The Shimmers in the Night

by Lydia Millet

  When they’d come through the windowleaf the first time it had happened fast; this was like slow motion. She could feel her friends’ hands on her, their touches at her side and arms, but there was nothing to see. They were floating in a blurred world; nothing was clear. She couldn’t see anyone, though the others were touching her sides—Jaye to the left, Hayley to the right—and she could still hear Hayley coughing, though it subsided after a while. She smelled something burnt and bitter.

  It was as though they were falling, but falling in a kind of suspended time, almost without velocity.

  “Mom?” she called out.

  “I’m here,” came her mother’s voice, in front of her.

  “Is—is your hair burning?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Where are we? What is this?” asked Jaye, a little panicked.

  “It’s OK,” said Cara’s mother. “We’re traveling. Cara, they must be holding your brother in a nether space.”

  “A nether space?” asked Cara.

  “Harder to find,” said her mother. “Harder to access. You were at the Institute, right, Cara? Remember the elevator doors in the walls?”

  “The floors between the floors, sort of?”

  “The ones marked with the Greek letter Ψ. In quantum mechanics they use Psi to mean wavefunctions. But the old language uses it to talk about a kind of space that lies between the ones we normally perceive—‘nether.’ Going to nether spaces takes a while. And whatever you do, keep holding on to each other. Never let go in windowleaf travel. People get lost that way. Badly lost. Got that?”

  “I don’t get any of this,” came Hayley’s voice plaintively, and her hand moved a little on Cara’s arm.

  “Don’t let go!” blurted Cara.

  “I’m not, chick. Think I’m a total idiot?”

  “It has to do with math, Hayley,” said Cara’s mom. “How time and space relate. But don’t worry, there won’t be a pop quiz.”

  “So why—why were you at that place, Mrs. Sykes?” asked Jaye. “And what happened to their faces? The faces of the hollows?”

  So Jaye must have been behind Cara at the door to the cooling tower; she must have been peeking, too.

  “The Burners use the hollows as human conduits,” explained Cara’s mother. “Recently the Cold figured out a way to use the brain’s energy as a heat medium for their travel, though it’s a slower process than they use with fire. That’s how the hollows came to be. Hollows are a doorway for the Burners when they can’t make a flame.”

  The first Burner Cara had seen, on the T, had taken a while to gear up. Maybe because there hadn’t been enough heat—unlike with the hotplate in the library….

  “Tonight,” went on her mother, “the Burners came out of their furnaces through the hollows’ bodies. Those furnaces burn at almost three thousand degrees, and that’s where the Burners live. Or where they exist—I shouldn’t call it living. Since they’re not alive. The Cold made them in the white-hot furnaces.”

  “At that place? Where we were?” asked Hayley.

  “At power plants all over. Coal-fired plants, natural-gas plants, any place with huge boilers that burn fossil fuels. The Burners don’t like the cooling towers because of the wet and cold, but it was convenient, so they had the hollows put me in the tank to force me to shift into a limited, aquatic form. Instant jail. They couldn’t keep me in the furnaces, after all.”

  “But why couldn’t they just have made you shapeshift into, I don’t know, something fireproof?” asked Cara curiously. “And then—”

  “I have to take an animal form. I have to preserve my—well, call it a soul. All nature’s creatures have souls, no matter what they tell you in school.”

  “But Mrs. Sykes—I mean, let’s say we buy that you can change into animals, since we saw those rad claws,” began Hayley. “Still, what about that flying reptile thing? There’s extinct animals, there’s scary people with black eyes, there are these burning guys…”

  “There aren’t really extinct animals,” said Mrs. Sykes. “Sadly. What still exists are people who can take their forms. Some of those people can assume quite ancient shapes—the shapes of creatures that lived here long ago. I’m don’t have that range myself. My repertoire’s more limited. But the one we call Q for short—short for Quetzalcoatlus, though I think it started as a joke around some TV show—she’s older than me. Much. She’s…a friend. And a healer. She heard your call and took the form that was needed. It really wasn’t the windowleaf that brought her to you—she brought herself.”

