Chapter 8
Limbo
The deep Black of my garden surrounds me. It’s a comforting kind of darkness, like your bedroom at night when the moon filters in. My soulmarks sway gently before me, glowing, pulsing white-blue in the black expanse.
There are no walls in Limbo. No ceilings, no floors, although there is a perception of standing. On what, I couldn’t say. Endless Black wraps all around. It depends on which level you’re on, but there can be an endless amount of soulmarks, too, glittering and dotting the blackness.
Here on my own level, the one Porter created for me, hidden away from Gesh, are the fifty-six soulmarks belonging to me. Like a forest of birch trees, they tower over me, blindingly white, swaying gently. They are the evidence of my fifty-six past lives. My soul made these marks each time I died and ascended, not to heaven, but to Limbo, only to be reincarnated again. Sent back to earth, becoming someone new. My lives have been woven throughout time, each thread tightly secured in history.
And I have the ability to unravel it.
That is why Gesh sent his men to capture me at the fountain. He’s been trying to find me since I was reborn. He’s scared of me, of what I could do to the world he silently controls. I could bring it crashing down around him, see him kneeling before me, if I wanted.
If I knew how.
The ability is within me. Gesh knows it. Porter, Micki, and Levi know it. That’s why they handle me with kid gloves. I’m a bomb, and one wrong move, one miscalculated plan, could cause detonation.
I’ve done it before.
I made a choice. There’s no telling if it was wrong or right. We’ll never know. I changed the past, created a Variant timeline. Everything in Base Life is the way it is because of that one choice, that change. And no one’s the wiser. No one remembers the way it was before, in that other world, the one I erased.
Maybe it’s still out there somewhere. An alternate version living right alongside this one. We’ll never know, because we don’t remember it being any other way.
At the end of my garden of soulmarks stands the fountain Porter made for me. Tall and slender, standing stalwart in the Black. The water gurgles and I dip my hand into it. It’s not a real fountain. Not even real water, just the perception of water. For the past two months, Porter’s been teaching me how to create things in Limbo, perceptions of things on earth. Organic matter doesn’t exist here, in the Land of Souls, so you have to manipulate the Black to conform into the memory of objects. If you’re strong enough to bend the Black to your will, the object comes to life, like magic.
Your body can change, too, into any shape you can dream up, simply because you have no body at all. Just the memory of your body from earth. The Descender I fought at Buckingham Fountain once battled me here in Limbo. He took on the shape of smoke, and you can’t fight smoke.
Except I did. I harnessed the energy of the Black and defeated him. But then he brought reinforcements. I couldn’t fight them all, and I had to rely on Porter to help me escape. That’s why I asked Porter to teach me how to shapeshift, in case I ever needed to battle in Limbo again.
If Porter were here he’d see the body my soul is projecting. It’s not exactly what I look like in Base Life, but my perception of what I look like. So I might seem distorted, depending on how I see myself. I’m wearing my parka, jeans, black Chucks, and Gran’s flowery scarf I lost in Chicago. The one that got too bloody to clean—Levi had to burn it to dispose of any evidence. At least here, in Limbo, I can see it again. Hold it in my hands. Smell Gran’s lemon verbena perfume still lingering on the fibers.
No nerd glasses this time. Ever since I started wearing the fake pair, they don’t feel like they’re the real me anymore. Just a disguise, like Clark Kent.
My body begins to shift as I remember what Porter taught me. The edges of the Black bend inward, pulling toward me, its energy melding with mine. I let it flow through me. My instinct is to tense up, but relaxation is the key. Total submission to the Black. We must blend and work together as one.
My fingers fade, dissipating into particles that float up and swirl in front of my eyes, followed by my hands, my arms, my chest, until I’m a cloud of smoke, hovering, quiet, still. I hold myself there, in that form, for as long as I can, then let go. I can’t explain it. It’s like letting out a breath. My body snaps back into its base form, the form I always take on when I’m here, without even thinking about it.
