by Gina Linko
“Huh.” This seemed to hurt Tempest, somehow. She looked up at the darkening clouds, opened her palms to the rain. She looked so sad in that moment, like she was giving in to something. “People are too difficult?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?”
I took a step closer to her, but the force between us surged higher, threatening to burn my lungs like paper beneath my ribs. “Tempest,” I gasped, my throat pinching. “I’m gonna beat this thing. Okay?”
“No. Don’t come closer, Tally!” Her voice had a jagged edge to it. She seemed terrified, and that nearly undid me.
I was tired of this. Tired of letting this thing win. I would not wind up like our mother and Aunt Grania. I would not. Darn the moon!
“Maybe if we just push through. I can do it. Just break through this cycle, and you jus—” I pushed forward, and I had to close my eyes against the pressure. I was going to face it one way or another. No more running.
“Wait! Tally!”
I opened my eyes, and Tempest was digging into the endless pockets of her cargo shorts. She pulled out a strange, glinting, metallic thing. It was a wide bracelet of some sort. “This,” she said, even as she was backing away. “It’s going to help, but I’m just not ready yet.” She took a few steps away from me, going deeper out into the bubbling surf, the tide rolling over her toes.
“I’m not going to let this thing do this to us, Tempest. I’m going to show it who’s boss.” I pressed forward again, tipping my shoulders into it, eyes screwed tight, jaw clenched.
“It’s too much, Tally!” she cried.
But I didn’t listen. I reached inside myself. I found that power that was terrifying me, whatever it was in me that had reached out and connected with Pork Chop. I sought it out and I pushed forward with it, against the wall of pain keeping my sister and me apart. I could beat this. I had to.
For us. I was through being scared, being tentative.
I opened my eyes a crack to see Tempest in front of me, her arms up in some kind of defensive posture, shielding her face, still with that metallic bracelet in her hand. She was knee-deep in the water now, looking terrified.
I hated this. I summoned all that was inside of me, and I pushed.
From the corner of my eye, I became aware of the water to my left, the ocean waves growing.
“No!” Tempest yelled.
Yes, I thought. Tempest is just scared. But I’m going to beat this thing. I am stronger than this.
I was aware then of a great surge. It came from inside me. Tempest held her head in her hands, still backing away. I pressed forward into the water, my vision turning blurry, exploding into stars.
And a great flash of power erupted between us, like lightning but not the same. It zapped me like a shock of static electricity and left sparks hovering in the air like fireflies.
A great loud clap of thunder deafened me momentarily. I took one step.
My vision dimmed, and I struggled for breath, my lungs hot. But still, I pushed, aware that I was screaming now as I bent my head into the force and took another step. Surely, I had the willpower to break through this thing. This is what Aunt Grania, what Mama, what we had never done—just pushed through it.
Beaten it.
I was Tally Jo Trimble. I would out-muscle anything.
I focused my mind to a pinpoint and I pushed.
Then there was a whooshing noise; I opened my eyes just in time to see a great wall of water, a wave of epic size, coiled above us. It reached up between my sister and me in a strange, twisted shape: like it was stretched tight between us. My concentration flagged and broke—and then the wave did too. Letting loose, crashing over us.
It swallowed me. It swallowed Tempest. I had a fleeting worry for the old couple down the beach and the little toddler in his underwear.
The wave took me under, turned me head over heels, choked the breath from me as I flailed. It held me down and I struggled, pushed and pulled by the force of the tide. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but darkness. I turned over, trying to tread water, only to be pushed deeper by another wave.
This time it rolled over me, pushed me to the bottom, the water moving over me like a blanket, a grave.
I started to panic for air. Which way was there light? I was disoriented.
There.
I found which way was up and swam toward the sun. Another wave broke—this one less wild, maybe. My head broke the surface and I gasped for a breath. Once I got one, I screamed. “Tempest!”
