by Krystal Wade
Neither of them paid me any attention, so I took the opportunity to sneak to the control room. A man, who looked similar to the screaming man on the beach from my vision, with streaks of gray in his black hair, turned when I entered. He frowned and pointed to the left where Derick sat behind an in-dash computer, moving the mouse and cringing.
“Derick?”
He froze, his eyes still glued to the screen, his hand still on the mouse. Everything about him seemed strained, stiff, as though he didn’t know what to do with me and my intrusive presence. And when I took a few steps closer to him, he stopped breathing. I wanted to blurt my apology, tell him everything about the book and how, for whatever reason, it did this to us on purpose, but I couldn’t, not in front of the man who I presumed was Harvey, and not like this. I couldn’t beg Derick to hear me out. He had to want to hear me out or my words wouldn’t have meant anything.
A tear forged a path along the side of his nose, and he closed his eyes. In that moment, more than any other moment in the world, I wanted to beg. I wanted to plead, to cry, to pick up the world and carry its weight on my shoulders, all for him, to make him smile again, to make him happy again. In that moment, I didn’t matter, not even the shattered remnants of my heart, not even the supposed hidden secret inside Kalós, not the book, not my parents, nothing.
Only Derick.
I checked over my shoulder to make sure the captain wasn’t listening—he wasn’t—then took one more tentative step toward Derick. “Are you… Derick, I didn’t… I’m sorry. I told you that earlier…” Glancing back again, I noticed the little black nametag over the captain’s left breast pocket: Captain Harvey. He drove the ship as if neither of us were even here. “Can we talk somewhere in private?”
“He can’t hear you. I made sure of that as soon as you snuck in here.” Derick let go of the mouse and swiveled his big leather chair around to face me, his hands balled in his lap, his look mixed somewhere between broken, hostile, and fearful.
The silence between us pulled every string of my heart until it was tight and about to pop, then cut them slowly, one by one, until my insides bled with hurt. My face burned, and I turned to run out of the room.
I couldn’t face him, not when he looked so mixed up, not when my presence only seemed to bother him. Not when he had every reason to be upset with me.
He pulled my hand off the door before I could open it and wrapped me in his arms, his heart beating rapidly. Derick’s breath warmed the top of my head, but something about the slow, almost nervous way he rubbed my back told me something was very wrong.
Leaning back, I held his gaze, so broken, so vulnerable and wild, and I gasped. “I came up here to tell you about the book, how it’s lied to us, how it’s the reason we fought; it’s the reason the Safe Zone broke. History of Kalós did this to us; deep inside I know that’s the truth. But something tells me you’re not upset about that anymore, Derick. What is it?”
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and his voice broke when he spoke, “Your parents. They’re… I’m so sorry, Abigail. We’ll make this better, find a way—”
“Derick?”
Derick sucked in a sharp breath. “Your parents… are… they’re dead.”
r. and Mrs. Crawford landed sometime around 4:00 p.m., and Will sent out his father’s private helicopter to pick them up and return them to the yacht. We waited what felt like hours; Derick didn’t leave my side, didn’t take his hands from mine, and even though we didn’t get around to apologies, forgiveness hung between us like spoken words, like our previous deeds had been forgotten and buried.
Buried.
A fresh batch of tears fell from my eyes. Would my parents even get a funeral? Derick didn’t tell me the details of their death, and I didn’t care. Not now. Not yet.
My poor mother, who would never again run her fingers through my hair and take me shopping and tsk at my choice in boys, she lay somewhere, without a heartbeat, without the vibrant life in her light brown eyes. I’d never watch her pull my father close after a long day at work and kiss him with a huge grin on her face. I’d never see her smile in a way only a mother could when I did something that made her proud.
And my father… a sob rumbled through my chest and I curled into a ball on Derick’s lap, thinking of my father and the roses he’d bring me ‘just because’. He’d never get to take me into the woods behind our house to ride the four-wheeler trails. He’d never laugh at my mother when she used baby wipes to clean worm dirt from her fingers when we went fishing. He’d never call me his baby girl, his joy.