I can’t hold onto that other form as long as the Descender could. Not as long as Porter can. I’m not that strong. But it was a good run. Longer than before.
I’m getting there.
Level Five Clearance
It’s dangerous to visit Polestar while I’m in Limbo, venturing outside of my garden where I’m safely hidden from Gesh and his Descenders, but I want to see it again. I haven’t seen it since Porter and I first met, when he first showed me Limbo. I’m not even sure I know how to move levels to get there, but I close my eyes and concentrate.
A feeling like air seeping from my lungs takes hold. A slow leak, then a rush, like the wind’s been kicked out of me. My chest constricts and my feet lift me into the air. I remember this from last time. I tried to tell Porter I couldn’t breathe, but he reminded me I didn’t have lungs. I didn’t need air. That’s when the tightness, like a rubber band around my lungs, broke. It happens this time too.
Snap.
I drop to what I perceive as smooth ground, look up, and I’m there. Polestar, the center of Limbo, is just as I remember it.
Unlike in my garden, there is a landscape of sorts here. Those who’ve come before us built hills and valleys and grasses, like Porter built my fountain. The perception is so strong it seems real. The night air feels fresh. The soulmarks glitter like stars in the sky, sway in the distance like glowing trees. Ahead of me, a ruined, shadowy castle sits on a hill. I’m not sure if it was meant to look ruined or if something happened to it, a battle perhaps, and someone tore at its walls and turrets. After my fight with the Descender, I know things can be destroyed here, just as easily as they are created.
At the base of the castle’s hill, a river winds around it, a shimmering moat. I make my way to the crystal-clear bridge that arcs over the water, leading to what was once the entrance of the castle. Standing on the bridge, I can see the river rushing beneath my feet, like I’m hovering over it. Soulmarks swim in the water, swirling, spinning, slithering. The marks of those who’ve passed on, their life stories written on each one. They could belong to anyone. Queens, dignitaries, orphans, aborigines, Anastasia, Martin Luther King, Jr., Julius Caesar, Joan of Arc, Adolf Hitler.
Porter once told me that soulmarks are the lifeblood of Limbo. The energy source. Maybe that’s why we can create things out of the Black. They are powerful things, soulmarks. Gateways to the past. Our souls can use them to slip into the past bodies they once inhabited. They give us the ability to wear their skins, assume their lives, if only for a second. And it’s a dangerous, dangerous journey for those not strong enough. Once a soulmark is used for descending it cannot be reused. It burns up. Porter says it sort of fizzles into the air, disappearing before your eyes.
Which is a problem, especially if the Descender made an impact on history while they were in the past. To erase that impact you have to do a touchdown. You have to use the same soulmark to go back to the beginning of your journey, like a reset button. I’ve had to do it twice. Once when I first met Blue, and I kissed him and made an impact on his heart. Then again when the Descender shot me and left me for dead in 1876. That was against the rules. You’re not allowed to take a life. So I had to go back, reset the mission, make it so it never happened. I was never shot. I never kissed Blue. For me, touchdowns are easy. My soulmarks don’t burn up because my soul hasn’t gone to Afterlife. I’m still here. And so my soulmarks wait for me in my garden, and I can use them over and over again. That’s why I’m special. An asset to Gesh and whatever he’s planning.
Other Descenders must go through sever
al levels of training before they’re allowed access to Limbo. The lowest, Level One, are trainees. They study the theory of descending and Limbo, but don’t actually get to see it. Level Two finally grants them access to Limbo, but only under strict supervision, like taking a field trip. They practice shapeshifting and moving between the different levels of Limbo. The Descender I battled in Limbo was Level Three. He could access Limbo alone and go on missions, using specific soulmarks that had been carefully researched for him, but his every move was tracked by Gesh’s team. If he disconnected from a soulmark it would burn up, but as a Level Three, it meant he had the strength and ability to maintain a connection to a soulmark long enough to do a touchdown.