She’d been farther in the water than me. My stupid bravery. My moronic certainty. “Tempest!” I screamed again, struggling to keep my head above surface.
How had we gotten in so deep?
Another wave crashed, fresh and strong, over my head. I scanned the water. What had I done to my sister?
Her head broke the surface, so far out. I screamed her name again. “Tempest!”
“Tally!” she called, breathless, her voice barely reaching me over the rush of the tide and the near-constant thunder.
I stroked toward her once, twice. She struggled to stay up, the waves much bigger out where she was. And my chest pinched with the effort of swimming and the adrenaline surging in my veins. I kept my head above the waterline, and my eyes pinned on her. I couldn’t lose sight of her. I had to get to her.
She went under. I watched that spot, fear spiking through me. After an agonizing minute she came back up. And in that moment, I saw that she had red smeared on her forehead. She was blinking it from her eyes.
Blood.
“Tempest!” I called. She flailed weakly.
I moved to swim toward her, and a look of horror passed over her face. She said something, but her voice was lost on the wind. Then she held up her hand in a gesture I understood: Stop.
I got it then.
Stop.
It was there, still, between us. A writhing, angry thing. I was pushing it closer to her when she was trying to swim.
I watched as she struggled again against a wave, and it took her under.
A rush of absolute helplessness flowed through me as I treaded water, staying just this far away from my injured sister. Was she exhausted? About to lose consciousness from hitting her head? Would she drown ’cause I couldn’t get to her?
Her head bobbed up. But would it again, after the next wave? And what could I do, if my going closer only made it worse?
I turned toward shore, panicking, swimming away from Tempest as fast as I possibly could. I had to get help.
Before I realized what was happening, someone was swimming past me. Steady, serious strokes. “I got her.”
“Digger,” I said through terrified tears.
“I got her,” he said. “Go.”
I turned toward the shore, my chest burning with exhaustion and fear and sadness—but I had to get away from my sister.
It was all I could do.
17
My hair wasn’t all the way dry yet. I’d changed my clothes in our pod, but I still smelled like salt water, and I couldn’t quit shaking. Digger and I sat on the picnic table outside the Candy Wagon.
“Here, drink this,” Digger said, handing me a root beer float. “Fat Sam says you need sugar to counteract all the adrenaline.”
“You sure she’s okay?”
“Fat Sam is taking care of her. She’s fine.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you okay? You’re trembling something fierce. You cold?”
I nodded. Digger took off his sweatshirt and I put it on over my T-shirt. But I kept shaking. I wasn’t just cold. I was reliving those moments in the water, the terror I’d felt.
“You’re lucky you didn’t tie up Antique very well. His reins were loose. He just took off and came back to camp, like a rescue dog, for crikey’s sake. The moment I saw him, I knew something wasn’t right.”
“What if you hadn’t been there, Digger?”
“But I was there.”
I shivered. “But—”
&nb
sp; “Tally. It wasn’t your fault—”
“Hey,” I interrupted. “Here she comes.” Tempest came walking up from the animal tent. I stood up from the picnic table and backed away.
She started talking, but I was barely listening, taking her in from head to toe, inventorying everything about her with my eyes. She was in one piece, alive. “The black sand is a lodestone,” she was saying when I finally tuned in. “It’s essentially a magnet, making what’s between us worse. Like a trigger, or an amplifier.”
She looks fine, I told myself, trying to calm the hummingbird beat of my heart. Really. Her pigtails were reset, her hair nearly dried. “But … the blood. You hit your head?”
“Yeah, one of the waves took me under hard. It’s on my scalp. Just a scratch, really. Fat Sam put some kind of salve on it.” She fingered a spot near the crown of her head.
I let out a deep breath, steadying myself. I stood twenty feet from my sister, resisting the impulse to go to her.
I watched her chest rise and fall. I wanted so badly to throw my arms around her.
But I couldn’t.
She was alive. That was all that mattered.
I wanted to say something, to apologize, to let her know what it meant to me that she was okay. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat narrowed and my eyes burned.
