by Alyson Noel
Though I shouldn’t have been so surprised, since it’s not like he was the only one. Out of all the ghosts I’d met so far, not one of them chose to step it up a notch, keep up with the changing times, or take the slightest bit of advantage of the wonderful gift of instant manifestation that pretty much allowed for an all-access pass to the closet of your wildest imagination.
All of the ghosts I’d met so far had (much to my disappointment) been willingly stuck in some kind of tragically unfashionable time warp, insisting on wearing the same types of clothes they were last seen in alive, no matter the date.
“I apologize if my humble appearance has startled you, or left you doubting my genuineness in some way.” He immediately rid himself of the rags, manifesting an elaborately patterned, colorful tunic in their place. “I trust this look will not offend?”
I flushed, aware of the color rising to my cheeks as a look of embarrassment crept across my face. And I couldn’t help but wonder when I would ever learn to think nicer thoughts now that pretty much everyone around me (well, everyone who was dead anyway) could hear them. Or, at the very least (and far more plausible considering it was me), when I would finally learn how to shield them.
I started to apologize, feeling bad for what he’d heard, but I didn’t get very far before he quickly waved it away. Lifting his hand and flashing one heavily calloused palm as he said, “There is no need. Nor time for that matter. Please allow me to get right to the point since this is a matter of the utmost urgency. Rebecca has trapped your good friend, yes?”
“What makes you say that?” I squinted, not sure I could trust him. Not convinced he could be of any real help.
“I am aware of everything that happens in these parts. Every. Thing. Including your name. I’ve been aware of you and your problem from the moment it started. Which also means, I know you are in need of my help.”
I looked at him, part of me wanting to deny I even had a problem, mostly because I was a little creeped out.
Okay, maybe I was a lot creeped out. I mean, here he’d pretty much just jumped out of the bushes, appeared out of nowhere really, claiming to know everything—and since I couldn’t hear his thoughts either, I had no way of knowing just what his motives might be.
But when I gazed into his kind and shining eyes, I realized that thought had come from the more paranoid part of me.
The more reasonable part knew I needed help.
Needed it, like, pronto to say the least.
I’d gotten myself into quite a mess—found myself in a situation so beyond me, I was left with no choice but to look for a solution outside of my own, admittedly meager, means.
I was far too lost and clueless to even try to go it alone.
And that’s pretty much the only reason I decided to take the leap—decided to place all my trust in this odd, shabby stranger who claimed to be a prince, despite the pile of evidence to the contrary.
Allowing the more logical part of me to reign as I squared my shoulders, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “I do need your help. I really do. Not only does she have my friend, but she’s got my dog too.”
9
He regarded me carefully, his face solemn, eyes grave, his gaze sweeping mine as though giving it some majorly serious consideration.
Then, without another word, with no other signal than the slightest nod of his shiny bald head, he turned, motioned for me to follow, and led me right out of that graveyard, away from the bubble and over to what appeared to be a small, straw-covered hut on the sand.
I stood at the entrance, totally unwilling to venture any farther. Drumming my fingers against the side of my hip, as I said, “So, I guess this is your … palace?” I scrunched up my nose and surveyed the place.
Taking in the thatched roof, the four dried-out bamboo sticks that supported it, the woven-grass mat that stood in as some sort of carpet, and the two brightly colored pillows he’d arranged in the center—surroundings so plain and humble, I have to admit that my already shaky faith in him took a pretty swift nosedive.
I mean, not to be rude or anything, but didn’t he claim to be a prince?
Hadn’t he actually made it a point to emphasize the word?
I watched as he busied himself in the corner, his back turned toward me as he took on some kind of task. Ignoring my comment, paying me absolutely no attention whatsoever, and it was then that I realized what I’d failed to see before.
Prince Kanta was crazy!
Like one of those poor, destitute, homeless people I sometimes saw wandering around and muttering to themselves back on the streets in the earth plane.
He was delusional.
Insane.
Living in some made-up fantasy world that existed only in his head—a world where princes dressed in rags and lived in shacks. Fully convinced he was some kind of royalty, when in fact, from what I could see, he was anything but. And apparently I’d been just dumb enough, just desperate enough for him to almost succeed in convincing me too.
I started to bolt, eager to get myself the heck out of there, when he turned, held his hands cupped before him, and offered me some kind of tea he’d just brewed.
I rose up on my tiptoes and peered at the dark, steaming liquid in the small yellow cup—saw the way the small bits of leaf clung to each other and collected around the edges. My eyes narrowing in suspicion as every warning I’d ever heard about the dangers of taking candy from strangers, especially completely wacko, psycho strangers, came back to haunt me. (Never mind the fact that my being dead ensured I could no longer be harmed in that way.)
“Take it.” He thrust it upon me as he reached for a cup of his own. Lowering himself onto the blue patterned cushion in one quick, fluid move, he patted the orange one with the large starburst design just beside it. “Now sit,” he commanded.
I knew better.
Knew I should take that opportunity to get myself the heck out of there. Take advantage of my proximity to the entry and just hit it while I could.
