Mortal Sight

by Sandra Fernandez Rhoads

“It’s more important than you make it sound. It’s how most of the kids in Hesperian got here.”

  “I know, Maddox brought them here.” My face warms at my insult. I didn’t mean to knock his Bent. It sure makes sense. He could tell what was about to happen in time to pull me out of danger, which only highlights how bad a Guardian I would be, because I couldn’t protect Jess.

  “There’s a slim chance you might be a Caretaker.” Devon’s mouth quirks. “They fight too. Sometimes.”

  I sit up. “Seriously?”

  “Mainly we keep harmony between the groups and pull everyone together. We only fight when necessary, and that’s usually out of a need for protection.”

  “Let me guess, you also have some higher knowledge?”

  “You’re not too far off. We pick up things quicker than most. We don’t have the same abilities as a Blade, but we can quickly read a situation and act swiftly. As far as our connection with other Awakened, we know what’s truly happening beneath the surface, regardless of what’s being said.”

  I catalog every comment I’ve said to him since I got here. It’s a wonder he hasn’t called me out. “You mean you have a built-in lie detector.”

  Devon laughs. “If that’s what you want to call it.” He reaches over and unfurls my napkin from my empty burger basket.

  “Caretakers work a little like this.” He looks around to find a pen. Leaning back in his chair, he takes one off of the table behind him. “Think of Caretakers like a circle that holds everyone together.” He draws a loopy diagram on the wrinkled napkin. “The next layer inside the circle is the Blade, or the fighter. Then add the Guardian, or the protector, as another layer inside that one.” He adds two additional circles, one inside the other. “Those three create an outer layer of protection for the most vulnerable. First, are Healers.” He draws a diamond in the middle, intersecting the lines so they touch all the circles. “They connect with each of the three groups and also create an internal protective layer for the Seer, in the center—who is our most vulnerable.” He draws a mark in the middle of the diagram and then adds several lines that shoot out from the center mark and stop when they reach the diamond.

  “Your group’s symbol is either a wonky solar system with a diamond portal in the middle that blasts lasers, or a bad geometry lesson.”

  Devon laughs again and sets down the pen. His warm smile beams against his skin. “I don’t draw that great, but you get the picture.”

  I do get the picture—in more ways than one. I doubt I’m a Caretaker. I don’t bring people together—if anything, I end up destroying them—but if Devon thinks I could be one and they’re fighters, then I won’t correct him.

  “Caretaker, huh? So I get to help slay the creatures?”

  “You’re relentless, you know that?” He looks at me, almost amused.

  I fold my arms on the table and smile. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  The music stops, turning the room quiet. “I want you to meet with Gladys in the morning. She’s a Guardian,” Devon tells me. “We’ll start exploring each Bent, beginning with her. After Gladys, if Kellan says you show strength as a Blade, then you’ll learn how to ‘slay the creatures.’”

  “What?” I frown. “No. Let me work with Kellan tonight. You’ll see—”

  “Right now the Bent that shows up strongest is Guardian, so we’re starting there. That’s the plan. Plus, we’re shutting down for tonight.” On cue, lights turn off in the kitchen, and the sconces on the walls dim. “Get some rest. You’ve been through a lot, and the serum will probably knock you out soon. Head back to Harper’s space. You’ll sleep on one of the cots, and we’ll start back up in the morning.”

  Devon stands and waits for me to do the same. I’m frustrated with his decision, but he’s got one thing right—I’m exhausted, and with my full stomach, I’m super sleepy. I should probably let Mom know I’m not coming home, but I’ll call her in the morning, after I meet with the Blades. Otherwise she’ll demand I come home tonight. I push away from the table, feeling groggy. “In the morning, first thing, I’ll be out here ready to go. I’m a Blade, Devon. I’m telling you.” I stifle my yawn and head back toward the hall, passing Maddox’s alcove.

  Everyone around him except Harper has left. She twists the ends of her hair as she lingers, watching Maddox put his guitar away. I slink into the hall. I need time alone, anyway. Time to process the day, the news, and the pain twisting inside my chest. Part of me wonders if this crazy reality isn’t some horrible nightmare. In the morning I’ll wake from the dream, start my new job, and walk Jess to school . . . but I know that’s not true. I’ll never see her freckled face again, and my life will never be the same.