I was going to cry.
Tempest’s eyes widened and she looked away. I watched the muscles in her throat as she swallowed. She motioned toward Digger. “Your dad’s not gonna tell Pa Charlie? About … any of this?”
Digger shook his head. “No. He bought the story that you slipped on the boardwalk, that Tally jumped in after you.”
“That’s good.”
“Now, what’s lodestone? Explain it again, so we know it’s safe now,” Digger said. “I think Tally’s freaking out.”
“That black sand is magnetite. It acts as a magnifier—it makes magnets more powerful, by a zillion times, I think. But we’re okay now. Back here, away from the shore.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Her smile wobbled.
“It’s not fine.” My voice was strained. “If Digger hadn’t showed up, how would I have gotten you out of the water? I couldn’t go near you!” I put my head in my hands for a moment. When I looked up at Tempest, her eyes looked as wild as I felt.
“But that didn’t happen, Tally.”
“This time.”
Tempest studied her hands. “I lost the cuff in the water though.”
“Who cares about the cuff?” I said. “I nearly lost you.” I thought of Aunt Grania then, and I began to understand. “This is why I can’t—I won’t—”
“You’re going to lose me for real if we don’t try, Tally. That’s what you were doing. You were trying. I’m glad. I mean, I’m not mad at you.”
“You should be.”
She plopped down on the picnic table, and I could once again feel what was between us, now that we were closer. A rhythmic push of pressure, throbbing between us. It made me want to just turn and run. I took one step back, then another, nearing the Candy Wagon.
Tempest kept talking. “Actually I am mad, a little. Not ’cause you tried, but ’cause you were acting like the big hero again. I don’t need a hero, Tally. We’re in this together. Let’s try and—”
I shook my head. “No.”
“I don’t need a savior. I need a sister. I need you to do this with me. Bend the spoon.”
I stayed silent. I was so exhausted, and I couldn’t stop shaking, my knees actually knocking against each other. I couldn’t fight about this anymore. I wouldn’t.
“It’s okay,” Tempest said, motioning me over. The smile on her face was trying too hard. She blinked a few too many times. “Come on,” she called. “Really, we’re fine as long as we’re not on that black sand.”
I took a few steps closer.
We were okay. For now.
How long did we have? A few days until our birthday. That was it.
I weighed the risk against the reward. Soon, I probably wouldn’t be able to be near Tempest at all. I told myself to enjoy the moment.
I sat down across from Digger, keeping myself a good five or six feet from my sister. Even so, I felt the steady buzz between us. It settled in my sternum, tickled the back of my throat.
Molly-Mae came out with a platter of cheeseburgers, and we descended on them like a pack of starving wolf pups.
“Y’all been awfully quiet out here,” she said to the lot of us. “Makes me wonder what kind of trouble you’re planning.”
“Just need some refueling,” Digger said, but even Digger’s face was tight and worried-looking. Molly-Mae walked back to the Candy Wagon, and on her way she passed Aunt Grania coming toward us from the animal tent. I watched Molly-Mae press a hand to our aunt’s wrist, just for a second, right over her tattoo.
“Girls, we need to talk,” Aunt Grania said, approaching the table.
I wondered, then, what she knew about our morning. What Fat Sam had maybe told her. And from across the table, Tempest gave me a little shake of her head. I knew she meant not to confess what had just happened.
I wouldn’t.
I mean, I knew Tempest probably just wanted more time to work on her cuff, or whatever. But I realized it didn’t really matter what the grown-ups knew or didn’t know. This thing was too big.
It wasn’t going to stay secret, not for long.
And when it didn’t? The grown-ups wouldn’t be any more prepared to deal with it than we were. That was for sure.
“Y’all want me to leave?” Digger asked, standing to offer Aunt Grania his seat.
“No,” I said quickly.
Our aunt sat down, and so did Digger. He scooted close to me, nudging my shoulder with his. And maybe it was just an accident, but it felt like he was telling me he was here for me.
