Great Clarendon Street, Oxford OX2 6DP
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in
Oxford New York
Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto
With offices in
Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam
Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries
© Joss Stirling 2012
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
Database right Oxford University Press (maker)
First published in 2012
First published in this eBook edition 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above
You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Data available
ISBN: 978-0-19-279316-4
Cover artwork by Johanna Basford
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
For my sister Jane, who paddled across Venice with me.
Denver, Colorado
The night my life changed began with eating a truly amazing dessert: raspberry cheesecake with dark chocolate sauce. My sister and I had just arrived in America from Italy and were both battling really foul jetlag, the kind where your eyelids need to be propped up with matchsticks and your head feels so heavy it threatens to nod off your neck. Experience told us that we should try to stay awake until a reasonable hour or our body clocks would never catch up. This meant we had gone out to dine rather than fall onto our pillows as I would have preferred. And if we were going to sacrifice sleep for the cause, we at least deserved an excellent sweet reward. I had not been disappointed.
Diamond spent the last part of the meal carefully dissecting her portion, taking tiny spoonfuls, her appetite at zero. I’d already finished mine.
‘Have you thought what you are going to do with yourself while I’m at the conference tomorrow?’ Diamond asked. ‘You could sit in at the back but I doubt “Savant Crime: Dealing with the Offenders” would make the most riveting experience of your life.’
She knew me so well. I could do without listening to a bunch of gifted people with amazing extra-sensory perception telling us all how wonderful they are at solving the world’s problems. I couldn’t stop my yawns thinking about it so sitting through lectures on stuff I didn’t really know much about would probably induce a coma.
‘Maybe I’ll give it a miss.’
‘I don’t think they’d mind.’ Diamond had picked up the yawning from me but shrouded hers with a napkin.
‘Who are “they”?’
‘I told you.’
Was she really going to leave half her dessert? I eyed it speculatively, twiddling my fork in my fingers. ‘You did? Sorry, must’ve tuned that out. You know me: I just come along for the ride.’
Diamond sighed. She had given up on getting me to focus on the stuff she thought I should know, recognizing I had a stubborn streak that meant I only listened when it suited me. I’m one trial of a younger sister.
‘Then I’d better tell you again as you’ll no doubt meet some of the people from the conference at the social events.’ Her voice was, as ever, endlessly patient with me. ‘It’s been organized by the influential American Savant family, the Benedicts; several of them are involved in law enforcement.’
‘And this influential family just begged international peacemaker, Diamond Brook, to be their star speaker.’ I grinned at her. ‘They’re lucky to get you.’
‘Stop it, Crystal, it’s not like that.’ Diamond looked sweetly flustered by my cheerleading for her brilliance. ‘There are no stars in the Savant Net; we work together.’
Yeah, right. Forget what she said; we all knew she was something special. Unlike me. I was down as her bag carrier on these jaunts, roadie on the Diamond tour.
‘I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll go shopping.’ I scraped the last remnants of chocolate sauce off the plate, making artistic swirls with the prongs of my fork. ‘I need new jeans and Denver looks a good place to hunt for bargains—much cheaper than home. At least I’m good at shopping.’
My frivolous plans put that look on Diamond’s face, the one where her soulful brown eyes brimmed with concern. Here came the sisterly pep talk; she couldn’t resist even though we were both so tired we were drooping in our seats.
‘I was hoping, Crystal, that you might, you know, take the next few days to give some serious attention to your future. I picked up a stack of brochures for colleges so you can retake your exams. They’re in my case back at the hotel.’
I shrugged. I really did not want to go there, not while I was enjoying the lingering taste of chocolate.
‘Or if you don’t want to do that, then maybe we should start thinking about an apprenticeship? You always liked fashion and design. We could ask Signora Carriera if she needs any help for the Carnival. It would be great experience learning how to run up so many different kinds of costume so quickly. I know for a fact she has lots of work right now because she’s also making some for a big Hollywood movie shooting in Venice next month.’
That did sound interesting but the chirpy waiter was back, refilling our coffee cups with an actor’s flair. Maybe he was one, ‘resting’ between jobs like me. Though, to be honest, at nineteen, I’d not even got my career off the launch pad.
‘How’s your meal, ladies?’ he asked, his eyes on my sister, hoping for a crumb of praise. I could tell he had already fallen in love with Diamond as most possessors of the Y chromosome did.
‘It was lovely, thank you.’ She gave him one of her warmest smiles, her bobbed hair swaying slightly as she looked up. Diamond had the neat dark swing cut and features of a Cleopatra, Elizabeth Taylor-style. In Diamond’s case, the resemblance to the queen was genuine as our mother was Egyptian. Dad had been a British diplomat who fell in love with Mama on a posting to Cairo and whisked her away as his bride. We are a truly international family—Diamond and I now living in Venice, roughly halfway between our roots in the leafy Home Counties and the dusty banks of the Nile. I didn’t feel I had a strong national identity. Italy was my adopted, rather than native, country. Maybe that sense of being rootless was another part of my dissatisfaction with myself?
