Her attention shifts from me to Link.
“Take a seat, Jilly-bean.” Another seat appears on Link’s other side. “We’re seeing how many people Xena can link up.”
“Oh, fun.” Jillian sits in the chair Link conjured up for her. By the way she’s looking at me, I think he ought to conjure her up a bag of popcorn too.
“Why don’t you get Luka next?” Claire asks. “We can see if he’s as hot in Link’s dreams as he is in mine.”
My grip tightens on Link’s seat back. This time, I focus on Rosie. The darkness of her hair and her eyes. Her tiny frame and dusky skin and impish smile. But it’s harder somehow, like my mind is crowded, and it takes longer too. I squish up my face in concentration. This time, I hear our new guest before I see her.
“Whoa!” Rosie grabs hold of the steering shaft. “Where are we going, commander?”
“I’m not the commander tonight.” Link nods at me, a fascinated twinkle in his eye. “You might want to link to Cap next. His dreams are pretty callused.”
I close my eyes and think of the captain. My brain feels even more crowded than before. Heavy. Easily distracted. But I force myself to concentrate on everything I know about Cap and just as his wife’s face swims into focus, he’s there making a tally of everyone here—Link, Claire, Jillian, Rosie, and now him.
“You seeing this, Cap? She just linked five of us without breaking a sweat.” Link’s fascinated twinkle has turned into a glowing fire. “Who’s next?”
“Luka,” Cap says. “I’d like you to link to him before you try anyone else.”
It’s not a request. And it makes me wonder why. Why should Cap care if I bring Luka into this ship? And how will Luka feel when he shows up and sees I’ve waited so long to invite him to the party?
“Think you can do it?” Link asks.
I know I can. Unlike the others, Luka is a snap away. A breath. The second I close my eyes, before my heart can even beat, he’s already there. I know before I see, because my whole body feels his presence. The ship is warmer, brighter somehow, and the ache that’s taken up residence in my chest expands. I hate that there’s so much distance between us. When I open my eyes, he’s looking around with coiled muscles. His body shifts, as though shielding me from non-existent danger.
Link slaps his knee. “This is crazy town!”
But I’m not finished. I manage to pull in Declan, Jose, and Ellen, too. My brain feels squished, like I’m in a submarine at the bottom of the ocean without anything to control the pressure. Luka wants me to stop. Link insists I keep going. I spend a good fifteen minutes trying to think about Ashley or Sticks or Non, even Anna and Fray, but it’s a no go. The Starfleet is officially full.
Cap begins inspecting the ship, searching for who knows what.
My breath comes more quickly than it should in a dream. Not only does my brain feel squished, so do my lungs. Thankfully, now that I’m no longer grasping onto the seat or trying to pull another person in, the pressure begins to stabilize.
Link boots up the control panel. “Where am I flying this thing, Cap?”
“Outside the warehouse. I need to check on Anna’s cloak.”
I stand up straight, every nerve-ending on high alert. The pressure has gone completely away. “Are you going to teach me how to do it?”
“Your job,” Cap says, “is to walk through the doorway. Don’t let yourself be dragged.”
“How?”
“Close your eyes. Focus on your center. You should feel a pull.”
He’s right. I do. It’s like a tiny hook behind my belly button, tugging me to the left.
“Don’t let it pull you. You walk with it. You remain in control.”
I tune everything else out—Jillian’s questions, Claire’s sarcastic commentary, the tension radiating off of Luka. I walk to the left, with the pull, like Cap instructed. And the more I walk, the more intense the tugging becomes.
“Resist it, Tess. Don’t let it pull you.”
I walk some more, drumming up every ounce of self-control that I can muster. The tugging has turned into an all-out yank, a force that is almost impossible to resist and I know if I step one step further, I won’t be able to. I open my eyes. I’m standing in the back of the ship. “The doorway is right here.”
Cap nods.
“Now what?”
“Now we walk through.”
Luka steps forward. “You didn’t say anything about walking through any doorways.”