Gesh and Porter are Level Four. That just means they have free rein. They can maintain a connection to a soulmark in order to achieve touchdowns just like Level Threes, but they answer to no one. They can descend into any soulmark they want. That’s how Gesh became obsessed with descending. He had the power to change the past again and again, replaying the same scenarios in different ways, each time upping the stakes, using bodies for his own pleasure and gain. Using people like puppets to bend to his will. And it made him crazy. Greedy. A god who wanted to squeeze the world in his fist until it burst.
He was careful, though, to touch down and erase the hideous things he’d done, leaving no trace in Base Life of the heinous man he truly is. And once he was done with a soulmark and disconnected from it he could never use it again. It was free. Released from his bondage and burned up into the Black.
That’s Level Four clearance.
Blue and I are Level Five.
We have free rein too, although Porter tries to give me boundaries. We have the ability to ascend and descend anytime we want, and we can reuse our own soulmarks and benefit from the memories of our past lives during our missions.
The memory thing only works part of the time. Some memories are strong for me, like muscle memory. So strong, in fact, sometimes I have to fight with my past-life body to get it to do what I want. It’s like driving a vintage muscle car like the Mustang. Sometimes they have a mind of their own and you have the wrestle them into submission. But other memories, like names and places and dates, are far less clear for me.
I guess that’s why I needed Micki in my most recent past life, when I worked for Gesh and Porter at AIDA. She kept track of all those things. Made sure I had all the information I needed for my missions.
I asked Porter once if any newbie Descenders ever made an impact they didn’t have the strength to erase. He simply said, “How would we know?”
His answer made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I’m not sure how long I stand on the bridge, watching soulmarks swim beneath me, thinking about all the impact that could’ve been made and the ripples that could’ve been created, before I hear his voice.
Soft at first, so soft I think I may have dreamed it, then louder, right behind me.
A whisper. “Sousa.”
I turn, and for a moment just stare, uncertain that what I’m seeing is real.
Blue.
Chapter 9
A Gleaming Palace
After months of waiting, after holding him in my arms as he was dying, after all I went through at the fountain, he’s here. Standing in front of me. And he’s beautiful. Even more beautiful here, in Limbo, than I’ve ever seen him. Maybe it’s my perception of him that makes him so breathtaking. Tall and gorgeous. Cropped dark hair, shining blue-green eyes, wool coat draped over square shoulders, like the first time I saw him in 1927 Chicago. Those lips that make me forget everything, everything, except wanting to kiss them.
“Are you real?” I press a palm to his chest.
He places his hand over mine and holds it close. His smile widens. “As real as I can be in this place.” He lowers my hand, but keeps it held at his side.
“You didn’t show,” I say, looking down at our fingers, entwined and clasped tight.
“I didn’t?”
“At the fountain. You weren’t there.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” He pauses, thinking. “I can’t remember.”
I’m not sure what else I expected him to say. But I’m not angry. I know it’s not his fault if he can’t remember. For a long while we’re both quiet, holding hands. Silver threads of soulmarks glide beneath our feet.
“Have you ever been here?” he asks. “To Polestar?”
“Once.” I lift my face to the castle ruins.
“In Inferno,” he says, “Dante claims Homer resided here, in this castle, with Socrates and Plato and all the other great thinkers of the world. There are those who believe Christ liberated souls from Limbo after he was crucified. That he ascended here and rescued them—Abraham and Noah and all those believers from the Old Testament. I think he must have rescued Homer and the others, too. I’ve searched this place from end to end. There’s no one here anymore, no souls at all. Just their marks.”
I’m glad Blue’s the one talking, because I can’t find any words. I stare up at him, dumbly, like I’m in a dream. I like watching him speak, how his lips form each word, hearing his thoughts. I feel like I could listen to them for the rest of my life.
“When Dante and Virgil toured Limbo they entered the castle,” Blue says. “Dante described it as a sprawling, gleaming palace, with many courtyards and gardens. But I’ve been inside, and it’s no such place. It’s dark, and lonely, and cold, and ruined. There’s nothing gleaming about it.”
