by Shaila Patel
After a few more minutes, the shadows swallowed my view completely. I returned to my book, flipping to one of my favorite parts.
Another flicker of light from the roof caught my attention. He was holding the device closer to his face, and it provided enough brightness for me to see he was looking right at me. When the white of his teeth lit up the night with his smile, I slammed myself into the back of my seat.
Crap!
With my overhead reading light, I’d been in plain view while he’d been sitting in obscurity. I pulled the sheers closed, turned off the light, and flew off the window seat. My heart was drumming against my chest. I crouched on the floor, afraid he could still see me.
He’d been watching me!
For how long? Oh God. Had he seen me picking my teeth? We’d had blackberries with dinner, and the seeds were driving me bananas. My blood was pulsing behind my left ear, and my fingers were trembling.
What do I do now? Had he seen me watching him?
I found enough strength in my wobbly legs to stumble to the door and switch off the main ceiling light I’d turned on earlier. I crawled back to the window seat, inching away the sheers for a peek. With the moon hidden behind clouds, darkness had swallowed up his roof. At least he couldn’t see me now.
My breath rushed out, and I shook out my fingers. I didn’t dare turn the lights back on. Yup. Time for bed.
I fumbled for my pajamas in the dark and dived under the covers. I stared at the closed window for what had to be hours. My mind was too wired to sleep. His smile kept flashing in my head. It felt comforting, but unnerving—like performing my favorite dance on stage in front of an audience.
I took out my poetry journal from beneath my pillow—the one marked Math to disguise it from Mom—and scribbled out another one of my corny couplets to relax me.
Shoulders slumped, heart so sad,
A wondrous smile that made me glad.
I crossed out the word glad and changed it to mad. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but my poems were like my diary.
And today felt like a day worth remembering.
CHAPTER 5
Liam
I’d unpacked more boxes and had set up my seventh room in as many years. The summer had ended far too fast. As always, the first part of it had been spent on our royal estate outside Dublin with Ciarán and the rest of the family. This year, instead of finishing up the summer in Wales, where Mum’s parents had another home, I’d visited Ciarán’s flat in the city to check out Trinity University, since I was hoping to be enrolled there next year. I’d finally be moving on with my life and damn if that wasn’t a relief.
My summers back home had always been the recharge I’d needed before returning to the States. Each time I’d meet a new target here, I couldn’t help but catch some of Da’s excitement over finding my soul mate. I’d let myself get wrapped up in the idea, only to be disappointed by another false lead. It was hard to shake the idea of finding The One when it’d been a part of my life since Da’s first vision about me. I’d been only six, for Christ’s sake.
Would this time be any different? Or would I fall for the excitement again, despite my intention not to?
Da knocked on my door and let himself in. “So are you sorted then?”
“I am. Can’t you tell?”
He walked over to the dresser and took up the photo Ciarán had been looking at. I’d wedged it between the frame and the mirror along with the rest.
“Ahh,” he said. “That’s a special one, isn’t it? Your ma was happy as the day you were born.”
I was only four in the photo. Da was wearing these God-awful neon-yellow and orange striped swim trunks. Ciarán and I had been wrapped in tacky Aladdin towels.
“I still have those swim trunks.”
I laughed. “Please, Da, don’t wear them, yeah? You could get deported. Fashion crime and all that.”
“Oh, go on with you. They’re not as bad as all that.”
He tapped the photo against the palm of his hand a few times and wedged it back. He seemed a bit wistful, but I couldn’t be sure why. As a non-empath, he’d also been taught how to block his emotions. Grandma Whelan and Da’s siblings were all empaths—it was probably a matter of sanity to keep his feelings to himself, given how rowdy Da’s side of the family could be. Unlike Ciarán though, Da often slipped and relaxed his guard—especially after a pint or two at the local.
