The Passion

by L. J. Smith

  Knowing where it came from, she could scarcely keep herself from tearing the tape off. But then she saw Gabriel in the doorway, looking sardonic and amused.

  You don't have anything against the crystal, do you? After all, you're one of us. . . .

  Kaitlyn shot back, I'm not one of them. But I guess you are.

  Right, angel. I'm one of them-and don't you forget it.

  Kaitlyn left the tape alone.

  But she didn't want to help Joyce with the safe. She stared at the photograph, then shut her eyes and just scribbled, taking the time to think.

  She understood now how the dark psychics had attacked them on the road to Canada. First Bri probably dowsed to figure out where they were. Then Jackal Mac guided their astral forms to the right location. After that, they could assault their victims with weird apparitions or with Renny's long-distance

  PK. Simple. You could terrorize people without ever going near them.

  And now Joyce was expecting her to join in the long-distance crime wave, to help them visualize some safe to break into.

  Wait a minute.

  If she could see into a safe, why not a room? Why not try to visualize the secret room below the stairway?

  Without opening her eyes, Kait groped for a new piece of paper. She'd never tried to visualize a specific place before, but the remote viewing process was old hat by now. Stretch out and let your thoughts drift. Block out any external noises. Let the darkness take you down. . . .

  And now, think of the secret room. Think of walking up to the door, visualize that hallway lit by fluorescent greenish light. Walk up to the door . . . and let the darkness take you. . . .

  Her hand began to cramp and itch.

  Then it was dancing and skidding over the paper, moving of its own accord while Kaitlyn floated in darkness. Sketching fluidly, easily. Kaitlyn held her breath and tried not to be anxious, tried not to think or feel anything.

  Okay, slowing down-is it done yet? Can I look?

  She couldn't resist the temptation. One eye opened, then both were open and wide. Chills swept over her, as she stared, not at the piece of paper her hand was still working on, but at the first one, the one that was supposed to be only scribbles.

  Oh, God, what is it? What have I done?

  It wasn't her usual style. It was cartoonish, but gruesome cartoonish, like the new breed of comic books. At first Kait thought it might be a picture of her beating Gabriel to death with a rolling pin.

  But those long tear-shaped things flying out at the edges were flames. Flames, fire. It was a fireball or an explosion, circular, with smoke billowing every which way, and the shock waves moving outward like ripples on a pond.

  And in the center was a stick figure of a person. Like Itchy the cat after Scratchy hits him with a flamethrower. Arms waving, legs splayed in a grotesque dance.

  Ha, ha.

  Except that since Kait's drawings always came true, somebody was going to get burned. Somebody involved with that safe, maybe? Kait tried to recapture what she'd been thinking about while scribbling. Too much. Psychic attacks, Canada, Bri dowsing, Jackal

  Mac on the astral plane, Renny's PK. And the safe, of course, even though she'd tried not to think about it.

  This picture could involve any of those things. Kait had a very bad feeling about it, made worse by a nagging, growing headache.

  What about the other picture? The one that was supposed to be visualizing the secret room? Kait looked at it and wanted to slam her fist on the table.

  Garbage! Trash! Not literally, but the drawing was useless. It wasn't the inside of a room at all, and it certainly didn't show a crystal. It was a line drawing of a sailing ship on a pretty, wavy ocean. Sitting on the deck, right below the sails, was a Christmas tree. A nice little Christmas tree with garland and a star on top.

  Kaitlyn's eyes were stinging with pain and fury. The first picture left her helpless. The second was useless.

  And that makes me completely hopeless.

  Suddenly she couldn't hold her feelings in. She crumpled them up with a savage motion and threw them as hard as she could at Frost. One hit Frost on the cheek, the other hit Frost's volunteer.

  "Kaitlyn!" Joyce shouted. Frost leaped up, one hand to her cheek. Then she made a rush for Kait, her nails clawed.

  "Frost!" Joyce shouted.

  Kaitlyn put a foot out to block Frost. In elementary school she'd been a pretty good fighter, and right now it felt good to fend Frost off. And if Frost whacked her, she was going to whack right back. She felt calm and queenly standing there ready to kick Frost in the chest.

