by Tracy Clark
I stopped on the thick rug and listened again for sounds, but it was still quiet. The lamp I clicked on cast a glow in the otherwise dark house. A few notes and papers scattered across the desk, some as mundane as bills and as vague as two-word reminders on ripped scraps of paper. I jiggled the desk drawers, but each one was locked. To add to my dismay, her computer had a fingerprint detector attached. Ultana was serious about maintaining privacy. Only someone with big secrets would keep them so severely guarded in their own home.
The fire to know her secrets burned hotter than my need for energy, and kept me moving even though I was exhausted. I inspected bookshelves, marveling at the antique collection she had. One volume was situated sideways in the middle of a high shelf, and I reached to pull it down. It was Dante’s The Divine Comedy. Some pages near the back were dog-eared with underlined passages. Peculiar. My mother also had a keen interest in Dante. I remembered gazing up with Cora at the painting in our hall, and the eerie feeling it gave me, like we were staring up at a mirror image of ourselves.
Dust flew out of the book when I opened it, as well as an irregular triangle-shaped piece of paper that had been tucked inside between the front flap and first page. I picked up the paper. Something was inscribed in Italian and signed with three interconnected circles drawn with the flourish of a quill. It said: Abbiamo tutti le nostre illusioni ei nostri misteri.
I didn’t speak Italian, but I could puzzle out two words—something about illusion and mystery. On another wall was a reproduction of a drawing—a profile of an oddly masculine yet not unattractive woman, with an odd fish-scaled cap of some sort, and braids protruding from the sides of the cap. I stepped up to it, studying the woman with the overtly masculine profile, very strong nose, and slightly disappointed set of her mouth. The printed caption titled the drawing Ideal Head of a Woman by Michelangelo.
Strange thing was, she looked uncannily like a younger version of Ultana Lennon. Perhaps that’s why she fancied it. I stared at the drawing, marveling at the resemblance. There was an odd triangular shadow on the print as if the corner of the original drawing had been ripped off and so the image on the reproduction was incomplete. A piece missing in the shape of… I held the scrap of old paper with the Italian words written on it. Even more incredible, the triangle fit exactly.
Was it even possible I was holding a note written by the Michelangelo? If so, why didn’t he sign his name? And what was the meaning of the three connected rings? That was boggling enough without trying to understand how a drawing that old could look so much like Ultana Lennon. My hairs stood on end. I took a picture of the note with my phone and put it back in the book before replacing it on the shelf.
I scanned the room one last time. I needed to put the door back on and get out of there before I was caught. As I walked toward the door, something above it caught my eye, if only for the oddity of it. It was a crude wooden heart-shaped box, about the size of a baby’s head, dangling from a chain on a nail above her doorway.
Scooting a chair under the heart, I plucked it off the nail and pried it open. Two identical yellowed envelopes were tucked inside alongside two purple velvet pouches. The gold thread of one pouch crackled with age when I pulled the top apart. I feared the delicate thread might disintegrate in my hands as I peered inside. It held a strange, grimy powder. I pocketed one envelope and one pouch, figuring that if Ultana looked inside the heart, she’d not realize that both weren’t still there. Then I replaced the wooden heart on the nail.
I quickly returned the chair and moved into the hall to put the door back on its rusty hinges. As the bottom hinge slid into place and I shut the door, a piercing scream rocketed down the hall toward me, shattering the silence of the night. Over and over, screams of terror and the word no. As fast as I could, I ran into the sitting room where I’d left Saoirse and found her scrambling in her half-awake state, terrorized by whatever ghastly dream had awoken her.
“God, it was awful,” she cried. “There was a line of faceless people for me to kill. They stood frozen, waiting for me to suck the life from their bodies, and when I did, they fell at my feet into piles of dust. There were so many.” She recounted the dream in sobs. “My one lifetime will ruin so many lives. So much dust.”
