“’Morning,” I mumble. Lucio is standing so it’s impossible to walk down the hallway without touching him. I plant my hands on either side of his torso to step past him. He’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt today, similar to the ones Nolan wears, except Lucio’s is bright green, while Nolan’s are usually gray and navy and brown.
Was he wearing one in my dream last night? No, he had his jacket. Light brown, almost the same color as his eyes. I hope Mom got it back to him after he left it behind on our porch the day I left town.
“Why are you wearing a sweatshirt?” I ask Lucio finally. “It’s already at least eighty degrees outside.”
“Outside, but not in there.” He nods in the direction of Aidan’s lab. We walk down the hall side by side. “We have to tell Aidan how well it went yesterday.”
I reach up and finger my newly short hair. Even after a shower, complete with apple-scented shampoo and conditioner, it still smells like fire and ash. “I’m not sure how well it went.”
Lucio doesn’t look at me when he talks. “You completely destroyed that demon. Aidan thinks your sensitivity is a weakness, but I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It was because you felt so much that you kept fighting the demon, even after it looked like we’d already won. If you hadn’t felt the demon reaching for that man’s heart, we’d have lost him.”
Before I can answer—or argue—Lucio opens the door to Aidan’s lab. I’m immediately struck dumb by the drop in temperature. Wearing a sweatshirt was the right idea. I’m dressed as inappropriately as ever, in plaid shorts and a blue T-shirt with white flowers embroidered into the neckline.
“Is it just me, or is it colder than usual?” I ask, teeth chattering. I can see my breath.
From inside the room Aidan nods. “A few more spirits joined us last night.”
A lump rises in my throat. A few more spirits joining us means that a few more people died.
Lucio steps inside first, and I follow. My heartbeat speeds up, but I’m getting used to the way it feels: I imagine the blood rushing through my veins like it’s trying to win a race or something.
The spirits hit me all at once. I see flashes of five, ten, twenty different lives, all overlapped like pieces of film layered on top of each other in a darkroom. A little boy playing baseball on top of a man with a walker on top of a woman with white hair and dark brown eyes holding her grandchild.
Image on top of image, life on top of life, spirit on top of spirit.
And somehow, louder than all of that, comes Lucio’s voice: “Try to concentrate on just one at a time.”
I’ve tried and failed at that before. This would be so much easier if Helena and Aidan’s experiment had actually worked, if I’d had the powers they intended, if I was strong enough to see just one spirit in the whirlwind of spirits swirling around me.
Blinded by all the lives playing out in my mind’s eye, I feel Lucio take my hand and squeeze. “One at a time,” he repeats. “One at a time.” He says it over and over again like a chant. Finally he adds, “Play to your strengths. Use your empathy.”
I take a deep breath and seek out the woman with the white hair, training my gaze on her hair, the way it’s swept away from her face into a tight bun. Her name is Estella. She died in her sleep a few months after her ninety-eighth birthday. She had two children and two grandchildren. Her eldest daughter died when Estella was in her seventies, and she has been waiting to see her again ever since. She loved her life, but she did not fear death because she believed her daughter was waiting.
I gasp as another life flashes before my eyes. A man who died in a horrible accident with a chain saw, the half of his face he still has left stares at me, trying to get my attention.
No. Think about Estella. Only Estella. I reach out my arms and draw her toward me.
Estella. I touch her, and her spirit washes over me like water, and then through me. Suddenly I am at peace.
And just as suddenly, all is turmoil again.
“You’re not supposed to do that,” Aidan snaps. But I can’t concentrate on anything—not Lucio’s voice saying one at a time or Aidan’s voice, so clearly displeased. The spirits are all over me again, begging me to help them like I just helped Estella.
The cold is overwhelming, and the spirit whirlwind is only getting stronger, pulling one direction and then another. I manage to make my way out into the hallway. Lucio and Aidan follow, Aidan slamming the lab’s door shut behind him.
Almost immediately the peaceful sensation comes back.
