by C. M. Fenn
To Mrs. Margaret Shepherd,
On behalf of the Gregory Walker Foundation, I present you with this donation in honor of your late husband, Officer Henry Shepherd. Subsequent to a thorough review of Officer Shepherd’s career and achievements contributing to the good of his community, the Walker Foundation is granting you and your family a contribution in the amount of $3 million. We thank you for your sacrifice and sincerely wish you the very best.
Regards,
Gregory Walker IV
I look up at my mother and stare at her in stunned silence. THREE MILLION DOLLARS? I read the letter again. THREE MILLION DOLLARS. I read the letter a third time. I did not misread it.
“Look,” she says as she takes the papers from me and shuffles them until she finds the one she’s looking for. In front of me now is what appears to be a printed record of a transaction. It's a copy of a bank deposit for three million dollars, posted with yesterday's date.
“It’s real, Addy.” She sniffs as she wipes more tears from her face. “I’ve been on the phone with the bank for the last hour. It’s real.”
Tears spring from my eyes as I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. I knew money was coming. I never expected it would be so much.
“Good, Mom,” I manage to say, emotions making my words thick. “You deserve it.” She stands and we hug tightly for a long time.
She spends the next hour on the phone with Jana. As I try to concentrate on finishing my homework, I overhear bits of the conversation.
“No. I’ve researched it. There’s a website for the foundation but there’s so little information about it. All it really says is that it’s an organization that awards donations and grants.” She pauses as Jana says something.
“I can’t find one. There isn’t a phone number or address or e-mail address. I can’t even find a picture of the man who signed the letter.”
I hide a smile while thinking of the elusive “Mr. Walker”.
Later that evening while clearing off the table for dinner, I find a stack of letters and bills. It’s the rest of the day’s mail. Absently going through it, I spot a business envelope with my name on it. Inside is a shiny plastic credit card bearing my name and a single, hand-written note. On it are four numbers and one word.
“1348
ENJOY”
In the excitement of the donation, this envelope must have been overlooked or forgotten. I’m grateful for the distraction since I would have been at a loss as to how to explain the card.
For the rest of the night, my mother sits at the kitchen table with a stack of bills and a checkbook, paying off debts one by one. Occasionally, she starts crying again only to end up laughing out loud like before. Watching her from the living room, a deep peace settles over me. She’ll never have to scrimp and scrape for money again. No more holding her breath, praying we make it through to the next paycheck.
Now I’ll be more comfortable moving away from home. I can live in California and go to school there without worrying about how she’s getting by. Knowing she’s taken care of is the best gift anyone could have given me, and I’m all the more eager to prove my worth to the Walkers. Determined to train extra hard tonight, I kiss my happy mother good night and go to bed.
The next two nights make the previous two look like a carefree stroll in the park. I push myself harder than I ever have before, mentally and physically. With Angel’s guidance, I’m able to master a dozen new vital mental abilities. I learn to detect weak spots in the fabric of Chaos and mend them before they can attract the attention of the Greater Shades. In a practice room, Angel repeatedly tears gaping holes in the essence of Chaos. I repair them, each time improving upon previous mistakes until Angel is satisfied with my work.
I learn how to make my own tears. I learn how to protect and guard them with wards. I’m continually surprised by each new ability I learn, and how the shroud of mystery and magic is removed from my perception of them. Each ability has a logical, almost scientific process behind it.
Before, the ability to sense my fellow Walkers’ level of well-being, even down to their moods, seemed like voodoo. Now I understand that everyone transmits a subliminal signal, unique to them, at all times. I only have to broaden my sensitivity to the signals. The more I spread out my own awareness, the easier it is to pick up their “frequencies.”
In relation to this skill, I learn how to recognize when a new or unfamiliar frequency is approaching. This is how Angel knew that I would soon come to Chaos. She felt me each night, getting closer to the barrier surrounding this realm. This capability is essential. Angel tells me she suspects that some of the Greater Shades may have this ability as well, which makes it all the more important to be prepared to reach new and defenseless Walkers the minute they cross over from Earth Realm.
An interesting and unexpected aspect of learning these mental abilities in Chaos is that instead of my mind becoming fatigued and used up, I seem to get stronger with each new accomplishment. It’s as though my mind is a well, but it doesn’t fill up and threaten to overflow. It gets deeper and wider, allowing for an even greater capacity.
One of the most personally benefiting abilities I learn over the next few nights is how to manipulate my own body. Each morning when I awaken with sore and aching muscles, I heal them. I encourage them along their process of growing, thickening, and becoming stronger.
Kira still continues to push me to my extreme physical limits, but I continue to push back. During workouts and combat training, I’m able to use my mind simultaneously with my body, maximizing my accuracy, strength, and endurance. It’s refreshing and encouraging to find that each night I’m a little less tired, a little less sweat-drenched, and a little more prepared to defend myself and cause some Shades some serious damage.
My “sessions” with Simone, however, are much less progressive. Each night I show up at her door at our designated time. Each time I knock, she answers. Each time she demands an apology, and I always walk away, unable to comply.
