Solomon's Ring

by Mary Jennifer Payne

“Jade?” It’s Lily. She tucks a strand of her black hair behind her ear and leans toward me, her face a mask of concern. “Are you okay?”

  “What?” I ask, quickly noticing that everyone is ­staring at me with the same worried expression.

  “You totally zoned out on us,” Jasmine answers. “You’re so not okay.” She turns to Mr. Khan. “How can we possibly try to get the ring back to the ­Place-in-Between tomorrow morning when she’s like this?”

  “How about we don’t talk about me as though I’m not even in the room? Didn’t you have more than enough time to do that when I was gone all those years?”

  Jasmine’s eyes widen with hurt. She opens her mouth and then swiftly closes it again.

  “All right, all right. There’s more than a few of us here who are exhausted beyond belief, so let’s just be a little more civil,” Mr. Khan says. “We have no choice but to do this tomorrow. If it were feasible, I’d say we try tonight. However, after the events of last night, you need to sleep. Especially Jasmine and Eva. We need to keep in mind that the longer we have the ring, the more dangerous it is. Remember, the demons are on this side, walking the Earth, and that means, ring or no ring, they will need to feed. With no one ­controlling their actions or their source of food, it could mean ­random attacks on people at any time — day or night. And predators always ­attack the weakest prey. That means children, babies, the ­physically disabled, the elderly …” He trails off. “You get the idea. Thus, tomorrow at the break of curfew in the morning, we meet at King Station. Sharp. Try to avoid being caught on camera by drones, if you are able to. I’m sending all seven of you and a guide.”

  He stops speaking and looks around at each of us.

  The classroom door opens. Ms. Samson stands in the doorway for a moment, leaning on her cane, her ­painfully thin body silhouetted by the late afternoon light filtering down from the skylights in the hallway.

  “And I don’t think I need to remind you that under no circumstances do we want to lose a pair of twin Seers whilst you are down there,” she says as she makes her way to stand beside Mr. Khan. Her lips are pressed tightly together, and concern radiates from her deeply lined face. “This needs to be done. I met with Noni and Mr. Jakande earlier today. I believe we can trust them. And truly, we have no other choice.”

  “Why seven of us?” Lily asks. “It seems like a lot.”

  Ms. Samson nods. “The number has power. Significance. We feel you’re safer as Seers in that ­configuration at the moment. According to what we’ve learned over the last twenty-hours, the veil between the two worlds is thinning. The boundary between the ­Place-in-Between and our world has never been so weak. This is a very dangerous time.”

  The next half hour is spent showing us where the ring needs to go and how London’s Roman Wall has changed over time. After all, we have no guarantee what time period we’ll end up in … if we can get there.

  As everyone’s leaving, Mr. Khan calls me over. Jasmine stops in the doorway as well.

  “Go on, Jasmine. Wait in the hall,” he says. “This will be quick.”

  She gives Ms. Samson and Mr. Khan a curious look but steps into the hall and out of sight without another word. It’s pretty unlike my sister not to have some sort of witty comeback or smartass remark, especially with Mr. Khan. She must really be exhausted.

  I walk over and Mr. Khan pulls a chair out for me ­before taking a seat himself. Ms. Samson refuses his offer of a seat with a firm shake of her head.

  “I’m going to make this short and sweet,” he begins. Each word is clipped. He’s tired and on edge, and his words are cold and hard — like diamonds on ice. “I’m sorry about what happened to you. I’m sorry you were abducted and spent those years away from Jasmine and your mother. Hell, I’m even sorry your father died ­before that, because you were just a kid. But make no mistake, you’re going down there tomorrow. You’re going down there because our world is spinning out of ­control, and you and I and the rest of the Seers might just have a chance to make things a tiny bit better. We need to ensure that Smith and Mr. Jawad can’t keep using the ­demons for their own purposes. And we need to be sure no one else can either.”

  “I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” I whisper, my cheeks burning. A tear slides down my face. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “Well, whatever it is, sort it out. Because your sister needs you. We all do,” Ms. Samson says, leaning heavily on her cane. “Now go to her.”