While Saoirse trembled and cried, I settled myself next to her on the large chaise, tucking her against me and covering us both with the blanket. I pulled her into a hug and tried to quiet her. It was strangely soothing to know that I wasn’t the only Arrazi who found their gruesome reality too hard to bear. It felt like the most unnatural thing in the world to do, and yet we were naturally created to do it.
The only things that ever felt right and natural were my music and my love for Cora. Thinking of her was another reminder that part of me would always be missing. I was sure that if she looked at my aura once again, she’d see the gaping hole in front of my chest. She’d see where she used to live. She’d see the part of me that died with our good-bye.
I’d feel that void every damned day for the rest of my life.
As Saoirse’s cries and ragged breathing quieted, the door slammed. Lorcan strode in, swaying on his feet. The minute his eyes clamped on us, he smirked. “Aww, would you look at that. Mum’ll be so pleased,” he said, tipping his head back in silent, mocking laughter. “Though I don’t think she envisioned your romance would, er, blossom so quickly. Snogging on the couch together already?”
“Shut up, Lorcan.” Saoirse sniffed. “I asked Finn to come talk to me about something.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ll not tell Mother anything, hear?”
Lorcan shuffled closer, peering down at us with slightly out-of-focus eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you both?” he slurred and leaned forward, placing his hands on the foot of the chaise for stability. “You look like you got a bad dose. Baby sister, are you in need of some soul blood?” He laughed.
“I’m not talking to you about this!”
“Back off, man,” I said, laying a calming hand on Saoirse. “You’ll keep your trap shut or I’ll shut it for you.”
“Say that again and you’ll not be able to walk for a day.”
I jumped to my feet and stuck my nose in his piss-drunk face. “I’ll speak slowly, so you understand. She’s trying to deal with what’s happening, right? Give her time. Back off, and keep your fooking gob shut, or I swear, I will shut it for you.”
No sooner had the words left my mouth than my legs gave way beneath me. I buckled and fell forward to the carpet, knocking my head against Lorcan’s knees.
What the bloody hell?
Thirty-Nine
Cora
The damn attendants wouldn’t leave me alone. After Giovanni stalked off from our we-are-one conversation, I wanted to find my way back to the common area with a side order of snooping around. No luck. As soon as I left the biofeedback lab, an attendant materialized to escort me to dinner.
Dinner was served in a sleek rectangular dining room on what seemed to be the world’s longest black lacquered table. Rectangular vases displayed clusters of chartreuse flowers down the middle. I stopped short when I entered the room. I hadn’t expected to see new faces, but I was excited. Finally, I’d get to meet some of the other guests. Two groups bookended the table. My peeps sat in a cluster at one end, auras wafting upward like the steam from the dishes in front of them.
The other group intrigued me. It included a wizened-looking old man, Japanese, I guessed. He was Scintilla. His silver was calm and steady, flowing around him in a beautiful current. Next to him sat a little girl. This girl, younger than the age of the kids at the Boys & Girls Club where I used to volunteer, watched me as I watched her.
Her aura was colorful and bold. She wasn’t uneasy about the new additions to the clinic. Not a bit. Instead of her aura retreating with hesitancy, it reached out farther than any I’d seen before. It swirled around her, a corona of energy and pure life. What shocked me more than the almost aggressive reach of her aura, though, was that every
so often I detected a flick of silver, like someone striking a lighter, before it melded into her unique blend of astonishing strength.
The little girl actually made me nervous. I tried to disarm her with a smile as I entered the room and sat down next to Mari, but she only stared, poker-faced, flinty. Okay, a tough nut to crack. Reminded me of little Max from the Boys & Girls Club, except when I started seeing auras, his was so smudgy and gray, sad. Not this kid. Hers was the eye of a silent storm.
“Look at how she’s staring at you,” Mari mumbled. “I never thought I’d say this, but creepy child is creepy.”
Dun grinned and whispered, “You? Scared?”
“I was plenty scared when those guys attacked us at the elevator. Good thing I didn’t show it.” Mari shrugged. “I’m calm under pressure like that.”
