s shoulder all the way up to the wrist.
“It’s speeding up,” Trevor said, sounding desperate.
“We’ve got to get him out!” Maria cried. She grabbed Michael by the shoulders and gave him a frantic shake. The Michael-Max thing swayed a little, but there was no other reaction.
Isabel turned to Trevor, her eyes wild. “What if we all form a connection, then connect to them?” she demanded. “Could we pull them apart that way?”
“I don’t know any more than you do,” he said, pushing his hands through his hair. “It might work. Or we might be abs—”
“Let’s try it,” Maria interrupted. She grabbed Liz’s hand, then Alex’s. Liz’s heart thumped with fear, but she squeezed Maria’s freezing cold fingers, moved closer to Max, and took his limp hand, holding on tight enough for both of them.
A connection ignited between them as soon as the circle of hands was closed. Each of their auras was like a flame in a bonfire of color—her amber, Maria’s sparkling blue, Alex’s screaming orange, Isabel’s deep purple, and Trevor’s magenta.
Where was the jade green? Where was the brick red? Where was Max? Where was Michael?
As if in answer to her thought, a plume of liquid jade arched into the bonfire, followed by a curl of red. And the fire turned into a fountain, all their auras turning to arcs of fluid color that leaped over and under one another in a dance of joy.
Other streams of color joined the fountain—tangerine, indigo, saffron, fuchsia, lilac. The colors of the connection between Liz, Maria, Alex, Isabel, Trevor, Michael, and Max grew diluted. More new colors poured into the mix, each color losing its individuality until the fountain was mud brown.
Wrong. This is wrong, Liz thought. She shook her head and felt her curly hair fly around her face.
Curly hair? Liz didn’t have curly hair. Maria was the one with the curly hair. All Liz could see was brown, brown everywhere. But she knew what was happening. They were becoming absorbed, melding together.
She tried to visualize the amber of her own aura. At first all she could come up with was the mud brown. But that wasn’t right. Amber was lighter. Amber was like a perfect piece of Adam’s toast. Like the scotch her papa sometimes drank. Like the honey Maria used instead of sugar. Like a lion’s mane. Like the wood of her abuelita’s dresser.
A spray of pure amber erupted out of the mud. Yes!
Liz felt strong now. Strong and in control. She sent out an image to Maria—the blue of a sparkling blue lake, of the spangled tutus they’d worn in their ballet recital when they were little girls, of Maria’s own blue eyes. And Maria’s blue aura arced up beside Liz’s amber one.
Alex must have figured out what he needed to do on his own because a geyser of orange burst free. Followed by one of purple and one of magenta.
Maria flung out an image of a Valentine’s Day lollipop, the deep rich red of Michael’s aura. Liz added the image of a stop sign. Alex threw in a mustang convertible with a red paint job so glossy, it looked edible. Isabel conjured up a hand with wickedlooking deep red nails. And Trevor added an image of Mars.
Liz scanned the expanse of mud. She didn’t see anything red. But a small patch was bubbling. The bubbles grew bigger, started popping faster, then a vertical stream of red rose up.
Only one to go. Max! It’s your turn, she thought. She concentrated fiercely on the image of a perfect emerald. Then she hurled it out as hard as she could.
And the connection broke.
Liz swayed on her feet as the living room of Michael’s apartment reappeared around her. She twisted around so she could see Max’s face, hoping, praying. But it was dull. Empty. No Max in there that she could see.
“Are you all right, Michael?” Isabel asked urgently.
Liz whirled around, her eyes going immediately to the hand that had been in Max’s shoulder. It was free and appeared whole and fully functioning.
“I’m fine,” Michael answered, flexing the fingers of the hand that had been absorbed. “But I guess it�
��s time to move on to our fallback plan.”
Silence fell over the group as they all looked at Max’s lifeless body.
“The fallback plan we don’t have,” Alex reminded them all.
“Do I need to be Max now? Will your parents be home soon?” Trevor asked as he sat down on Isabel’s soft, perfectly made bed.
“No. You have a couple of hours.” Isabel picked up a glass kitten from her bedside table, then grabbed a Kleenex and started to polish the kitten furiously. “I keep thinking the consciousness is going to do something to Max. You know, to punish him for us trying to use the Stones against it.”
Trevor opened his mouth to respond, but Isabel didn’t give him a chance. She rushed on, scrubbing the kitten as hard as she could. “And then when we find a way to shatter the consciousness—if we do—then what will happen to him? You said you think Max could die. And that’s not acceptable. That’s—”
The glass kitten’s tail snapped off in Isabel’s fingers. She stared down at it, tears springing to her eyes. She wiped them away viciously, using both hands.
Trevor didn’t bother trying to comfort her. He pretended not to even notice the tears since it was clear Isabel found them infuriating. Instead he took the kitten and the tail out of her hands, matched the pieces together, and used his power to nudge the molecules closer together, mending it. He set it back on the little table.
“I think the kitty’s safer over here,” he commented, forcing a smile.
Isabel gave a snort that blew a tiny, clear bubble out of one of her nostrils. He pretended not to notice that, either—although in a weird way, he found it kind of adorable.
He’d observed that when he was around Isabel, the heart of his human body beat a little faster, and sometimes a thin layer of sweat appeared between his fingers. He knew from studying the Kindred’s materials that this was an expression of attraction. Humans were such a strange species. When he’d learned about the sensations, they sounded mildly repulsive, and the sweat sort of was. But the accelerated heartbeat was actually pleasurable, making his body feel warmer and somehow more alive.