  JASMINE

  Sleep. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted or needed ­anything more, and yet it totally evades me. Every cell in my body screams with exhaustion, and yet I’m wired. My brain spins like a washing machine. I glance over at Jade’s empty bed. It’s only 5:00 p.m., so obviously I don’t ­expect her to be in there, but the emptiness strikes me hard nevertheless. I blink back tears. Why do I feel something is tearing us apart, something dark and much bigger than both of us could ever imagine?

  When I do fall asleep for a few brief and fitful ­moments, I have a strange dream about a black widow spider. I’m trying to save it as it dangles over a cliff, ­hanging on to a single thread from its web. Desperation fills my chest. The spider is screaming at me to save it from the wind that wants to snatch it and smash it against the rocks. And its screams sound incredibly human.

  It sounds like Penelope.

  I lean over the edge, the wind pushing at my back. For a second I consider walking away, but then I ­remember that I’m a Seer. I’m super strong. I can do this. If I can fight demons, I can save a little spider. Sunlight glistens off its black shell of a body, shimmering and dancing out at me.

  The wind picks up, and for a moment I’m thrown off balance, and the little spider screams louder as she twists on the thread, the red skull-like shape on her belly flashing at me. There’s not much time, so I take a deep breath and reach out.

  I’ve got her.

  The spider’s screaming stops. Tiny legs tickle the palm of my hand as I step backward, away from the cliff’s edge.

  “You’re finally safe,” I whisper.

  And that’s when the spider rears up and sinks her fangs deep into the flesh at the base of my thumb.

  I bolt awake and look at the new video watch Mr. Jakande gave me. The fear was that Smith would be able to track me with mine and find both me and the watch, so Mr. Jakande vowed that he’d dispose of it in such a way that the watch, and the personal data I’ve got on it, won’t be easily found. I hope he’s right.

  Seven thirty. Though still aching with fatigue, I’m also shaking and sweaty from the nightmare and need to move. I throw my bathrobe on over my pajamas and head down the hall to the living room. Jade’s reading something on her tablet, and Mom’s asleep, her head leaning back against the sofa.

  Absently, I rub at the palm of my hand. Even though it was just a dream, I swear I can still feel the puncture wounds from the spider bite.

  Jade looks up at me and gives me a tired smile. “Hey,” she says, keeping her voice low for Mom’s sake. “You should be sleeping.”

  I shrug and plop myself heavily down onto our ­velvet armchair. “Can’t sleep. Guess there’s too much on my mind with everything.” I pause, biting at my bottom lip nervously. “Listen, I know you’ve taken a lot of shit ­because of some things I’ve done lately …”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Jade murmurs, though there’s no real edge or anger in her tone.

  “Yeah, well, I am sorry. Really sorry. I don’t want all of this stuff Smith has me doing and my bad decisions to continue to affect you … and others. I’m super sorry you have to go tomorrow. In fact, I’m feeling pretty sorry for all of us who are heading there, but you most of all. I love you and wish there were some way Mr. Khan would just excuse you.”

  “Protector’s orders. But you know and I know this is way out of Mr. Khan’s hands. Guess I have to face my demons,” Jade says wi
th a bitter laugh. “Literally.”

  “What do you think about the fact that this Uriel chick is coming with us? To guide us?”

  Jade raises an eyebrow at me. “You mean Raphael’s sister?”

  “Yeah. Why did Mr. Khan pick her? Do we even need a guide?”

  Jade puts her tablet down, leans forward with her elbows resting on her quads, and gazes at me. “You mean why isn’t Raphael coming with us again?”

  “Well, that too.” My face burns. She’s read my mind.

  Jade leans back in her chair and rests a hand on her stomach. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s busy. And we need a guide. My memories of the Place-in-Between are gone. Wiped clean. And I don’t exactly think you, Jade, or Lily are experts on it. Raphael was a huge help. I suspect we need Uriel in the same way.”

  “Something’s wrong,” I say.

  Jade sits back and places her hands across her belly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a ton of things wrong: climate change is destroying the world and our food supply; demons are roaming the city at night and actively hunting Seers; if the world’s greatest cities aren’t destroyed or in the process of being destroyed, their mayors are executing people and essentially ­establishing dictatorships. Yeah, I’d say there’s a load the size of ­an elephant poo that’s wrong.”