“Depends on whose pressure you’re under,” he teased, for which Mari kicked him under the table.
“This is the strangest room,” Giovanni remarked, looking around at the smooth, glassy black walls. There were no sconces on the mirrorlike surfaces, no artwork, nothing but four sleek walls surrounding us and square recessed lights in a line above us. “I don’t recall it from my previous visit.”
The doctor entered behind me and sat down near the middle of the table. As soon as he did, the little girl hopped up and ran to him, bouncing onto his lap and tucking her blond curls under his chin. He patted her back and smiled. “Claire, how are you today, my little bundle of kindling?”
Claire shot a glance toward us, a coil of blond winding over one eye. “Who are these people?”
“These nice people have come to visit us. They are helping me with my work. Go on now, say hello.”
We all smiled and waved like a bunch of parade princesses. Claire scooted off Dr. M’s lap and walked over, examining each of us like a lawyer might approach a juror’s box. She reached up and pinched a strand of Dun’s long hair between her fingers, sliding them down the length of it as if it were a silky ribbon for a dress. Mari was trying not to look at her, but when Claire stepped into her peripheral, Mari gave her a sideways chin-lift. “’Sup, kid?”
After greeting my mother by placing both hands on top of hers, Claire approached Giovanni and me. Staring into her oceanic blue eyes, it looked as though she had three tiny dots in each eye—three pupils!
Looking past her uncanny eyes, I noticed Dr. M observing us with his finger tapping his mouth and an analyzing stare. Claire shook both of our hands and lifted her chin proudly, regally, and skipped back to her end of the table, whispering into the ear of the older gentleman who was introduced as Abraham, Teruko’s grandfather.
“No whispering. We have no secrets here, Claire,” Dr. M admonished. Claire jerked back from Abraham and sat down. The doctor turned to me and he said, “On that note, I’d like for you to tell me more about your special gifts.”
My gaze flickered from Giovanni to my mother. One of them had said too much.
“I understand Giovanni is capable of telekinesis,” Dr. M said, with a nod to Giovanni. “Was this something you could always do? Even as a child?”
“I found out I could move things, draw them to me, by accident. I was young and hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. I found myself staring longingly at a half-eaten baguette on a plate at a café table in Paris. The baguette flew to me. Landed at my feet. It wasn’t until very recently that I realized I could move large things, such as people. It was during a threatening situation,” he added, looking at me.
“You move things? With your melon?” Dun gasped. “Do something.”
Immediately the napkin in front of Dun spun and skipped across the table where G put his hand over it, tapping his fingers casually. Claire clapped her hands and heels together gleefully.
“My ability didn’t come on until recently,” I said through clenched teeth. My sortilege was my business.
“Interesting,” Dr. M said, moving his food around but not eating it. “That you can pick up strong memories from objects, vibrational imprints, as your mother told me she can place memories into objects. Extraordinary. Tell me, Gráinne, how did you know you could do that? If you can’t retrieve as your daughter can, how did you realize it?”
“I—I didn’t know for certain that I could until I was older,” my mother said. “When I went to Chile, I met a clairvoyant who confirmed it. And…” She studied her fingers on her lap. “A person knows when a piece of them has been left behind.”
“Extraordinary,” he said again. “Dun and Mari, I assume, can do nothing special?”
Mari raised an eyebrow at him. “How would you like a special kick in the—”
“Tssst,” I warned. “Stop it. He’s trying to help us.”
Just then, a man rushed in and told Dr. M of a news report of a devastating typhoon in Japan that had killed more than two thousand people, and the death toll was rising. The doctor reacted with grave somberness, shaking his head and pursing his lips together.
“My father warned about an increase in natural disasters,” I said.
“This hits very close to home,” Dr. M said. “Most of my staff has family there.”
“I’m sorry. I hope they’re okay. Dr. M, may I ask what’s your biggest goal here? You have money behind you.” I glanced around. “Obviously. So what do you hope to discover with your research?”