But instead, for some inexplicable reason, I found myself sitting right down beside him. Obediently crossing my legs as I held the warm cup in my hands.
He blew on the liquid, probably more out of habit and ritual than actual necessity, gazing out at those turquoise waters for what seemed like a very long time. Gazing at the sea for so long I was starting to get more than a little bit antsy. Starting to get more than a little annoyed with the whole situation. Sure that there was no way some dumb Mad Hatter–style tea party could do anything toward helping me free my friends. If anything, it was the exact opposite—it was all amounting to a big waste of time.
And I was just about to express those feelings when he looked at me and said, “Drink.” Probably figuring since I’d already gone along with his earlier commands, I’d just blindly go along with that too.
But I was done being bossed around. Done being treated like one of his royal subjects, and I was just about to start making a few demands of my own when he turned, looked me right in the eye, and said it again.
“Drink.”
I tried to break his gaze, but couldn’t.
Tried to get to my feet and get myself out of there, but I couldn’t do that either.
It was as though his eyes were holding me captive, paralyzed, in the strangest of ways. And the more I tried to fight it, the more I realized just how useless it was.
The word came at me again:
Drink.
His stare deepening as he plucked a loose thread from his robe and dropped it right into my cup.
And even though the sight of it disgusted me, even though I made my disgust known by shouting out “Ew!”—even though not one single part of me actually consented to the act—my hands somehow magically lifted, rose from my lap to my mouth, where I tilted the cup, brought it to my parted lips, and allowed the liquid to seep out.
Drink.
The word swirling, repeating, clouding my head, my vision, my will—until the cup fell from my fingers, drained
of its contents, and my body collapsed to the ground.
10
I was surrounded by mist. Thick, white, shimmering mist. My eyes squinting, straining, striving to see my way past it, vaguely aware of some place I needed to be just on the other side of it.
Some important destination he urged me to reach.
I pushed forward, my hands sweeping before me, trying to clear the space by batting away all the haze. My first few attempts yielded no success whatsoever; in fact, if anything, they just seemed to make the fog grow thicker, but then, little by little, it began to fade away until I found myself standing before a simple, but still rather impressive, castle, like a fortress with a sturdy stone wall all around it.
“Is this it? Is this what you wanted me to see?” I glanced over my shoulder at Prince Kanta, seeing him nod in reply.
And there was something about the way he observed it, something about the way his eyes creased, the way his throat bobbed just a little—something about the way he held himself so silent and still—that told me that to him anyway, this was more than some random old palace we’d just stumbled upon.
His face wore an expression I knew all too well.
It was the same expression I sometimes wore when I snuck into the Viewing Room back in the Here & Now, where I hunkered down in one of those curtained off cubicles, sat on one of those hard metal stools, punched in my desired location, and watched the daily goings-on of my sister and friends back home on the earth plane.
It was the look of resolved longing.
The kind of look you get when you realize that the one thing you loved most in the world can never be yours.
“So, you really were a prince.” I looked at him with a renewed sense of awe along with a good dose of guilt. Feeling terrible for still having not learned my lesson about judging by appearances and choosing to doubt him based purely on his clothes and the hut he chose to live in. But still, it’s not like I could really be blamed for the verdict when all the evidence so clearly pointed against him.
“I was indeed.” He nodded, turning his back to the scene. “I was indeed.”
He waved at me then, started to lead us away, but after working so hard to get there, I wasn’t quite ready to ditch it so soon.
“That’s it?” My brow quirked as I tilted my head and threw my hands up by my sides. “You seriously went to all the trouble of drugging me with your special tea, only so you could give me a quick peek at some old castle then try to convince me to leave? Because excuse me for saying so, but it seems like the least you could do after putting me through all of that is to give me a tour, show me around a bit. At least get me past the big gate, I mean—sheesh!”
I started to shake my head, started to roll my eyes, not quite completing the loop before he said, “There is plenty more to see, trust me on that.” His large dark eyes bore down on mine. “But there is nothing more to see here. This place no longer exists. It’s been gone for many centuries now. You must understand, Riley, that everything on the earth plane is impermanent. Every. Thing. The only thing you can ever count on in the physical world is change. Change is the only constant there is.”
He raised his hand high and pointed to something just past my shoulder. And I turned to find the sky that just a moment ago had been hazy but clear, turned thick with smoke, while the place where the palace once stood was reduced to a pile of rubble and dust, as the ground just beneath ran red with blood.
“We were invaded,” he told me, his voice steady and sure. And when I looked at him again, I noticed that the tattered old rags had returned, replacing the elegant tunic he’d manifested earlier. “As a result, I ended up here.”
“On the island?” I scrunched up my nose, surprised to find myself suddenly returned to the beach once again. Only it was different. Different in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
He nodded, wordlessly pointing toward a very large house on a hill. A big, looming plantation-style home—like the kind you see in movies or in textbooks—which while not near as big as the palace he’d just shown me, still held a fair amount of square footage from what I could tell.