  "Come on, snowflake," she said. "Come get me!"

  "I will, you!" Frost shrieked, charging again.

  "Gabriel, help me! Renny, you stay in that seat!" Joyce shouted.

  Joyce and Gabriel dragged Frost back and sat her down hard in a chair. Kait was tempted to go after her, but didn't.

  "Now," Joyce said in a voice to cut through steel, "what is going on?"

  "I got mad," Kaitlyn said, not at all sorry. "Everything I draw is trash."

  "Smash," Bri said quietly. Kait had an urge to snicker.

  Joyce was staring at Kait, lips compressed, brow furrowed. Abruptly, she pulled the tape off Kait's forehead.

  "How do you feel?" she said.

  "Bad. I have a headache."

  "Right," Joyce muttered. "All right, you go upstairs and lie down. But first you pick up those papers and put them in the trash can where they belong."

  Stiff-backed, Kait stalked over to the crumpled wads, picked them up. Then, as Joyce turned back to her clipboard, she faked throwing them at Frost again. Frost went red, and Kait hurried out of the room.

  Upstairs, she shut the door of her bedroom and wondered what had come over her.

  Was she crazy? No, of course-it was the crystal. Joyce had used a big piece of the crystal and it had made Kaitlyn act like the psycho psychics.

  And I must be pretty crazy to start with, because it didn't take much, Kaitlyn thought. Maybe Bri and the others were a lot saner than me to begin with. I wish I could have seen them before . . .

  She let out her breath, trying to make sense of her feelings. She'd really been furious there, furious and completely indifferent to any consequences her actions might have. She'd would happily have scratched Frost's eyes out.

  Well, maybe that wasn't so crazy. After all...

  Kaitlyn sat on the bed heavily. She kept trying to tell herself she didn't care about Gabriel-but if she didn't care, why did she hate Frost so much today?

  And Gabriel certainly didn't jump up to defend me, she thought. He probably enjoyed watching us fight.

  Kait rubbed her throbbing forehead, wishing she could go outside and lie under a tree. She needed air. Idly, she toyed with the balls of paper in her other hand.

  Then she looked up as the door opened.

  "Can I come in? My riding lesson was canceled this morning," Lydia said. She sounded depressed.

  "It's your room," Kaitlyn said.

  She kept rolling the paper balls around, squashing them against each other. She'd taken them so Frost wouldn't pick them out of the trash can and laugh at them-but was that the only reason? Now she wondered if it hadn't also been some survival instinct kicking in.

  None of her drawings was really worthless. Maybe she'd better keep them.

  "What's the matter?" Lydia asked.

  Kait frowned. Lydia was picking now to talk? "I've got a headache," she said shortly, and dropped the paper balls in a drawer.

  Then she remembered her promise to Lewis. She glanced at Lydia out of the side of her eye.

  The smaller girl looked very neat in a brown riding habit. Her heavy dark hair was pulled away from her small pale face, and her green eyes showed up more than ever. Neat and rich-and miserable.

  "Have you got a boyfriend?" Kait asked abruptly

  "Huh? No." She hesitated, then added, "I'm not after Gabriel, if that's what you mean."

  "It isn't." Kait d
idn't want to talk about Gabriel. "I was thinking about Lewis-did you ever notice him?"

  Lydia looked startled-almost frightened. "Lewis! You mean Lewis Chao?"

  "No, I mean Lewis and Clark. Of course Lewis Chao. What do you think of him?"

  "Well ... he was nice to me. Even when the rest of you weren't."

  "Well, he thinks you're nice, too. And I told him-" Kaitlyn caught herself. Oh, Lord, this headache was making her stupid. She'd almost said that she'd told Lewis yesterday she'd bring him up. Frantically, she tried to think of another way to end the sentence.

  "I told him that you'd think you were too good for him. That you'd just laugh at him. That was a long time ago," Kaitlyn finished at random.

  Lydia's eyes seemed to turn a darker green. "I wouldn't laugh. I like nice guys," she said. "I don't think you're very nice. You're turning out just like them," she added, and left the room, slamming the door.