  “You know I don’t mean all of that, though,” I say. “There’s something wrong with you. Or us. Physically. Something’s different.”

  Jade shrugs. “I think we’re both pretty ­exhausted after last night. And it scared everyone to death, ­especially Mom, when you were kidnapped. I mean, I’ve been ­irritable and feeling a bit fluish the last few hours. Probably just my period coming or something.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “I’m going to head back to bed. God only knows what we’re going to have to face tomorrow.” I don’t remind her I know she’s not due to have her ­period for at least another week.

  “You’ve got the ring, right?” Jade asks.

  I nod and fish a silver necklace out from under my pajama top. The ring hangs from the centre of it. Since we’ve been back in Toronto, it’s felt like an ordinary ring.

  “Let’s hope the demons can go at least one night ­without feeding,” Jade says. “Or that they feed on ­animals, rather than humans.”

  “I don’t know if I believe in hope anymore,” I whisper as I turn and walk back toward our room.

  JADE

  We’re not ever supposed to run the tap, but I can’t think of any other way to mask the sound as I vomit over and over again into the toilet. I’m on my knees, clutching the cold rim of the bowl. This has to be the flu. Or my nerves going haywire. Whatever it is, I swear I just puked up a lung.

  I stand, legs shaking like Bambi on ice, and flush the toilet. Then I brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face.

  How can I possibly do this today?

  Maybe Jasmine’s right. I’m not okay. And I’m ­certainly not okay to face the dangers waiting for us in the Place-in-Between. But there’s no way I’m going to let her, or Mr. Khan, or the other Seers know it.

  I grab the side of the sink and look up at my ­reflection in the mirror. I’m definitely paler than normal. Maybe some chicory or mint tea will help.

  Jasmine is up already. Her pole is propped against the wall beside the kitchen table. She’s sitting, eating some dried toast, and she looks nervous, which makes me feel a little bit better.

  She looks up at me and smiles. The skin around her lower eyes is puffy, and it makes me wonder how much sleep she actually got last night. “There’s a pot of chicory on the stove. Are you feeling better?”

  I nod. “A little. My stomach is still a bit off.”

  I manage to eat a bit of dry toast with my chicory. Both Jasmine and I are mostly silent during breakfast. Mom comes in about fifteen minutes after me, pours herself a mug of chicory, and then immediately bursts into tears.

  “Why my girls? Why do you have to be given this ­burden of saving the world?” she says, slamming her mug down so hard that brown liquid spills over the edge and onto the worn countertop.

  We both jump up to comfort her.

  “It’s going to be fine. We’ll be back before you know it,” Jasmine says. “I promise.”

  I raise an eyebrow at Jasmine from over Mom’s shoulder. There’s no way we can make that promise, and she knows it. I think we’ve deceived Mom enough in the past. It’s time to be honest. We owe her that much. There’s no guarantee we’ll even make it back.

  We finish eating, fill our water bottles, grab our poles, and head out the door after another ­bone-crushing hug from Mom. I didn’t want to let her go and really hope she didn’t sense the terror wracking my body when I did.

  The morning air makes me feel like I’ve just stepped into a massive convection oven. My stomach ­somersaults uncomfortably, and for a moment I’m afraid I will puke all over the sidewalk.

  The walk to King Station takes us about twenty ­minutes at a fast pace. More than a few times, ­tsunami-sized waves of nausea wash over me, and by the time we reach the others, I’m soaked in sweat and noticeably shaking again.

  The others are already waiting when we arrive. Six sets of eyes regard me with concern and sympathy as we approach. No one says a word, though, likely due to my bitchiness yesterday.

  Except one person wasn’t with us yesterday. Uriel. She’s incredibly tall and thin, with skin and hair so pale, it’s practically translucent. I wonder how she can even be out in the sun without full body coverage.

  She regards me coolly. “You’re not well, Jade,” she says. “We need to reconsider your joining us today.”