I was right. Luka and Cap did talk about this.
“I can’t show her how to impact the physical while in spirit form without going through the doorway, Luka.”
Claire stands up. “Take me with you. I want to learn how to do it, too.”
“We can’t risk it. The less people who walk through the doorway, the better. Otherwise we’ll draw attention to ourselves.” Unfazed by the mottled color of Claire’s neck and face, Cap turns from her to me. “When I tell you to startle, you will startle.”
“What if—?”
“That is a command. If we run into the other side, you do not fight. This is not a fighting session. I need your full cooperation before we walk through. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes.”
Cap comes closer. “You don’t hesitate. You don’t ask questions. You startle the second I give the word or else our training is through.”
“Okay. I got it.”
Cap steps beside me, where the tug is almost impossible to fight.
“I’m going with.” Luka’s voice holds as much authority as Cap’s.
“We aren’t going to fight. I promise you, Tess will not be in danger.”
Luka’s jaw tightens. “She’s leaving Anna’s cloak, which means I am going.”
“I need you to trust me, Luka.”
“I do trust you. Just not with her life.” He steps forward and takes my hand. Heat shoots through my palm, up my arm, filling the hollow ache in my chest until it’s nothing but warmth and energy. Cap must decide it’s not a battle worth fighting, because he takes my other hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Step through. Don’t let yourself be dragged.”
With a deep breath, and a whispered prayer, I step.
We’re no longer in Link’s ship. We’re standing outside the warehouse, surrounded by darkness in front and the faint, otherworldly glow of Anna’s cloak behind. Cap lets go of my hand and begins examining it. It flickers like a light bulb about to burn out. I don’t know much about cloaks, but I can’t imagine this is a good sign.
Frowning, Cap nods toward another flicker of light—this one in the opposite direction—and we walk toward it. Luka and I follow. I don’t let go of his hand. If he wants to stop holding mine, he will have to be the one to let go first. As we approach a homeless man warming his hands over a fire in a garbage can, Luka’s grip only tightens and the warmth in my chest grows warmer. My senses sharpen. I actually feel like a rabbit—whiskers twitching, ears perked. As far as I can tell, there isn’t any evil in sight. No Scarface or white-eyed men. It’s just us and this homeless guy and his crackling fire.
“This isn’t dream world. You can’t think things into existence here.” Cap prowls around the homeless man and stops next to the garbage can. The dancing flames cast moving shadows along his jaw line, turning his eyes into shining rings of gossamer. “But when it comes to your ability to fight, the same rules apply. You are in spirit form right now. The strength of your spirit has nothing to do with the size of your physical body. Or your ability to do this.” And just like that, he nudges the garbage can.
The homeless man takes a skittish step back and looks about.
“How’d you do that?”
Cap steps aside and extends his arm, inviting me to give it a try.
I let go of Luka’s hand and touch the can in the same way Cap did. Nothing happens. I try touching the man, but my hand is like vapor. It passes right through him.
“It comes from your core, and it’s fueled by strong emotion.
”
“What kind of emotion?”
“That’s for you to decide. What fuels me won’t fuel you. All that matters is that the emotion is strong.” All the muscles in Cap’s face tighten, and I wonder what emotion he’s letting himself feel. Just as it seems to reach its crescendo, he reaches out again and touches the homeless man’s shoulder.
“What the—?” The guy jumps back, batting at the spot Cap touched.
I shuffle through the list of emotions I’ve felt at one time or another. I’m not sure why. Maybe because Claire is still so fresh in my mind, but jealousy jumps to the top. It’s definitely an intense emotion. As much as I don’t want to, I let myself go to a no-good place—where Luka’s hands are in Claire’s hair, his lips on her skin, her arms curled around his neck. The feeling is intensely strong. I let it ball into a fist in the center of my chest. Then I reach out and try shoving the garbage can.
Nothing.
“You’re going to have to work up something stronger than that,” Cap says.
