“I could take less.”
“Boy, I have to keep pace with those fellas in Chinatown. You’re in the way now, I’m sorry.”
The numbness beneath Julian’s skin turned brittle. This was all too familiar. Looking around, he realized everyone in the laundry was watching. They all knew. It was written in the sideward tilt of their eye, coded in the way they spoke without moving their mouths overmuch.
Humiliated, Julian made himself stop looking before he found Sadie among them. He wanted her to be outraged on his behalf, but he refused to find her and shatter that fantasy. She was the owner’s daughter, after all. She probably knew this was coming.
“Don’t take it too hard, kid.” Mr. Zweifel clapped him on the back, then reached past to open the front door for him. “I wrote you a note, a recommendation. You can take it around. Bet you’re back in business in no time.”
“I did a good job for you. I worked hard.”
Mr. Zweifel didn’t shove him, but he did nudge. Putting his weight behind the gesture, he backed Julian out the door. “That’s why you got the note.”
“I’ll be back tonight,” Julian blustered. “To take Sadie to the movie palace.”
His face going hard, Mr. Zweifel did push him then. It was a promise of violence to come. “She’s working.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Every night this week.” Another push, and Mr. Zweifel walked up on him. He may have been shorter, but he was made of muscle and sinew. Years working the laundry had made a brick wall of him. “And for the rest of her natural-born life. Get outta here while you’ve got your dignity, fella.”
Julian longed to take the punch. He wanted to so badly that he could feel a phantom version of it play out within him. Bone would connect with flesh; hard satisfaction would race through his body with the vibration. But when he raised his hand, it was only to brush Mr. Zweifel aside.
“Give her my best,” Julian said as he left.
As if he couldn’t leave well enough alone, Mr. Zweifel called after him. “I’m doing you a favor, son.”
Julian ducked down an alley so he wouldn’t look back. He knew if he did, no good would come of that. Mrs. Bartow was strict about her boarding house, but Julian felt certain she ran a finer establishment than the city jail.
Thirteen
Emerging from the alley, Julian looked up the street one way, then down the other. One path led to Mrs. Bartow’s, the other to the unknown. Caging himself inside to bake was the last thing Julian wanted to do, so he walked.
The roaring heat outside the laundry suited his temper. It burned off his sweat, leaving him rough with salt and grit. Walking unfamiliar streets occupied his mind and left no time for ruminating.
At first, he thought he’d look for a new job. Back on the horse and all that; that’s what Papa would have suggested. But when a manager at the hat factory said he didn’t have any use for a cripple, Julian decided to look some other time. Since he’d started the day not punching somebody, he figured it would be for the best to end it that way too.
So instead, he struggled up steep streets, peering in department store windows and stopping to take in the unfamiliar. There were green spaces full of plants he’d never seen. He bought a paper bag of steamed dumplings from a street vendor, then rode the Angels Flight.
It was a two-track inclined railway, connecting a block at the top of a hill with one at the bottom. That was all—two cars perpetually climbing to Hill Street and descending to Olive.
While he burned his tongue on dumplings, Julian peered at the ornate mansion that flanked the train. It was all round towers and steep roofs, crimson walls interrupted by white columns and pediments. Anywhere that could be ornamented was; a fussy house for a fussy street, Julian decided.
At the end of the ride down, Julian wandered the city. Roasting beef and onions wafted from a nearby restaurant, mingling with horse sweat and grease. Red-striped awnings cooled the sidewalk, and Julian stopped short. He’d found the movie palace, entirely by accident.
Heart sinking, he approached the ticket booth. Brightly painted movie posters promised adventure and romance and thrills. As if to taunt him, a sign reading MUSICIANS WANTED obscured the clerk. Tentatively, Julian tapped the glass.
“Welcome to Clune’s Theatre Beautiful,” the clerk droned. “I’m sorry to say the matinee’s already started. No one’s admitted after the first reel.”
Julian shifted on his crutches, trying to look past his own reflection in the glass. “When’s the next showing, then?”