  I hate the way she says “we.” We’re not reconsidering anything. If I don’t go, it’ll be because I’ve decided it’s not a good idea, not anyone else. Including Uriel. But she’s just said exactly what everyone is thinking. I know it.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “It’s just a bit of nerves. After all, no one else here has lost years of their life to this place. My reaction, I’d say, is pretty freaking normal.” I raise my eyes defiantly to the others.

  “Whatever. We need to get on with things,” Cassandra says. “Mr. Khan wanted us to stay off the radar as much as possible this morning, so standing around isn’t ­exactly the smartest move.”

  Jasmine looks at me as we turn to head down the subway steps. “I know what Mr. Khan said, but you don’t need to do this,” she whispers.

  “Yeah, I do,” I reply, grasping my pole tighter. “I need to do it for a lot of different reasons, the most ­important being that you’d be a lot weaker down there without me, and you know it. You went to the Place-in-Between once before to come and get me. It’s my turn to face my fears and go down there for you.”

  JASMINE

  I watch the back of Uriel’s head as we descend the first set of stairs toward the subway platform at King Station.

  First impressions? Physically, she’s very different than Raphael. Her white-blond hair shimmers, even though there’s not much light down here, and I watch her long, thin, skinny jean-clad legs take the steps two at a time. Her personality seems to be nearly as cool as her dress sense. So far, I’m not impressed.

  The ring hangs heavily from my neck this morning. It’s as though I ate four dozen doughnuts last night and drank buckets of milkshakes. This heaviness is a new thing, and I have no idea what it might mean.

  I look over at Eva. Her face is partially hidden by her hood. I’m pretty sure the others don’t even know about her scars. If she’s not wearing her hoodie up, she wraps her scalp in bright, colourful headscarves. I want to tell her it’s okay, that we’ve all been through some pretty heavy stuff and will understand. She’s also the only one of us without her twin. I wonder if that makes her think about her sister and what happened to her even more right now. She’s staring intently down the subway ­tunnel, as if she’s willing the train
to arrive.

  “Oh, my god,” Vivienne says. I turn toward her and see she’s staring at the massive computer screen on the wall, where a 3D holographic breaking news clip is playing. Red lettering flashes across the bottom of the image.

  Toronto is on high alert. Repeat. The city is on high alert.

  The news broadcaster is young and pretty, her ­gleaming white teeth offset by a hijab the colour of ­rubies. Beads of sweat dot the chestnut skin of her ­forehead. The ­perspiration betrays her emotional state; it’s the only crack in her picture-perfect broadcasting f­acade.

  But it doesn’t take long to see why she’s feeling more than a little apprehensive.

  Images flash across the screen of bodies, ­dismembered with bloody, steaming intestines strewn across the ­sidewalk and onto the brown, dusty front lawns of ­several Toronto homes.

  “Shit,” Cassandra says. “It must be the demons.”

  I look at Uriel. She’s here to guide us, isn’t she?

  Toronto residents are advised to stay inside with their doors and windows secured. Initial eyewitness ­reports indicate that Mayor Smith’s night workers, many dressed in their orange jumpsuits and wearing sunglasses to ­disguise their identities, are behind the savage attacks …

  “What do we do?” I ask Uriel. “Either we need to get the ring back, or I have to use it to stop the demons from massacring half of Toronto. Right?”

  The mayor’s office released an official statement just seconds ago: Based on very early intelligence-gathering, we believe the night crews were infiltrated by the CCT …

  “If you used that ring now, it would be tantamount to suicide,” Uriel replies. “You’d be hunted down as the mastermind behind the CCT or as some sort of witch. The government would find a way to make you ­disappear, and if you were lucky, it would be quiet and relatively pain-free. Then the ring would be back in the hands of those bent on using its power to destroy.” She looks over her shoulder at the stairwell and escalator behind us. “The subway system is going to be ­shutting down, if it’s not shut down already, but it doesn’t mean you can’t still get to the Place-in-Between.” She’s ­incredibly composed, considering everything that’s happening. “Not only are we underground, but the worlds are collapsing, coming closer together … ­getting thinner. It’s easier now to flip between the two.” She pauses. “And more dangerous.”