“You helped that woman move on,” Aidan says sourly.
“I know!” I can’t help it. I’m grinning.
“That’s not our goal here!” Aidan looks furious.
“But I’ve never done that before! Never been able to concentrate on just one spirit when there were a dozen more asking for my attention.”
“What were you two talking about, use your empathy?” Aidan asks finally.
Lucio answers, “We thought that perhaps you’d—we’d—been thinking about it backward. Sunshine can use her sensitivity to her advantage.”
“What advantage can there possibly be in being unable to focus?”
“But maybe this time it was what allowed her to focus,” Lucio counters. I nod vigorously.
Aidan raises a single eyebrow, just like I do when I’m feeling skeptical. I bet this is the first time Lucio has ever come up against Aidan when it comes to his research. Aidan cracks his knuckles out of frustration. “We already know that helping multiple spirits move on isn’t Sunshine’s strong suit. That’s not what we’re working on anymore!”
“Maybe not,” Lucio agrees, still not backing down. “But you have to let us celebrate the fact that she did it. I mean, at the very least, it shows how much stronger she’s gotten since she arrived here, right?”
Aidan looks like one of the doctors Mom’s always complaining about, the ones who are too distracted by the facts and figures written on the chart in their hands to notice the progress the patient in front of them is making. They’re the doctors who give up hope too soon, she always said. The ones who don’t take the human spirit into account.
For the first time I realize that Mom—my scientific, rational, skeptical mom—has been talking about the human spirit for years! I just never noticed it before. Maybe believing in me—in all of this—wasn’t as hard for her as I thought it would be. Maybe some part of her believed in it all along, even if she didn’t know what to call it or that her own daughter had anything to do with it.
“You two don’t understand,” Aidan sighs finally, waving us away and sticking his hands in his pockets. “We’ll talk later.”
“Her name was Estella,” I explain as we emerge into the sunlight. Lucio takes off his sweatshirt immediately, tying it around his waist. He’s wearing a bright blue sleeveless T-shirt and the same cargo shorts he pretty much always wears. He’s the first person I’ve ever met who dresses as colorfully as I do. Luiseach thing, I guess.
“What happens to you after you help a spirit move on?” I ask. “Are you able to remember anything about their lives?”
Lucio shrugs. “They all kind of blend together. I definitely don’t remember details like when they were born or—”
“December sixth.” I interrupt.
“What?”
“December sixth was Estella’s birthday.” Lucio looks at me incredulously, and I shrug. “I can’t help it,” I say finally. “Much as Aidan might want me to.”
Lucio shakes his head, then runs his fingers over his scalp, his parents’ names dancing on his finger.
“About last night . . .” he begins.
“You’re not going to use that old line, are you?” I say, but my joke falls flat.
“I just wanted you to know that I don’t mind waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“If you’re not ready or something. If you don’t want to start something with all this going on,” he waves his hand at the c
ampus around us.
I stop walking, so Lucio does too, planting his feet in the dirt beside mine. “I don’t want to wait,” I answer before I can stop myself.
“You don’t?”
I shake my head. Lucio turns to face me, steps even closer to me.
“That’s not what I meant!” I shout, stepping backward so quickly that I trip and fall to the ground. Lucio helps me up, his hand warm and soft against mine.
“What did you mean?” he prompts softly.
“I meant . . .” I pause, not entirely sure how to answer that question. I meant that I want to talk about Estella with someone else. To hold that same someone else’s hand. To hug that same someone else and kiss that same someone else and let that someone else’s forehead rest against mine.
The someone I actually do want to do all of that with isn’t the boy standing just inches away from me, whose hand holds my own so gently.
Finally I know why I didn’t kiss him last night and why I won’t kiss him now. I know why it feels like cheating every time Lucio and I stand close to one another. I’m not just cheating on Nolan but on myself, on my own feelings. There’s a reason why I hate the idea of Nolan moving on with someone else and why I don’t want to try to move on either. Because no matter how much I like Lucio . . .