Aunt Grania took a long time looking us over: Tempest eating her cheeseburger, me feeling too queasy to even take a bite. Then Aunt Grania sighed, like she was giving in to something. “What do you know about the tides?” she asked.
“A lot,” Tempest said, juice from her cheeseburger dribbling down her chin. “They’re controlled by the moon.”
“The moon pulls on the earth and vice versa,” Aunt Grania said. “There are a lot of unseen forces at play in the world around us. And what do you know about the magnets?”
“Supposedly they cure gray hair,” I said, my voice a rasp.
Tempest chimed in. “Have two magnetic fields ever sort of … kaboom? Exploded or, say …” Tempest’s voice lowered to barely a whisper, “like, caused a fire or anything?”
“First,” Aunt Grania said, looking from my sister to me, “you have to tell me what’s happened between you two. Anything scary?”
“Nothing too big,” Tempest answered quickly. “Just the pressure between us.”
I felt too raw to lie right now, so I stayed silent, studying the grain of the picnic table wood.
When I finally looked up, Aunt Grania was nodding slowly. She must’ve come to the decision that she believed Tempest, at least enough.
“When your mother and I were here, our last summer together, I was into astronomy—just one of my many obsessions. I had this kick-butt telescope that I brought along in the catch-all. I was constantly mapping constellations, and I was wanting to get a tattoo when I turned eighteen. I’d settled on either the constellation Gemini, or just a simple half-moon. I tried to convince your mother to get one too.”
Digger and I exchanged a look, remembering the note we’d read on the back of the silhouette garland.
“That was before everything happened,” Aunt Grania continued. “Back then, the moon was just part of a show that the night sky put on each night for me. It was just a pretty light through my telescope, you know? Not like now.” She shook her head. “After everything happened, I got this tattoo so I wouldn’t forget the danger of the moon. This is my reminder.”
She held up her
arm, showing us the phases of the moon that encircled her wrist. It was a pretty tattoo. So delicately drawn. But it was also threatening.
A countdown.
“It started slowly, between your mama and me, probably how it is with y’all now. Little things. First time I noticed anything out of whack was when she was braiding my hair for me, and the static electricity between us was off the charts, the hairs on my neck and arms standing straight-out and crackling.”
“It got worse?” Tempest asked.
“Yes,” Aunt Grania answered. “With the moon, every lunar cycle, it grew.”
Tempest asked, “Do you know what a Flower Moon is?”
Aunt Grania nodded. “The Flower Moon is in the spring, every few years, a special full moon, when the moon orbits very close to earth. And its pull on the tides is at its strongest.”
“It’s coming up soon—the Flower Moon,” Tempest said. “In a few days.”
“It is.” Aunt Grania eyed us then. “But you must have a while still. I mean, it’s just started between you. Your mother and I had years of warning.”
I nodded.
Tempest and I did not have years.
We had days.
We both knew it. The Greenly Curse was upon us, right now. Fast. Furious. The moon striking the tinder of what was between us.
“Was it a Flower Moon when whatever happened between you and Mama?” I asked.
“It was.”
My stomach knotted in anticipation. Here was Mama’s story. What I wanted to know so badly, what I’d hunted down for the last week with fervor. And now? Now, I almost didn’t want to hear it.
“It had been coming for a while, sneaking up on us, like the tide on a sandbar.” Aunt Grania’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.
“The night it happened, there was a big Flower Moon, round and orange like a ripe melon, sitting in the sky. It was so close to the earth, so large. Like something out of a space movie, you know?”
“My energy was strong, thumping through my veins that day. I registered it, heard it in my eardrums, like a plucked piano wire—a vibration, see? And I suppose Genevieve’s was the same, but opposite. The bass line to my treble. You get the idea. Aunt Grania gestured toward Pa Charlie’s fire pit. “It happened right around the carnival campfire.”