All politeness, the waiter finally remembered to seek my opinion. ‘And how was your dessert?’
‘Yeah, it was great.’ I smiled but his attention had already skipped back to my sister. He retreated, satisfied, his gaze lingering on Diamond ra
ther than me. I didn’t blame him: I had inherited the striking pharaoh looks, strong nose and emphatic eyebrows but none of the prettiness, as in my case the features were topped by the lion’s mane from my father’s side. Savants tend to have complicated inheritances—ours no exception. Dad had had a Venetian mother with the hair characteristic of some northern Italians: a riot of curls that included every colour from dirt brown to sun-bleached blonde. You sometimes see it in the paintings of the Old Masters but mine is not a Madonna’s smooth undulating wave but a choppy sea of a frizz. Beside my sister I always felt like the mangy lioness with a sleek, exquisite pussycat.
The tourist magnet of the Hard Rock Café was filling up with students and travellers, the noise levels soaring, our waiter pulled in many directions by numerous orders. I found my eyes drawn to a glass display case claiming to contain a genuine Michael Jackson military-cut jacket, enjoying the odd optical illusion that made my reflection look as though my head was poking out of the neck. I yawned again. What had we been talking about? Oh yeah.
‘You really want me to work for Signora Carriera? It would be slave labour.’ I knew the costume maker who lived below our apartment in Venice quite well as I often walked her dog when she was busy. She was a pleasant enough neighbour but would be one demanding boss. It made me shudder just to think about what demands she would make on my time.
Diamond pushed her dessert aside. ‘I hate to see you waste your life like this.’
‘I hate waste too. Pass that over. The cheesecake is ledge.’
‘What?’
‘Legendary.’
My sister sighed, biting back the comment that at nearly six feet I needed to watch my weight. It wasn’t that I was fat but—how did she put it?—oh yes, I was Amazonian compared to the rest of my sisters, blessed with average dress sizes. I didn’t care. Who was I out to impress? No boys asked me on a date because I was taller than them all and they feared the mockery. ‘Beanstalk’ was the friendliest of the names I had endured at the boarding school in England I had attended.
‘Crystal, don’t think I don’t understand. It was rotten losing Dad during your A level year,’ Diamond continued gently.
I forked up another mouthful, defying the flash of pain her remark sparked. Rotten didn’t even begin to describe the emotional gutting I had experienced. He had been my one admirer in my family, always on my side when I was disadvantageously compared to my six older brothers and sisters. He had found my height amusing, referring to me as his ‘little girl’ at every opportunity even though I could see the bald patch on top of his head fringed by curls when we stood side by side. No wonder I had crashed and burned spectacularly in my exams. His death had taken the best part of me with him.
Diamond touched the back of my wrist lightly, attempting to comfort me though the grief was out of reach of such gestures. ‘Mama asked me to look after you. She wouldn’t expect me to let you mark time like this for no purpose. She’d want to see you going after something that you really wanted to do.’
‘Diamond, good try. We both know that Mama is too exhausted by raising the six of you to worry too much about me.’ I had been born ten years after Diamond, who was the sixth youngest in our parents’ brood of seven, a surprise to everyone, most especially my mother, who was beyond what she thought were her childbearing years. ‘She’s ecstatic being grandma. How many is it now?’
‘Twelve between them: Topaz’s six, Steel’s two, Silver’s one and Opal’s three.’
‘I’m glad you’re keeping count; I’m a rubbish aunt. Twelve cute little grandkids to spoil and not have to take responsibility for—Mama is hardly going to get in a flap about me.’
Diamond, ever the peacemaker in our family as well as for the world, shook her head. She made that little circling gesture with her finger that had the waiter leaping to bring us the bill. ‘Mama does care but her health is not the best these days. Not since Dad.’
‘So that’s why she moved in to that granny flat near Topaz without a spare bedroom, is it?’ Listen to yourself, Crystal. I sounded so bitter. This had to stop. My predicament wasn’t Diamond’s fault. With Dad’s passing, Mama had not just lost her husband; she had lost her soulfinder, as we Savants call our life partners. I couldn’t really understand it, not having one myself, but I knew intellectually that that was a kind of death for a Savant. Her grief had held centre stage when he died and Diamond was the only one who had stepped forward to give me a hand when I had stumbled out of school with a clutch of ‘E’ grades and no future. ‘Sorry, I’m tired. You’re right: I’ll give your idea about the costumes some thought. I don’t think I can face redoing my exams.’