“Shh,” Derick whispered, dragging hair off my hot face soaked with tears, but I couldn’t stop.
Images of life, beautiful and sweet and full of arguments and growing pains and wonder and love, all flashed before my eyes. Why did reality have to hurt so much? Why were the people I loved all in danger? Even the love between Derick and me was flimsy and easily cut… by a book.
I shouldn’t have left them. I should have trusted they could keep me safe—and happy. I should have kissed them and hugged them and told them how much they meant to me, how wonderful they made my life, how I’d always be their baby, no matter my heritage. How could I be so careless and thoughtless and stupid?
My chest ached for the warmth of my father, for the nights when he’d read me stories or come to check on me to make sure I was really sleeping. He’d promise to curl next to me in bed if I was still awake, and he always did, even though my bed was hard and small and I flailed around like a person having seizures.
“Would you like a drink or something?” Megan sat close to us, brushing her hands along her arms, her face washed of color.
Wiping my eyes with a soggy and wadded tissue, I propped myself up a little but still leaned against Derick. “No.”
I’d probably throw it up.
Megan nodded and returned to a fetal position on the sofa, using her shirt to dry up the tears, mourning for the loss of my family.
We sat that way for what felt like eternity. I stared at the sky through the open door of the ship, stared while unseeing, emptiness gnawing at me, cold, broken emptiness. Memories of Mom and Dad swept through my thoughts, torturing me, stealing what little happiness I had left.
“Not my father.” Will paced a path between the control room and through the doors to the deck, mumbling to himself. “It couldn’t be. Who did this?”
Another wave of heat spread across my face, as though someone injected fire under my skin and my blood was the fuel. He blamed himself, this innocent, fatherless guy whose only crimes were a lack of manners and any knowledge of how to deal with girls. He had no control over the spiritual world, or over his dad, and here Will accepted the fault of my losses.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder, back toward the dark waters alight with pinks and purples matching the evening sky, little waves rolling past the yacht as we sat anchored and waiting. The ocean seemed endless, stretching on and on for miles until it met the horizon. “Did you hear that?”
I took a deep breath, straining my ears, and heard a low, repetitive bass thud against the silence, waking up the sky with a cacophony. The Crawfords were here. I knew my parents wouldn’t be on that helicopter, but I jumped to my feet anyway, desperate to get to the last people who saw them alive, who touched them maybe, who would hug me and patronize me by telling me everything would be okay.
Maybe I’d believe them. Maybe I wanted to.
But as soon as I saw them step onto the sleek white landing pad, dressed in an odd assortment of ancient military-style gear, ducking their heads to avoid the rotor blades, I knew I wouldn’t be okay. I knew my family had shrunk to the few people around me. I loved the Crawfords. I loved Derick and Megan. And Will—despite his ridiculous advances—was a friend.
But none of these people represented my home.
I had no home.
Turning around, I made for the spot on the couch where I’d cried for hours and hours, intending to start all over a
gain, then Derick grabbed my hand and led me there.
“I was excited about them coming here, but now that I’ve seen them, I realize they aren’t the same.” He glanced sideways at me, pain tightening his expression. “You’re all I have left and all I’ve ever wanted. I’m sorry about earlier, for doubting you, and I’m sorry about your mom and dad. I know sorry won’t bring them back, but I hope it brings you back to me.”
I stared at him, into the depths of his blue eyes speckled with little flecks of black, at the tears cascading down his nose, and then launched my arms around him. Words failed me. He probably needed me to acknowledge him, but I couldn’t think of the right thing to say. Our worlds had changed, and in the process, we changed. Neither of us had a home outside each other; even our favorite fallen log in the woods was a thing of the past. We could never return to high school, run on the track team, go to dance recitals, or complain about Ms. Wiley’s slow reading. Somehow, we had to find a way to fit into this new world, one involving spirits and murderers and dead parents. “They’re gone, Derick.”