  The smell of fresh coffee and the gentle clinking of breakfast dishes somewhere down the hall stirs me awake. I wrap myself in the warm blanket and curl in a fetal position. Then the reality of where I am sinks in. I push up to my elbows, expecting to feel like I’ve been hit by a truck—which I almost was—but instead, I feel . . . not so bad. There’s a neat pile of clean clothes and a travel kit on the edge of the bed. The other cot is empty. I’m alone. I take the clothes and travel kit off the bed and make my way to the bathroom in back.

  I’m not sure if I can shower with this bandage, so I wipe off the grime as best I can, brush my teeth, and comb out my hair. I borrow one of Harper’s rubber bands on the counter and pull my hair into a high ponytail. I slip on fitted jeans and a black, oversized button-down shirt. Wearing someone else’s clothes feels strange, as though I’m not really me, but at least the outfit is easy to move in. After putting on my shoes, I make my way down the hall to the café.

  Morning sun from the stained glass fills the space with warm, sacred light. Guitars lie abandoned on the area rugs near the entrance. A few early risers scattered throughout the café sit in hushed quiet that rivals a library—Maddox being one of them. He’s slouched in a booth with his head down, drawing. I look for Devon, but he’s not in sight. He might be in the kitchen. As soon as I walk toward the counter, Maddox sees me. “Cera, over here.” I do a quick check for Harper. She’s not around, so I head his way. Maddox closes his sketchbook when I reach the table. “You doing okay?”

  “I’m great. In fact, my side doesn’t hurt at all. How’s your arm?”

  He shrugs. “Better.”

  “Hey look, I’m sorry I said something about it.” I lower myself into the booth across from him. “But I could tell you were in pain and—”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s all good. That’s kinda what Guardians do for each other. Apparently the cut was worse than I thought.” He slides a handcrafted mug aside. “Want breakfast? I’ll get you some if you want, before everyone gets here.”

  “I’m meeting with Gladys this morning. I guess she’s going to figure out whether or not I’m a Guardian—”

  “Good morning, sunshines!” A cheery operatic voice floats through the kitchen doors as they swing open and reveal a stout, middle-aged woman. “I’ve got crisp waffles in the iron and sizzling bacon on the grill.” She cheerfully wipes a spot off the glass counter with a dishrag. Her frosted, over-teased updo could nest a family of birds, and she’d probably never know.

  When she spots Maddox, her apple cheeks spread into a smile. She tucks the dishrag in her sunflower apron and bustles our way. “Mornin’, dearies.” She reaches our table. “You’re a new one, aren’t you?” Her eyes are warm as she acknowledges me. She turns to Maddox. “Is that where you’ve been?” she asks, her voice stern.

  “Hey, Gladys.” Maddox rests his arm across the back of the booth. His bandaged arm, however, he keeps under the table. “We came in last night, but you were already gone.”

  Gladys pulls the dish towel out of her apron. For a moment I think she’s about to wipe down the tabletop, but instead she rolls up the cloth and snaps Maddox on the back of the head. “Next time you plan on being out for more than three days, you let me know you’re still alive. You hear me?”

  I try hard to suppress
a laugh. Maddox frowns. “Yes, ma’am.” He rubs out the back of his head. “This is Cera, by the way. She’s a Guardian too. I think.”

  Gladys looks me over. Her face softens. “That so?” She slides in the booth, scooting me over with a bump of her plump hip. She smells of vanilla and warm peaches. “Been a long time since we’ve had a new female Guardian around here.” She sandwiches my hand between her meaty fingers and squeezes with a death grip. “You need anything at all, you don’t hesitate to ask. All I ask is that if you’re coming or going, I know about it. Need to keep tabs on you kids and make sure you’re all right.”

  “Thank you.” I feel dwarfed in her presence. “Devon said he wanted me to work with you. Did he tell you?”

  Maddox curls his fingers around the coffee mug. “He thinks she might be a Legacy with a dual Bent. She shows strength in a couple of areas. He can’t pin her down.”

  The way Gladys perks up, you’d think Maddox called me royalty. “Were your parents Legacies or new lines?”

  I manage to slide my hand out of her warm hold. “What’s a new line?”