  “It—Q—flew back through the book when you guys were still in the tower. It wouldn’t take me there. Maybe it knew you were already coming back,” mused Hayley.

  “But what do those burning guys want?” pressed Jaye.

  Around them, the blur was growing more distinct. Lines were gradually emerging, sharper angles.

  “The Burners work for the Cold,” said her mother. “Like the Pouring Man. Like all the elementals. They do his dirty work. And his dirty work…”

  She trailed off.

  “What, Mom?” asked Cara.

  She was impatient; she wanted to tell her mother about Zee—to ask if there was any way, any way at all that the person holding the little, red-haired girl’s hand could have been Zee.

  The pause was dragging on, almost as though her mother wasn’t going to answer Jaye’s question. But finally she did.

  “His dirty work is to remake the world for his own kind. What’s happening is a war over that. We call it the Carbon War, but the rest of the world calls it global warming.”

  They fell silent. Cara’s mind raced to a Mars sci-fi movie she and Max had watched a few weeks ago on cable, where people put greenhouses on Mars and tried to make it more like Earth…meanwhile there were colors in front of her eyes, a fuzzy scene whose elements were gradually fading into view. She could see something bright yellow above and below it a row of dots or shapes with a faint blue or purplish tinge, but nothing more specific.

  “You’re saying global warming is all, like, this cold guy’s project?” came Hayley’s voice.

  “He has allies,” said Cara’s mom, sounding tired. “Allies who are people. Hundreds of thousands of them. They’re helping him make it warmer. Because he wants a different atmosphere, so he can move around freely. Beyond the limited space he’s had to hole up in all these years. Once the warming goes runaway—well, then the world will be more his than ours.”

  “So then there’s him and all those on one side, and on the other side there’s you, the flying dinosaur, that mermaid from this summer, and some sea turtle in a tank?” asked Hayley. “Is that one a shapeshifter, too?”

  “No, a turtle,” said Cara’s mom.

  “And not a mermaid, a selkie,” said Cara. “Mom, was the selkie a shapeshifter? Because if you have to take a form from nature—I mean—selkies are from myths.”

  “You’d be surprised, honey. Most myths are more real than you’d think.”

  And Cara felt her feet connect with solid ground.

  Seven

  The room felt old in the way the core of the Institute had—the ceilings were high and had fancy trimmings along the edges; the walls were covered in dark wood, and where windows might have been there were old oil paintings, so there was no way to look out—but that wasn’t the weirdest thing about it.

  What was remarkable was hanging from the ceiling: rows and rows of teardrop-shaped pods, somewhat like chairs she’d seen in sixties décor or futuristic space movies, dangling on thin lines from the high ceiling. Some of them moved very slightly, swaying. Each pod was transparent and contained some liquid, pale-blue in color. When Cara stepped close to the nearest one, she saw the liquid didn’t go all the way through; it was in a kind of shell surrounding the interior compartments of the pods.

  And inside the pods sat people.

  People with black holes for eyes.

  “It’s a safe house for hollows,” said Mrs. Sykes. “We bring them h
ere when we find them, so the Burners can’t use them. To protect them until their loved ones can be found—someone who has a memory of them, which can be used to return them to themselves. The earlier the memory, the more completely it captures the person. Cara, my memories of Jax would likely be more extensive than yours—you were only five when he was adopted—so they sent you for me. You see that liquid in the lining of the cocoons? It’s a coolant. It keeps the Burners from coming through.”

  In the pod near Cara an older woman in a white gown sat immobile, looking at nothing out of her deep black eyes.

  “Hollows are victims,” said her mom. “Some can survive the Burners moving through them once. Some twice. If they’re lucky.”

  Her expression was sad, but she looked healthier now; her strength was coming back. “And now your brother is one of them.” She looked around, craning her neck, and they started walking quickly down the row of pods, with Jaye and Hayley close behind. They passed a chubby man with gray beard stubble in denim overalls, a thin little girl… and that reminded Cara.

  “Mom? Some of the hollows at that plant were kids,” she said, turning around. “And I swear—one of them looked like Max’s girlfriend! Zee!”