  Kaitlyn leaned back against the headboard, convinced she just wasn't cut out to be a spy.

  And she still didn't feel quite herself. One thing was certain, she couldn't let Joyce put her in contact with the crystal again. It made her lose control, and when she lost control anything could happen.

  And another thing was certain, too. She couldn't use her power to visualize the hidden room downstairs, and Joyce wasn't going to let her anywhere near it. So the only solution was for her to go down there herself.

  The Passion

  But when?

  Still rubbing her forehead, Kaitlyn toed her sneakers off and lay down.

  At first she shut her eyes just to ease the headache. But soon her thoughts began to unwind and her muscles relaxed. This time there were no nightmares.

  When she woke she had that feeling of desertion again. The house seemed too quiet, the warm air too still.

  At least her headache was gone. Moving slowly, she got off the bed and tiptoed to the door.

  Silence.

  Oh, they wouldn't leave me alone again. Not unless it's a trap. If it's a trap, I'm not going anywhere.

  But she had a right to go downstairs. She lived here; she was a full member of the team. She could be going down to get a diet soda or an apple.

  Down the stairs, then.

  And she had a right to look around downstairs. She could be looking for the others; she could be lonely. She kept the right words on her lips.

  "Joyce, I just wanted to ask you-"

  But Joyce wasn't in her room.

  "Are you guys still testing-?"

  But the front lab was empty. So was the back lab.

  And the kitchen, and the dining room, and the living room. Kaitlyn pushed aside the living room curtains to look outside the house. Nobody playing hacki sack or Frisbee tag. Only juniper hedges and acacia trees. She couldn't even see Joyce's car.

  Okay, so maybe it's a trap. But it's too good an opportunity to miss.

  Heart beating in her throat, Kaitlyn crept toward the paneled hallway under the staircase.

  The middle panel, she thought, with one guilty glance behind her at the French doors leading to Joyce's room. She ran her fingers over the smooth dark wood, reaching up to find the crack that was the top of the door.

  Okay, she was in front of it. Now to find the place Lewis had showed her. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the images she'd gotten from Lewis. They weren't exactly visual, more like just a feeling of how she should move her hands. He'd found something around this level-and then he'd pushed with his mind. She would push with her fingers.

  And then he'd moved over this way, and down, and pushed again. Kaitlyn pushed again, pressing hard.

  Something clicked.

  Kaitlyn's eyes flew open. I did it! I actually did it!

  Excitement bubbled up from her toes, fizzling out to fill every part of her body. She was impressed with herself.

  The middle panel had disappeared, sliding to the left. Stairs led downward, illuminated only by faint reddish lights at foot-level.

  The bubbles seemed to be making a fizzing in her ears now, but Kaitlyn tried to listen over it. Still, silence.

  Okay. Going down.

  With each step into the red dimness, she felt a little of the effervescence leaving her. This wasn't a nice place. If she'd been a few years younger, it would have made her think of trolls.

  At the bottom she groped for the light switch she knew should be there-and then snatched her fingers back. Too much light wasn't good. If there was somebody in the room at the end of the hall, they might notice.

  But if she didn't turn on the light, she'd have to walk the whole way in darkness. Just the thought made her knees unsteady.

  There was no help for it. Tensing her muscles, she put a hand on the wall to guide her and began walking forward. In a moment she had to put the other hand out to feel for obstacles. She was blind.

  Each step was hard, and she had to clench her teeth tighter and tighter to make herself keep going. The red staircase behind her began to feel more and more tempting.

  Oh, God, what if somebody came and saw the panel open and closed it and locked her in here?

  The thought was so terrible that she almost turned around and ran. Instead, she used the energy to force herself forward. And one more step, and one more step-

  Her outstretched fingers encountered a door.

  Her need for light was so great that she reached automatically for the knob, without listening to see what might be on the other side. But instead of a knob, her fingers found something like a calculator built into the door.

  What was it? She could feel little square bumps in a regular pattern. It really did feel like a calculator.