“I know.” He squeezed me. “And we’ll find a way to end this.”
Someone placed a hand on my shoulder and kissed the back of my head. “We will, Derick, but first we need to make arrangements for a funeral.”
“Funeral?” I looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, both of them with red faces, making sure to keep my fingers locked with Derick’s. I wasn’t letting him go any time soon. “Will there be a funeral? What happened?”
Derick’s mom took the seat closest to him, and his dad closest to me. They each wore tight brown pants and thick leather vests outlining the muscles underneath, and they were armed with small knives, daggers with gold encircling the cherry handles, and sharp wooden stakes. Mrs. Crawford’s dark hair was pulled back into a neat French braid, streaked with her usual gray. Mr. Crawford wore a holster around his thigh, carrying a 9mm pistol. These clothes spoke of a purpose other than making investments and living comfortably; these clothes spoke of a life requiring them to fight, a life so different than how they raised Derick.
He tensed as though he arrived at this realization at the same time as I did.
Mr. Crawford put his hand on my knee, trembling. “Do you remember the officers who were investigating your kidnapping?”
I nodded, clinging to Derick tighter, unsure of what to expect of this conversation. Did I even want to know?
“Well, they arranged a meeting with your parents to discuss leads on the case. We didn’t think much of it. Your parents understood they had to play along with the investigation, and they were prepared for it. But none of us expected… we had no idea… how they slipped by us— none of it makes sense.” Mr. Crawford put his face in his hands and pulled at his hair. “What I’m trying to say is that those officers were influenced by spirits, by Boredas and Ruckus—had to be—and they killed your parents for refusing to give them what they wanted.”
My heart raced, darkening my vision, making everything slip away into a vast nothingness. I was cold. I was cold, and my parents were too, because they were dead—because of me. “They protected me?”
“And they did a damn fine job of it, too,” Mr. Snellings said, passing through the sliding glass doors of the yacht, Mrs. Snellings and Mark, who still sported a bandage on his arm, standing behind him. “Better than anything you’ve done, Adam, and better than anything your son has done.”
“Whoa. This ship’s getting crowded really fast.” Will jumped to his feet, swaying a little, glancing nervously from Derick and me to the trio at the door. “I know him”—he pointed at Mark—“but who are you, and how did you get here?”
“By boat. Now, sit down, child.” Mr. Snellings laughed when Will did as told, then towered above us. The man glared down at Mr. Crawford, seething with animosity. “Why didn’t you tell us you were leaving? We had to follow you, after cleaning up the mess left behind. What were you thinking? We’ve been bound to her family for centuries, Adam, not you, and certainly not your son.”
“Bound to my family? What are you talking about?” The change in conversation gave me an opportunity to set aside my ache, to focus on something else, some other strong emotion.
Anger?
I stood and came face to face with Mr. Snellings. “Why are you here?”
“Because I took an oath to protect the Dorans, and you are the last of them.” He looked down his long, crooked nose at Mr. Crawford. “And every Guardian that man has ‘protected’ before you has died. I want to know why; you probably do as well.”
I closed my eyes, trying to process what Mr. Snellings said without seeing the sneer on Mark’s face as he stared at Derick, without seeing the hurt on Mr. Crawford’s, without watching how uncomfortable Will and Megan looked with all these angry people in their otherwise calm and relaxing boat. Derick still held my hand, stood so close to me I felt each of his breaths as his chest expanded. Normal existed nowhere, and the image of his parents fell when Derick discovered the truth about us, so I didn’t feel bad when I opened my eyes and said, “First I want to talk about my parents, and then I want to know everything. No matter what anyone thinks.”
The Snellings occupied three high-backed chairs on one side of the dining room table, and the Crawfords occupied three on the other side. I sat at the end, closest to Derick, and Will and Megan ran off to the bedrooms when the two grown men met eyes and whispered something in a language I couldn’t understand, probably using their abilities to scare my friends away.