In the picture, Mum was kneeling down beside me with a love in her eyes that, thanks to the photo, I’d not be soon forgetting. I remembered her smoothing my wet hair and telling me how proud she was of me. I smiled at the memory. I’d sensed my first outside emotion that afternoon. From then on, I was an empath like her. And Ciarán had called me a ma’s boy ever since. It annoyed me, but what brotherly slagging didn’t?
Da reminisced while I sorted my desk. His trips down memory lane were easy to follow, as worn as the path was. He kept stopping to ask if I was listening.
Before he could do it again, I interrupted him. “Da! Was there a reason for coming in here?”
“Sure. Your ma’s got herself a migraine. The attic fan is kerplunking like it’s on its last gasp, and she’s seeing red and green spots. Let’s see what can be done about it, yeah? Her poor head can’t wait for a repairman come Monday.”
He grabbed a newly emptied box and dropped it out in the hallway. “Here. Bring this.” He gave me the ladder that he’d left out there, and I followed him as he carried the toolbox.
We used the top-floor veranda off my parents’ bedroom to climb up to the roof. A small nook by the chimney became the perfect seat while I’d be waiting to do what he asked of me. I surveyed the neighborhood and wondered where this next potential soul mate could be.
“Here we are above the treetops, just like I’d said we’d be.”
“There are no girls on the roof. In case I needed to point that out.”
He huffed. “My visions aren’t always literal, Liam. You know that better than any.”
Most of what he saw was more than vague. At least knowing she was Indian helped narrow down the options when we came to a new location. How he used his visions to drag us from city to city was a mystery to the likes of me. Too many “clues” seemed to have been misinterpreted over the years.
“How can you not understand?” he asked. “The signs I get, they’re all meant to be put together like a puzzle. With the pieces we have, we’re getting closer, yeah?” He pointed a pair of pliers at me and then all around us. “We might be right at her doorstep.”
Yeah, whatever.
I helped him take apart the fan, and he whistled old drinking songs while he worked. As cheesy as the tunes were, the sound of them made me miss home even more.
“Don’t forget the other puzzle pieces, Liam. She’ll be bighearted, dances like an angel—”
“I know. I know. Shining black hair, smart as a whip, powerful empath. Yeah, yeah. You seem to forget every target had most of those traits—and they never amounted to much now, did they?” He’d always made this girl sound perfect, like she was better than the Virgin Mary and St. Bridget rolled into one. “Ciarán thinks there’s no point to this bloody search. I’m beginning to agree.”
“Now you listen—” The hammer slipped. Da cursed under his breath, shaking his hand and leaving off whatever he’d been wanting to say. He went back to work, but after a few minutes of blessed silence, his sigh drew me back to himself. His head was bowed, and he shook it ever so slightly.
“How many times do I need to be telling you?” He cleared his throat. Looking up, his gaze met mine. Fear flashed across his eyes before he masked it with steely determination and a clenched jaw.
That was his reaction of late, whenever we discussed ending the search. We’d had quite a row about it over the summer. Something had him rattled, but he’d not share a bit of it. Whatever. It was his problem then.
“I’m giving you a way into the Group of Elders,” he conti
nued with another defeated sigh. “Or at the very least, a higher starting position in the Council of Ministers. You could even be first in the Line of Ascension, and once one of those Elders turns up his toes, you’re in. Your future would be set, son. A soulmated union. Think of the power, the prestige, the rare honor. Who wouldn’t be wanting that, yeah? Hand me the screwdriver, will you now?”
“And for how long have I been telling you that I’ll not be going into politics?” I slapped the handle of the screwdriver into his palm. I had to admit, the special powers bit always piqued my interest, but it was a legend, nothing more. There hadn’t been a documented soulmated union in centuries. Aside from that, why the hell would I want to be joining a group of old wankers who got off on control issues? The council members were no better. Made up of representatives from each country, all they did was kiss Elder arse and claw and manipulate their way up the Line of Ascension—all so they might be an Elder one day.