  Oh, you idiot. You idiot. You must still be stupid from the testing this morning. It's a combination lock. Not one of those padlock kinds; one of the fancy ones, where you punch numbers on a keypad.

  And if this was the combination lock, then behind that door . . .

  It was in there. That grotesque thing with the obscene crystalline growths all over it. It was squatting in there just a few feet away.

  Kaitlyn was swamped by a feeling of evil.

  And then-she heard noises.

  From behind the door.

  They were in there with it.

  Oh, God, I'm so stupid, I'm so stupid. Of course, they're in there. This is where they go in the afternoons, they go to the crystal, and they're all sitting in there around it right now.

  Don't panic, don't panic, she told herself, but it was too late. She was panicking. She hadn't even asked Lewis how to shut the secret panel. She was incompetent and stupid and they were right inside there and she didn't have time to get away.

  Another noise sounded-very close to the door.

  Suddenly Kaitlyn was moving, without thinking, without caring where she was going. With great stocking-footed leaps she was sailing down the hallway toward the red stairs. She reached the first step and began to scramble up, banging her knee, ignoring it, scrambling on. Using her hands. She got to the top of the stairs and the white light of the hallway blazed into her eyes. That light was the only thing that stopped her, kept her from running through the living room and out of the house-or up to her bedroom to hide under the bed. She was almost like an animal in her blind instinct to get under cover.

  "Kaitlyn, what on earth-?"

  The voice was high and light, surprised. Kaitlyn turned terrified eyes on Lydia.

  "What happened? Did they do something to you?" Lydia was looking past her down the stairs.

  A tiny bit of Kaitlyn's mind returned. There was a chance, just a chance for help-for salvation. Lydia knew about the panel; Lydia seemed worried about Kaitlyn.

  "Oh, Lydia," she said, and her voice came out a croak. "I-I . . ."

  She'd meant to lie, to say that she'd been down with the others and she'd gotten scared. But somehow what came out was, "Oh, Lydia, I know I shouldn't have gone down there. But Joyce never lets me do anything. I just wanted to see-and now Joyce is going to be furious. I don't know how to
get the panel shut."

  Lydia was looking at her with level green eyes.

  "I just want to do the things they do," Kaitlyn said, then blurted, "I'm sorry if I was mean to you before."

  There was a pause. Kaitlyn's heart was beating so hard she was dizzy. Lydia was staring down at the staircase, lower lip caught between her teeth.

  Finally she looked up. "So you want to do the things they do. You're one of them. Okay." She leaned forward and touched the left wall quickly, in three different places.

  The panel slid shut, concealing the gaping hole.

  Kaitlyn stood, not knowing what to do. Lydia stared at the floor.

  "Be careful, Kaitlyn," Lydia said, and then she hurried away before Kaitlyn could recover.

  Kaitlyn stood under the spray of hot water, trying to get warm. Her legs were still wobbly and she was developing a magnificent bruise on one knee.

  Lydia knew.

  There was no doubt in Kaitlyn's mind. The one in the house who wasn't psychic was the one who'd found her out. Kaitlyn's lies hadn't fooled her for a minute.

  So why had she helped Kaitlyn?

  Oh, it didn't matter. Just please let her not tell Joyce. Kaitlyn flexed her cold hands under the flood of water.

  But there was no way to ensure that. The only way to keep safe was to leave. And Kaitlyn couldn't do that. No matter how frightened she was, she couldn't leave when she'd come so far. If she could just stick it out until Monday-and if she could get Rob to give her the shard-

  -and if she could figure out the combination.

  She had to, to get into that room alone.

  Drying herself as she went, Kaitlyn headed for her art kit.

  Last time she hadn't been concentrating on the right thing. She'd been trying to see inside the room-and heaven only knew why she'd gotten the garbage she had. Maybe Joyce kept a Christmas tree in with the crystal. Maybe there was a ship in a bottle in there. Anyway, now she knew what to think about.

  Numbers. She needed numbers for that combination lock. And with her own art materials, with her beloved pastels and her faithful sketchbook, she was going to get those numbers.