‘Good. You’ve got so much potential; I just want you to find a direction for it.’ Diamond gave me her special smile. She was incredibly gifted at calming troubled souls and I couldn’t help but feel a bit better for a touch of her soothing power. Her skills were much sought after in the Savant community and she was often brought in to negotiate between warring factions. We Savants are people who are born with that bit extra, perhaps a gift for telling the future, moving things with our minds, or talking telepathically, but it can lead to disputes as you get so many gifted people rubbing shoulders together like a bunch of divas at the Fenice Opera House all vying for the limelight. Diamond had the best power in our family. It was pretty cool to watch her reduce a slavering guard dog of a litigant to a fawning puppy. All my brothers and sisters had gifts to some degree. Except me.
I am the equivalent of what in the Harry Potter world is called a squib. A damp squib. As the seventh child, all had expected me to come loaded with the whole box of fireworks. Instead they got a girl who could tell you where you left your keys. Yes, that’s right. I’m the equivalent of the whistling key fob. I see the stuff you are attached to like space junk circling the earth and, if needed, can give you the general direction where to find something you’ve lost. I can’t do telepathy because when I connect to other Savants it’s like flying right into the cloud of defunct satellites and I get knocked out of orbit, so I’m almost completely useless, my gift nothing more than a party trick and aid to the careless. Still, my family are quick to make use of it.
Take yesterday. Topaz rang while we were at the airport, but not to chat about me. ‘Crystal, Felicity left her coat at school somewhere. Can you be a love and tell me where it is?’ My sister Topaz was mother to the most forgetful girl in the world.
Within reasonable distance—this case ten miles as we were changing planes at Heathrow—my gift still works. I closed my eyes. Little bit of manoeuvring between the things whirling about in Felicity’s mind and … ‘It’s fallen behind the painting table.’
‘What on earth is it doing there? Never mind. Thanks, sweetie. See you soon.’
That is the kind of conversation I have with my brothers and sisters all the time. I am the Go-to Girl for life’s clutter.
My gift is more a nuisance than a blessing. This is especially annoying because being a Savant already has a sting in its tail: all of us are destined to find the love that completes us only with our Savant counterpart, or soulfinder, like my parents had. They were incredibly lucky to meet each other, as our soulfinder is conceived somewhere in the world at the same time we are. Our lives are a search for that other person but the chances are low that we will find them as they could belong to any race, any country. Just think about it—your partner might die and leave you devastated as my mama was by Dad’s death, or they might be already married by the time you meet them. I’d heard stories of soulfinders who had met only when in their old age. You probably won’t even speak the same language. My brothers and sisters have had mixed fortunes: Steel struck lucky, meeting his Japanese soulfinder when he was twenty-five through a dating agency that specializes in Savants. His twin, my sister Silver, had not waited to find hers and had already gone through a stormy divorce. Topaz was happy with her husband, but we all knew he was not ‘the one’ though he is a great guy. Opal had found hers in Johannesburg and now liv
ed there. Our youngest brother, Peter, was like Diamond and me: still waiting.
I didn’t hold out much hope for myself: if my counterpart existed, he’d either be amazingly talented to make up for my shortcomings, and that would condemn me to a life of living in his shadow; or he’d match my feeble powers and be so weak that we’d barely sense each other. I couldn’t do telepathy without serious side effects; and without two minds meeting, Savants can’t tell if they are a match. Sucks to be me sometimes. Well aware of my shortcomings, I preferred to avoid the company of other Savants, so perhaps a career in costume making would not be a bad direction for me to take?
Diamond settled the bill and we gathered our belongings to go. In the mile-high city of Denver, the autumn nights are cool so it took a while to button up and put on gloves and scarves. We emerged on to the street, momentarily disorientated by being in a foreign city.
‘The air is so thin here.’ Diamond peered up between the skyscrapers to catch a glimpse of the starry sky. ‘In Venice you can always tell what you are breathing.’
‘Yes, because living at sea level means it’s always damp or smells of drains. If we stay there any longer, I think we’ll develop gills and webbed feet.’ I linked my arm through hers and began to lead her back to the hotel. It was only a few blocks away and I could find my direction by sensing where my suitcase was stowed. How strange to walk among the canyons of high-rise buildings iced with anonymous glass when we were used to streets of the ornate, quirky, and crumbling.
Diamond accepted my guidance without question, knowing I had the instincts of a homing pigeon. ‘And how do you know I don’t already have webs between my toes? I’ve lived in our grandmother’s apartment for longer than you.’
I chuckled. ‘I swear Nonna did. As a true bred Venetian she must have been part mermaid.’
‘Well, you can’t get further from the sea than Denver.’ Diamond did a little twirl on the spot, semi-drunk on her exhaustion. ‘It’s odd but I feel so at home, like part of me has always been waiting to come here.’
Benedict 03 - Seeking Crystal Page 1