Da slammed his palm down on a shingle. “Don’t be wasting opportunity like this. I didn’t raise you to ignore your destiny.” His tone had a hard edge to it, almost as if he were getting desperate.
Just grand. There was no point arguing when he’d be getting like this.
It took everything I had not to up and leave him there.
Off to my right, the sun sat low in the sky. When I turned back toward Da, a window two doors down caught my eye. Someone was there, but the glare coming off the glass blinded my eyes. When a cloud passed over, giving a bit of shade, it was clear a girl sat watching us. She had dark hair, but since her hand was up, shielding her eyes from the sun, I couldn’t see her face.
What could she be thinking about each time she looked over our way? At this distance, she was a bit too far for me to feel empathically, not that it’d tell me her thoughts.
The sun soon fell below the tree line, and I was able to make out a pair of legs framed by the wide window. They were some damn fine looking legs too. She sat propped up against the side of the window, and as high up as she was, she must have been on a window seat. Thank God for my heightened vision. I’d been lucky enough to inherit an enhanced sense, though no one else in my family had. I always thought of it like winning the genetic lottery.
Even without the glare of the sun, a shadow still masked her face, but her shapely legs kept me looking her way. I adjusted my shorts and then rubbed the back of my neck. To say this soul mate business was brutal on my sex life—or lack of one—was an understatement.
Going beyond just fooling around with any of the targets left me feeling uncomfortable. I’d play the part of a loving boyfriend, sure, but I couldn’t take advantage of them, knowing I’d be moving along as soon as Da’s next vision confirmed what I already knew—that I hadn’t found The One yet. But why should I go about at my age thinking of every girl I took a gander to as a potential mate for life? Who could have a bit of fun with that sort of pressure?
I left to get a bottle of water and came back to find Da packing up. The girl had turned on a reading lamp above her, but a shadow still covered her face.
“Leave the ladder, yeah? I’m going to stay up here and listen to some music.”
Da shrugged and left.
“Crash Into Me” by the Dave Matthews Band played from the eighties and nineties playlist on my mobile. The raw quality of the song appealed to me. It was how I’d always imagined feeling about this soul mate Da kept harping about. Maybe I was just a romantic like Ciarán had said—one who was waiting for the right girl to come along but couldn’t admit it.
I huffed.
That ended here. After twelve years of this—the last six far enough away from home—I was done.
I wasn’t eager to find another false lead, but damn if the curiosity about our neighbor didn’t needle me. I’d guard myself against getting my hopes up too high. No point repeating the disasters I’d had with my past targets. Finding and getting to know the girl would be a job and nothing more. I looked into the sky and smiled. Why hadn’t I thought to do this before?
The girl stepped away from her window seat, swaying to some music she must be playing in the background. Before long, she was dancing around, slipping in and out of my view. Soft and graceful were the words coming to mind. I craned my neck to follow her when I could.
Ah, she’s a dancer. That explains those fine legs of hers. She finally disappeared from view altogether. Oddly disappointed, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and listened to the lyrics. Even behind my closed eyes, I couldn’t stop imagining her dancing in my arms.
The neighborhood sounds had died away, so I opened my eyes. It was time to head back down into the house to finish the unpacking. Dark as it was now, the girl showed up plain in the window, illuminated by an overhead lamp. She was reading and talking at the same time, like she was reciting lines. Glossy black hair, almond eyes, and a dancer. I snorted. She could be my next target—a dancer found up in the treetops no less.
I groaned. Da was right. Again.
I pulled out my earbuds and turned off the music. When I looked back her way, her gaze was fixed on me. An unexpected smile exploded onto my face, and a wave of her panic crashed into my mind.
Mother of Jaysus! She was projecting her feelings—and at this distance too. Not only was she the first target to do that, she was better at it than most lifelong empaths. Was she already one of us? But she couldn’t be. The empath community here didn’t have anyone registered as living on this street.