  She adjusts her apron. “Kids who are the first in their family to be Awakened. No one is around to explain what they see and they often think they’re hallucinating or have some type of disorder. Their poor parents, being Commons, don’t know what to do. Some kids get institutionalized, others put on medication. Or they turn to drugs and some, poor souls, can’t go on living.”

  I get every word Gladys speaks, but I know I’m not a new line because my mom knew about this world, even drew out my visions. “Until yesterday, I didn’t think there was anyone else like me. Maddox found me, told me he could see the Cormorants the way I could, and brought me here.”

  Gladys touches my arm compassionately. “Oh, hon, I’m so sorry. I suppose you lost both of your parents? Your fosters were probably Commons and didn’t know.”

  “I’m not a foster child, if that’s what you mean. I lost my dad when I was seven but I live with my mom. She . . .” I stop myself. I can’t tell them specifics, like she knew about my visions. I’ll be tagged a Seer and get locked up.

  “She knew?” Gladys asks gently.

  My reply is guarded. “Maybe she did, but she didn’t tell me.”

  Her lips tighten the same way Mom’s do when I’ve said something wrong. Maybe I’ve said too much.

  “Have you talked to your mama since you got here?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet.”

  “She’s probably worried sick about you.” Gladys adjusts the collar on my shirt, smoothing out the neckline. “There’s a phone right behind the counter. Give her a call and let her know you’re all right, and then we’ll chat. Maddox, don’t go wandering.” She points at him. “I’m not finished with you yet. And I can tell you haven’t eaten well in days.”

  Gladys wiggles out of the booth and then helps me out. “Come, dearie. I’ll show you to the phone, and then I’ll get you a hot breakfast. Looks like you could use a little something to stick to those bones.”

  I follow Gladys as she heads to the kitchen.

  “Phone’s right there.” She points behind the counter before pushing the double doors aside, shouting, “I need two hot breakfast platters with extra bacon.”

  I slip behind the pastry counter and pick up the phone, dialing the number. The phone rings once. My chest tightens. Mom won’t pick up if she doesn’t know the number. I’ll have to leave a message. For all I know, she’s skipped town and left me behind. If that’s the case, calling her won’t do any good. I pull the phone away from my ear and almost hang up, when her voicemail kicks on. I don’t have a clue what to say. Thanks, Mom. Jess died because you wouldn’t tell me about my visions and those evil creatures? Have a nice time wherever you’re living now? Forget it. I hang up.

  Gladys emerges from the kitchen with a platter of waffles in each hand and two smaller plates filled with crisp bacon and scrambled eggs perfectly balanced on her thick forearms. “Grab those, would you dear?” She gestures at two glasses of juice and a container of warm syrup on the counter.

  I follow her back to Maddox with the drinks and syrup. “I’ve got a few things to finish,” Gladys says as she lowers the steaming plates onto the table.

  “Thanks, Gladys.” I slide into the seat opposite Maddox and trade him juice for a plate of vanilla waffles. “This smells amazing.”

  Gladys smiles. “Enjoy it, dear, and come find me when you’re done.” She wipes her hands on the dish towel and then hurries back to the kitchen.

  The food practically dissolves in my mouth. I force myself to take small bites and chew slowly, because more than anything, I want to lick every bite off the plate—a far cry from my usual peanut butter and burnt toast.

  Maddox downs his bacon and eggs. “What kind of artist are you?”

  My mouth is full of a giant chunk of waffle drenched in warm syrup. I swallow in one bite. “I’m not an artist.”

  “Sure you are.” He cuts his waffle along the grid, separating it into tiny squares before filling each one with syrup. “Maybe you haven’t explored all options. Do you sing?”

  As Maddox eats, I wipe my mouth and sit back, feeling my stomach expand. “No, and I don’t dance, paint, or draw either. I’m a runner. That’s about the only thing I do well.” Besides destroying stuff.

  “I seriously doubt running is your only gift.” Maddox stabs a few squares on his fork, stacking them in line. “I’m going to hook you up with a few people and see if we can’t find your other, non-running talent. Art helps strengthen your Bent.” He won’t look directly at me. I bet he’s afraid I’ll misinterpret the Current like all the other girls around here.

  I push my plate aside, place my arms on the table, and stare, daring him to look at me so I can prove his charm has no effect on me. His gaze flickers up for a quick moment, then rests back on his waffle grid. “Ax throwing, perhaps?” He smiles but won’t lift those blue eyes to meet mine.