“So”—I swallowed, trying to clear the strain out of my voice—“about my parents? When did you realize something… happened?”
“When Officer Daniels called us with a rather crude message letting us know where to find the bodies. Shortly before Adam and Lillian hopped on a plane to come here.” Mr. Snellings held my gaze, a look of sincere regret in his eyes.
“But why would cops do that?”
“The Fávlosi were created to bring chaos to this world, to counteract everything we were created for. They are able to whisper their desires into the minds of men and make them think those desires belong to them. Officers Daniels and Paulson didn’t commit the acts of free will.”
For the briefest moment, I felt sad for them. Then I remembered they weren’t strong enough to protect my parents, to fulfill their duty to society.
Mr. Snellings reached across the table and placed his large hand over mine, an odd gesture, especially from someone who thought of me as a breeder of future Kalóan generations.
I dug my nails into my palms until they stung, then pulled away from him. “Why did he call you?”
“Once Boredas and Ruckus figured out who we are, through the officers’ investigation of your kidnapping, they knew we are vested in you.”
“Vested?” Derick asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes, Derick, vested. My family has been entrusted with Abigail’s life, the kind of trust you’ve not lived long enough to earn.”
Mr. Crawford slammed his hand on the table, and everyone started yelling back and forth about “respect”, “they’re just children”, “this is a matter for the council”, and someone may have even mentioned “she should just open the planes”. I kept my mouth shut, studying everyone in turn: Mark who was supposedly in love with me and had my best interests at heart, suggesting Derick should have to endure battle training before being allowed near me again; Mr. Crawford, whose face swelled with anger, spouted insult after insult about Mr. Snellings for accusing him and his wife of failing the Guardians; the two women, staring at their husbands then at their children then at me, their eyes saying they wanted to be anywhere but at this table and listening to everyone argue.
I didn’t want to hear it. My parents were dead; these people were supposed to provide answers, lead us, and they barged into our ship the same way we left them in Virginia: fighting. “I’m leaving.”
Derick stood and offered his hand. “I’ll go with you.”
Mr. Snellings’s jaw looked as if i
t would break under the weight of his clenched teeth. “No. Sit. Now. There will be no more of this bickering like children.”
Neither of us moved.
“Now!”
A heavy weight pressed on my shoulders, pushing me into my seat, and suddenly I wanted to be here. I wanted to hear out Mr. Snellings.
“Would you, please, stop Manipulating them?” Mrs. Snellings asked, placing a hand over her husband’s.
He nodded.
What a horrible jerk. A horrible, controlling jerk. The calm disappeared, and I wanted to slap him. But I still needed answers, so I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth and then asked, “Before, you said you took an oath to protect my family. Why? What kind of oath? What does it mean?”
“My great grandfather was the first to pledge his life as a Somatoph for the Dorans. Your family dates back to the original Guardians, the first men and women the Maker chose from human spirits passing into the afterlife.” He paused, allowing the information to sink in.
I’m a child of ghosts.
But before I could ask how that was possible, how ghosts could be reborn and have children and a life and fight spirits, and how come other Kalóans weren’t like Guardians, what made us different, Mr. Snellings went on, “You see, Abigail, after we killed the last of the Fávlosi’s Original Destroyers—your equal—the spirits grew restless. The war changed and became less about us protecting humans and our opposites creating chaos; the war became about a deep-rooted hatred between our kinds—and revenge.”
“So an eye for an eye? We killed all of their Originals and now they want to kill ours?”
“Yes, and who could blame them?” Mrs. Snellings swiped a graying blonde curl from her eyes, then returned her hand to her husband’s. “They were without guidance, and the Taker—”
“Taker?”
She nodded. “He leads the Fávlosi as the Maker leads us. They are, as we are, complete opposites. And he never sent them new leaders. Watching enraged spirits battle empowered Kalóans—well, that probably entertained him.”