  Her mother looked startled, but before she could say anything a deep voice spoke behind them.

  “Lily!”

  When Cara’s mother saw Mr. Sabin, she smiled: but at the same time she sent something in his direction that Cara couldn’t make out. It was like an invisible greeting, a rush of air toward Mr. Sabin from her mother that ruffled what was left of his hair and quickly released it.

  Then they hugged normally—though that seemed like an afterthought.

  “Glad you’re OK,” said Mr. Sabin gruffly, stepping back. “Want to see your boy?”

  “Take us.”

  They followed him down the first row and out, past a second row and a third…. Cara couldn’t help staring at the hollows in their pods, wondering where the people were who loved them and could help them to get out. They passed a young woman with blue eyeshadow, a tough guy with a shaved head and tattoos of anchors on his arms, a matronly black woman in a yellow pant suit.…

  “Here,” said Mr. Sabin, unnecessarily.

  For a long moment they stood there staring at the boy who was almost Jax. He sat in the capsule wearing pajamas that reminded her of a hospital gown, his eyes deep black, his mouth slightly agape as though he’d just seen something surprising. He had a waxlike quality, like a mannequin.

  “Oh, man,” whispered Jaye. “That’s…wow.”

  “Poor Jax!” said Hayley. “It’s like his…personality is gone.” She glanced at Cara. “I mean, at the moment.”

  “His eyes,” said Jaye.

  Cara couldn’t say anything at all.

  “Ready?” asked Mr. Sabin.

  Mrs. Sykes followed him around to the side of the pod, where there was a small hatch in its wall. She stepped up.

  “Girls, this is a risky time,” said Mr. Sabin under his breath. “If the Burners are paying attention—and they usually are—they get alerted when one of their hollows is exposed. The upside is, your mother, because of her gifts and special connection with Jax, can enact the memory transfer more quickly than many others could.”

  Suddenly they were surrounded by teachers from the Institute, Mrs. O and others. She hadn’t heard them come in. They looked focused on Jax’s pod; they didn’t speak.

  “It’s most efficient if she’s physically touching him,” said Mr. S. “You must stay silent. Complete silence is key. This transaction is a work of old language, and it can’t be disrupted by any other sounds. OK?”

  And then the hatch was open and Cara’s mother was reaching in, touching Jax’s head with her open hand, murmuring. At once too much was happening for Cara to fathom: there was the now-familiar, mirage-like stream of rippling air between her mother and Jax; there was a hum of sound coming from the teachers, a kind of chant; and there were Jax’s eyes.

  Which were growing. Just like the hollows’ in the tower.

  Oh no, thought Cara. This was the Burners trying to get through. It had to be. She grabbed Jaye’s arm and squeezed it, wincing at the pain in her hand. On her other side, Hayley grabbed her elbow. Hayley couldn’t know exactly what it meant, of course, she hadn’t seen what happened earlier, but the sight of Jax’s eyes growing larger in his small face was frightening by itself.

  What if it doesn’t work? she thought. What if?

  Without making a conscious decision, she let go of Jaye’s hand with her right one and touched the nazar on her left. How can I help Jax now? she asked. Where is the danger to him here?

  What she saw behind her closed lids was Hayley’s pink backpack.

  She was so surprised she opened her eyes again, twisting to look at Hayley, who didn’t notice because she was staring at Jax. Cara could see the pink backpack strap on her shoulder.

  What did it mean?

  She had to look inside, but she couldn’t speak; she caught Hayley’s eyes and held her finger to her mouth, moving behind her friend to peel off the pack. Hayley almost blurted something, but Cara shook her head frantically and in a smooth motion had the pack on the floor, its vapidly smiling Kitty staring up at her with a perky red bow in its nonexistent hair. She fumbled to unzip the pack, the rising sound of the teachers’ eerie chant in her ears. Hayley bent over beside her as she dumped out the bag’s contents in a rush.