I look at the fiery glow flickering across Luka’s face and I let myself feel today’s frustration—the agitation, the helplessness—over the growing chasm between us. I let myself feel the full brunt of his dismissal today, then I try again. The can doesn’t budge. I let out an agitated growl.
Cap folds his arms. “The strongest emotion you know.”
The strongest emotion …
I think about the way I felt when I watched Pete fly out of the windshield in my dream all those nights ago. The way I felt when Luka and I were running for our lives out of Shady Wood, and then through back alleys after we found our only ally hanging dead from a rope. I think about the nightmares I have had and my father in a prison cell. I think about something bad happening to Luka. My entire body turns cold with fear. As I reach out to jab the man in his chest, I can’t imagine feeling a stronger emotion.
He doesn’t react. Not even a twitch.
I grind my teeth. Clench my fists. I’m failing, and instead of feeling closer to success, I feel further away. Drained and weak. “What am I doing wrong?”
“You’re not focusing.”
“Yes, I am.” I squish the words between my teeth. I couldn’t focus harder if I tried.
A scream splits through my frustration.
The homeless man spins around and peers down the darkened street. Every one of the hairs on my arms stand on end. Unlike the scream I heard before, this one doesn’t belong to a woman. It belongs to a kid. And it pierces my heart like a sharpened blade. What is a kid doing here—in this place? I take several quick steps toward the terrified cries, barely able to make something out. Familiar black tentacles swirling around a little boy, a street kid like Rosie or Bass. And the fear I drummed up moments ago comes on its own, rushing forth without any effort required. We are not alone.
“Startle.”
I spin around. “What?”
“Startle.” Cap’s voice is firm, demanding. A reminder of the stipulation he gave on Link’s Starfleet. If I don’t obey orders, he will stop training me. And if he stops training me, what good will I be then? Shutting my ears to the boy’s cry for help, I grab Luka’s hand and I follow Cap’s orders.
When I open my eyes, I’m alone in my bedroom with tears sliding down the side of my face, into my hair.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Breakthroughs
The next morning before breakfast, I gather the notebooks into a pile and go searching for Non. I find her in the greenhouse with Anna, whispering soothing words into her ear, petting her hair as Anna repots lavender with shaking hands. The stalks quiver as Anna shakes, but increasingly less as she takes deep, calming breaths and inhales the scent of the purple petals.
“That’s it,” Non says gently. She catches sight of me in the doorway, but her voice continues in its comforting cadence. “Let your muscles relax. Let your mind relax. Soak up the warmth.”
When Anna’s shaking has turned into a light tremble, Non joins me in the doorway. “Did Cap send you to get me?”
“Oh, um, no. He didn’t.”
Anna hums a sad, haunting melody and repots more lavender with her eyes closed.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask.
“She’s still shaken up about Fray. We need to get her to calm down. The more relaxed she is, the less energy she’s expending on worry, the easier time she’ll have casting the cloak.” Non’s attention dips to the stack of notebooks in my hands. “What do we have here?”
“I was hoping you would know. Jillian said she saw them on your desk once.”
“Jillian would be correct.” Non takes one off the top and turns it over. “You’re the first student who has shown any interest in these.”
“I found them in the library the other day, when I was looking for a Keeper to study for Sticks’ research assignment.”
She flips through the pages. “Have you read them?”
“Bits and pieces.”
“So what’s the answer to your question?”
“They seem sort of like an historical account of The Gifting. But they don’t really make sense, because the journal entries are dated all the way back to medieval times, and these notebooks didn’t exit back then, so unless they’ve been transcribed …”
Non flicks her eyebrows. In approval, it would seem.
“So they’re transcribed? These are all real? But they’re all in English.”
“Which means …?”
“They must have been translated as well.”
Non touches the tip of her nose. “I met a believer once, early on in my years. Right after I figured out that I wasn’t crazy. She was born into a long line of believers, dating back as far as her family tree could go. Her family’s life work has been collecting these journals throughout the years, translating them, preserving them, and transcribing them. Believe it or not, these are only a portion of the ones she had.”