“It has certainly become a new goal to find a way to prove your father’s theory. Since our conversation, I’ve thought of little else but what might happen to this world and the people in it, if the only beings that can save us are exterminated forever. Don’t you see? If you father was right, our entire existence is threatened and might be dependent upon the survival of your kind.
“Up to now, I’ve been trying to learn all I can about this phenomenon. I’d very much like to unravel the mystery of why there are different energetic types of humans. How long has this been going on? What is the purpose? Etcetera. Once I can prove it, I can persuade others to accept it.”
“Have you studied Arrazi?” Dun asked.
“They’re extremely hard to pin down,” Dr. M answered. “I can’t see auras and so have no way of knowing if I’m encountering an Arrazi or not and they are, for obvious reasons, not fond of revealing themselves.”
Giovanni leaned forward, raking his fingers through his curls. “If they haven’t recently killed, their auras look normal.”
“Well, I am working on addressing the issue of laypeople seeing auras,” Dr. M said with a boyish glee. “Would you care to see how?”
Dr. M pushed buttons on a keypad embedded in the smooth wall. “I need you all to stay seated,” he said.
I felt a slight buzzing vibration in the chair beneath me. Giovanni’s eyes, round with alarm, met mine. The walls around us suddenly burst from glossy black panels to panels of movement and color. So like the photograph of the leaf that I’d first seen in Mrs. Boroff’s greenhouse at school, the walls had become life-size displays of the auras of everyone in the room.
The outline of our bodies could be seen with starry dots of color sprinkled like constellations over our physical forms. From there emanated the luminous beauty of our auras, undulating and morphing, as wispy and changeable as clouds.
Mari gasped. I’d never seen her with such a look of wonder on her face. “That—that’s what you see?”
Dun waved his hands over his head and the projection on the wall mirrored his movements, sending tufts of color swirling out from his hands. Even the auras of the flower arrangements on the table radiated in small bubbles of light on the wall. My teacher, Mrs. Boroff, would have loved that. Rather than the still photographs of Kirlian photography, it looked like Kirlian video. For my mother, Giovanni, Abraham, and me, this was no different from how we saw the world every day.
Tears filled Mari’s eyes as she looked from each person in the room to the wall. “Oh my God,” she said in a voice soaked with awe. “We are so beautiful.” Her gaze met mine.
I nodded.
“You’re
pure light. You look like an angel, prima.” I reached across the table to squeeze her hand, but her eyes were still on the wall, watching our energies collide with blue-silver sparks.
“I will never be able to unsee this and wouldn’t want to,” Dun said, leaning back in his chair. “How is this possible, Doc?”
As I suspected, Dr. M confirmed that it was technology borrowed from the methods of Kirlian photography. He explained that there were transparent electrodes in the seats, floors, walls, and ceiling, and that the images were projected via computers onto the walls. “As far as I know,” he said, “it’s the first of its kind. I’m quite pleased with it, as are my investors. Obviously, they see huge marketing potential for such an invention. Why shouldn’t everyone be able to see auras?”
“You’re kidding, right?” I said, agitation rising. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want the Arrazi to have this technology. Who would benefit most from this invention? That’s the important question.” Dr. M looked away for a moment, which made me suspicious, but his aura remained clear of grime or fear. “Your investors,” I said. “Who are they?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge.”
I cocked my head at him. “I thought you said there were no secrets here. Are they the Arrazi?”
“Of course not!” No ball of black, deceitful smoke puffed from his mouth.
“Have you ever heard of the Society? The name Xepa?”
“Neither. Are you quite all right, Ms. Sandoval?”
“Fine,” I said, though I was unable to calm my suspicion and anxiety, which showed in the display of my aura on the wall, though I doubted anyone but the Scintilla in the room could translate it. Everything I’d learned about reading auras told me Dr. M was being honest, but the holes in his aura perplexed me. Secrets hung in a person’s field like pulsing sores. This, this was something else.