  There were lip glosses and eyeliners, a blue-and-white tube of pimple cream, a comb and a brush, hair gel, a miniature deodorant, three open packs of gum, nail polish in different bright colors, Hayley’s cell phone with its jumble of sparkling stickers…. Hayley was kneeling beside her now, asking mute questions with the expressions on her face. What’s going on? seemed to be the gist of them, but Cara only shook her head and went on combing through the jumble. It was Hayley’s regular stuff, she thought; what could possibly be out of place?

  Then Jaye was on the floor with them, too.

  Cara had to explain what she was looking for. She grabbed Hayley’s phone—would this count as language? She hoped not, she had to get their help—and brought up the notepad function: DANGER IN BAG!

  Her friends leaned over, reading the words. There was no disruption in the chant, so Cara guessed texting was OK. Then the three of them were rummaging through the junk. What could it possibly be? This place was supposed to be safe from Burners, Cara thought, so it made sense that the danger had to be in something they’d brought in. The usual safety procedures hadn’t been applied to them, she guessed—it had all happened in a rush—

  Jaye picked up a plastic bottle: nail-polish remover, that was all. Hayley moved a small pad of paper to grab a metal nail file, which she held up to Cara with an inquiring look. It had a sharp tip, sure—but dangerous to Jax? Cara shook her head.

  Then she reached out and took the small bottle of nail-polish remover from Jaye to look at it more closely. In small words the label read INGREDIENTS: ACETONE, DENATONIUM BENZOATE, FRAGRANCE and below: WARNING: FLAMMABLE LIQUID. Something was in the back of her mind, something she couldn’t quite recall. It was something a teacher had said—Mr. Sabin, that was it. The words came back slowly. “They can even use flammables—lighters or alcohol….”

  Flammables.

  And just as she remembered that—and hurled the bottle away from her, away from Jax, across the room—the bottle burst into flame.

  She wanted to kick herself almost as soon as she did it—she should have doused it in water or something, anything but throw it away. But her hands, her hands still hurt with a faint throb, the skin red and sensitive…. She hadn’t thought, she’d just panicked. The bottle flamed, it lay beneath one of the pods and flamed—

  And they didn’t want to call out—they had to stay silent. She whirled around to look at Jax, to look at what was happening right behind her, but as soon as she did she had to look away. His huge saucer eyes were half of his face now, his mouth twisted in a smile that reminded h
er not of the little boy within or even of the Burners but instead, she realized, of the Pouring Man. It was as though the elementals were all the same, despite their different forms and rules—as though one pure, malicious self occupied all of them. And now that pure malice was taking over her little brother.

  Meanwhile the teachers’ chant was so loud it was almost deafening, with a pounding, warlike beat—it had changed from soft to loud, almost hysterical… She couldn’t stand the sight of her baby brother with that distorted face. She turned her back on it and met the familiar gazes of her friends, who were looking to her for direction: now, this instant, there was a fire burning on the floor, a fire on the floor about ten feet away, and the floor was charring around it, black spreading out from the flames. It hung beneath one of the pods Cara had first noticed: the skinhead with tattoos.

  The fire was going to burn him. Not only that—if it spread, all the pods could be ruined and the hollows exposed. Then the Burners could come through and be loose…they were trying to get in however they could, not only through Jax but using the smallest crack, the tiniest item…the battle would be lost.

  Before, when her hands got burned, she’d tried to use the rug to smother the flames with; that hadn’t worked at all. They needed water, and as far as she could see they didn’t have any. The only liquid was in the pods, and they couldn’t use that.

  Water from nowhere, she thought.

  She grabbed Hayley’s phone and typed on it. NEED WATER!

  Jaye was grubbing around in her own backpack, pulling out a bottle; she ran, ducking under the pods in her way; she uncapped her bottle hastily and threw its contents onto the flames.

  It had no effect at all. It was just drops, when what was needed was gallons.

  Water, thought Cara, which they didn’t have.

  Or maybe a fire extinguisher. There had to be one, didn’t there? Not that this was the kind of place that had modern conveniences, but still. It was supposed to be protected against Burners, so they’d have to have fire equipment; they’d have to. She couldn’t see from here; the pods were in the way.