I’m in love with Nolan.
A Road Trip
“I think I know where she is!” I shout triumphantly when I walk into the coffee shop the next day, as though the revelation only just occurred to me, as though I haven’t known where she’s been all along.
“What are you talking about?” Nolan asks, keeping his voice low, like he’s scared the other patrons will know what we’re talking about and go off in search of Sunshine too.
“According to Professor Jones’s notes, there’s a luiseach training facility south of the border.”
“In Mexico?”
I nod. “That’s where she said she was, right?”
“But that’s an entire country,” Nolan protests. “She could be anywhere.”
“True, but you said he was taking her to begin her training, right?”
Nolan shrugs. “I’m not exactly sure what his plan was.”
I bite my lip, trying to conceal my displeasure. I’d been hoping for a more enthusiastic response. “Okay, but this is at least our best lead, right? Professor Jones’s notes say he’s actually been to this place.”
Honestly I haven’t a clue what Professor Jones’s notes might say, but I do know he went down to our campus more than once. When Abner was alive, he and Aidan were the best of friends. More than ten years ago Aidan was the one who helped the professor’s spirit move on when he passed away, even though he was far from the nearest luiseach at the time. He used his strength to pull Abner’s spirit to him, across the thousands of miles separating them.
Aidan and I had long since been estranged by the time Abner died, but I felt it nonetheless.
“Come on,” I whine, hoping that I sound like no more than a needy young girl. “You said you want her to know about what her mentor did to her, keeping you two apart?”
Nolan nods. “I’m going to e-mail her, but I’m not sure she’ll read it.” He sighs, his tawny hair falling across his eyes. “She’s probably angry I never called her back.”
Under other circumstances I might point out that luiseach are unlikely to hold grudges, especially against their protectors. But better he believes the girl is furious with him. Better he thinks he needs to make a grand gesture to get her back. Like driving thousands of miles across the country and into the jungle.
“Even if she reads your e-mail, you have to explain all this to her in person. It’s too complicated and too important.”
“I know, but I can’t just drop everything and head into the middle of nowhere. Do you even know exactly where this place is?”
I shrug. “We’ll find it. It’s supposedly huge. Come on,” I moan. “Road trip?”
“Why do you care so much?” Nolan says, but he’s smiling.
“You’re my friend. I want to help you. Isn’t that what friends do?” And I need you in order to step foot on that campus, I think but do not say. Without Nolan there may as well be a thousand-foot wall surrounding the property, keeping my people and me out and the others in. Instead, I say, “You’re her protector. And the one thing we know for sure about protectors is that it’s their job to get luiseach the information they need. Which means you need to get this information to her ASAP.”
Nolan nods. “I know,” he says firmly. He brushes his hair out of his eyes, and I see that they’re focused in a way they’ve never been before. Protectors instinctively want to stay close to their luiseach, and now that Nolan sees a way to get to his luiseach, his instincts are kicking in.
Finally he says, “Guess it’s time to hit the road.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Back on the Grid
I dig my phone out from under a pile of dirty, sweaty, dusty clothes. The battery is dead. (Of course.) I find the charger deep inside my duffle and plug it into one of the sockets on the wall. After a few minutes the screen comes to life, but it’s still not charged enough to use, so I sit on my bed and wait.
I start pacing the room. I bite my nails and change my clothes, like I’m worried about looking nice when I call Nolan. Super-dork. I pick my favorite T-shirt, the one I stole from Mom with the Mustang on the front. I go into the bathroom and play with my ragged hair. Maybe when I get back to Ridgemont, Mom and I can go to a salon and see if a stylist can make sense out of it. Maybe it will look like a dramatic and edgy fashion statement.
Next I start pacing the hall. But after a few laps, it feels so small and narrow that I start opening doors and pacing the other rooms on the floor one at a time.
I open the door to the nursery last. It’s dark but cool, and instead of pacing, I move slowly across the room, running my fingers along the edges of the dust-covered crib and changing table. I open a cabinet and smell the talcum powder and baby wipes, long since dried out.