“Where are the others?”
“Where they should be—with the believer and her family. See, these are the ones I had with me when I had to go underground. Which is how they ended up here. And a good thing, too.”
“Why?”
“So someone like you could study them. In fact, I think I’d like to give you an assignment. I’ll even have Sticks give you a pass on his Keeper project. You study these journals instead.” Non gives the notebook a tap, then makes her way back to Anna. “When you think you have it figured out, we can talk.”
My eyebrows pull together. “Have what figured out?”
“The connections. The pattern.” Non holds up her finger. “There’s always a pattern.”
*
Life at the hub slips into a routine with little to no downtime. I spend the mornings in class, the afternoons training with Cap, and evenings poring over databases with Link and anyone else who wants to help. Thanks to my jumping abilities, the number of databases we have to search have increased exponentially. Fray’s condition worsens. Dr. Carlyle insists he needs medical treatment that he cannot provide in the basement of our warehouse. He needs to check into a hospital, so Link works on getting Fray a fake identity. It’s his only chance of survival.
Except for the occasional glimpse of her in the greenhouse, I don’t see Anna much. Every time I do, my sense of alarm grows. In my opinion, she looks worse than Fray. Luka spends his afternoons training with Gabe, and whether motivated by Gabe’s training style or the nightmares he keeps hiding from me, he’s turning into an incredibly powerful Keeper. When he joins us in the dream dojo, nothing and nobody can touch me. Claire, Jose, Cap—they all take turns trying to get at me. Sometimes all three of them will try at once. But Luka can throw a shield that is impenetrable. Not only that, Gabe has taught him how to cloak me. Once, he even prevented me from dreaming. It required so much energy it made him physically ill.
I forbid him from doing it ever again.
I’m too busy at night to afford dreamless sleep. I’ve learned how to dream hop, dream link, and dream spy.
I’ve learned how to sense and find doorways and walk through on my own volition. According to Link, my territory is unheard of. I can jump to California, and I can jump to New York. I can jump as far north as Adak, Alaska and once, I even made it to Mexico City. Link was practically beside himself when he added another circle to the map—bright red, around the entirety of the United States, plus a substantial chunk of Canada and Mexico.
My bi-colored hair grows to my shoulders. Dark at the roots, then two inches down, a wall of lighter brown. My already pale skin grows paler. I forget what the sun feels like against my skin. All of the physical training makes me stronger. And Claire’s resentment grows darker. According to Jillian, she was the hot shot before I came, the promising one. The drastic shift in attention hasn’t been easy on her.
The evening news has been odd. Either President Cormack’s new initiatives are seriously doing the trick or the Chief of Press finally had enough and started popping Prozac. The crime rate and unemployment rate has dropped significantly and the U.S. dollar is worth gold. Cormack, of course, uses the statistics to fuel her increasingly popular campaign—eradicate weakness, unite as one. Now more than ever. She’s the first president in a long time who’s not only adored domestically, but internationally. A true friend of refugees and immigrants. She’s even appointed Secretary General of the United Nations and takes the lead in negotiating a potential cease-fire in North Africa. It all seems great. Grand, even.
And yet several times, I’ve caught Non muttering at the television screen.
Every night before bed I pore over the journals. They’ve become a bit of an obsession. I have a list of each journal writer in chronological order tacked on the wall above my dresser. The first on the list is Fire Heart, a Shawnee Indian whose entries span from 1755 – 1762. He helped the French in the French Indian War. There are plenty of other entries before his, but the authors are unknown. Next on the list is a young Ukrainian man who wrote from inside Kiev jail. He recorded several frantic entries in 1929, of fellow kulaks being pulled from their cells at night and shot in the head. Judging by the way his writing stopped so suddenly, I believe he became one of them. There are a string of entries from a young Jewish girl who wrote from the hell that was Auschwitz in the early 1940s. She met several other Jews like her and wrote about them, too.
The Awakening Page 19