I glanced between Prince Kanta and the house, knowing it was supposed to mean something, symbolize something, but not quite sure what that was. “So, basically you went from an African palace, to a Caribbean plantation house, to the thatched roof hut on the beach, where, for whatever reason, you choose to live in now.” I turned, my eyes traveling the long, tall length of him, but he just remained silent and still. “I mean, you do choose to live there, right? Because if not, if you’re really not all that happy with that kind of…” I paused, searching for just the right word that wouldn’t come off as overly judgmental or offensive, but unable to come up with anything quick, I went on to say, “Anyway, you do know that you can manifest a whole new place just as easily as you can manifest the clothes you wear?” I looked at him, trying to read his face, but didn’t get much of anything. “A stone, a castle, there’s no limit—all you have to do is envision it, see yourself having it, and it’s yours—easy-peasy!”
He turned away. Turned until his back was facing me. And I have to say, that really annoyed me since I wasn’t quite done with my pitch. If anything, I was just getting started, was just about to inform him of my position as a Soul Catcher, and offer to escort him to the bridge as soon as this was all over.
But just as I was about to launch into all that, he glanced over his shoulder, pressed his finger to his lips, and pointed straight ahead as he whispered, “You make too much noise, Miss Riley Bloom. And because of it, you miss the whole point. Just watch. Don’t speak. Allow the story to come to you.”
Okay, in all honesty, that about quadrupled my annoyance. I mean, here he’d led me away from my friends who were in desperate need of my help, only to distract me with some freaky tea and a random collection of not-so-impressive pieces of real estate he was determined to show me.
And now he was telling me that I talk too much and to basically shut up?
Or at least that’s how it sounded to me.
And yet, despite all that, for some reason I found my lips clamping together as my gaze followed the tip of his pointing finger all the way to where a man who looked exactly like Prince Kanta, a man who, after a few moments of observation, I realized was Prince Kanta, spent what must’ve been some major backbreaking days working the fields.
“I—I don’t get it,” I blurted, remembering too late how he didn’t want me to speak. But still, I was confused and in need of some answers, and he was the only one around who was able to give them. “I thought you were a prince? I thought you lived in that castle in Africa?” He looked at me, nodding in confirmation. “So why would you leave a cushy life like that only to come here to get beaten and whipped no matter how hard you work?”
But then it hit me.
Before he could answer, the reason became clear.
Prince Kanta may have moved to this island, but it wasn’t by choice.
Prince Kanta may have been a ruler in Africa, but in this place, he didn’t even rule his own life.
He’d gone from a luxurious life of nobility—to the horrid life of a slave.
Forced to work the plantation from sunup to sunset, and suffer terrible beatings whenever he was unfortunate enough to displease his master.
“Impermanence.” He nodded, tearing his eyes away from the bleak scene in order to look into mine. “It’s like I said earlier, nothing lasts forever, Riley. Where we begin is not always the same as where we end.”
I gulped—an old habit left over from my time on the earth plane—as I turned away from the prince and watched the horrible scene that unfolded before me. Watched a series of beatings, inhumane acts of torture, including one that was so unspeakable, so barbaric, so unimaginably cruel, I was sure it couldn’t be real. I was sure he was seriously pushing the truth just to make an impression on me.
But despite my best effort to look away, despite my turning my back, shutting my eyes, and pla
cing my hands over my ears to drown out those awful, tormented, agonized cries—despite all of those avoidance techniques I employed—there was just no escaping it.
No matter how hard I tried to shield myself from it, the scene continued to play out before me—behind me—around me—inside me.
And since there was no way to stop it, no way to silence it, I was left with no choice but to allow it to run till its end.
So I watched.
Watched as a group of slaves were rounded up, ones who’d been deemed disobedient, troublesome, in a way that angered the plantation owner.
Watched as they were hauled over to a long, pristine expanse of beach where they were buried up to their necks in white sand.
Watched as a cruel and sadistic master, along with his friends, enjoyed a game of “bowling”—using the slave’s exposed heads as pins.
Watched as one slave after another succumbed to a tragically horrendous, untimely death.
It was hideous.
The true definition of gruesome.
And it was hard to imagine that anyone could enjoy something so cruel.
Yet, there it was, a revolting piece of history playing out before me. And thankfully, after a few moments of watching, Prince Kanta was kind enough to remove it from my view.
But even though I was no longer forced to watch, the images lingered, continuing to play in my head. Leaving me sickened, saddened, and so incredibly angry to think it went on for as long as it had, and that no one even once tried to stop it.
I was just about to express those very thoughts, just about to tell the prince how very sorry I was when a new scene appeared.
One in which the tables were turned.
One in which the oppressed rose up, gathered together, and systematically overcame their oppressors.
A revolt was in progress—the slaves versus the masters.
And if I’d still had a heart beating inside me, that would’ve been the moment when it lifted and skipped. Released from the weighty scene I’d watched only a moment earlier, I felt lighter, brighter, sure that I was about to see some much-needed justice.