  “Possibly.” I laugh and sit back. “Thanks for being concerned, but sitting around all day trying to discover my talent isn’t what I’m after. I’m more interested in learning how to help take down the big, filthy black monster who killed Jess and sliced up your arm. In fact . . .” I shimmy out of the booth and pick the empty plates off of the table. Groggy voices buzz through the café as the room starts to fill. “I’m going to meet Gladys. The faster I get this test over with, the faster I can work with a Blade.”

  “You’re training as a Blade?” Maddox sets his fork down.

  “Yep, with Kellan.”

  Maddox frowns. “He’s—”

  “I met the guy. He’s cool. I know Guardians and Blades don’t typically get along, or whatever, but I’m not interested in taking sides.” I’ve got bigger problems to solve. I balance the plates in my hands. “Thanks for breakfast.” I leave Maddox at the table and zigzag through the café, dodging sleepy-faced kids waiting at the counter with empty coffee mugs in hand.

  I slip around the counter, push the door open with my hip, and step inside the kitchen. I pass industrial metal shelves stacked with canned goods and plastic containers of flours, sugars, and grains. Behind the shelves is a long wooden table dusted in flour and a wall lined with gas burners and a long iron griddle. A thin guy in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and blue apron works several waffle irons at the far end of the burners near the ovens. He glances over his shoulder. “Take a bucket if you’re bussing. It’s easier.”

  I glance at the plates in my hands. “Oh. I’m not. I’m looking for Gladys.”

  He transfers golden waffles onto a plate with one hand and pours batter into the iron with the other. “Check around the corner.” He motions to the wall with the burners. “If she’s not there, she’s in the cellar.” He picks up on my confused expression and says, “Out the door and down the stairs,” while pointing to a door behind me near a set of large refrigerators. “You can drop the plates in the sink on your way.”

  He slides a finished order down a line. A g
irl with curly hair tied back with a floral bandana dashes into the kitchen and grabs a few filled plates before rushing back out.

  “Hey, breakfast tasted great, by the way. Thanks,” I say. He smiles, surprised. I go around the corner as he instructed and find an empty washroom with a sudsy sink. Setting the plates in the foaming bubbles, I head for the door to the cellar in search of Gladys.

  I step into the dim hall and go down the steps to my left, leaving the café behind me. As I descend, the sound of moving furniture scraping across the floor grows louder. I follow the sound down the damp hall to a storage room of spare furniture. Stacked barstools tower behind Gladys as she arranges shiny beads and broken glass shards on a bistro table. “I’ve got a few things needing repair. We can talk while we work.”

  I don’t need to sit around and talk. I need training—or testing—or whatever. “I thought you were going to test me out as a Guardian?”

  “We’ll get to that.” She pats the empty chair next to her. “We need a few more pieces of furniture upstairs. I thought we’d work on this one—isn’t she a beauty? The top of this old table is scarred beyond repair, so I thought it’d be fun to echo some of that allure from the stained glass windows upstairs onto here.” She makes a circular motion over the bistro table. “I have a few minutes before needing to get started in the kitchen. Do you mind handing me some pieces?”

  I try hard not to let my frustration come through as I plop down by her.

  “Gently lay out several pieces on the table so you can see them, get a feel for how they might fit together.” Gladys hands me plastic containers filled with broken pieces.

  I glance at the rainbow of shattered glass. “How will I know which piece you’ll need?” I pick out a few blue angular pieces and set them on the table in no particular order.

  “Go with your gut.” Gladys picks up a small trowel and dips the tip in a thick paste before picking up one of the tiles I’ve set down. “Do you know much about the Current?”

  I sift through the container of cobalt-blue and jade-green glass and set a few more jagged tiles on the table. “Devon told me it’s the way Awakened identify each other, but that’s about it.” I pick out a spear-shaped piece, the same midnight-blue as Jess’s jacket. As I press my finger against the pointed tip, a knot rises in my throat. Gladys’s warm hand takes the piece from mine. She lightly pastes the tile before pressing it near the middle of the table. I sift through the container, laying down broken pieces in a swirling pattern. Adding a carnation-pink piece, Jess’s favorite color, in the center.