I realize I’m being prideful and stubborn. I know if I just submit and apologize (even pretend to!), this stalemate could end and I could help her. But every time I open my mouth, intending to say the words “I’m sorry,” I envision myself as a helpless creature on my back exposing my belly to a many-fanged beast hovering over me.
The image is always enough to make me walk away. I refuse to lose any of my dignity or self-respect to Simone. I won’t cower and placate her infantile behavior. I simply cannot.
Instead, I spend the hour in between training sessions in my new art room. After finding a wealth of high-quality supplies in a craft section of the warehouse, I waste no time stocking up on all my favorite products.
I quickly come to understand what Angel was trying to explain to me about other talents improving because of Chaos. As I sketch, charcoal, and paint various scenes and subjects, I find myself delighted by the improved quality of the work I’m creating. It’s uncanny. It’s as if by altering my mind, Chaos has also altered my perception of color and composition and enhanced my ability to recreate it.
On the few occasions I run into other Realmwalkers, it’s always the same experience. We exchange a brief greeting as they rush from one task to another, anxious to get back out into Chaos to continue hunting the increasing numbers of Lesser Shades. They always look tired and overworked and are always covered in the oily black blood of Shades. My concern for them is a constant incentive to put everything I have into my training.
School continues to be a necessary evil—an obstacle in my Chaos-consumed life. During classes, time drags on with cruel indifference to my desperation. Tori and I continue to grow further apart as I spend all of my free time with my nose in my novel. The book Mikhail gave me has become my only way to escape the torturous minutes of spare time, and I’m dreading the end of it.
On Thursday as I walk to my truck after school, the feeling that I’m being watched returns. I stop mid-step and quickly glance around me. I search the parking lot, in betw
een parked cars, in the shadows of the few trees dotting the pavement.
I turn a complete circle, unable to find the source of my unease, yet the feeling persists. While unnerved, I don’t really feel threatened. I’m more curious than afraid, which may be due to my growing sense of confidence in myself and that, thanks to my training, I no longer feel completely helpless.
I try to shake off my apprehension as I climb into my truck. The feeling fades as I travel, and by the time I pull into my driveway, I’m almost convinced the whole thing was my imagination. The entire ordeal, however, is completely forgotten the second I walk through my door. In front of me, standing stiffly, arms crossed, is my very angry mother.
Chapter 30
I’m frozen in place as my mother skewers me with a frightening look.
“Um,” I swallow nervously. “Hi?” I try tentatively.
“We need to talk. NOW,” she says in a dangerously quiet voice. She turns and marches out of the front room. Heartbeat quickening, I follow her, filled with a sense of dread that only a mother can inspire. I try anxiously to think of what could have upset her. Receiving the donation has made the last few days the happiest, most cheerful we’ve shared in a long time. What could possibly have upset her enough to chase away even that joy? As we sit down at the kitchen table facing each other, a sickening thought hits me.
She knows.
I search her eyes. Could she possibly have found out about Chaos? Does she know about my new life? I wouldn’t blame her for feeling angry, even betrayed.
“Explain this,” she says through tightly pursed lips. She slides a large white envelope across the table. I look down at it, fearing at first that she has found my Walker account credit card. Instead, this envelope is new. It’s been opened. I pull out the papers and briefly skim over the words on the first page.
“Oh,” I say as I realize what it is. I look up at her meekly. Her expression doesn’t change.
“UCLA?” she says with deceptive calmness. “Next fall?”
“Uh,” I say, tapping my fingers on the table searching for some way to explain. In the hustle and bustle of the last few days, I’d forgotten I was supposed to be easing my mom into this. My oh-so-clever plan had been eclipsed with my new training priorities.
“When were you going to tell me?” Her voice rises as she begins to lose control of her temper.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I guess I forgot,” I apologize. She gives me an incredulous look.
“Forgot? To tell me you were planning on leaving home? Moving out of state for school?”
“I applied forever ago! When I didn’t hear back right away, I figured that meant I was rejected. I never even thought I would get in.” I try this excuse out, mentally crossing my fingers.
She puffs air out and hangs her head down, rubbing her forehead with her fingers.
“Well, you got in,” she says shortly.
“Oh.”
We sit in silence for a few moments as she massages her skull.
Quietly, in a softer voice she asks, “Why there? Why UCLA?”
“Mrs. McCowen suggested it.” I pull the idea out of the blue. “She gave me the application, said their art program was great.”
“Your art teacher?” she asks, looking back up at me.
I nod. “And well, Gram lives there. I thought, on the off-chance that I even got in, it might not be such a bad idea.”
I could see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she reluctantly considers this.
“I meant to tell you, Mom, really. But then I thought, why stress you out about tuition for an out-of-state university when my chances of getting in weren’t great anyway?”
Her expression finally begins to soften. “And why wouldn’t you get in? Your grades are above average, your art has won awards. Of course they were going to accept you.”
I shrug, hoping to play up on the youthful naiveté angle.
She looks at me steadily. “I don’t like secrets, Addy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“When I saw this, I thought …” she trails off.
“What?” I prompt gently.
In a self-deprecating manner she says, “I guess I thought, I don’t know, that you were trying to get away from me.”