“When did you read Inferno?” For me it was freshman year, so it’s been a while, and even then it was only the summary online. I didn’t like reading books before I met Porter, especially ones set in the past, even fiction. I feared they would trigger déjà vu from one of my past lives, back before I knew what my visions were.
“Not sure,” Blue says, tracing the lines of my palm with his finger. “Isn’t that strange? I can remember the contents of a book but not when, or who I was when I read it.” He shakes his head. “Books are powerful things. Our memories may fade, but the written word lasts across lifetimes.”
I’ve never encountered this philosophical side of him. I like seeing it, getting a glimpse inside his mind. “Have you been here a lot?”
He nods. “Every time you ascend to Limbo you pull me here. But I can never find you in Polestar. I’ve looked. You must ascend to some level I can’t access.”
The thought of him wandering around Limbo, searching for me, makes me reach out for his arm. Tug him closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I pulled you to Limbo with me.”
“You didn’t?”
“I thought we pulled each other to the past. I knew that affected you, but I never realized my time in Limbo affected you too. Before I knew what we were, when you’d have déjà vu and you’d pull me back in time without warning, I hated it. I felt like I had no control over my life. I hate that I do that to you.”
“Our souls are linked. I can’t descend without you, and you can’t descend without me. We pull each other no matter what. But it’s OK.” A grin creases the corners of his eyes. “I like it here. I’d rather be here, knowing I’m connected to you, than back in Base Life. I’d rather be anywhere than there.”
Hope lifts in my chest like it’s caught in a breeze, like the sheets Gran pins to the clothesline in our backyard. “Do you remember something about your Base Life?”
He shakes his head, his grin disappearing. “I can never remember it. I try every time you pull me here, but I can’t.”
“Then how do you know you’d rather be here?”
His smile is back and he squeezes my hand. “You once said to me, in Chicago, when we were at Peg Leg, you said you didn’t want to go back to your old life because it didn’t have me in it. That’s exactly how it is for me. I don’t care what life I leave behind when you pull me back. I don’t care because you’re not there. You’re here. And I’d rather be pulled away from Ba
se Life than not have these moments at all. We’re partners. I’d rather be with my partner.”
“But you could have a life out there, a real life. You could have a family. A girlfriend waiting for you.”
“Nah.” His blue-green eyes make my stomach dip. “If there were a girl in Base Life that meant half as much to me as you, I’d remember her. Like I remember you, no matter where I go, no matter what body I’m in. I remember you.”
“Just not in Base Life.”
“We don’t know that. Maybe I do remember you in Base Life. Maybe I just can’t get to you. Maybe there’s an obstacle.”
“If you could remember something, anything, about your Base Life, I could figure out where you are. Follow the clues. I could come to you.”
He frowns, thinking hard, his eyes searching the soulmarks in the distance. Then he shakes his head. “It’s all black, all of it. It’s all black until I see your face again.” He winds a strand of my hair around his finger. “Is this what you look like in Base Life?”
I look down, hiding my face from him. For a moment, my trust in this boy standing before me wavers. Loses its balance. What if Micki is right? What if all this, his interest in me, is a scam? A plan created by Gesh to find me in Base Life?
I brush the thought away, because I know it stems from my self-doubt, something I’m trying to overcome. For as long as I can remember, I’ve questioned my own judgment until I couldn’t see straight, depending on others to guide me. Because they were the normal ones and I was the one with the psychotic breaks from reality. It’s so easily done when you truly believe you’re certifiably crazy. And now, even though I know I’m not crazy, that I’m just as sane as anyone else, my old habits remain. My instinct is to doubt myself, doubt Blue’s attraction to me, doubt anyone’s. Because why would anyone want me? A socially awkward nutcase?
I can’t fathom a reason. Not one.
But I don’t want to think like that anymore. I want to give myself some credit, trust my gut. And my gut tells me I know Blue better than they do. It tells me I can trust him. Maybe it’s just hope or wishful thinking, but whatever it is, it’s strong enough to make me want to prove his innocence.
The Untimely Deaths of Alex Wayfare Page 7