“Eight o’clock sharp. And like I said, no one’s admitted—”
“After the first reel, I know. Thanks.” Julian backed away, then thought better of it. Tapping on the glass again, he was the smallest bit pleased to see the clerk frown before masking the expression.
“Welcome to Clune’s Theatre Beautiful,” he said, unable to disguise a hint of annoyance. “Can I help you?”
Julian pointed at the sign. “What kind of musicians?”
With a sigh, the clerk jerked a thumb. “Beats me. Ask at the manager’s entrance on Fifth Street.”
But there’d be no point. Thanking the clerk, Julian moved along, newly dimmed. It didn’t take two feet to play a fiddle, but it did take a fiddle. Buying one was out of the question. He’d paid his room up for a month, but he’d returned the rest of Mama’s money. The four dollars and a reference letter in his pocket had to last him.
Julian put his head down and kept walking. The scarlet streetcars clattered as they passed, and it seemed nobody with an automobile could be satisfied without constantly honking their horn. There was no such thing as quiet in Los Angeles, at least, not that he’d found.
Drowning in a bitter rush of homesickness, he glanced at his watch, and then the sun. He hadn’t gone to the boardwalk yet; he’d never seen the ocean. Not in person, not for real.
When he’d run away, it could have been to anywhere. Florida, where it never snowed, Maryland, where his grandparents lived.
But he’d headed west—to the romance of jagged mountains and Pacific winds, to a place that promised adventure and excitement. California was supposed to be full of stars and possibility. And it was the only place he could imagine finding the girl he’d seen by magic his whole life.
So he squared his shoulders and drove all else from his mind. Crossing the street, he waited for the next red car. When it arrived, he ignored the conductor’s hand. He hauled himself aboard, and chose a window seat for the ride to Long Beach.
He could cool himself in the water and watch the sun set over the sea. Tomorrow he’d worry about a job. That was the plan. Much like his mother’s plans, however, Julian’s didn’t always work out the way he intended.
A bag of popcorn and a bottle of soda were hardly dinner, but then, Kate didn’t feel much like eating.
Once the spike of energy from fighting with Mollie had worn off, Kate found she mainly wanted to lie down and sleep. Instead, she’d trudged the rest of the way to The Pike to work her shift.
She avoided the main boardwalk. Every time she saw a flash of red, Kate hid. More than the rancid waft of rotting garbage, the prospect of going back to The Ems made Kate sick to her stomach.
So a sad, cheap dinner it was, and a sad, cheap perch on the beach as evening approached. She could have had mantou and geng if Chinatown hadn’t been three cars away. Or a big bowl of tagliatelle close to The Ems. But no, it was fizzy soda and popcorn. At least the popcorn was good for feeding the birds.
Gray-green waves danced in sharp peaks, the swells raising white foam, then swallowing it. Seagulls tossed themselves onto the invisible currents of the wind, shrieking to the heavens.
Staring into the sea, Kate sat on a stone pocked with bird droppings. It was like one of her father’s marble palettes—smeared and mottled, but not cold. It clung to its baked heat jealously, like the air did. Pale veins of heat lightning streaked through the clouds, a still-distant storm promising relief.
Kate couldn’t cry, but she couldn’t stop wanting to, either. She had no home. No one who could help her. Not even a dollar in her pocket to send a telegram to her parents.
They’d probably moved on to New York without her. They weren’t staying people. Settling people. They were probably furious, but they were free without her.
When even that miserable thought failed to prime her tears, Kate slid to her feet. The sky stretched out, tied in ashen knots. The horizon was a dark line, threaded between rough waters and churning clouds.
Tossing the last of her popcorn to the birds, Kate stuffed the bag into her pocket and approached the water. If she had her camera, if it would pick up all the shades of dusk around her, she knew what she’d film: Ophelia—not the monologue, absolutely not. Rosemary was for fried chicken, not for remembrance.
But with the right Ophelia, Kate would follow her into this ocean. The waves would welcome her, making her gown transparent and then into foam. Down below, her hair would become seaweed, and her skin would turn green—pale and speckled with uncertain light.