I lift a tiny white onesie from a drawer and bring it to my face. It takes me a second to recognize the scent: lavender and spices—the perfume from the master bedroom. I rifle through the drawer until I find a sachet filled with herbs, tied shut with a tiny pink satin bow.
I fold the outfit as well as I can in the darkness and put it back where I found it. I leave the room, shutting the door tightly behind me. I check on my phone: 20 percent charged. That’s plenty—I’m in no condition to wait for it to be fully charged. I run down the stairs and out the door, holding my phone out in front of me like a lantern as I trudge through the garden and up the hill behind the house.
Finally bars appear at the top right-hand corner of the phone’s screen. I start to dial Nolan’s number—I actually know it by heart, even though it’s stored in my contacts—but I can’t seem to make myself press Send.
He didn’t pick up the last time I called. He didn’t respond to the message I left. Maybe he never listened to it at all.
I sit cross-legged on the ground and lean against a tree trunk. Mud sticks to my bare legs. This entire place feels dirty—not just the dusty house and the dilapidated buildings, but the air itself feels thick, almost sticky.
I take a deep breath and clear my phone’s screen. I check for text messages. One from Mom, just saying hi and I love you, and several from Ashley, checking in to see how I’m doing and telling me that Cory Cooper won’t stop calling her, that he wants to get back together . . . what should she do? I smile. I’m literally the last person Ashley should be turning to for relationship advice.
No texts from Nolan. No voicemails either. I bite my lip. What are the odds that he e-mailed me instead?
When I see his name at the top of my inbox, I’m so happy that tears actually spring to my eyes.
Sunshine, I don’t really know how to tell you this, but I’ve been doing some research, and I think Aidan is up to something.
Up to what? I keep reading, and
my tears of joy quickly shift into tears of anger.
My mentor/father—blah, who cares about the stupid slash anymore!—has the power to keep me from Nolan, from any and every person I might have wanted to touch and kiss and love. Memories of every awkward almost-kiss and slow dance and crowded party from middle school onward flood my brain.
My hand shaking, I lower the phone even though I haven’t read all of Nolan’s e-mail.
Ashley always teased me. We thought I was the only sixteen-year-old in the world with virgin lips. Just another thing to make me different from most of the kids at school, another thing to make me a weirdo.
And apparently it was all Aidan’s fault.
I stand and start running, clutching my phone to my chest like a Teddy bear. My hands are shaking so hard that I’m scared I might drop it. I hug it tighter. Even from far away, even after the way I rejected him, Nolan is still protecting me: conducting research, getting me new information. I never could have let him go, never had a chance to set him free to find a normal girl. He was never going anywhere.
Now I’m crying because I miss him so much.
Why would Aidan do this to me? I was beginning to like him—sort of—and at least starting to trust him. I even felt sorry for him! That empty nursery and the master bedroom frozen in time, the way he carried me from the lab and made me warm, plus the way he looked when he spoke about Helena—the woman he loved, the woman he gave up to save me.
But now . . . maybe he never really wanted to save me. He only wanted to control me. I trip over a root in the garden and stumble, but I manage to catch myself before I fall to the ground, tightening the muscles in my core. Out of breath, I stand still, trying to gather my thoughts. Maybe all Aidan ever cared about was being right and proving everyone else wrong.
I stand in the center of the courtyard between the mansion and the lab building and shout Aidan’s name until I’m hoarse. I recall a snippet of Estella’s life that I saw earlier: a fight between her youngest daughter and her husband. Estella took her daughter’s side, screaming and shouting until her husband saw reason. I know I’m not alone. When we first moved to Ridgemont, I thought that living in a haunted house meant that I’d never really be alone again. But now I understand that I will never be alone, not as long as I am able to help spirits move on. As long as I help them move on, some part of them will stay with me.
The Awakening of Sunshine Girl (The Haunting of Sunshine Girl) Page 18