She threw her curtains together and shut off her light, breaking the connection between us. I laughed out loud at her reaction, rubbed my hand down my face, and groaned again.
Was I ready to go through this shite once more? I hated having my hopes going up and then dashing down like a bleedin’ carnival ride, leaving me sick at the end of it. But I didn’t have much of a choice in it. It was one last try at fulfilling Da’s visions—or failing to.
She’d be nothing but a last chance try. Nothing more. Then I could go home.
CHAPTER 6
Laxshmi
I bolted upright in bed and threw my arms out to brace myself. My chest heaved. Calm down, Laxshmi.
It was six in the morning on Monday, and as the dream faded, I looked toward the window and remembered his smile again. Darkness still clung to the glass, which made the memory seem like it had happened minutes ago instead of three nights before. I rubbed my palms over my eyes, hoping it would wipe away his smile.
What was my dream about anyway? Vague scenes of falling toward something—while screaming and then laughing—floated around in my head. I’d had the distinct feeling of someone catching me, a set of arms wrapping around me protectively.
In fifteen minutes, my alarm clock would be going off for the first day of school. I dropped my face into the pillow and groaned. What was fifteen minutes when I hadn’t slept well for the last three nights? How irrational was I to be obsessed over a new neighbor? I hadn’t even gotten a good look at him.
I showered, dressed, and made my way down for breakfast, none too eager to drop pancakes upon the nervous swarm of butterflies flitting about my stomach. Obsessing about whether I’d meet Soccer Jock on my way to school was obviously not good for my digestive health.
The slamming of pots and pans halted my steps, but reminded me it was probably Mom’s reaction to our latest family drama. At least it wasn’t about me this time. If I could push aside my anxiety about meeting our neighbor and ignore Mom’s lunacy, I might just be able to enjoy what the first day of school meant—escape.
As expected, Mom was starring in her own Indian soap opera, the kind with melodramatic sighs and spectacular hand gestures involving a spatula. The only thing needed now was obnoxious sound effects and exaggerated camera angles. Her sister-in-law had broken the news yesterday that my cousin, Sujata, was dating a white boy. I couldn’t have been more thrilled. I’d known Sujata and Michael had been dating for two years at Georgetown, but my surprise-face when Mom told me the news cou
ld’ve won me an Oscar.
All in the name of self-preservation.
I plopped down at the old Formica table my parents had gotten from a thrift shop when they’d first moved to the States. It was surrounded by three mismatched chairs. We could probably afford a new dinette set, but Mom wouldn’t hear of it. The table was shoved against the wall between the entry to the kitchen and a metal bookcase that served as our pantry. She’d paid a whole dollar for it at a yard sale. The side was now covered in magnets.
Mom took my entrance as an invitation to speak. “Harshnaben should have made Sujata stay close to home and not let her go to the Georgetown.”
“It’s a prestigious university, Mom.”
She huffed and poured pancake batter on the griddle.
Sujata had sent me an email yesterday morning to warn me about the upcoming fallout. Mom would see Sujata’s defection as the worst kind of influence on me. Chernobyl was nothing compared to the plume now hovering over our little street in Cary.
By the time I’d eaten half my pancakes, Mom’s tirade about how Sujata was ruining her life expanded to include me—how I was wasting my potential, how I was becoming too Americanized, and how I was disrespecting all the sacrifices Mom had made. If there wasn’t a button she could push, she created one.
Yup. Fallout.
I let the fork fall to the plate. A sharp edge on the chrome lip of my chair dug into the back of my legs. “This stupid chair is going to rip a hole in my jeans. God! You need to get rid of this ugly thing.”
She turned to stare at me, holding the batter bowl midair, brow wrinkled. I pushed back from the table, scraping the chair legs along the linoleum, and chucked my dishes into the sink. If I stayed here any longer, she’d wrench out my tears, for sure, and who’d want to start their first day of school with puffy eyes?
I had bigger things to worry about.