The wind picked up. It carried the coming storm, introducing it with the rough, scrubbed-fresh taste of water in the air. Plucking at her clothes, it swept across her throat, insinuated fingers into her collar. The horizon broke, one streak of amber light suddenly flooding through.
Eyes wide, Kate slowly reached for her hat. Pushing aside the clumsy touch of the wind, the familiar, velvet caress slipped over her skin. It kissed the bare back of her neck, and Kate held her breath. She had seen this before, a hundred times before. Everything—every bit of it. Destiny had finally arrived.
Electricity streaked through her, waking every numb bit of her flesh. Everything in her moved automatically; her body knew what to do. She pulled off her hat to let the wind take her hair. No matter that it was caught in pins and loose braids, she turned all the same.
He was there.
***
She wasn’t there. Before him was the sunset, all around him, the scent of honeysuckle, but she wasn’t there.
Julian had only enough time to think that before a smooth-faced boy attacked him. A blur of plum wool, he crashed into Julian, knocking them both to the sand. Tangled in his own crutches, Julian struggled to free himself and swallowed shock when the boy kissed him.
Speechless, Julian sputtered. But before he could push him off, the boy’s hair suddenly came loose. It looked almost as if it had sprouted, growing by magic in length and in color . . . and there was the silver streak. The wind played it out, tugging curls free, fingering through long waves.
“You’re real,” the boy—not a boy—breathed. His— her—eyes were dark wells, long lashes fanning against her skin. Amazement lit her from within; she glowed surely as a lantern would. Then she rolled off of him and planted her backside in the sand. “That kiss was not what I expected.”
Dragging himself back a few feet, Julian said, “Are you crazy?”
She took a deep breath, sinking down as it drained out of her. “Sadly, yes, I probably am. But I’m not imagining you, am I? I didn’t accidentally go and drown myself in the ocean, did I?”
Julian stared. Openly, and incredulously. This was the face he’d seen every time he died, and it belonged to a lunatic of a girl in a man’s suit. Picking his own hat out of the sand, Julian said, “Alive and well. Well, I’ll vouch for alive.”
“I’m Kate,” she said, crawling closer to him. “You recognize me, don’t you? Please say you do.”
Wary, Julian pulled his hat back on. The honeysuckle had faded, leaving the tang of a coming storm in the air. It was her, it had to be. He knew the shape of her face and the arch of her brows. Even her lips were familiar—
Blushing, Julian reached for his crutches. “I recognize you. There. Happy?”
Kate scrambled to her feet and offered her hand. “Incredibly. You have to tell me everything. I want to know every last detail. Where you’re from, and if you like your bacon chewy . . .”
“Crispy,” he said, but he didn’t take her hand. Raising his crutches, he planted their feet. Then he hauled himself up by them, trying to shake off as much prickling sand as possible. He already felt it in his shoe, and itching on his neck. “I . . . No offense, Kate, but I don’t know what to make of you.”
Disbelief lit her eyes, and she walked up to him. “Oh, ask me anything. I’ll tell you true. But me first again. What’s your name? Is it something mysterious like Rochester? No, no, you don’t look cruel at all. You’re a Laurie, aren’t you?”
“I’m a Julian,” he said.
She repeated the name like a fervent prayer. She even clasped her hands together and gazed at the sky. Every bit of her flickered and twitched—to be honest, it exhausted Julian to look at all that animation at once. Then, abruptly, she turned her attention to him again.
“What can you do?” she asked. She circled him, staring like she might be able to see through his skin, right down to his bones.
Trying to follow her with his gaze, Julian said, “What do you mean?”
Kate lunged again, then petted him when he flinched. “I mean, what can you do? I stop time, but only a little bit. Thirty seconds; it’s completely useless. What about you?”
Cold swept through Julian. His gift had always been his secret, a family secret. For a stranger, however familiar, to ask for it, unnerved him. He’d always believed himself singular. The shock of seeing his mother command water had nearly undone him.