“What? No!” I insist. “How could you think that?”
“Well, you never mentioned UCLA before,” she says defensively. She seems to be questioning herself now. Shaking her head, she says, “I always worry. Constantly. I can’t help fearing that I’m not doing enough. Since Dad, well …” tears brim on her lower lids. “Sometimes I feel like I’m failing. I thought, ‘Addy’s sneaking around, applying to colleges out of state so she can get far away from me.’”
“Mom. That’s crazy.” I lay my hand over hers. “You’re not failing. You’re the greatest! I won’t go, okay? I won’t go to UCLA.”
“No, that’s not what I want.” She laughs at herself through her tears. “I’m sorry, Addy. I guess my hurt turned to anger. I haven’t really thought about this.”
“It’s okay,” I say, eager to pacify her and stop her tears.
“No, it’s not. You got a full ride, Addy. A FULL RIDE,” she emphasizes. “I should be telling you how proud of you I am. And I am. I’m so proud of you. Had I known you applied, I would have expected no less.” She’s smiling now, draining the tension out of the atmosphere. She scoffs, “Can we chalk this one up to pre-empty nest syndrome?”
Laughing with her, I say, “Sure, Mom. Only, don’t ever think those things again,” I say more seriously.
She nods, too choked with emotion to say anything.
Over dinner we discuss UCLA more. She even remembers, without any prompting from me, that Ember’s moving there this summer. I can’t believe my luck when she suggests we get an apartment or dorm together. Victory! While it isn’t the way I envisioned achieving this goal, it’s a victory nonetheless.
As I’m getting ready to sleep, I hear an electronic chirp come from where my phones are charging by my bed. Looking at my Chaos phone, I see I have a text waiting for me. It’s from Sam.
Adelaide, please join Harmony and Kira in Logistics first thing tonight to give a progress report of your training. Thank you. –Sam
Will Sam be there too? Suddenly I’m filled with hopeful anticipation. It’s only been days since I last saw him but it feels like weeks. Nervousness spreads through me as I think of reporting my progress from the last week to him. I hope I’ve done enough so far, but there’s only one way to find out. I crawl under my covers and pass through the gateway of sleep.
Chapter 31
Before heading to Logistics, I take some extra time to make myself presentable. I shower and fix my hair so that it’s slightly curlier than normal. I put on my favorite outfit—navy cargo pants and a snug, dark grey T-shirt. As I‘m getting ready, I notice how my physique has changed. My frame is more slender, not as soft as it used to be. There are defined lines of muscle along my arms. The change is good. It’s evidence of my hard work.
Satisfied with my appearance, I head to Logistics and find Angel, Kira, Sam, and—surprisingly—Timothy waiting for me. They’re gathered around Sam’s desk, talking, with Angel sitting cross-legged on top. I’m willing to wager she’s the only Walker who can get away with sitting on top of the boss’s desk.
“Hi guys,” I say from the doorway, nervous again. This is a performance review after all. It would be impossible for me to NOT be a little edgy.
“Adelaide, come in. Have a seat.” Sam indicates an open chair next to Kira. I examine him as nonchalantly as I can, looking for any signs that he is injured or unwell.
He looks good. Aside from a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin and a vague kind of tiredness around his eyes, he’s the picture of health.
One of the first things I notice as I sit down is the way I’m increasingly aware of each individual and their “frequencies.” Each person’s output has a different feel to it, as unique as their personalities. If I’d entered the room
with my eyes closed, I would’ve been able to tell you exactly who was present.
Angel smiles warmly in greeting. “Kira and I were just telling Sam how far you’ve come this last week.”
Sam nods, approval in those crystal blue eyes. “They both tell me you’ve been working hard. They say they’ve taught you nearly all they can. Very impressive for a short week,” he says.
“Really?” I look from Angel to Kira in surprise.
“It’s true,” Kira says. “Your physical basic training is complete. Now is when we’d typically start your field training.”
Field training. Finally. I’m filled with an odd mixture of apprehension and excitement at the thought of actually testing out my skills on real live Shades.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sam cautions. “Your case is anything but typical.”
“I can’t field train?” I protest.
Sam holds his hands up defensively. “Now hold on. I didn’t say that,” he explains. “I just think we should be more cautious about this. None of the other Walkers have had to field train with a Greater Shade keen on their demise.”
As disappointed as I am, I have to concede he may have a point. Reluctantly, I remind myself that he is Boss and try to trust his judgment.
Timothy interjects, “He’s right, Addy. Something strange is happening out there, and we really should have a better understanding of the situation before we send you out.”
“Do you mean the increase in Lesser Shades?” I ask, looking from face to face.
“It’s not really anything to worry about,” Kira explains. “The Lessers are easy to defeat. It’s just the sudden influx has kept us running near-constant hunting missions just to keep the numbers under control.”
“An exceptionally clever and dangerous Greater Shade shows up in Chaos,” I say, “and all of a sudden there’s swelling numbers of Lesser Shades? It can’t be a coincidence.”
Sam runs his hand wearily down the side of his face. “That occurred to us too.”