“Can we go back to the bacon question?”
“You already answered that.”
“Well, then . . .” Julian looked away, then pointed at her. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
She blinked at him. “Why would I lie?”
Surprising himself, Julian laughed. It wasn’t a mirthful sound by any stretch of the imagination. Pulling out his pocket watch, he pressed the button to open it. The hands ticked along regularly, something solid and real to judge her by. “If you can’t do it . . .”
“A little ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’? All right.” Taking his hand, Kate tugged on him, then glanced down. That was the first time she’d really considered the crutches or his leg. Raising her gaze to his face again, she said, “Come on. I don’t want to drag you.”
Julian had little doubt she’d do it. So he followed her to the edge of the water. Since she’d wondered aloud whether she might have drowned herself, he worried when she closed her eyes.
But instead of pitching into the waves, she exhaled. It wasn’t half a breath; she spilled out all the air inside her, it seemed. Toward the end, a faint wheeze rattled in her throat. He moved to shake her, but her eyes snapped open, and she marveled up at him.
“I didn’t see you this time because you’re here.”
“Nothing happened,” he said. He turned the watch to her, its slender arms still ticking along.
Scoffing, Kate said, “Well, I didn’t stop us. That would be useless! Come on, open your eyes, Julian. Put down your stupid watch and look.”
It wasn’t a stupid watch, and he was about to tell her that. But the protest died on his lips, because he looked. In spite of the clockwork still running in his hand, the world stood absolutely still.
A single sea bird hung above them, as if dangling on a line. The ocean rushed neither in nor out. It stood in tiny, chopped peaks, stiff like meringue. Surrounded by an unnatural quiet, they heard no waves, nor wind—nothing but their own breaths. Kate had closed them in a snow globe; the world beyond their orb was a still, empty canvas.
Julian was glad for his crutches; they kept him from falling when his knee went weak. This was an impossible thing. An extraordinary thing. And he could feel it reacting to him. For his entire life, he’d summoned his gift deliberately. It didn’t linger or beckon or call.
But at that moment, standing there with her, there was too much inside him. He felt the weight of the world shift; he thought he might split with it. Scarlet lights danced in the dark, some beneath
the water, some on the sand.
Even without testing it, somehow he knew that those weren’t faerie lights. They were bodies: of fish, and flies, and all the little things on the beach that he could raise with a breath—if he wanted to.
“Well?” Kate asked. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
Julian could barely feel his own lips when he murmured back. “And how.”
***
In San Diego, Amelia dropped her mirror.
She hadn’t spoken a word since locking herself up with the sunset the night before. There were no words, not for the things she’d seen. Hollowed by fire, she’d haunted the house with Nathaniel at her side, comforted when he whispered into her. When he touched her face with rough fingers and kissed her until her breath faltered.
Nathaniel waited; she felt him waiting. Since their first meeting so many years ago, he’d been there. Insubstantial as mist sometimes, nothing more than a kiss of the wind, but he’d been there all along. Every day, she felt his shadow, she knew his presence.
But suddenly, he was gone.
It felt like death, a sudden severing marked only by silence. A dull ache started in her temple when she tried to speak into him. Nothing happened; the words wouldn’t form. It was like remembering a melody but forgetting the lyrics. It wasn’t a song anymore. It was something incomplete and ephemeral.
Panic sharpened her voice. “Nate?”
No answer came. Knocking over her chair, Amelia knotted her robe and started down the hall. White silk swirled around her; her hair fell in a veil around her shoulders. She could have been a ghost; anyone peeking through the windows would have believed it completely.
A door swung open at the other end of the hall, and Nathaniel stepped into it. He’d never been ungainly; his hips had always rolled with smooth assurance. But now he stumbled as he held out a hand to her. The velvet certainty when he murmured had faded. He sounded as strained as she.
“Amelia?”
Rushing into his arms, Amelia pressed her ear against his chest. His heart beat like the thrum of hummingbird wings, but she still whispered desperately, “I can’t hear you anymore. I can’t hear you.”
The Elementals Page 13
